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Chapter Text

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Part I - "Durga"

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Anat closed the gates of her mansion and
met the youths at the base of the
mountain.
Behold, Anat battled in the valley;
she slaughtered between the two cities.
She slew the people of the West;
she silenced the men of the East.
Beneath her like dirt clods were heads,
above her like locusts were hands,
like destructive locusts were
warriors' hands.
She attached the heads to her back;
she bound the hands to her girdle.
She plunged her knees into the soldiers'
blood,
her thighs into the warrior's gore.
She drove out the foes with her arrows,
the combatants with her bow-string.
Behold, Anat proceeded to her house;
the goddess headed for her palace.
She was not satiated by her battle in the
valley,
by her slaughter between the cities.
She arranged the seats for the warriors;
she arranged tables for the troops,
footstools for the heroes.
She battled mightily and beheld the scene;
Anat slaughtered and gazed upon the result.
Her liver swelled with laughter,
her heart was filled with joy,
the liver of Anat with victory,
as she plunged her knees into the soldiers'
blood,
her thighs into the warrior's gore,
until she was satiated by battling in the
house,
and slaughtering between the tables.
The soldiers' blood was wiped from the
house;
oil of well-being was poured from a
bowl.
Maiden Anat washed her hands,
Ybmt Limm, her fingers.
She washed her hands of the soldiers' blood,
her fingers of the warrior's gore.

"The Cycle of Baal and Anat"
translated by Neal H. Walls

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Fluid Dynamics Lab
Scripps Institute of Oceanography
La Jolla, California
Wednesday, April 29, 1998
6:21 am

"Help!"

At the faint cry, Doctor Thomas Wilton looked up from the control panel he had been modifying. He had come in early to set up for the experiments he had hoped to begin the following morning, when he and his colleague, Sandra Miller, were free from classes and graduate students. If the changes to the new data acquisition systems he had thought of last night were in place, then so much the better.

"Help! I'm trapped!" The call was louder, more insistent, this time. Yet, there was no direction to the sound, no obvious focus. Nor was there an echo, even, as if it had come from a place enclosed.

Moving away from the laser Doppler anemometers, he stepped past the scope showing the power signal levels he had struggled to bring into balance with each other for a quick check. If he thought about it, he had been wrong initially. It sounded as if the voice now came from inside the test chamber of the wind tunnel itself. But, the laboratory had been built with safe operations as the utmost consideration, since the facility was designed for high-velocity turbulence testing. There were only two doors into the high bay that housed the wind tunnel. One was through the control room off an interior hallway. The other led directly outside, but that had been locked and dead-bolted when he had arrived earlier.

Walking alongside the wind tunnel, Wilton rolled one of the equipment carts out of his way. There were multiple ongoing research projects here, as the clutter along the walls and under the elevated wind tunnel itself showed. He shook his head, remembering repeated admonitions to the graduate students and technicians working here to keep the place neat. In times past, the government had funded their research based on proposals, reports, and papers, but those days were gone. Now potential sponsors, especially from industry and foreign governments, demanded tours on which they wanted to see something that looked like NASA clean-rooms, all shiny-white and sparkling.

But nothing looked like it had been disturbed, so Wilton cupped both hands around his mouth. "Where are you?"

"Here." The source of the reply was as mysterious as before.

Wilton shook his head, a few stray blond hairs falling in his eyes. The voice sounded like it came from inside the measurement section, so he stepped over the cables running from the control room to the backs of the LDA's, then swung under the carefully leveled sensor support tables. He attempted to peer through the windows the lasers were mounted flush against, but all he could see was the nearest in their array of hot-wire anemometers. Darkness swallowed the rest, which were strung out in a widely spaced grid at the central plane of the measurement section.

"Who's there?" He was still confused. Anyone who had climbed inside had done so without touching the delicate sensors, which were prone to failing at the slightest brush of cloth, or the wrong tap of a finger.

"Me!" The answer was ambiguous, if insistent.

"Sandra?" He frowned again. The voice belonged not to his colleague, nor to any of the graduate students working for either of them. "How did you?" He stared in surprise at the access panel for the measurement section. The nine latches that snapped in place to hold the door shut were still engaged, so whoever had climbed inside the tunnel had found another entrance.

"Help!" It sounded to Wilton as if the call now came from the isolation chamber for the blower. Any mechanical means for achieving the near-supersonic wind speeds they required was deafeningly noisy, as he and Sandra had learned in their own time in graduate school. So, they had designed this facility with a separate, temperature controlled room for the blower.

But, the space was poorly lit, so Wilton headed back into the control room for a flashlight. While he was there, he flipped open the breaker box to set the 30 amp breaker for the blower motor to the off position. No need for that to come on accidentally, he reasoned, not with someone inside.

"It's all right!" He stepped into the blower room, then flicked the tight beam around the space. He turned the light on one of the windows, surprised by the patch of light he had seen out of the corner of his eye. One of the window filter panels had been cut through.

Now, he had had enough. Whoever was calling for help had broken into the facility, but for what purpose? The fraternities wouldn't pull a stunt like this, would they? When he told the Dean, there would be hell to pay. Exasperated, he shook his head. "I don't like practical jokes! When I find you..."

"Help! I'm trapped!" The voice was muffled by the acoustic dampening, which meant that whoever was inside the tunnel was now back in the main chamber.

Wilton slammed the blower chamber door behind him. "Where are you now?"

"Here." Now he had a clue, since the prankster was banging on the steel side of the tunnel. The percussive raps came from up by the LDA measurement site.

"I'm coming in! Your fraternity is going to be censured for years for this!" Wilton flipped the latches, then, with the flash in his mouth, crawled in under the probes. He barely noticed the door slamming shut, as the spring-mounts were designed to.

But there was no one inside. He sat back on his heels. This was worse than a fraternity prank. With a grunt of inspiration, he took the light from his mouth, then scanned the interior for a voice-activated tape recorder. The responses, had, after all, been ones that could easily have been pre-set. After crawling down the length of the tunnel to the end, he was out of ideas, and even further out of patience. There was no tell-tale flash off smooth black plastic, just the scattered light off anodized steel.

"Hello?" He strained to hear in the near-darkness.

No response. Then, away in the blower chamber, Wilton heard a sound he knew to be impossible, a grinding whine as the cylinder began rotating. Frozen for a few seconds, he stared at the windows, then began moving toward the door. The measurement section was a mere three feet high, too short to do more than crouch and run. It would be only a few more seconds before gale-force winds howled through the narrow tunnel.

But he was out of time. The blast hit him, sending him rolling back to the outflow vanes to slam against the steel. Here, the channel necked down to much less than a foot. He slid down the wall and pointed his head into the wind. Keeping himself flat against the floor of the chamber, he slithered back toward the test section door, which had flown flush against the outside of the tunnel the instant the wind hit it. The added deflection of air the opening provided was the only thing that had saved his life when the blower had spun up.

The carefully mounted array of anemometers was vibrating as the air turned behind them. Wilton thought fleetingly about all the hours Sandra had put in to align them exactly. She had also designed the mount for the grid, a turbulence-minimizing wire-mesh frame that extended a scant six inches around the interior of the tunnel. To stand up to attempt to jump out the test section door was certain suicide. If he exposed himself to the full force of the winds in the center of the chamber, he would have been impaled on the outflow vanes, or battered against the wall again. His only hope for survival was to huddle, as flat as he could make himself, behind that narrow windbreak the grid frame provided. He was grateful for all those extra bolts Sandra had insisted they use.

Now, he just had to stay awake and motionless until someone, anyone, walking by the facility heard the blower on.

Sandra Ann Miller Residence
142 Curie Avenue, University City
San Diego, California
Wednesday, April 29, 1998
6:47 am

"Salazar!"

A tall woman with long wavy chestnut hair stood on a weathered back porch, staring out into a thicket of herbs. As slim and as loose-limbed as she was, she would have seemed lanky, had she been a man. But it was a thinness that came from lack of attention to regular meals, not the manicured svelte of a model.

"Salazar!" She was more insistent this time. Her canvas pants and polo shirt hung oddly on her frame, too big on the hips, arms, and chest, yet tight across the thighs and shoulders. The early morning fog was lifting, the sun illuminating a tanned and freckled face and arms. Finally, she pressed her fists into her hips as she threw her shoulders back. "Alonso de Salazar Frias, get in this house this instant. I have to get to class."

His marmalade coat dark against the light, a round cat's head poked above a patch of silver thyme. He flicked an ear, the one with a little notch at the end, then sat up. After blinking in the sun, he raised a paw to his face to begin lick it intently. He had not, he knew, much freedom left.

The woman stepped off the cedar, her arms moving in a carefree swing. She loved this place, her high-walled private garden, the fragrance of rosemary and basil heavy in the moist early morning air. "How will it look if the professor is late because of her cat?"

Salazar decided to meet the woman halfway, so rose to begin ambling up the stone path. While the woman approaching him was all angles and corners, he was round little circles, one around his muzzle, another enclosing his face from his chin to under his ears. Even his chest was round. He tossed his paws out to the side in prancing steps as he strolled. After three four-footed strides, he felt an itch coming on, so decided walking all that way was too much trouble, especially as he knew he would end up being carried anyway. He plopped his rump on the flagstones, raised his left leg, cocked his head, then set red fur flying in a cloud around his ears.

The woman bent over him, her long hair falling around him like a curtain. "Salazar, we don't have time for this."

"Urr." The feline blinked innocently.

She scooped him into her arms, then smiled as the tabby tucked his head under her chin. "You're mommy's old sweetheart, you know that." She scratched behind his ears with fingernails that were cracked and had a line of dirt along the cuticles.

Salazar did, indeed, know that. He also knew that, for his efforts, a few of those crunchy snacks which they both pretended were good for his teeth would be left on the table for him. Securely tucked in the crook of her arm, he kneaded her shoulder as she walked along.

Once inside, Salazar hopped onto the trestle table, where the expected fish-shaped treats cascaded onto the pine. He set about crunching noisily.

The woman caught her hair in one hand, then pulled a cloth-covered rubber band around it. "I should be back around four this afternoon, Alonso. I won't have time for any set-up in the wind tunnel today. I have that silly reception tonight."

"Urr." The snacks consumed, the ginger tabby set about washing again, while she adjusted a bike helmet over the thick curls.

As she strapped on a backpack, she kissed the top of his head. "Love you, you old grump."

After flopping on his side, Salazar propped himself up on one paw to attack a cowlick of fur on his stomach. He appeared oblivious to the woman as she stepped through the door, then locked it behind her, but for the right ear that swiveled to track the click of the key turning in the latch.

Mayer Hall 4132
University of California at San Diego
San Diego, California
Wednesday, April 29, 1998
8:24 am

The woman shook the keys for her office door free of the tight side pocket in her cycling shorts. She slid the largest into a dead-bolt lock to open the chamber, then the smallest into the combination lock on the metal box mounted under her name-plate. She held her cycling helmet under the flap as papers tumbled out. This was the next to last homework assignment in this semester for her Introductory class. Her eyes passed over the nameplate above the box that pronounced this the professional residence of Sandra Ann Miller. The initials jumped out at her. She found herself scrawling them across papers frequently without being certain why.

After resting her touring bike in its stand to the side of her office, she pulled out her chair. There was a yellow post-it note stuck to the seat, with a message in painfully tiny, yet penman-perfect letters: 'Setting-up. Tom.' She smiled without being aware of the expression. The first time she had met Tom she had teased him that he would blind himself by writing like that. He had grunted about saving paper, then asked her about Bernoulli flow over sea mounts. Those were simple days, back before her parents' deaths, before endless nights together in the lab, before other complications she had worked for several years to put behind her.

She checked her watch to realize that despite her protests to Salazar, she had more than enough time to catch the shuttle for a quick check in down at the wind tunnel. But that would be after she had changed out of her cycling clothes into something slightly more presentable for teaching.

Lowenberg Residence
Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece
Friday, May 1, 1998
10:17 am

Caroline winced at the quiet click of the door latch as she entered the darkened bedroom. But the long figure sprawled under the covers remained still, so she settled on the cushions of the narrow sofa by the entrance to wait and watch.

"Is it really her, Fox?" Part of her was reluctant to wake the sleeping man.

The question from long ago cast her mind back to a time when their positions had been reversed, she the one tucked under the covers, he the one standing in the light at the foot of the bed. But this time, there was no doubt. The woman who called herself Sandra Ann Miller was definitely her long-lost child, the one taken to silence her ages-dead husband. The thought of all their broken family had endured since then had her padding to the bed, bending over to caress the soft brown hair of the man motionless on it.

The white-haired woman jumped back when a hand shot out from under the pillow to clutch her wrist. "Fox, it's all right. It's just your mother. Sleep, please."

A slight loosening of the grip, then a soft plea. "Mom? Are you there?"

She felt something long hidden within her collapse to microscopic fragments. "Of course I am, dear." Without freeing herself, she settled as close to him as she dared, then resumed stroking his hair.

Blinking, Mulder reached for the bedside lamp. "Mom?" He released her long enough to slide back against the pillows before extending his arms to her. "How long have I been sleeping?"

Caroline moved into his embrace gladly, rubbing his back. "Not long enough." She smiled against his shoulder when she felt one hand travel up her spine to touch the chin pressed against her neck. "Since early yesterday afternoon." She slid free, then held the prickly cheek herself. "You have your father's beard, you know."

Mulder frowned. "What? Dad couldn't grow one either?"

She reached over his head to raise the blinds, setting them both blinking. "Absolutely not at all. After he left the State Department, he tried." They both blanched at the lie. "But it was always patchy. Did you try growing one at Oxford?" She bit her lip, afraid the question would remind them both of the distance between them.

But her son simply chuckled as he shook his head. "Last year when we were undercover as homeless, I had to." He broke into a full lop-sided grin. "I thought Director Skinner was going to hold me down and shave it off himself, once."

Caroline busied herself with casting the room into full light. "Oh." When she heard no creaking of the mattress springs behind her, she checked over her shoulder.

The bare-chested agent was still rigidly upright. He had pressed the covers tightly against his waist while regarding her with a slight flush above pinched lips.

She smiled as she turned away from him. "Fox, I changed your diapers. You have nothing I'd see that I wasn't involved in making. So, go."

Her son's fidget set the cotton rustling. "Mo-om."

Caroline moved to stand by the door. "All right, dear, I'll leave."

Mulder was across the room and had his hand on the bathroom wall when he turned back to her. "How's Scully?"

Caroline sighed. "She was up and around an hour or so ago. She said she wanted to try swimming, but Max needed to change the filters first. I expect you'll find her out by the pool helping." She rubbed the edge of the stained door. "You should both rest before you go back to the States, especially Dana."

