I don't own the characters of Fox Mulder of Dana Scully. This is probably a good thing, as what I put them through is probably outlawed by the Geneva Convention. They belong to Chris Carter, and 10-13. I don't own the city of Saratoga Springs, either, but I did spend four years there, so I've earned the right to write about it. And yes, the racing cockroaches are residents of a morel within the city limits, and no, I'm not going to tell you which one.

LOVESICK
by Suricata

Monday, 8:30 AM
Washington DC

Dana Scully closed the file with a sigh. Mulder grinned. It was the sigh he had learned to wait for, the patented Scully "why do I do this to myself" sigh. The sigh that meant she was ready to fight, tooth and nail, over every last scrap of evidence, every missing detail, until they were worn to the nub and willing to compromise. He loved every minute of their fighting, but he'd be damned if he told her that. Admitting it would, he thought, take the fun out of it.

"So," he said, waiting.

"So..." She shook her head. "Mulder, four women disappearing does not an X-File make."

"What about Rissa Mueller? I'd say her case was more than a little," and he smirked at her, "spooky."

Rissa Mueller had shown all the signs of the four missing women: irritability, restlessness, a pronounced aggression that, by all reports, was deeply unlike her. But she hadn't disappeared. Instead, her friends had restrained her when she would have gone dashing off into the night. Restrained her, and in the morning she had come down, thanked them all, and then killed herself with a serrated bread knife. That had been last week. Five women, four missing and presumed dead, one dead, within five weeks. It may not have been an X-File, but it was weird enough for "Spooky" Mulder to be called in.

Spooky Mulder and Dana Scully, he amended to himself with a smile. The agent in charge, one Michal Liszt, had specifically requested his partner. Seemed Scully's reputation was spreading. He hadn't told her that detail, however. It just hadn't seemed the right moment, somehow. Maybe on her birthday. After she had mellowed from a bottle of that Burgundy she loved so much. He considered the woman sitting across from him in their basement office, and decided on two bottles. Just to be on the safe side.

"Just take a look, Scully. Do the autopsy. See if there's anything we should be concerning ourselves with." He grinned. "Enjoy the all-expenses paid trip to Saratoga Springs, just in time for the racing season."

7:15 PM
Saratoga Springs, NY

Lucky Number Motel

Just in time for the racing season. Those words echoed in Mulder's head as he handed over his credit card to the clerk. Every room in the town, from the most exclusive hotel to this flea-forsaken dump on the outskirts of town, was booked solid, and at prices that would make a Manhattan concierge weep in envy. Only by flashing his badge and threatening dire consequences had he been able to wrangle these rooms free. There were going to be two betters who would rue missing their check-in time, but Mulder didn't spare much sympathy for them.

Scully had gone directly to the hospital, where Rissa Mueller's body was waiting. He didn't look forward to telling her about their accommodations. Hey, he thought optimistically. Maybe she won't notice the cockroaches.

He arrived at the hospital half an hour later, after having gotten lost twice. As an apology, he had stopped in the local Dunkin Donuts (which he had passed three times) and now carried a small, greasy bag. After wandering the halls a few moments, he was directed down an unmarked hallway to an elevator bank which would take him to the morgue. His partner had finished the autopsy, and was waiting for him.

He didn't have to ask how the autopsy had gone. She had that look, the one that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The "You're going to love this, Mulder," look.

"Let me guess. You haven't a clue as to why she died."

Scully shook her head, pulling the cloth band from her hair and shaking the strands out tiredly. "Sorry to disappoint you, Mulder, but Rissa Mueller died from blood loss resulting from several well-placed slashes."

Mulder waited. There had to be more.

"However..."

Mulder couldn't help it, beating her to the punch. "There was one thing that bothered you, right?"

His partner glared at him, then smiled. "Yes. On a hunch, I ran a few tests. Mulder, the level of progesterone in her blood was way too high, even if she'd.." Scully hesitated. "Well, given how she spent the night before her death, the levels were way too high." Mulder started to say something, and she held up a hand to stop him. "There's more, Mulder. Her ovaries were disturbed as well. Almost as though something was confusing her system, changing the estrus cycle."

"Birth control?"

Scully shook her head. "Not like this, Mulder. Not unless she was taking it in doses far above the recommended level, and there's no sign of that. There's no sign of anything." She ran her hands through her hair, shaking it out of the ponytail. "There's something there, but I can't see it." She dropped the autopsy report into her briefcase and grabbed her coat. "Come on. It's late, I'm tired, and those donuts will taste better after I've gotten some protein in me."