His state of relative undress apparently forgotten, Mulder crossed the room to grasp her elbow. "Why? What's wrong with Scully, Mom?"

Gazing up into darkening hazel eyes, Caroline shook her head. "Nothing, just fatigue." She closed the door again. "Fox, when we would return from undercover missions in Germany, we would do exactly what you and Dana are doing right now, sleep for a week, if possible. After what both of you have been through and what lies ahead, you need to take the time now, while you can. Don't overextend yourselves, the way Dana did while you were with us."

Mulder straightened. "Okay. It's *what* time?"

Caroline swept the door aside to check the hall clock. "Almost ten thirty."

Mulder chewed his lower lip as he thought. "Then it's, um, after midnight in San Diego. When it's morning there, I'll call Nichols."

She closed the door again. "This is one of the agents who used to work with you?"

"Yeah. He's an ASAC now. He can put a couple of agents out to follow Sam." He scratched his chin. "That should keep anything from happening to her while we're here." He moved back to the window closest to the pool, watching his partner drop her terry cloth robe onto a glass-topped table. He closed his eyes, rather than stare at the patch of white gauze on the short waist the black one-piece revealed. "She's too thin, Mom." He looked around for his white-haired stepfather, who was settling into one of the lounge chairs under an umbrella. "Will Max stay with her?"

Sighing at the clenched fist she saw under a crooked elbow, Caroline rested one hand on her son's back. "Of course. Why do you think the pool filters needed changing in the first place?" She smiled gently when a long limb swept over her shoulders.

Mulder rubbed his Mother's arm. "Okay. I'll be out in a few minutes."

Walking side by side to the door, Caroline found she could not refrain from throwing back a tease. "When I said I was in on the making of everything I might see, that didn't mean I was a silkworm, you know." She looked up, her eyes twinkling.

Mulder dropped his arm, calling back as he crossed the room, "Mo-om!"

Two clicks terminated the conversation.

Fluid Dynamics Lab
Scripps Institute of Oceanography
La Jolla, California
Wednesday, April 29, 1998
8:51 am

Hearing the noise from down the hall, Sandra frowned. Unless Anwar had managed to take down the hot films, then set up the particle generators and cameras, there wouldn't be any flow experiments today. Back in graduate school, when she and Tom had used cigarettes to produce particles, she had hated the stench. So had Tom, but her hate had been almost visceral. Now, charcoal was the source material of choice, even though it cost more to buy the uniform-burn pellets, and the particles were slightly larger. Besides, the smell always made her hungry.

Stepping into the control room, Sandra very nearly collided with the open door of the breaker box. She blinked in surprise at the dropped lever of the 30 amp breaker, switched it to on, then to off again. The vibrations in the control room dropped in pitch, then she heard the slow rumble of the blower cylinder rotating to a halt. One glance into the high bay of the wind tunnel set her gasping. The test chamber door was flapping on its hinges, the LDA dangled crazily off its leveling table, and there were cables flung up against the window.

"Help!"

Sandra opened the inner door of the control room. "Who's there?" She raised her voice to be heard over the dying whines.

"Help me! I'm in the tunnel!"

She ran to the test chamber to latch the square access door open. "Tom, is that you?"

That thinning blond hair was twisted into knots and swirls, and his pale blue eyes were dilated. "Help me!" He flung himself at the opening, knocking her backwards onto the concrete. He slithered through the door to collapse, shuddering, beside her, two lean shapes twisted among the wreckage. "I was trapped!"

She rolled him onto his back, then pressed his reddened cheeks between her palms. "Tom? Tell me what happened to you."

"Sandie?" He grabbed her shoulders. "Sandie, talk to me! Don't whisper!" He struggled to sit up.

She kicked power cables out of the way, then helped him to his feet and back into the control room. Kneeling before him, she held his face again. "Can you hear me now?"

He shrugged. "Who turned the blower on?" He was shouting without thinking. "I was inside and someone..." He fell silent as she dug into the blue recycling bin for a blank sheet of paper.

"The breaker was set to off when I arrived," she scribbled.

"I did that!"

"You've been deafened," she added below the first line.

"From the noise." It was his first comment in a normal tone of voice.

She pulled out a second sheet. "I'm calling maintenance," she wrote. After a moment's hesitation, she added, "and Judy."

Tom shook his head vehemently. "No! She's at that conference in L.A. This may be temporary. We don't know!" He was back to shouting again.

"I hope so." Sandra reached for the phone. The short call finished, she rose.

Tom grabbed her arm. "Where are you going?"

Sandra patted his shoulder, hoping to banish the fear she saw in his eyes. "Just to alert your secretary. I'll have to be here for this. Both our classes will have to be postponed until this gets worked out," she scrawled.

He nodded reluctantly, then watched her go.

Her hand on Tom's shoulder as he hunched forward to rub his ears, Sandra waited in the near-darkness for the department's head janitor to reset the main breaker for the wind tunnel. "Thanks for stopping by on such short notice, Andy."

"No problem, Doctor Miller." His response was offered softly. "It was on my way in from my apartment, you know." He stuck his tongue out slightly as he checked the power cables coming into the box. "Well, I can't find any connection problems." The man in grey overalls slammed the flat metal door shut. "Are you sure this is the only power panel for the blower?"

Sandra nodded. "You remember when Tom and I designed this facility, don't you? You even made helpful suggestions over the blueprints, as I recall."

He flipped the main breaker, then waited for their eyes to adjust to the light. "Yes, Ma'am." He shrugged. "I had the overnight shift at the shelter, so I guess I forgot." He studied his feet sheepishly.

"That's all right." She tried smiling gently at him. "We all forget things from time to time."

He smiled back. "I'll log it." He waved at the window. "Looks like you guys have a mess in there."

"Yes, we do. And, thanks." After they were alone, Sandra turned to her colleague, who was rubbing his eyes with both hands. "Can you hear anything?" At his non-response, she tapped his shoulder.

He grunted. "They hurt." Half his face twisted into an apologetic smile. "Sorry for shouting at you."

"I think it's time we ran you to the hospital," she wrote.

With a sigh, he rose. "Lay on, MacDuff."

University Hospital
San Diego, California
Wednesday, April 29, 1998
10:51 am

"Miss Miller?"

Sandra rose. "Yes?"

The physician waved her into the examining room, where an anxious Tom waited.

After she was seated, Doctor Adkins bent over her. "There's no real damage to the eardrums. Not surprisingly, Doctor Wilton is dehydrated and he'll have some discomfort from the bruises on his back. I've given him a vitamin injection to speed his recovery."

Wilton looked from one to the other in confusion, so Sandra scribbled the diagnosis out for him as the doctor waited to finish his recommendations.

"I suggest your friend rest and give it a day or two. If he doesn't begin to get his hearing back, then contact me." Adkins handed two bottles to her. "Here's the eye medication he's been asking for. It's no stronger than what he would get off the shelf. He can take some Ibuprofen for the contusions."

Sandra nodded, wrote out what the internist had recommended, then took her colleague by the arm.

Wilton Residence
53 Via Don Benito, La Jolla
San Diego, California
Wednesday, April 29, 1998
11:43 am

Sandra slipped the cab driver an extra twenty, then, with her hand on Tom's back, guided him up the walkway. She checked behind her to reassure herself the Mexican had understood that he needed to remain.

Once at the house, Wilton unlocked his front door. "You've done more than you need to do, Sandie. You don't need to stay."

She hurried to his study, where she knew she could find loose sheets of paper. Once seated at his desk, she wrote out, "What's the conference hotel's number again?" She looked back over her shoulder, expecting to have to carry the note to him.

But he had been standing behind her, watching her. "No. She's giving her paper in the 'Universality of Myth' session. She's worked for months on it, and this can wait."

Sandra narrowed her hazel eyes at his reluctance, before she wrote, "I thought it was in the morning." She underlined 'morning' three times. "We can have her paged at the end of the session." Her jaw set as she scrawled out, "If it were my husband, I'd want to know, paper or no." A cold shadow, a distant, hastily cut-off memory, hovered between them.

He crossed his arms. "No. I'll be fine here. Judy would..." He shook his head. "Judy will be back tonight."

She crumpled up the top sheet to toss it to the floor. "You're deaf." She added three exclamation marks. "You won't be able to hear the phone, or the door."

He locked his fingers under her arm. "I'll be fine. I can grade papers until she returns."

Standing, she shook her head.

Wilton pointed at the door. "Go, Sandie, please. This has taken up enough of your day already."

She frowned, but headed for the front entrance and the waiting cab.

"Sandie?"

She stopped in the doorway and turned. Her head was down, her long hair obscuring her face.

He had been behind her. "Thanks for taking care of me."

Silently, she hugged him, then stepped away. She wanted to check the wind tunnel out again herself, now that Tom was safe. Besides, she knew Judy Wilton's departmental secretary, so she would be informed, regardless of Tom's inexplicable reluctance.

Lowenberg Residence
Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece
Saturday, May 2, 1998
3:23 pm

"No." The light, aimed now at Scully's left eye, clicked on again. "No." She shook her head. "This really wasn't necessary, Doctor."

The heavy-set physician smiled. "Just doing a favor for an old friend." His eyes flicked momentarily towards Max. "Now, lean forward." He manipulated the back of her skull. "Without an MRI, I can't see if there's been further damage, Dana."

"We can head to Athens this afternoon, if you think that would be wise." Mulder's tenor was at its roughest.

"No." The response from both doctor and patient was simultaneous.

Doctor Philipatos shook his head. "Until and unless there are further symptoms, dizziness, nausea, or disorientation, rest is all that's needed. Once you return to the mainland, I suggest you have one before you spend a day on a plane reaching the States, just to check your status."

Mulder snorted.

The grey-haired physician took Scully firmly by the arm. "But I do mean for you to rest. Seriously." He gripped her chin to check her eyes again. "If I understand everything your partner told me, you've been in the air three times since the head injury, through a plane crash, and a high-speed elevator ride that induced unconsciousness in the pair of you, is that correct?"

Scully glared up at her partner. "Mulder, you didn't!"

He patted her shoulder. "You'll be surprised to learn that sometimes those lectures of yours sink in, Scully, especially the ones about secondary re-injury after a head trauma." He bent over her. "My personal physician was particularly explicit about *those* details."

Max and Caroline exchanged a smile.

Philipatos touched Scully's wrist to claim her attention. "No more trips to Africa, no more adventures for a few weeks. You, as a doctor, know how long these things take to heal, Dana, I don't have to tell you."

She sighed. "I know. I'd just been through so much with no real problems I had hoped I'd just assumed the worst."

The grey-haired physician reached into the black bag by his feet. "Of course. While I'm here, I'd like to take a look at those stitches. You should be past ready to have them out by now."

Max took Mulder firmly by the arm. "I think they can take it from here, don't you?"

After a moment's resistance, the agent left with his stepfather.

Once they were in the living room, Max stopped his stepson by grasping his back momentarily. "If you two do decide to leave, there are arrangements which can be made, even at this late hour." His hazel eyes focused on the bedroom door down the hall. "She's a pistol, I have to give her that. I'm amazed you two didn't kill each other in the first years of your partnership, Mulder."

The dark-haired agent chuckled. "Who's to say we almost didn't?" He took a step toward the hall, then turned back. "If Philipatos thinks she's healed, she'll want to head home."

A nod. "If that's what she says, I'll start making some calls. We're very close to one of the cruise ports." He grasped his step-son's shoulder. "I may be an over-cautious old man, and I know you two are perfectly aware of your own limitations - "

"No, that's okay." Mulder edged closer to him. "You *really* think she needs to rest, still?"

Max's hazel eyes grew dark. "I think you both need to take more time."

The agent closed his own briefly. "I know. This is more than just trying to push me to go to San Diego. Whatever started while we were apart, it, it isn't over yet, despite our taking the time on the mainland." He dropped his gaze to his toes. "I just...” He sighed. “I just don't want to put you and Mom out, Max."

The hand slid around his torso for a quick hug, then fell away. "That was never the issue, Mulder." The white-haired man checked the physician's face as he emerged. "I don't think we'll be needing to worry about hustling you two out of here tonight. But, we'll find out now."

Sandra Ann Miller Residence
142 Curie Avenue, University City
San Diego, California
Wednesday, April 29, 1998
5:27 pm

Salazar squeezed his bulk onto the window sill. The woman was past due, he could tell from the lengthening shadows. In his younger days, he would have traced out an impatient dance on the tiles, but now, he just planted himself where he could stare down the road in the direction she came from every night. Cocking his ears, he thought he caught the clicking of her bike chain. She was coming up the street, her head down, her legs pumping.

Once at the house, Sandra, her Specialized now swinging as the top tube balanced on her shoulder, smiled at the round head behind the glass. She blew the cat a quick little kiss, then unlocked the front door. "You'll never believe what happened to me today, Alonso."

His tail aimed high and perfectly straight, Salazar led the woman into the kitchen, where he stared pointedly at his empty dish.

Sandra smiled as she scooped Fancy Feast onto a clean plate. "Tom was trapped inside the wind tunnel, Salazar. Can you believe that?"

The cat simply blinked at her as he thumped his tail on his place mat. He knew, since this is the way things always were, that when he had finished his meal, she would be waiting for him on the sofa. That was the way life had always been, the way it always should be. He licked the last crumb off the plate, cleaned his whiskers, then sauntered into the living room. Yes, just as things ought to be, there she was. He hopped onto the cushions, then settled in her lap, purring and blinking as she scratched his head and talked.

"I didn't have to teach at all today. Tom told me that someone had forced an entry into the blower chamber, and I had two of the graduate students help me replace the filters and the screens. Who would have done this, do you know?" She bent around to look him in the eye. "After all, you are an Inquisitor, you old lump."

At the buzz of the phone, Salazar found himself deposited lovingly on the cushions. He wrapped his tail around his paws to settle in for a nap, with his sensitive ears cocked to hear the words from the phone.

"Miller residence."

"Sandie, do you have any idea what's happened?"

Sandra frowned. "Judy? What's wrong?"

"He's dead!"

"Dead? I'll be right there."

Northern Division
San Diego Police Department
San Diego, California
Wednesday, April 29, 1998
6:49 pm

Detective Jerry Donato shoved the folder on the still-open Richardson homicide out of his vision. He rubbed the back of his neck idly, then smoothed down his curly black hair. The pieces were all there, he could tell, but no matter how many lists he made, he still couldn't see the pattern that brought them altogether. No pattern, no theory. He needed someone to bounce this off of, someone other than the officer he hoped was only a temporary partner.

He looked up when a stocky, balding man burst through double glass doors into the squad room. "J****, another f***ing egghead bites the dust. Better get the troops out in force." The new arrival’s sarcastic snarl lingered on his face as he advanced on Jerry. "You ready to roll, College Boy? This is one of yours."

Donato thought, once again, how much he loathed this man who had been assigned to him. Michael Evans had worked his way up from patrolman on a beat to Senior Detective after twenty years on the force. Donato, on the other hand, had been promoted to the position a mere twenty-two months after having graduated from San Diego State's Criminal Justice Administration program. It hadn't been exactly the career in Law he had intended, but, given his family's limited means, a Juris Doctor was out of the question. The work had been reasonably interesting, until now, that was.

After draining the last of his coffee from a green and white paper cup, Donato tossed it in the trash, then headed for the garage without reply. Once they had rolled into traffic, he found he could summon no enthusiasm, but felt he had to ask. "So, which egghead is this?"

Evans snorted. "Some f***ing per-fesser at the University. Found dead in his f***ing perfect egghead house by his f***ing perfect egghead per-fesser wife. Who cares? Just that the pencil-heads'll be all over this one like flies. Let a workingman bite the dust, and we're lucky to see it in print. So, brush up your perfect English and polish those pearly whites, College Boy. Looks like you'll get to add another feather to your perfect f***ing white hat."

Donato endured another of what he knew Evans considered playful punches on the arm. It was supposed to make all the insults into a joke. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he stared out the window of the Ford as he sighed. It was going to be a long night.

Lowenberg Residence
Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece
Saturday, May 2, 1998
3:46 pm

As Scully stood, twisting her T-shirt into a knot, Caroline rested a hand on her shoulder. "Let me steady you, Dana." The three were silent through the snips of surgical scissors, the physician deftly flicking the sutures free.

After applying more gauze and tape, the doctor sighed. "Keep it covered for a few more days, a week at most, just until your clothes stop irritating it. You’ve already taken care of your head, I can see."

Scully smoothed the cotton back down. "Yes, this morning." She extended her hand. "Thank you."

Caroline pointed towards the closed door. "Well, we'd better step out, or Fox will be in after us."

A quick wave, then Philipatos was speaking with Max, Mulder hovering with questions at his side.

Caroline tugged Scully back into the bedroom.

The auburn-haired pathologist glanced at her feet before meeting the white-haired woman's gaze. "Thank you. I didn't mean to put you out like this, Caroline."

The older woman gripped her wrist. "Dana, a word of advice."

Scully opened her mouth, then closed it at the stern expression she saw on the lined face.

Caroline freed her guest to close the door. "Stop this."

One auburn brow arched. "Stop?"

Caroline advanced on her. "I appreciate everything you've done to help find my daughter, more than I can express. I am also deeply grateful for all you have done for Fox." She glared fiercely at the younger woman. "But don't assume you're something you aren't, or you'll destroy everything you've worked so hard to build up." She gripped the top of the chair Scully had so recently occupied. "I speak with the voice of experience."

The agent pressed her back against the wall. "What do you mean? I've never assumed..." Her eyes widening, she shook her head. "Caroline, there's nothing between - "

The older woman rolled her eyes. "No, Dana, that's the *last* thing I mean. I mean, stop assuming you're invincible. You aren't. You need to learn to open up to other people, just as you encourage them to depend on you." Caroline sank into the chair. "My life would have been far different if I had learned that lesson forty years ago."

Scully blinked rapidly, then rotated her stiffening shoulders. "Oh. How bad was it for Mulder while I was in the Courthouse?"

A hard glare. "There you go again, worrying about him, rather than yourself. What did being in that explosion do to *you*, Dana?"

Considering the question, she sank to the floor. "I didn't have time to think, Caroline. My life, Jarred's life, *all* our lives were in danger." The pathologist clenched her fists. "I did what I had to. That's all." She looked over at the white-haired woman. "I don't know what you want me to say. I'm not the type who handles everything with tears and emotional outbursts."

Caroline leaned forward. "I never was either. But that's what I became because I wouldn't stand up for myself. Don't you make the same mistake, Dana."

Scully tucked her hair behind her ear. "I have every confidence that when the time is right, Mulder and I will talk, just as we have in the past." She shrugged. "As far as my family goes, well, that will be harder." She sighed. "Much harder. I - "

Both turned as the door swung open.

Mulder looked from the woman on the chair to the one in the corner, his gaze finally settling on his Mother. "Mom? You okay?"

Caroline nodded. "Of course, Fox. Dana and I were just talking." She tipped her chin up.

Waiting for softening words, Mulder cocked his head, then, when none emerged, closed the door. "Oh?"

Scully pushed herself to her feet. "Caroline was worried about me." After a glance at the white-haired woman, she stepped towards her partner. "She wanted to offer me some advice." Her green-blue eyes all but screamed, 'Later, later.'

But he plunged forward, the hazel hard and grey as flint. "She thinks you should stop trying to kill yourself."

The white-haired woman found her feet as well. "And she thinks her son and her son's partner have some talking to do on their own. Whenever you two feel like lunch, Phillipa will have it waiting." The door clicked behind her.

Mulder rounded on Scully, using his height and their closeness to claim her full attention. "Don't shut down on me, Scully. I thought we were stronger than that." He gripped her arms. "I thought there was more between us than that. You owe me, you owe *yourself* more than an 'I'm fine' at every turn."

She glared back fiercely. "What do you want me to say? I'm sorry, partner, I can't keep up with you, your legs are too long; you're too strong; you're too fast; I don't think like you do?" She pulled herself free. "There. I've said it. Satisfied now?"

He slid between her and the wall, stopping her from turning away with a grip of her right wrist. "No. That isn't you. That's not what I want you to say. That's not what you *need* to say. Dana Scully isn't a quitter and she's a miserable liar. Don't you think I know that by now?"

She blinked at him. "Then what do you want from me?"

He grasped her left arm as well. "All I've ever wanted from you. The truth." He rubbed her elbows gently. "Tell me the truth."

Her jaw set. "You won't like it."

Taking a deep breath, he released her to begin prowling the room. After completing several circuits in an uneasy silence, he stopped a few feet in front of her to comment in a soft voice, "The truth is never easy."

She studied his face for a moment. "We were over all this in Athens. There's no need to go through it again."

He set his hands on his hips to keep from fidgeting. "If we were over all this, we wouldn't be where we are right now. Scully, I can't relate to what your family went through, having to move from state to state every year or two. I know it helped make you self-sufficient and reserved. In a way, I envy you, being able to leave a set of problems behind you when you moved."

Taking the opening he appeared to be offering, she took a step towards him. "I can't tell you how happy I am for you, now that you've found Samantha, that you know she's alive and well. You, of all people, deserve a little joy in your life, Mulder."

He held out his hand, his face broadcasting his relief when she reached out to take it. "And I can't tell you how grateful I am for all your help in this, in putting the past behind me." He slid his arm up to grasp her elbow. "I know that moving as often as you did growing up, making all those sacrifices like you did, shaped you to be self-contained and independent. I *do* envy you in that." His gaze dropped to the floor guiltily.

She shifted forward until she was almost under his nose. "Mulder. This is a chance to make a new life for yourself."

He raised his eyes to meet hers. "That's what you did every two years, wasn't it? You got to leave your problems behind, to make a fresh start. No one knew who you were, no one knew what your past had been, so you were free to remake yourself into whatever you wanted."

She shook her head. "It wasn't that simple." Turning away from him, she crossed her arms as she leaned against the window frame. "It was like there were these identical island cultures wherever we went. It didn't matter if it was Maine or South Carolina, the Navy stayed the same. We were still called on to make endless compromises, endless sacrifices, for the good of our country."

"Oh," he commented from behind her. "That's the problem, isn't it?"

She pressed her back against the wall. "The problem?"

His eyes glowing down at her, he nodded. "You think if you keep making sacrifices, keep toiling to hide who you are away, then you'll be rewarded in the end."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but said nothing.

He bent over her. "Scully, this isn't the Navy. I'm not your father, or your brothers, or your husband. I don't want you to hide who you are, to subsume your needs and wants into my mission. I'm your partner, and, I should hope, your friend." He grasped her elbow. "I can't tell you how much I enjoy watching when you charge off to prove me wrong, when you use those wits of yours to attack a problem. I'm not threatened or diminished by it; it invigorates me. It improves what we do together. Our work. Yours and mine."

She strode to the center of the room. "But, Mulder, you're a man. How can you not feel uncomfortable when a woman challenges everything you believe in?"

He shook his head. "I'm not like that. You're not like that. That's not who we are." He crossed the space between them. "I wish you could stop feeling you have to do that. Stop hiding when you're hurting. I can see you fold in on yourself when you do." He brushed her back with his fingertips. "You told me, last year, in Fordyce, that you want me to be as whole as my past would let me be. I want the same thing for you, Scully."

She turned to look up into sparkling green eyes. "Then here it is, Mulder." She crossed her arms. "I'm tired. My head hurts and my back aches and I'd like to sleep for a week. It's been forever since the explosion at the Courthouse, though. I shouldn't feel this tired."

A shudder ran through him, but he nodded calmly. "After what you've been through, you ought to feel like that. There's nothing to be ashamed of in being human. Go on."

As she crossed to take a seat, she sighed. "Maybe it’s the fatigue, I don’t know, but I can't formulate a plan for our next course of action." She dropped her head onto the back of the chair. "That scares me. With all the dragons waiting for us, I don't know how to proceed. We need to have plans worked out, ringed around with options, given that the Old Smoker is alive and scheming." She straightened. "Do we go directly to San Diego so you can see your sister? Do we try to work out what's happening with the Consortium back in the States? Do we move the D'Amato papers, the copies of the X-Files, and all the evidence we've built up to a new, more secret location?" She shook her head. "I feel like, like, a steel ball, poised on the crest of a volcano. Push myself one way, and it's all downhill to disaster." She looked up at her partner, who was now standing directly in front of her. "Is this making any sense at all?"

Settling on the black stones at her feet, he gazed up at her. "Not yet. But it will." He reached for her wrist. "You, more than anyone I've known, hate being out of control of your own life." He smiled gently at her snort of agreement. "But maybe that's what you need to do, just for a little while. Let someone else watch over you. Then we'll make plans, you and I." He rubbed her wrist with his thumb. "Together." He released her arm. "All right?"

She sighed. "So, you take the burden on? Along with all those others?"

He laughed softly, once. "Try me. If you get too heavy, I'll throw you off, like a recalcitrant miner's mule would." He tapped her under the chin, then dropped his hand away. "Who couldn't understand why that yellow ore weighed so much." Turning his back to her, he coughed once.

Scully grasped his shoulder. "Then for my first ride, I think I'd like some of that lunch, partner."

Wilton Residence
53 Via Don Benito, La Jolla
San Diego, California
Wednesday, April 29, 1998
7:23 pm

Jerry pointed to the stone ranch. "That's it."

Evans snorted. "I should'a f***ing guessed. One of those retro fifties jobs you brains prefer."

Almost before the car had rolled to a stop, Donato was out the door.

Evans turned off the engine. "Hey, Bill Gates, wait up. The corporate takeover won't start without you."

Donato paused, resting his hip against the front fender through the inevitable click, snick, click, of his partner's lighter. "I guess we'll do this as usual. You see what the uniforms have, and I'll interview the family." He felt no desire to look over at his partner.

Evans sent out curls of grey smoke with his snort. "Yeah, College Boy, I'll do the real police work, you make nice with the grievin' widow." After a few quick puffs, Evans dropped the cigarette on the concrete. "See, I'm not even gonna contaminate the crime scene."

Jerry took two steps forward, then froze in his tracks. Standing with her back to him was a woman, her tall frame looking undernourished, which he passed over without notice. To see angles and bones on a female body was utterly unremarkable, marking her as just another actress making her way through to Los Angeles, whether to find fame or ruin was not his concern. But, what gave him pause were the long chestnut curls flowing down her back. Maria would, on rare occasions, go out on stake-outs with her hair down, and he would admire it from the safety of the driver's seat as she slept.

A slap burned his shoulder. "J****, where did you go just now?" Evans' double chin and grey five-o-clock shadow broke into his reminisce.

With a sigh, Donato dug for his badge. "Nowhere." He stepped up behind the woman, then, after introducing himself, began the investigation quietly. "I was looking for Mrs. Wilton."

The woman turned to extend her hand. "Professor Sandra Ann Miller, PhD. I'm a colleague of the deceased and a friend of the family. Let me show you to Judy."

Donato followed her inside. Even the way this woman moved, gawky yet self-assured, reminded him of Maria. She stopped in front of a petite blonde. He watched the waves cascade around her shoulders as she bent to cover the hands of the seated woman.

As he listened, her gentle alto, with its hypnotic timbre, soothed the woman in front of her. He mentally shook himself into awareness just as she offered her concluding statement. "This is one of the detectives sent here to investigate what happened to Tom."

Donato began to open his notebook, but, one careful glance at the stunned woman's face told him not to bother. "Ma'am, there are some questions I'd like to ask, but if you need a few moments, I have the time."

Judy Wilton shook her head. "No, I want you to find who did this to Tom." She canted her eyes towards the brunette. "Sandra called me about the accident - "

"Accident?" Donato looked over.

The tall woman nodded. "Yes, Tom and I were running a series of experiments in our wind tunnel. He had gone in before classes to work on the set-up. I went up before my classes to check in with him, to find he had been trapped in the wind chamber itself. Someone had turned it on."

Judy shook her head. "The breaker had been thrown, I thought you said."

After taking a seat on the cushions to Judy's right, Sandra covered the blonde's hand, waiting for the next barrage of questions.

Settling into the far end of the sectional sofa, Donato frowned. "That doesn't add up. Was the circuit faulty?"

Sandra pulled a green rubber band from her pocket to catch her hair up before she launched into an abbreviated account of the day's events. Her hazel eyes roamed freely between the gaze from Donato's brown ones, curious and polite, to Judy's blue ones, still somewhat glazed and lost. "With Tom's death, perhaps you want to come check the facility for fingerprints. I can put together a list of anyone who ought to have been in or out of the place over the past few days."

Donato offered the brunette a careful, professional smile. "That would be a help, Ma'am." Another clap on his shoulder told him his partner had returned, so he sighed, then turned away from the two women.

With his head, Evans gestured towards the study. "You want to check out the crime scene, College Boy?"

Sandra and Judy exchanged a glance, but said nothing as Donato closed his eyes momentarily before he rose to follow the older man.

Halfway down the hall, Evans whirled. "I saw you moonin' back there. We got ourselves a f***in' murder on our hands, and I need a partner with a clear head!"

Donato leaned against the wall. He really, really hated working with this man. "Mike, I don't know what you think you saw, or even if the uniforms asked, but there was an attack on the deceased at the University this morning."

Evans flicked his grey eyes back in the direction of the living room. "Oh, who told you this? The blonde, or the brunette?" The detectives weren't far enough down the hall that his view of the women was blocked, so Evans took a moment to study them. Sandra had wrapped an arm around Judy's shoulders as they sat quietly on the sofa. "Lookers, for eggheads, both of 'em."

Jerry Donato sighed. "The brunette is Sandra Miller, a colleague and a professor at the University. She knows what happened there today. I'd like to take her back there to go over the events of the morning."

Evans slapped him lightly on the stomach. "Yeah, College Boy, I'd like to take her somewhere too. Let me show you what the uniforms found." He led Donato into the study.

Tom Wilton was slumped over his desk, his face on the keyboard, both arms hanging down limply. Had it not been for the wide circle of red staining the white carpet under his seat, he would have appeared to be asleep.

Donato cocked his head. "Mike, this makes no sense. He was shot in the back, but he hasn't moved. Usually, someone who's been - "

Evans grunted. "Nutin' like a little mystery to get the old juices goin', is there?" He pointed to the top of Wilton's skull. "I'm thinkin' knocked out. Or, could it be that you eggheads are so absorbed in your work that you don't hear it when someone knocks on your own back door?"

Relieved the older detective had cleaned up his language in front of the family and the uniforms, Donato shot his partner a questioning eyebrow. "No mystery there. He'd been temporarily deafened by an accident at the Institute earlier today. There could have been a party in the living room and he would have heard nothing." He bent over the victim. "It looks like there was a blow to the head, probably before he was dead. But, I'm still confused. Why didn't he attempt to turn around? A blow to the head and a shot in the back aren't a guarantee of death. He could easily have survived this one, too."

Evans stepped up beside him. "Why not just take the clean shot to his head? If the guy doesn't turn around, there's no confrontation, no struggle."

One of the uniformed officers approached them. "There's something you need to see over here."

Evans held out his arm, waiting for Donato to move ahead of him.

Lowenberg Residence
Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece
Sunday, May 3, 1998
6:47 pm

Max heard the soft click as Mulder placed the receiver in the phone. He had been studying the agent from his spot across the living room. "All arranged?"

The younger man rested his elbows on his knees. "Yeah."

Setting his reading glasses on the open pages of his Rilke, Max stood to cross the room to his stepson's side. "You've made the right choice, Mulder." He placed his hand carefully on the agent's shoulder. "Scully would want to return with you, but she's not in any physical shape to go, yet."

Mulder rubbed his face with both hands. "I know. She's too thin, too pale, and those grey circles under her eyes scare me. But that's not all of it."

Max eased onto the cushions of the rattan sofa closest to Mulder's chair. "Oh? Is there something else about Samantha that you haven't told me or your Mother yet?"

The dark-haired agent slumped in the chair, locking his foot around his ankle so his limbs appeared to tangle in themselves. "No." He raised his eyes to meet the hazel gaze of his stepfather. "It's not a problem with Sam, it's a problem with me." Mulder began prowling the room. "Sam's made a good life for herself. What right do I have to come shatter all that?"

Max watched him prowl. "Everyone has a right to the truth. You've lived your life by that principle. Why is this different?"

Stopping in front of the older man, Mulder crossed his arms. "Because." He licked his lips, forcing himself to put his fears into words. "Because this is Sam. Because of what she is." He began pacing again. "I need Scully there with me for this." He turned toward the enclosed porch where his partner had retreated to watch the sunset over the Bay.

Max chuckled. "What is Scully in this, Mulder, a magic talisman?"

Mulder twisted to look back at him. "No."

Nodding his understanding, Max kept silent so Isaac's nephew would work through his fears verbally.

Mulder stood over him. "Sam's a scientist, just like Scully. She'll expect a story where everything is laid out, so she can make connections and ask questions until it all makes sense to her.” He began pacing again. “If Scully's there, she can handle proving things so much better than I can."

"Proving what things, Mulder?" Both men turned to the doorway from the porch, where Scully now stood. "Finished," she offered by way of explanation as she slid the door shut behind her. She closed the distance between herself and her partner. "Is there some problem with Sam?"

Grasping her wrist, Mulder guided her to the couch before he began to respond. "Nichols has had two men shadowing her, just to be certain. But, it seems one of the faculty in her department has died under strange circumstances. She's - " He bared his teeth in an incredulous grin. " - investigating. Or trying to, anyway."

Max and Scully exchanged glances of delight.

But it was Caroline who commented from the hall. "Well, Fox, she *is* my daughter and your sister. You weren't the only one in the family who couldn't leave a puzzle alone, you know." She crossed the room to settle under her husband's arm.

Scully lifted her wrist out of her partner's hand. "You know, this might provide a natural opening for you two to meet on neutral ground. It *could* be turned into an official FBI investigation, if you wanted." She stood. "How soon are we heading out?"

Mulder exchanged a frantic glance with his stepfather, who shrugged. Mulder stood and grasped her shoulder. "Uh, Scully, it isn't that simple."

She stared up at him. "What do you mean? Of course it's that simple. You make some calls, we hop on a plane, and in a couple of days, we're in San Diego." She turned to head out of the room.

Mulder only tightened his grip on his partner's shoulder. "Skinner will want to meet with us first thing when we return to the States, Scully."

She tucked her chin. "So? Didn't you just call him?"

Mulder shook his head. "Just hung up. He wants us to stay here."

Scully dropped back onto the cushions. "Who? You? Me?"

Mulder held up his hand. "Me, more or less." He staircased his eyebrows. "He's afraid I'll spout off at the mouth when the press is too ready to believe. He needs time for them to - "

She cocked her head. "Become skeptics again?"

He grinned. "You might say that. Every believer needs a healthy skeptic in his life."

With a nod, she turned to Caroline. "I've been reading about the island ever since I considered it a possibility I might be coming out here, and - "

The older woman broke into a delighted laugh. "You'd like to go sight-seeing? We'd love that. We didn't have nearly enough time to take your mother around, Dana. We'll have to take plenty of snaps for her."

As he slid down his book ribbon, Max admired the ease with which his stepson had deflected his partner's concern. While he suspected Scully was perfectly aware she was being diverted, she was obviously also cognizant when she needed to give him his own space. No wonder they worked so well as a team.

Wilton Residence
53 Via Don Benito, La Jolla
San Diego, California
Wednesday, April 29, 1998
7:23 pm

The detectives bent over the officer. "What?" Donato asked.

The African-American officer pointed to the wall outlet. A grey cable lay on the floor, its bare ends pointed up. The clear plastic connector, with three inches of rectangular grey cable projecting out of it, was still in the wall. "We'll dust for fingerprints, just as soon as we've finished with the rest of the visual examination."

Donato glanced around the room, then pointed to a separate jack. "The phone's still hooked up. This must be a network cable." He traced the grey wire with his eyes to a modem on the desk, then walked over to kneel and check the connections. "This was his link to the outside. Whoever killed this guy wasn't worried about Wilton calling out for help, just that someone might log in to his computer after he died."

Evans fingered the cigarette pack in his pocket. "Egghead crime." He tapped Donato's ankle with the toe of his shoe. "This should take you what, one or two days, tops, right, College Boy?" A command from beside the doorway had both detectives on their feet.

"Ma'am, this is a crime scene. I wouldn't come in here if I were you." One of the uniformed officers was barring Judy Wilton's entrance as Sandra stood behind her, a hand on each shoulder.

"But that's my husband!"

"Judy, it's too late. There's nothing you can do." Sandra made a feeble attempt to comfort her friend. "The officers are taking care of this now."

Donato was grateful for the dark-haired woman's composure, but Judy pushed past them all to rush to the still form at the desk. "Tom!" She tried to lift him out of the chair, but failed, succeeding only in depositing his body on the floor.

Sandra stood by her. "Judy, please, come sit down on the sofa."

Judy ignored her, dropping to the floor to cradle her husband in her arms. "Someone call the paramedics, please."

Sandra glanced at the table top, surprised at the tell-tale glint of light off abandoned slotted screw heads. "Judy, Tom wasn't upgrading his computer, was he?"

Confused, the blonde looked up to the desk. "No. Why are the hard drive bays on the machine empty?" Still holding her husband tightly, she looked the work surface over, mentally scanning the clutter of floppies and cartridges. "None of the back-ups are missing."

Sandra attempted to lift several of the case lids with a pencil she had in her pocket. "The data cabinets are still locked."

Donato knelt by Judy. "Ma'am?"

She blinked up at him.

He rested one hand on her shoulder. "Could you step away to take a closer look at the desk?"

Judy stared down at the body in her arms. "I, I think so." She looked over at the detective. "He's really gone, isn't he?"

Donato nodded somberly. "I'm afraid so, Ma'am."

Sandra knelt by her friend. "Judy, Tom needs you to help us here."

Stunned by her grief and shock, Judy glared at the brunette. "And what do you know about Tom's needs?"

Evans and Donato exchanged a glance, but Sandra only shrugged the emotions away to attempt to hug the blonde. "I'm so sorry, Judy. Tom loved you so much." She looked over as the Medical Examiner stepped in the door. "Judy, it's okay. There's someone else here to look out for Tom." She managed to guide her friend back out of the room.

Evans tapped Donato on the shoulder, so they stepped out of the room while the Medical Examiner went about his work. Once they were alone in the kitchen, the older detective whirled. "You catch all that, College Boy?"

Donato nodded. "But this just leaves us with more questions. Given the position of the body, he must have turned over the hard drive before he shot."

Evans was fingering the cigarette pack. "He knew the killer so well that he didn't even bother to get up, just passed him or her the drive. Then why cut the network cable? Even an old two-finger typist like myself knows that you gotta have software to talk online."

Donato shook his head. "Or, he turned the hard drive over at gunpoint, and after the network cable was cut."

Evans lifted the cellophane-wrapped packet out of his pocket. "I'll let you handle the grievin' widow and friend. I need a smoke."

Donato nodded, relieved to be on his own again, that his partner was continuing to exercise a modicum of restraint.

Donato walked in line behind the medical examiner and his assistants as they took the now-covered corpse out. Once they were in the living room, he was relieved to see that the widow had used the break to compose herself. She was tucked primly into the two-seater by the far wall, leaning toward Sandra, who was standing by her side. The brunette, for her part, was close enough to offer comfort, if needed, but not hovering.

Donato suspected that there was a long history between the three of these people, one that he needed to get clear in his own mind. It would eliminate a suspect, or perhaps, two, given that the deceased seemed to know his attacker.

He perched on the edge of the cushion. "Ma'am, I'm sorry for your loss. There are some questions I need your help with, though. If you think you're up to answering them here, I'd be grateful for the assistance. But, if you need the time, or there are other matters you need to attend to, could we make arrangements to speak later, perhaps?"

Although she continued to hug her torso tightly, Judy's blue eyes were clearer than before. "It isn't fair, you know."

Donato offered her his best professional smile of sympathy. "No, Ma'am, it isn't."

The blonde sighed. "We had both just earned tenure. We were planning on starting a family next year." Her eyes canted towards Sandra.

Donato checked the standing woman, but read nothing except grief and sympathy in her expression. He pulled his notebook from his pocket. "Mrs. Wilton-"

"Doctor." There was an edge to her voice.

He glanced up at her.

She had dropped her feet to the floor. "Doctor Seymour-Wilton."

Donato licked his lips. "Doctor Seymour-Wilton. How did you learn of your husband's death?"

The brunette dropped her hand to the widow's back.

Judy glanced up before she replied. "Sandra had me paged at the conference I was attending. When I returned the call, she told me about the accident at the lab. I checked out of my hotel and drove home immediately. When I arrived, Tom was in the study." She began idly twisting the edge of a sofa cushion. "He didn't have a pulse, and there was all that blood. I guess I should have called for an ambulance, but sometimes, you just know."

Donato looked up at Sandra. "When I'm finished here, I'd like to visit the scene of this accident." He shifted closer to Judy. "Did your husband receive any threatening letters? Were there outstanding debts?"

Judy shook her head.

Donato sighed. "Ma'am, I'm just trying to establish a motive here, so please, don't take this question the wrong way. Do you know if there was anyone else?" He waited for a reaction from either woman, a stiffening, some tension or denial. When there was none, he hesitated before he continued. "A student, perhaps?"

The women exchanged a glance and laughed.

He looked from one to the other. "What? Was there?"

Judy rubbed her cheek with the palm of her left hand. "It would make it simple, wouldn't it?" She crossed her legs, then tucked her fingers under her upper knee. "In case you hadn't noticed, Tom is, *was* a handsome man. I'm sure there was a student or two that had a crush on him. But, no, there was no one else." She freed one hand to wave at the roof. "As for debts, this was my mother's gift to us when we married. She lives, with my stepfather, just up the street." She pointed vaguely toward the window.

Donato cocked his head. "So, you've always lived in San Diego?" He looked to Sandra for confirmation, his eyes narrowing as the chestnut-haired woman shook her head.

Judy sighed. "No. We rented the place out, for extra income. Starting off in academia, you need that. But, when the positions opened up out here, we moved in. So, no, there were no debts. If you would like to check, let me get you our financial records and our accountant's number." She tumbled to her feet. "It's in my study."

Donato tried to smile at Sandra. It had been hard not to think of all the times he had worked cases with Maria, she standing just out of the witness' vision, exactly where the brunette was. Only, instead of a sympathetic presence, Maria had been watching for any clues in body language as he had asked questions. He rubbed his eyes to clear the memories away.

Sandra had cocked her head at him. "Are you feeling well, Detective?"

He coughed once. "Yeah." They fell silent until Judy returned, papers in hand.

"Here." She held the folders out for the black-haired detective to take. "The accountant's address and phone number are on the first page." She resumed her huddle on the cushions, both arms now wrapped around a throw pillow.

Sandra stepped between the two. "Will that be all, Sir?"

Donato nodded. Perhaps this woman was as good at reading body language as his old partner had been. "Yes, for right now. We'll need to see what the forensics and crime scene analysis turn up." He shifted closer to Judy. "Ma'am, do you have someone who will be able to help you with the arrangements? Your mother? Another friend, perhaps?"

Judy shrugged. "Mom's not good with this sort of thing. I'll call Jenna." She found her feet again. "That's my sister who lives up in North County. She can be here in a half an hour." She reached out to hug the chestnut-haired woman. "Sandra, I want you to go find out who killed Tom."

She squeezed both slight shoulders in response, then stepped away.

Donato fell in step beside her. "Let me speak with my partner."

Evans was just crushing his latest cigarette under his heel when they emerged, Sandra heading for her bicycle so the two could converse in private.

Donato took Evans aside. "I'm going to the University now."

Evans checked over his partner's shoulder. "Looks like you'll need the car." He passed over his keys. "I'll ride back with the uniforms. See you back at the station?

Donato simply nodded as he walked away.

Lowenberg Residence
Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece
Sunday, May 3, 1998
7:36 pm

"How is Mrs. Scully?" Mulder waited in the doorway of the study while his partner hung up the phone. Her shoulders sagged visibly as he watched.

"She said she didn't have time to talk. The dog needed to go for a walk."

"What?" He hurried to her side. "I can't believe - "

She shook her head. "Red Boy could, on occasion, have gas problems, but I don't think that's it."

He bent over her. "What else could it be at twelve thirty in the afternoon?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Some charity work, no doubt." She sighed.

Mulder grasped her shoulder. "But, she would have told you had that been the case, right?"

She rested both hands in her lap. "Not necessarily. She knows that sort of thing doesn't really interest me."

"Did she say she had received my letter?" Caroline smiled from the doorway.

Scully nodded. "She had. She said to say thank you."

The expression faded. "Thank you?" The white-haired woman repeated the words, unable to hide her surprise. "Oh." Caroline turned to head down the hall.

Mulder crossed the room to the divan. "Scully, there's something wrong."

"We don't know that." She joined him there, edging close to one sprawled leg. "She may just be being cautious. After all she's seen while she was here, she may understand that it's probably safer for her not to volunteer information over the phone."

Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees. "Un-hunh."

She narrowed her green-blue eyes at him. "You don't sound convinced."

Mulder looked his partner over carefully. Her cheekbones were entirely too prominent in a face that was decidedly haggard, despite all the time she had spent outside. He knew, from having watched her crawl up and down the length of the pool, just how pronounced the knobs of her spine and ribs were. As he lifted her hand off her knee to rub the fingers gently with his thumb, he could feel her skin stretched over the delicate bones. The thickened muscles and tendons he expected were there, but it seemed she had been reduced to the barest essence of what she was. He half expected her to float off the couch, so clasped her palm tightly.

"Mulder?" She was blinking at him.

He forced himself to focus on her gaze, not on the significant gap he saw between her thighs, despite her usual knees-pressed-tightly-together, rigid-backed perch she had assumed. "I just don't think now is the time for her to be too busy, Scully."

She slid her hand away to cross her arms. "I don't know what you mean. Charlie's coming for a visit, and between the baby and John-John, there are preparations to be made. Little John is full of curiosity, and, in case you hadn't noticed, Mom has shelves of breakables. It would be easier if he didn't decide to experiment with her porcelain cardinals to see if they could fly." One cheek quirked at her joke.

"You mean they can't?" He smirked.

"Not the last time I checked." She settled against the back of the sofa, molding herself to its contours. "I'll call back in a couple of days. You can talk with Val and Charlie if you want?"

He held up both hands. "Nope. I'm glad Sam's not married with kids. I'm not ready to be an instant uncle."

She cocked an eyebrow. "But she may have pets. What about a cat, Mulder?"

He shrugged. "That's different, Scully. I can 'adjust' to a cat."

She chuckled. "I hope so."

Patio Terrace, UCSD Faculty Club
University of California at San Diego
Wednesday, April 29, 1998
8:12 pm

Andrea Rosen took a deep breath, then smiled at the man beside her. "This kept getting put off for so long I had hoped to avoid it altogether. I've always hated these things, Nic."

"I know, so have I." Nichols smoothed his mustache, then pulled at the silk of his black bow tie. "Cary didn't want to come to this? I thought you and she were comfortable here?"

Andrea straightened her grey linen jacket. "We are. That's not the problem." She smiled helplessly, the expression resembling a grimace on her thin face. "Cary thinks she's too fat. She hates anything formal like this."

He glanced down at his rumpled tweed suit, which was pulled tight over his stomach and bunched up at the ankles, then over at his former partner's pantsuit. Its long, clean lines accented her slender physique, making him feel like a fuzzy billiard ball at her side. The precision with which the linen had been ironed into crispness reminded him, with a twinge of sadness, that he was no longer in a wife's care. "So, she tells you to take me? I'm flattered, but I'm not in much better shape in the appearances department." His faded blue eyes met her hazel ones.

"The brunette licked of her hand. "Oh, not only that, but I need you to keep a watch on the characters we meet. If the Consortium is as active out here as Walter Skinner thinks, who knows where they are."

The balding man stuck out his arm. "In that case, shall we? This is your bash, after all." As they walked up the stairs, he chuckled. "The Bureau loves to throw these things for members of Congress, just to stay on their good side. Alicia and I were used to having to attend them." His face darkened. "At least, I thought she liked attending them." He pushed the door open to reveal a roomful of people who looked as uncomfortable in formal clothing as he felt.

The first man to greet them towered over them both, his fleshy, somber face studying them as he shook their hands. "W. Kenneth Mitchell." The name emerged in a faded Australian accent. "Good to meet you, Doctor Rosen. You'll be continuing your cosmic background studies?"

She nodded. "Yes, I will."

"Hunh." He moved away.

"That was odd." Nichols watched him go.

She shrugged. "I'm guessing it wasn't his field of specialty. With a lot of academic types, they're not good at socializing, so unless you're involved in their field of research, they're almost shy."

A tall African-American blocked their path. "Hello! Let me introduce myself. I'm Professor Nigel Wilson in the Physics Department." He stuck out his hand. "Welcome to the Scripps Institute of Oceanography." After the agents offered their introductions, he smiled. "Actually, I'm with the University, not the Institute. I'm afraid it'll just be the acting Head and myself here tonight." He pointed to a white-haired couple, a tall man and a tiny woman.

"Oh?" The balding agent frowned.

"One of my colleagues has been murdered. A Tom Wilton. Real up and comer, sad to say."

Andrea studied him carefully. The words were all correct, but the face betrayed something else. Glee? Relief? "That's terrible. Are there any suspects yet?"

Wilson shrugged. "Not that I know of." He looked down at Nichols. "So, what do you do?"

The agents exchanged a glance before he replied. "I'm with the Bureau. I've recently been assigned here from Headquarters in DC."

"A G-man." Wilson began to shuffle. "Oh. Then you two must make pretty good money. 'Scuse me." He moved off quickly.

"Ros, I have to ask," Nichols watched him leave quickly, "are *all* academics this odd?"

Andrea began walking toward the white-haired couple. "Most of them, to be honest. Remember that these are the guys everyone made fun of in school, so they retreated to their books." She stuck out her hand to the man. "Hi, I'm Andrea Rosen."

"John Williams." He shook her arm vigorously. "Before you ask, the composer is named for me, not vice versa." He waited through their chuckles. "This is my beloved wife, Elizabeth." Rosen noticed the woman preening visibly at the compliment.

"And you are?" Elizabeth was almost cooing at Rosen's companion as she asked.

"Phil Nichols, ASAC." He grasped her veined hand gently.

"Oh?" She looked to her husband, who glanced down with a frown, then she retreated behind his arm.

"My wife doesn't know what that means, Sir." Williams patted the slight fingers.

As Nichols launched into a description of his past and present duties, Rosen studied the pair. John seemed stiff and bored, for which she could not help but be sympathetic. But Elizabeth radiated a vitality that seemed forced. Whether it was due to the lateness of the hour, or whether she was a solitary woman like Cary, required to socialize against her will, Andrea couldn't quite make out. But she seemed terribly interested in what her former partner was telling her. When she wasn't making little nonsensical comments in an effort to spur the conversation on, she was hanging on her husband's every twitch or gesture. But, there was something peculiar even about that, something Rosen couldn't quite place.

"Oh!" Elizabeth’s exclamation was particularly forceful, startling Andrea out of her reverie. "In your days in the Drug Division, did you end up investigating many murders?"

Rosen watched her former partner blanch. "No, Ma'am. There were deaths to be investigated, to be certain, but most of those were the result of overdose, not of premeditation. If there were any of those, the culprits usually weren't far away."

She nodded, as if serious for the first time. "Oh. I'm sure your work was dangerous, still."

"Elizabeth, I think that's quite enough for tonight."

Rosen and Nichols exchanged a glance at the severity of his tone. "It's no problem, Sir." The agent was sincere. "I'm not in that line of work anymore. Different, but no less challenging."

John Williams took his wife's arm forcefully. "Well, we don't want to monopolize all your time. You have many people to meet." With that, he steered her away.

Andrea watched them go. "There's definitely something odd about those two. They were only worried about what you did for a living. I was expecting, given their age, we'd have to explain *more* than once that we're just friends."

Nichols' eyes glinted. "Good to hear it, Ros." He waved at the room. "Well, let's go meet more of these odd-balls you'll be calling colleagues."

Fluid Dynamics Lab
Scripps Institute of Oceanography
La Jolla, California
Wednesday, April 29, 1998
8:21 pm

Donato had followed the chestnut-haired professor to the back of the laboratory, where there were several trash bags leaning against a wall.

Sandra passed him the nearest. "We didn't expect this to be any more than a fraternity prank."

He slid the fastener off the end of the green plastic. "So, why save them?"

She offered a tentative smile. "You never know when a window or a filter needs repairing, and it's easier to have spares on hand."

Donato wiggled his fingers into a latex glove before he lifted the metal frame free to study the slits. "This is one straight cut. That's tough to do with steel. Even with wire clippers, there should be some saw-tooth marks here."

Sandra narrowed her hazel eyes. "That eliminates a spur-of-the-moment prank, then. This must have been deliberate."

Donato slid the screen into the plastic storage bag, fastened it shut, then collected another, and reached for a third.

But Sandra had the remaining two in her hands. "You shouldn't carry all this, not with that briefcase. We can take these back inside, or out to your car. Wherever."

As they walked back along the tunnel, Donato’s gaze bounced around the space. "Looks like you have a mess on your hands."

She sighed. "I know. I'll have to assemble most of the graduate students who work here to straighten the place up." She glanced over at Donato. "But, that'll be after you and the rest of the Crime Lab are finished collecting evidence." She waved one bag at the door. "We can exit through there."

"And that's the only way in?"

"Other than through the the control room, yes." She stared up at the high bay ceiling. "If you look up in that corner of the room, you'll see a door in the roof. But it's three stories off the ground, and a straight drop onto this concrete floor. I don't see any reason to use it once the screens had been cut."

"Escape?" Donato looked over as they stepped into the control room.

Sandra stacked her bags on one of the workbenches. "It wouldn't come to that. Once Tom was trapped in the tunnel and the blower was on, the door through here was open. We have enough graduate students and technicians coming and going that no one would think it unusual to see someone leave at that time of morning."

After adding his to the pile, Donato leaned against a scope cart. "But wouldn't it be odd to have the tunnel running unattended?"

She flopped into one of the castered chairs, an act that struck him as unstudied, yet graceful. "Not necessarily. Once an experiment is underway, there's not much to do but watch and wait." She pulled her hair back behind her shoulders with one hand.

The detective's breath caught at the gesture.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her splayed knees. "Detective, are you all right?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask this."

She propped both feet on one of the tables, one ankle hooked over the other. "Let me guess. Were Tom and I having an affair?" She crossed her arms, then stared at the ceiling. "The short of it? No." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "The long of it? Tom and I have known each other since we were graduate students together at Stanford. My adoptive parents were killed in a plane crash right before I had to defend my thesis."

"I'm sorry." Donato was surprised to realize the sympathy was genuine.

Her dark eyebrows, heavier than usual for a woman, set in an uneven cant. "Tom was a good friend, who helped me through the worst of it. We spent so much time together that I'm sure there were rumors, but no, we weren't involved. Tom was handsome, and he was so brilliant. If we worked together and lived together..." She shook her head. "It wouldn't have worked. We would have burned each other up if we had."

Memories of late-night arguments in squad cars ringing in his mind, Donato nodded. "I know what you mean."

She pointed her chin at him. "We went on to post-docs together, through three until we found ourselves here."

Donato slid an armless chair over with his foot. "And Judy?" he asked as he settled down.

She smiled. "Tom met Judy when we were at Purdue. It was a whirlwind thing, and a real surprise. Judy is as heavily into myths and their impact on our culture as we were into turbulence and chaos. Different as night and day, but they were so happy. And we had some great conversations over coffee."

Donato licked his lips. "How did you feel about their marriage? Were you happy?"

Those canted eyebrows again. "Oh, I can't say I didn't have thoughts, or hopes, but with Tom marrying Judy, it all got easier. We could do our work together without a lot of innuendo and whispering."

A tall man in a turban stepped into the control room. "Doctor Miller? You said there was someone who needed to speak with me?" The words flowed in a rhythm of a Pakistani accent.

Sandra climbed to her feet. "Yes. Thanks for coming by at this late hour. This is Detective Donato."

Nodding, Jerry turned from contemplating the professor to her student. "Have a seat, please." He offered what he hoped was a calming smile, since the young man was rubbing his slight chin anxiously.

Sandra rolled a chair over beside her, then waited for him to settle in before asking, "Have you heard about what happened to Doctor Wilton today?"

He shook his head. "No, I hadn't, Doctor Miller. We were all wondering where you two were."

Although the comment was offered in all sincerity, Donato thought he detected a slight stiffening of Sandra's shoulders. He chastised himself for an overactive imagination as she continued smoothly, "There was an accident in the wind tunnel. Doctor Wilton was trapped inside until I found him."

The younger man was on his feet. "No! Is he all right?"

Donato leaned forward, studying the unlined face carefully . "No, he's dead. That's why I'm here, son."

Anwar collapsed onto the seat, shock and grief etched into his delicately chiseled features. He looked to the chestnut-haired woman for confirmation. "This cannot be true, Doctor Miller, can it?"

She nodded. "I'm afraid so, Anwar."

He buried his face in his hands for a few moments, as Sandra rubbed his shoulder gently. When he had composed himself, he looked over at the detective. "Please, Sir, Doctor Wilton was so good to us. What can I do to help you find out why this happened?"

Donato rested a briefcase on the workbench. "I'm collecting fingerprints from everyone who might have been in the tunnel chamber over the past few days. Now, agreeing to be imprinted - "

Both slender hands were fully extended. "You will work by the process of elimination, yes? It is good, then."

Once the marks were transferred, Donato slid a card across the wood. "If you think of anything, please ring me at the cellular phone number. I'll be available to take calls at any time."

After wiping his hands on his jeans, the younger man slid the cardboard in his pocket. "Of course." He grasped Sandra's extended hand. "Doctor Miller, whatever shall we do?"

She sent him a faltering smile. "I'm not certain myself, yet."

Anwar sent one glance back over his shoulder at the detective, then left.

Once they were alone, Donato stepped over to the seated woman, "Doctor Miller, if you need a few minutes, we can continue this tomorrow."

"No. No, I'll be fine. And, please, it's Sandra. After tonight, I can stand a little informality."

He nodded, then turned to the door as the next student entered.

Lowenberg Residence
Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece
Monday, May 4, 1998
1:12 am

Dana Scully awoke with a start. There were noises coming from down the hall, sounds she found sadly familiar. Her partner was weeping in his sleep. She sighed. She had hoped with his quest for his sister almost over, that these torments in the darkness would cease. But, it was apparently not to be, or, not yet. She threw off the covers, then padded to the door, nearly colliding with Caroline as they both stepped into the corridor.

"Sorry." The auburn-haired woman felt slightly naked in her T- shirt and shorts, compared to the older woman in her long nightgown and silk robe.

In the faint light, the two women exchanged wan smiles of sympathy, before Caroline touched her arm. "Poor Fox. He's calling for someone, I just can't make out whom." They fell in step, then the older woman looked over. "You should go back to bed, Dana."

"Scully!"

The agent shook her head. "No. My turn." She grasped the doorknob firmly.

Caroline nodded. "I'll be awake, if you need anything."

Scully closed her eyes momentarily before pushing her way into the darkness. "Mulder?"

Her partner pulled himself awake, sweat trailing down his chest. "Scully?" His eyes glowed as they fixed on her face. "Did I hear Mom?"

"Mm-hum." She sat beside him on the bed, then began rubbing his arm. "But, she's okay." She felt him relax marginally. "We're all okay."

He flung the covers off to begin prowling the room. "Except me." He glanced back as she switched on a beside lamp. "Spooky Mulder." He snorted in what she knew was self-deprecation. "Physician, heal thyself."

Scully folded her hands in her lap. "Well, he did. With a little help."

His back to her, Mulder crossed his arms to stare into the blackness. "Hah, hah, I forgot. Doctor Scully takes that stuff seriously."

She shrugged off the hurt she knew he was attempting to fling away from him, then joined her partner at the window. Kevin Kryder was long behind them, so she refused to rise to a fight neither of them needed or wanted. She rubbed small circles in the dampness on his back instead. "So, what was it about?"

He sagged against her hand. "I don't remember."

"Mulder..."

He glanced down at her. "Exactly. There was a circle of old men, chanting. I couldn't see their faces, couldn't make out their words. I just know that I was being forced to choose. You or Sam. I told them I didn't want to choose. It was some kind of council, there was some kind of judgment. If I didn't choose one, I would lose you both. I told them I wouldn't. They - " He shook his head.

Scully cocked an eyebrow. She refused to tell him that hers was the name he called out at that moment in the dream, since it was tied into the images in his mind and could have meant anything. But, she had to offer him hope, reassurance. The time for truth, for the hard facts, would be in the daylight, not now in the darkness where horror seemed tangible. She encircled his waist tentatively, then heard his sigh of relief and felt his arms close around her shoulders. "Mulder. You don't have to choose. I'm your partner, and your friend. Sam's your sister. You were alone for too long with your grief. Now, so much has changed in the past few months. I'd hope we would all have a place in your life."

His beard stubble caught on her hair as he pressed his cheek down on her head to nod. "So would I." The scenes in the dream still possessing him, he held her tightly. "You won't make me choose, will you?"

"I'm not a chanting old man, now am I?" He snorted in response, but refused to release her as she had expected. "You'll need time to get to know Sam, you realize." Perhaps now she was required to ground him in the reality of his situation.

He stepped back, freeing her. "She won't know who I am. I'll have to convince her that we're related." He gripped her shoulders. "You'll help, won't you?"

She nodded. "I'll do whatever I can, Mulder. I can go through the genetic evidence with her. We can assemble a time line of what she remembers and what we've uncovered." One cheek twitched. "There's so much that will need careful explanation, unless obsessions with little grey men are hard-wired into the Mulder DNA."

Finally hearing her attempt at levity, he grinned. "You think? That would make it so much simpler."

Relieved, she claimed the chair, while he folded himself into a tight ball on the bed. She tucked her tousled curls behind her ear. "There will be memories, snatches of images. I can tell her about mine." She shrugged. "Perhaps hers will be similar."

He had been brooding as he watched her ramble. "But none of this will make it any easier with your family. They'll think I'm trying to run your life."

"I'm not worried about Bill and Charlie." She rose to stand by him. "They're happy in their little world of regulations and discipline. I'm so far removed from any existence they might come to understand we'll always be polite strangers."

He rested his chin on his knees. "I'm sorry, Scully. It shouldn't have to be like that for you."

She was undaunted, but gentle in her reply. "My Mom understands about you and Sam. Who wouldn't?" She brushed back a stubborn tangle of thatch from his forehead. "Ahab would have thought you a good man, if possessed of odd beliefs. His is the only opinion I value, Mulder, not Bill's and Charlie's."

He dropped his feet to the floor. "Scully?"

She rested beside him. "Hum?"

"How do you know that? I mean, did you and he talk - " He shook his head at the question.

Awash in memories, she smiled. "Oh, yes. He was perfectly aware of the sacrifices the Navy life asked of us all. It was why he wanted me to push for the PhD, as well as the MD. He wanted me to have the stability and freedom that academia offered." She rose to stand by the window. "It was something we could never talk about in front of Mom. She only saw stability as coming from belonging to someone else."

Mulder joined her there. "Then you had to be a thankless child and choose a profession that was neither stable nor free."

She shook her head. "I've had stability." She smiled up at him for a moment. "In a way neither of them expected. I've had the freedom to explore things I never would have seen in a comfortable University post."

He was beaming openly at her now.

She touched his wrist, then stepped away from the window. "You're not alone in this, Mulder."

He blinked. "Yeah. Sure."

She walked to the door, then looked back. He hadn't moved. There must have been something more he needed from her. She sighed. "It was my choice to work with you, remember? My choice to keep on working with you." At his nod, she crossed the space to grip his elbow. "I don't blame you for anything that's happened to me or my family. Anything. Do you understand?" She waited for an affirmation. "It's just that now I find the old answers aren't working anymore."

Mulder retreated to the safety of the mattress. "What do you mean, Scully?"

She walked back to adjust the covers around him, then studied her partner, who was hunched over in place. "Oh, not about our work." Reaching for his hand, she smiled when he extended his arm to meet hers. "That's the one thing I *do* have faith in."

He attempted a faltering smile. "Thank you."

She nodded. "We're doing what's right. As for working more closely with Matheson, well, that we'll need to talk about. But pursuing the Truth, using means that are just and fair, is always right." She settled on the edge of the bed. "I meant for me. If I were a man, it would be so much easier." She lifted her hand out of Mulder's to rub her forehead.

"I cannot be a man with wishing." Mulder's words startled her into meeting his gently amused gaze.

Another slight twitch of her cheek. "We would be fellow Knights on a Quest, saving hapless peasants from abusive Lords, and all that." She regarded him carefully. "But how do I find meaning for myself, when the faith and the culture I was raised in tell me that my only fate is to *be* the damsel who is rescued? To settle down with the Prince in his Palace and selflessly produce heirs to the throne?"

Flopping against the head board, he inhaled deeply. "Ooh, Doctor, you go right to the heart of things, don't you?"

She lifted one corner of her mouth. "I thought you liked that about me, Mulder."

He shifted on the mattress until he was staring directly at her. "I wouldn't have you any other way. You *know* that." He rubbed his chin. "So, your mind takes you on a journey through the past, looking for women like yourself to bond with?" He dropped his gaze to her hands, pillowed in her lap.

"Yes." She sighed. "I think so. But all I find are ancient goddesses. That just erects another wall between Mom and me. For her, her faith is paramount." She crossed her arms. "I can analyze all I want, but the domain of critical thought, the tangible, measurable universe of cause and effect, and the domain of faith are two separate ones. In the one, I know if I pursue answers using logic and method, I will find them, or find that I need to frame the question differently." Her eyes slightly dilated, she turned to him. "But in matters of faith, where do I, Dana Scully, stand? How *can* I stand, when there is no place for all that I am?" She pushed her curls behind her ear. "Outside of a convent, Catholicism has no role for sterile, unattached women devoted to their careers. We challenge and we threaten the status quo. So, where do I find transcendence? How do I connect to something greater than my mere earthly existence?" She tucked her legs under herself.

Mulder reached across to grasp her wrist. "I don't know, Scully. Maybe it's the journey that counts, not the destination." They exchanged a glance. "But there is a destination we can reach tomorrow, I mean, later today, if you're so inclined."

She smiled. "Ancient Thira? It'll be warmer. We can save Akrotiri for a day when the weather's a little off."

He nodded. "Ever since Mom discovered a certain pathologist's fascination with all things archaeological, she's been bugging me to go while we're here." He pulled his knees up under his chin. "You feel up to that then?"

Pushing her feet to the slate, she stood. "Before lunch or after?"

Rising as well, Mulder gripped her shoulder. "Before, I should think. It isn't a large site." He bent over her. "That Prince with the Palace wouldn't happen to come equipped with an oversized nose, dark hair, and flashing eyes, now would he?"

Scully tossed her head. "Yuseph Hiram? Not a chance. Let me try to sleep some more." They walked to the door in silence, Mulder's hand slipping to her waist. Once they were outside his room, she looked up. "Good thing you touched base with Skinner yesterday."

A single shake of his head, then he teased as she moved away down the hall, "Playing hooky isn't nearly so much fun when you already have permission, Doctor."

Fluid Dynamics Lab
Scripps Institute of Oceanography
La Jolla, California
Wednesday, April 29, 1998
10:52 pm

Finished with the third and final interview, Donato rubbed the back of his neck. The first had been with an Asian woman who had spoken so softly he had been forced to sit with his ear directly in front of her to hear her. The second student, an earring-bedecked blond man who could have stepped off any beach in LA, had left Jerry wondering whether his interviewee ever stopped surfing long enough to study. The haughty replies and disapproving glares of the last, an Iranian on a visa, had immediately set the detective's teeth on edge. But all the interviews had been similar to the exchanges with Anwar, protests of horror and offers to provide any and all assistance required the catch the murderer of their beloved advisor.

At the end of the sessions, Donato rolled his chair over by Sandra, who was now stone-faced and stiff. "It's nearly eleven. Let me run you home."

She hugged herself tightly, then nodded. "Yes. Yes, I'd appreciate that."

As he collected the samples and fingerprint kit, Donato kept one eye on the woman in the chair. For some investigators, her lack of visible grief, combined with her previous history with the deceased, would have made Sandra Miller an obvious suspect. But, he thought he was a better judge of character than that. Not all women were hysterics from Central Casting; some tucked their emotions deeply inside of them. These women would reveal their feelings so infrequently that a Swiss glacier would cough up another Iceman before they would expose their pain.

He found himself thinking of Maria again. Latinas were often stereotyped as babbling fonts of ephemeral moods, but not his former partner. She had a temper that exploded like a flash fire in the mountains, certainly, and a wit that he loved to see her turn on the other detectives of the precinct. But, it had taken her months to admit, while huddled in his arms during an exhausting, tear-filled stake-out, to the nightmares plaguing her after one of the few shoot-outs they had been involved in during their time together. One of the few, until -

"Detective? Are you all right?" Sandra was standing beside him, clutching the plastic-wrapped screens in her hands.

He shook his head. "Do you need anything before we go?"

She nodded. "I'd like to stop by my office. I'll need to leave the Department Head a message telling him what's happened. Tom's classes will have to be picked up by one of the other professors for a few days, and it can't be by myself. This will take up more of my time than would be fair to the students."

They walked to the car without conversing, Donato using his cell phone to fill in his partner and hear updates on the results of the investigation.

Even for the duration of the ride, they sat in silence, until a small noise, fainter than a whimper, escaped the dark-haired woman. "I'm sorry. Judy will need a strong friend over the next few months."

Donato glanced toward her. "And you've lost someone you're very close to. It hurts. Believe me, I know."

She narrowed her hazel eyes at him. "Oh?"

He stared straight ahead. "My partner, Maria Hernandez, was killed during an arrest attempt several months ago."

She studied her hands. "And it has taken you this long to be able to talk about it?"

He nodded. "This guy I'm with now, he's so different from her. It's tough for me to relate to him."

She sighed. "So, anything new?"

He bit his lip, then considered the pros and cons of filling her in on the particulars of the investigation. He knew it was a violation of procedure, that he might be giving away information to a suspect. But, he also knew that order and detail were essential if he were to keep his newly forming connection with this woman open. And, he suspected that, by working with this woman, he could solve this case, without being subjected to the taunts and jabs of Mike Evans.

He glanced at her. "Do you want to hear the medical examiner's findings?"

She set her shoulders. "No. But, I need to know. What killed - " She stared fixedly out the window.

He turned his attentions back to the road, reminding himself to drop the law enforcement terminology as he explained. Sandra Miller might have the intelligence and wit of his old partner, but she wasn't a seasoned peace officer. "I'm sorry, but, it's no surprise. He bled to death. It's what usually happens with a projectile wound like that."

She drew in a deep breath, then released it slowly. Donato knew she was using the exercise to quell her emotions. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her fingers plucking at the trim on the passenger seat. "I'm sorry, too. I should have stayed with him, or have gotten someone else to go stay with him. I'd tried to convince him he shouldn't have stayed there alone, not when he couldn't hear the phone, or the door, or have have anyone there to know he was calling out for help."

Donato cocked his head. "But then we would have had two deaths to investigate, not just one."

Now it was his turn to fall under scrutiny. He speculated she was calculating whether he was speaking out of professional courtesy, or whether his own loss was too near to handle any way other than through displacement. But whatever was going on in her mind resolved itself, since she blinked, then turned to face forward. "Oh, you'll need to turn there." She pointed, then finished directing him to her house. Donato made a mental note that she appeared capable of rapid decision-making, which seemed utterly at odds with what he thought he knew about scientists and their personalities.

Cape Mesa Vouno
Santorini, Greece
Monday, May 4, 1998
8:17 am

"Oh, which chapel is that, Profitis Illias or Zoodichos Pigi?" Scully pointed.

Mulder glanced over at his partner. He was utterly amazed, once again, at the depth of her knowledge about this island. She must have spent hours poring over every tour book and web-page she could lay her hands on. But, if he was pleased at the progress of this outing, his mother was delighted.

"Zoodichos Pigi, Dana." Caroline smiled at the pathologist. "Profitis Illias is at the peak of the mountain. This was the water supply for ancient Thera."

Now the dark-haired agent threw a gaze at his stepfather, who had lapsed into silence shortly after they had arrived here. When Mulder chose, for once, to follow suit, his partner had blossomed, growing more animated than he had seen her since their sight-seeing trip through Athens. He made a mental note to find some excavations when they needed to take a break back in the States. Perhaps he could scour up a case close to some of the native mounds in Ohio, just to watch her smile and bounce like this.

"Mulder?" She was blinking up at him expectantly.

Max patted his shoulder. "Did you want to wait to join the Tour?" He waved toward a distant booth, where a young man in Greek costume was smoking a cigarette.

The dark-haired agent studied their three faces. "Not really, no." He let a lop-sided grin grow. "Besides, I think we have better tour guides here than those, don't you?"

Caroline covered her mouth to suppress a giggle. "Fox, you'll charm some young woman yet."

Scully nodded. "He's very good at moving our paperwork through the system. Most of the ladies in Travel would do anything for him."

His mother tucked her hand behind Max's arm. "Then I suggest we get started. This site isn't as well-maintained as Akrotiri, being as it's only Hellenic, not Minoan."

"Only." The auburn-haired woman was trying to look in all directions as they walked. "Any other place it would be crawling with tourists, but here..." She shook her head.

Mulder bent over his partner. "Not interested, Scully? Mark this day."

She stopped. "Mulder! That's not what I meant! This site helped archaeologists determine when the island was resettled, which may or may not have been when the volcanism stopped and it was initially safe to do so." She had assumed her classic arms akimbo pose, squarely in his path.

Caroline canted a white brow at her son. "You see, Fox, there was, no doubt, a period of time when, after initial attempts to resettle found the ground too hot to revisit, that the ancients were afraid to return."

He bent into his partner's face. "Or the Atlanteans were making a last stand at defending themselves." He smirked as both women let out exasperated sighs. If they were thinking of double-teaming him this early in the day, he'd have to cut loose in his own defense, despite the giddy, off-balance glee that had him dancing around the little group.

Scully dropped her fists from her hips. "Mulder, be serious! I only meant that it isn't something new and exotic, like Akrotiri. So the tourists don't come here as often. So the residents don't maintain it as well. Still, a find, one that any other small island would be happy to have."

"I was being serious, Scully." He dropped his hand to her waist to guide her forward.

"Indeed." Caroline agreed, although with whom Mulder couldn't yet tell. "And, one I haven't visited since we first arrived here."

"Now, Line-chen." Max patted his wife’s back.

"Hey, no problem." The dark-haired agent offered a hesitant grin. "Like I've been to National Cathedral, either."

Scully glanced up at him. "Really? It's a wonderful place, Mulder. Lovely to go and wander the grounds. I should think it would remind you of Oxford."

As he caught the slight spring to her step, he realized one destination for an unplanned outing had just been offered to him.

Miller Residence
142 Curie Avenue, University City
San Diego, California
Wednesday, April 29, 1998
11:36 pm

As they rolled the last three blocks up her street, Sandra studied the detective who was driving her home. He seemed short, for a policeman, barely reaching her shoulder. But, that wasn't a fair comparison, since at a lanky six feet, she was tall for a woman. If she had to guess, she'd say he was under five and a half feet. The stocky barrel of his chest and thickened arms and hands could have been muscle, if he bench-pressed weights, but his spindly legs told her whatever body-building regimen he practiced stopped at the waist. A thicket of black hair curled on his head like a miniature version of that of her favorite of the actors who had played Doctor Who, Tom Baker.

She had noted earlier, when he removed his jacket and tie at the lab, that he was one of those men with a generous amount of chest and arm hair, as black as that on his head. He made no effort to conceal it behind an undershirt and long sleeves, as though he had long ago abandoned the effort as futile. Given the darkness of his chin and cheeks, she could see why. But, his brown eyes sparkled with intelligence, and with a sense of humor that flashed at the oddest times. She suspected it was a coping mechanism for long hours in a job that saw its share of difficulties.

Sandra faced the detective directly. "Look, I don't know if it would help, but I have records of all the places Tom and I have been employed together, with persons to contact."

Donato glanced at his chestnut-haired passenger. "Why would that be important?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Wouldn't the motive be more likely something closer in time to the present?"

She crossed her arms, then dropped them to grip the sides of the seat cushion. She had to work to control her natural tendency to fidget, but she wanted to avoid gestures that would seem defensive. "I, I don't know." She caught her hair up in one hand. "Tom and I were both well-funded, at least until 2002."

Donato grinned. "So, I shouldn't look for the jealous colleague who lost his grant money to the famous and beloved Doctor Wilton, you're saying?"

She eyed him. "Nothing so simple. We made our share of enemies getting that wind tunnel built. Departmental politics can get pretty hairy, especially when it comes to issues of lab space. That tunnel takes up a lot of square footage."

Donato pushed his black curls off his forehead. "Ah, then I should be looking for the faculty member with the shoe-box sized office and arrest him?" He smirked at her conspicuously as he turned the Ford into her driveway.

Rather than offer a rejoinder, Sandra Miller threw the car door open, then ran to the front entrance of her house. When he hurried up the walk, she glared down at him. "I don't know what your job does to you, Detective Donato, but if it makes you that unfeeling about the death of a vital, intelligent, decent human being, I *suggest* you find yourself a new career." She crossed her arms.

He held up both hands. "Hey, Doctor Miller, no offense. My sense of humor has a way of popping off at the absolute worst time." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'd like to take a look at those records of yours. If that's all right."

With a sigh, she slid her key in the dead bolt. "I'm sorry. All this is getting to me." She held the door open. "Watch out for Salazar."

He glanced around the carpet inside the door. "Your dog?"

She shook her head. "My - Salazar! Don't you think of - Salazar!" She was running in circles around the front yard, a chubby red tabby scooting just ahead of her hands. Donato moved to between the cat and the street, until Sandra captured the feline with a diving tackle. She carried him into the house, his tail straight up against her arm. "Salazar! You know you're not allowed out the front door. I wouldn't let you out the back one either, if you didn't raise such a fuss about it."

Donato stepped inside, then closed the door behind them. "Certainly gets his way when he wants it. You sure this wasn't to punish you for being gone this evening?"

She tossed him a lop-sided grin. "You've had cats, I take it."

He scratched the flat spot where the tabby's nose turned up slightly. "My Mom was crazy about them. She was one of those ladies who would have had fifty cats had my Dad let her."

Still cradling Salazar, Sandra led him into her study. "But she had a flock of kids instead." She set the purring ball of fluff in an easy chair, then began pulling out notebooks and departmental catalogs.

Donato bent to rub the M-striped head. "No, just me. And about ten cats." At her amazed glance, he shrugged. "More or less."

Sandra smirked. "But, usually more, I take it."

"Usually." He grasped the papers she held out. "These are?"

Sandra tapped the top sheet. "Our current grant proposals." One corner of her mouth twitched. "Just so you can find that under-funded faculty member in the shoe-box sized office."

"Ah." Donato eyed the cat, who was washing the tip of a turned-over paw as he perched on the cushions. "Do you think he would mind?"

Sandra favored him with a genuine chuckle. "If you offered him your lap to sit on? Of course not."

Donato lifted the round body carefully. "I stand, or sit, corrected. It's hard to remember one's place in the feline scheme of things."

Cape Mesa Vouno
Santorini, Greece
Monday, May 4, 1998
8:51 am

"Not much to look at." Mulder dry comment wafted forth as they stood gazing down at what a placard proclaimed was a Gymnasium, which was also the ruin closest to cliff at the water's edge.

"It was only supposed to be a settlement, not a grand city at the center of an empire," Caroline shaded her gaze with her hand as she looked over at him. "The ruins are actually well explained for those who wish to take self-guided tours."

Max cocked an eyebrow at his wife, then smiled at his stepson, who had looked over worriedly. "We can wander around as long as you like. That Temple of Apollo looks more like the layout for a town house than any holy place."

Scully began trotting back toward the interior. "There's something I'd like to check out here." She had her tour book out of her backpack and was flipping through pages. "Ah, it's about the theater."

Mulder apologized to his parents with a look, then hurried after her. "What, no mosaics, no columns, what could be of interest in this pile of stones?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him, then knelt. "I know, no naked chorus girls. Sorry."

He crossed his arms as Max and Caroline joined them. "A guy can't have everything, now can he?"

The older couple exchanged a furtive glance before the white-haired woman sighed. "I see him now, Max."

Mulder, suddenly alert, looked at her. "See whom, Mom?"

Scully rose. "We didn't bring weapons, Caroline."

Max shook his head. "Nor any means of instant communications."

Mulder looked down at Scully. "I wonder if those rumors of surveillance are about to come to some fruition."

She nodded. "There were certainly enough of them." She shifted until she was behind him, relative to a stout, dark-haired man in grey jeans and a black leather jacket, who was studiously ignoring them while pretending great fascination with the ruins of the Agora. "We don't have much cover here."

"Neither does he." Mulder shrugged. "If Mom and Max take the path on the Perissa side of the ruins, they can get back to a telephone, at least. We'll keep him distracted here."

Scully nodded. "We'll head back to the Peristyle Court, which should keep him from reaching you."

"Dana, Fox." Caroline wanted to caution, but Max took her arm.

"They're right, Line-chen. We'll do more good if we can bring back reinforcements. It's a quick call to the police, if needs be. We've been hearing about this through unofficial channels for several months now."

As some internal argument raged, she looked from her husband to her son. Finally, resolved, she nodded. "If we can lay this to rest, we can enjoy the remainder of your stay here, kinder." The four walked together toward the main path, then Max and Caroline headed to the west, while the partners separated to clamber in and out of the ruins.

Northern Division
San Diego Police Department
San Diego, California
Thursday, April 30, 1998
6:21 am

Arms laden with documents, screens, and his fingerprint briefcase, Jerry Donato staggered through the precinct room doors. It had been a long night, but it had been worth the trouble. His on-and-off teasing of Sandra Miller had told him more about her status as a suspect than a barrage of interrogatory questions ever would. Now, if he could only convince his sergeant that he had the keys to the Wilton case right here -

"Donato!" Sergeant Martin Johnson was a tall, whip-thin African-American, but he had a bellow like a bass drum. The other officers were clearing a path.

Jerry could see Evans' bulk behind his superior. "Mike, I think I have it!"

His partner peered over the sergeant's head, "What, the best piece of it you've had in years? How long did it take for you to get to the Professor, College Boy?"

Johnson rounded on him. "Evans! That will be all! Now, go cool down in the break room." To the snickers of the men and women at their desks, the older man slunk away. The sergeant put his fists on his hips. "And I think San Diego's Finest had better get busy on their reports! Now!"

The room went deadly quiet.

Johnson turned his attention back to Donato, taking the top four notebooks off the stacks his detective was juggling before he guided him to his office. Once the door had closed, he settled on into his castered chair. "And where were you last night, Senior Detective?"

Donato eased the documents onto the Sergeant's desk. "I was looking into Tom Wilton's current financial situation, cross-checking it against his funding sources, and putting together a fairly detailed account of his life-history." He clicked open the briefcase to pass him a binder-clipped sheaf of paper. "It's all in there, Sir."

Johnson perused the thick-chested man's features. His brown eyes were glassy, yet fever bright, his face flushed. "Donato, how much sleep did you get last night?"

After attempting to straighten his tie, Jerry scrubbed his cheeks with his palms. "About a half an hour, Sir. Does it show?"

One dark eyebrow arched. "How long do you think I've been where I am?"

Jerry collapsed into a chair. "Way longer than I have, Sarge." He looked up at his sergeant. "But, it's in here, Sir, I know it." He pointed to the folders. "The reason Tom Wilton died is right in there."

Johnson moved the papers onto the documents cart by the door, then settled behind his desk. "So, tell me about this professor friend of the deceased."

Donato leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, then relayed the evening's events to Johnson, who scribbled occasionally on a note pad. The detective was babbling now. "We were comparing the banking records Judy Wilton provided us with the stock transactions, when it hit us, that Wilton was selling just at the right time to maximize his profits, but his earnings weren't being recycled into any more stock, or showing up in his and Judy's joint bank accounts." He spread his hands and slumped against the metal back of the chair. "Sandra could track the grant money they were receiving, and it was more even than that. Now, the deceased's wife had mentioned that her Mother had given them the house, so it may be that these were family gifts that I should check with her about, but - "

Johnson interrupted the stream with a upraised hand. "Very well, Detective. You've put together a good preliminary case."

Donato frowned. "Thank you, Sir."

The African-American rose, walked around his desk, leaned against it, then crossed his arms. "But, tell me, why didn't you see fit to let your partner in on all this, rather than discussing the matter with the person who could, very well, be our most likely suspect?"

Donato leaned forward to press his fingertips against his eyebrows. His head, which had been so clear just a few minutes earlier, was pounding incessantly. "Sir, I had spoken with Detective Evans after interviewing Doctor Wilton's students. He and I had agreed that he would check on the investigation at this end, and meet again in the morning. Once I saw the completeness of the records Doctor Miller had in her possession, I wanted to review them immediately."

Johnson bent over him. "And it helped that Doctor Miller was, who she was, I suppose?"

Donato squinted up at his sergeant. One eye was stubbornly refusing to focus, giving the tall man a fuzzy brown halo. "Sir?"

Johnson rested one hand on his shoulder. "Evans gave me a description of Doctor Miller, Detective Donato. I know who she looked like. Even Evans, with his astounding lack of deductive capabilities, took less than five minutes here in this office to figure out who she looked like."

"Oh." Jerry crossed his arms over his stomach, which had taken to gurgling painfully. "I thought, on some level, that Sandra was Maria?"

Johnson nodded, then stepped over to the door. His hand on the knob, he looked down at Donato. "Do you have any idea why I paired you two together, Jerry?"

Donato gulped. If his sergeant was using his first name, it must be, well, he didn't want to think what it must be. "You wanted me to move on."

Johnson disengaged the latch, but kept the door closed. "Part of you never moves on after losing a partner, Jerry. In a way, I misjudged the situation. You and Maria were utter opposites, different as night and day, but your work together was exceptional. I thought, if you had someone else with complementary skills - "

Donato snorted at the thought.

" - You two would work out as well. But, I can see it hasn't, has it?"

Jerry closed the non-focusing eye before he met Johnson's downward gaze. "Oh? What was your first clue, Sir?" He held up both hands, surprised that they were trembling. "Sorry, Sarge. No sleep."

Johnson shook his head. "Put it out of your mind, Detective. A real partner would never have said what Evans did out there, unless it was meant in good fun. I'll be assigning him elsewhere until this case is concluded."

Donato pushed off the sides of the chair to stand. "And then, Sir?"

"We'll see." Johnson waved two other officers over. "You can come back in after you've had six hours sleep, no less. Evans' last duty, for the present as your partner, will be to drive you home, as long as he keeps his mouth shut. Is that agreeable with you, Detective Donato?"

Jerry watched as two uniformed officers rolled the stacks of paper away. Their outlines were unnaturally clear and sharp, with an odd edge to their voices. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." He weaved slightly as he headed out to the vehicle lot, then Johnson made his way to the Detectives' break room.

Cape Mesa Vouno,
Santorini, Greece
Monday, May 4, 1998
9:03 am

Scully crouched behind what low cover she could find, an information placard detailing the partially exposed ruins beside her. The situation here was utterly different from the man who had tailed them in Athens. The shape-shifter had confronted them fearlessly, but this shadow seemed almost timid, hesitant rather than determined. Mulder, she knew, had flattened himself on the other side of the path from her.

The man they were tracking looked up from his study of the stones to exclaim incoherently. He must just now have realized that Caroline and Max were gone, since he began hurrying toward the seaward cliffs. He studied his surroundings worriedly, then with a sigh, continued downward. Once he passed between the agents, Scully lifted her head enough to catch her partner's nod. He would crawl after their suspect, since he could cover more ground than she.

All their silent plans fell aside, however, when the man stumbled on a loose stone. Mulder threw himself onto the path and tackled their target. "Federal Officer!" He twisted one arm behind the man's back.

"What are you doing?" Their quarry huffed as he struggled to look over his shoulder. "I'm just a tourist here! Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

"Oh?" Scully shrugged off her backpack. "Then why were you deliberately staying out of sight?"

"What?" The man glared, one-eyed, first at Mulder, then at his partner. "I'm taking a vacation. This is the first real one I've had in years. Do you have any idea how long I've saved for this?"

The partners exchanged a glance.

Scully finished unclipping the waist strap from her pack, but paused before fastening it around their captive's wrists. "The you wouldn't mind producing your passport for us?"

He shook his head. "Of course not. Just let go of me."

Mulder released him and stepped back. "If you're who you say you are, then please accept our apologies, Sir. We've had problems here on Santorini recently."

"I'd say you still do. It's Thera, by the by." Their suspect held out a blue folder. "You see?"

Mulder looked down at his partner. "What's he saying, Scully?"

Scully sighed as she turned over green pages. "This all looks to be in order, Sir." She handed back the passport. "He's right, Mulder. The tourist boards call it Santorini, but the residents prefer Thera." She turned to the man. "Sir? Mister Benner? Are you all right?"

The man had fallen to his knees, coughing. "My asthma." He was flailing at his pants pocket.

Scully reached in to retrieve an inhaler, then felt Benner's pulse. "Sir? Just breath deeply, Sir. You're in no danger from us."

He attempted to glare over the plastic, but contented himself with shaking his head. When he could breathe normally, he straightened up. "I came here because the air is supposed to be good for people with respiratory problems. My doctor told me so. He also warned me that I need to reduce stress. He didn't count on something like this, I'm certain."

The agents each took an arm to help him to his feet. "Once again, our apologies, Sir." Scully met his gaze.

"Whom do you work for? Whom?" Benner snarled at the partners in turn. "I plan on reporting this to your superiors."

Sheepishly, Mulder held his badge aloft.

"The Bureau!" The stocky man shook his head. "When did they start training thugs! I never!" He smoothed down his clothes. As the agents watched, he stalked off haughtily.

Scully sighed. "We've become too used to seeing conspiracies everywhere, Mulder."

Her partner bit his lower lip. "You're sure about that asthma, Scully?"

She nodded. "There were all the symptoms: apnea, arrhythmia, pallid complexion. Those all couldn't be faked."

He shrugged. "Well, he's moving pretty fast for a man who just had an asthma attack, wouldn't you say?"

Benner had broken into a slow jog.

She shaded her eyes with her hand. "After what just happened, I'd want to get as far away from us as possible, wouldn't *you* say? He may not be the one, but there's someone here on the island arousing suspicions. I think it's time we got back to Max and Caroline."

"I suppose." He looked down at her. "Scully? Why are your hands shaking?"

She crossed her arms hastily. "Ooh."

He had an arm around her back. "You okay?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

He bent over her protectively. "I think we've seen all we need here today."

The ease with which she let herself be led away would set his own pulse racing, she knew, but a sudden queasiness had settled on her, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep. Yet she felt as she did after a long meeting when she had drunk too much coffee, fidgety, but drained, not the relaxed somnolence following a good session on the blades. As they walked, she tried to work out exactly why she was feeling as she did, but could find no answer, other than one she had hoped never to need to consider.

Karl Strauss Brewery and Grill
La Jolla, California
Tuesday, May 5, 1998 11:51 am

Andrea Rosen chuckled as she followed the host along the walkway to the deck around the restaurant. She'd have to remember not to let Nic pick the places where they would meet to discuss the latest from the world of the Bureau, or she's spend the rest of her days sitting among copper tubs and stainless-steel tubing.

Once they reached the bend in the walkway, she spotted Phil Nichols facing her, one drained pint glass in front of his plate, with a second, foam trailing in a lacy sheen down half of it, in his hand. "Ros! Over here!"

The host moved back. "Obviously, you've been expected." He bowed slightly, then began stepping away. "Your server will be with you shortly."

She barely glanced at him, but his undertone suggested he thought there was more going on here than met his eye. She wondered what the small Latino would think if he knew he was right, but for reasons other than the ones he was obviously considering. She made her way to the table. "This seat taken, stranger?"

His mustache twitched. "Of course not. How have you been, Ros?"

She settled in with a grin. "Good. Work, well, it's a dream. Having your own funding and first priority on telescope time, man, the plans I have."

He leaned toward her. "I'll bet, Professor."

Ignoring his tease, she flipped through the menu, then looked up at the hovering waiter. "I'll have the Caesar salad, please. With anchovies."

After he ordered, Nichols pressed further. "All that dairy and salt will ruin your training, won't it?"

She shook her head. "Nah. After a triathlon, I put weight on however I can. Cary's on one of those no-fat, no dairy kicks she goes through. If I eat something I shouldn't, well, - "

"It won't be there for very long." He sipped the amber ale. "Ah, to be young again. I don't know if I had a chance to congratulate you on your win last weekend."

She grinned. "Or I to thank you for being part of my support team. I never expected to do so well against runners who were used to these mountains." Sipping her mineral water, she wondered if there was a deeper reason for all the small talk, or whether her former partner was just lonely. "But, that's not why we're here, is it?"

He sighed. "So, how's Cary adjusting?"

She narrowed her hazel eyes at his dodge. "Curtains, right now."

He leaned back. "What? I thought she agreed to have your place professionally done?"

Andrea fiddled with her napkin. "Oh, that would have been easier. But, she likes to see to these details herself. So, all I hear is Cape Cod this, what color should the lace inner liner be, how high should she fluff the balloon valances. I swear, I never knew there was so much involved in hanging a piece of cloth in front of a few panes of glass."

He laughed out loud. "The joys of domesticity. Alicia would do that every so often, only her kick was wallpaper. I will *never* put that up on another bathroom wall again as long as I live." He tapped his finger on the table. "Don't let Cary get started on wallpaper. It's not worth the trouble."

She pointed at his beer. "You brewing yet? Or just drinking your dinner here?"

"Ros!" He tipped the rim of the glass toward her. "This beer is meant to be savored. I came here an hour ago just so I could sample their recipes. And, yes, I am. My dining room's doubling as a fermentation chamber right now. I have a big kitchen so I eat in there."

She leaned back as the waiter deposited her salad, then nodded through the seemingly mandatory dispensation of ground black pepper. Once the blond man had departed, she looked over. "So, what do Jane and Liz think when they stop by?"

He regarded his field greens cautiously. "Kids today. Liz just sits in the corner and tip tip tips away at the laptop her uncle bought her. Jane brings me pamphlets on the dangers of intoxicating substances. Like I need a lecture on *that*."

Before his years undercover doing drug interdiction could claim him, she leaned forward. "Well, at least she wants to keep her dear old Dad around for a while."

He smiled wanly, then patted the foam off his mustache. "Yeah. I guess so. And they're doing really, really well with adjusting to the move. Both of 'em making all A's in their classes." He waited for his plate of fish tacos to descend in front of him. "Great kids. Couldn't be prouder."

She nodded at his customary benediction on his broken family. Perhaps now they could get down to business. "So, why the sudden meeting?"

He glanced around at the other tables, all of which, Rosen suddenly realized, were empty. Perhaps this was why he had been so voluble. "I had a call from Mulder. He's had me put two agents on his sister."

She rubbed her narrow chin. "That's probably wise. She comes and goes almost on a whim. Did he say why?"

A shrug. "Just that he and Scully will be in Santorini a little longer than they expected." His cheeks sagged into a somber mask. "He wants her to take more time off and rest."

The brunette leaned back, scraping her thumbnail over her forefinger. Noting the nervous gesture, she clasped her hands together in her lap.

The balding Montanan smoothed his mustache. "I see Cary's working on you about that. Good."

She shook her head. "Well, I'm glad Mulder's finally made Scully see reason. She looked horrible when we spoke before I left to come out here."

Nichols chewed his salmon thoughtfully. "That's what happens with long-time partners. I'm sure no one would be surprised that it was true of Mulder, but, as for Scully, let's hope no one tries to break them up, ever. I'm not certain how long either of them would last on their own."

The brunette nodded. "But, even *that's* not why you wanted to see me, is it?"

"No. No, it wasn't." The blond ASAC began wiping his fingers by pinching the cloth napkin. "There's a new investigation that our office has been assigned. A law firm here in San Diego that makes too much, spends too much, and has tripped the suspicions of the Banking Division back in DC."

She leaned forward. "Skinner didn't put you onto it?"

He sighed. "No, although Walt called specifically to agree that the case be forwarded to us. I just have a funny feeling about it, that's all."

She speared a crouton. "Why? Lots of law firms are filthy rich and waste money like paper napkins. What makes this one different?" She hoped it wasn't his usual disdain for his former brother-in-law's profession talking.

"Too much of their wealth is going overseas." He eyed her, waiting.

She set her fork down to cross her arms. "You mean, to the Pacific Rim? To Singapore?" She let the dark associations they both feared remain unspoken.

He shook his head. "No, try the Mediterranean. Santorini in specific. I tried to bring it up with Mulder, but he was more worried about Scully than I've ever heard him. So, I'm putting the rest of my agents on it."

She resumed eating. "Well, there's very little that we end up investigating which doesn't tie back to them, so, keep me informed, if you would."

He arched both brows and nodded. "Anyway, tell me more about these curtains."

Andrea turned her head slightly to see that the host was leading another couple up the walk. Since there was more than a hint of longing in his voice, she settled back to begin regaling him with the, to her, completely irrelevant details of her now-comfortable domestic life.

Lowenberg Residence
Atlantis, Athinios City
Santorini, Greece
Tuesday, May 5, 1998
11:32 pm

Mulder muted the sound on the television. The soft shuffle he heard was one as familiar to him as any comforting evening noise, the gait of his partner, as she approached the living room over the carpet of the hall. But it was not the even quick rhythm of her usual step. Instead, it dragged on the off-beat, her right foot, he realized, lagging behind her left, which had been valiantly attempting to carry on, as usual. He refrained from staring at the entranceway as he waited for her arrival.

"Mulder?"

He leaned forward from his slouch. "Yeah, Scully?"

She gripped the wood trim uneasily. "May I speak with you?"

The excessive formality had him dropping his bare feet to the floor. "Of course." He patted the tan sofa cushion beside him. He had a good idea as to what was on her mind, but it needed to emerge on its own, without his leaping ahead, as he would have were they on a case.

She attempted to settle in her usual stiff-backed pose on the edge of the couch, but a visible flinch on her right side drove her against the upright cushions. "I'm sorry for earlier."

Mulder grasped her shoulder, but said nothing. Her hair was still wet from her bath, but uncombed. He could glimpse the handle of her brush sticking out of her bathrobe pocket.

"I don't quite know how to say this, but there's something wrong with me." With a grimace, she held out her right hand, which was still trembling. "I don't know what this is." She crossed her arms, then dropped her fingers into her lap.

He shook his head before smiling gently at her. "Let me play doctor for you." He arched an eyebrow, but she could barely muster a flutter of her lips. "It's okay. We've seen far more than either of us expected to find in a very short time. I understand that you want to try to prepare for anything that may come, especially now. But don't push yourself too hard too soon, Scully."

She studied her hands for a long moment before looking over at him. "I should know myself better than that. I should know *you* better than that. I'm almost ashamed to say this, Mulder, but..." Her gaze dropped to her hands again, which were clenched together tightly.

Mulder released a soft sigh, wondering why it was so hard for her to ask for what she so clearly needed. He lowered his hand to cover hers. "Don't be. Just tell me."

She gripped his fingers between her palms as if he had just pulled her back from a dark precipice. "Mulder?" She looked over at him.

Which, he supposed, he just had. A nod, then he waited.

"I need some more time." She was rubbing the back of his hand with her palm. "I know that now. I knew it before, but I wasn't willing to admit it." She tried a diffident shrug. "I'm just more tired than I thought. All the napping, all *that*." She waved in the vague direction of their morning's excursion. "I'm sorry." Her gaze skittered across the floor, the walls, then landed on the television.

The dark-haired man could contain himself no longer. "Scully, you had a building dropped on you, then you came out here and chased aliens through the desert." After placing a hand on the cloth stretched across his chest, he leaned into her face. "Now, I was thrilled you were there, collecting enough evidence to take to the Supreme Court, but you didn't need the extra physical battering of a rocket launch and a plane crash." He draped an arm over her shoulder, the terry cloth feeling lush and soft against his skin, which was bare beyond the bunched-up undershirt sleeve. "Besides, we're on vacation, right?" He felt a moment's hesitation, then she leaned against his support. He dropped the remote to use both arms to fold her against him. "Max has all these *extra* channels, you see."

"What, the all-Godzilla station?"

Mulder rubbed her shoulder, forcing himself not to comment on the sharp angles he felt, even through the thick fabric of her robe. "Yeah." Leaving the black wand on the cushion, he punched the elongated channel button repeatedly. "And, if I remember right." He frowned as the screen blinked. "Yeah. There. 'Fortunes of War.'" He looked down at her. "You up for that?"

She chuckled. "Sure. But, the real question is, are you?"

He bent close to her ear. "For as long as you need, we'll stay."

She nodded against his shoulder. "Thanks. I'll try not to put you out for too long."

"Not a problem. Trust me." He heard a rumble, then she straightened to work on her hair in silence. Any other time, he would have enjoyed a quiet evening like this in her company. But he felt unsettled, as if the storm were approaching, not that it was behind them. He knew his earlier comment to his stepfather was correct. There were more issues to be addressed between them than they had been able to settle in Athens, or here.