"They'll be stale by then," he warned, following her out the back door into the staff parking lot. "Come on, a sugar rush will do you good." He stopped and looked around, noting that this exit cut twenty minutes off his `wandering around the hospital' time. "What is this, more secret doctor tricks?" he asked. "How come nobody ever tells me about these doors?"

"I think we should talk to the victim's boyfriend first thing tomorrow," Scully said, pausing to fork a sizable portion of penne primavera into her mouth. He was always amazed at how much food she could put away. She washed the pasta down with a sip of iced tea, and continued, "By then, the tests I requested should be done, and we'll have more to go on."

"So you think... what?" Mulder hadn't been able to form anything but the vaguest of theories from the file, and he was hoping that something would have shaken loose in that Eveready brain of hers.

"I don't know, Mulder. I don't even know that these missing girls are connected with our body. We've got to find more of a connection that the time frame."

"Agreed. So we'll canvas the friends and family tomorrow. Which leaves tonight open." He grinned at her. "Up for playing the ponies?""

His partner gave him a long, level look. "No," he said regretfully. "I guess not."

Regarding his own plate, Mulder wondered what had possessed him to order =anything= in a pink sauce. He didn't care how highly recommended it, it still looked like something a cat would throw up.

Tuesday
10 AM


Drew Lichtenberg was clearly uncomfortable with Scully's questions. A local, he was the perfect stereotype of the Northern yokel, down to the cow-like look of puzzlement on his face.

"No, ma'am. She was fine up until that night. Well, maybe a little jumpier than normal, but she gets that way sometimes, y'know, just before her friend comes to visit."

Scully made an encouraging noise, and Drew continued. "She wasn't sleeping too good, and stuff like that. She always got cranky when she couldn't sleep." His face crumpled in thought. "She was awfully.. well, I mean," he shrugged, clearly embarrassed. "She was awfully horny though."

Outside the crumbling Victorian three-story Drew and Rissa had been renovating, Mulder turned to Scully, his lips quirking up ever-so-slightly. "So, what do you think, Scully? Did PMS get too much for her?"

"Women who suffer from PMS are much more likely to take the knife to their boyfriends," she responded. "Or any other annoying male who happens to be in their way."

Mulder reared back, the smile wider now. "Sore topic there, huh Scully?"

She ignored him, opening the car door and looking over the roof of the rental at him. "Irritability, sleeplessness... those are all mentioned in the other files, Mulder. The women who disappeared. There's our connection. It's got to be."

He nodded, getting into the car and fastening his seat belt before responding. "That's your area of expertise, Scully. I'm just backup." He shot her a quick glance, gauging her mood. "So, do we flip a coin to see who gets to ask about their sex lives?"

Beth Winters's boyfriend was surly, letting them into the small apartment only when Mulder refused to take his shoulder out of the small space the door had already been opened.

Sitting in the cramped living room, the morning sunlight unable to get through dirty windows, the greying mechanic told them flatly that he knew Beth had run off with someone else, and good riddance to her. When Scully tried to inquire as to her emotional state the week before her disappearance, he had thrown up his hands in disgust. "She was a moody bitch, Agent Scully, and I'm glad she's gone. Okay? Is that enough for you? Nag and whine, that's all she ever did. If she wasn't such a good lay I would've left walked months ago."

Mulder intervened at that point, dragging Scully out of the apartment before she shot him.

Lee Martin was a student, living in the local college's off-campus apartment building. It had been her disappearance which had triggered alarms. Eighteen years old, the young woman had never been away from her North Carolina home before. No boyfriends, no outside interests except her music. Mulder had picked up the flute from where it lay on her desk, and fingered the stops idly. "She wouldn't have left it like this, Scully. It would have been taken apart and packed away if she was planning leaving for any length of time."

"She wouldn't have left it at all," a voice from the hallway said. "You're the people looking into Lee's disappearance, right?" A young man stood in the doorway, his t-shirt and jeans stained with paint.

Mulder nodded, doing the introductions.

"My name's Adam. Adam Krevor. I'm the dorm monitor. Y'know, supposed to keep an eye on things, watch out for the folks living here during summer session..." He stared at the flute, still in Mulder's hands. "Guess I didn't do too good a job, huh?" he shook his head when Mulder would have said something. "No, 's okay. I've been through this already. Wasn't my fault. I'm even starting to believe it." He took a deep breath of air. "I thought something was wrong, the way she'd been playing, but I never... "

"Something changed in her playing style?" Mulder asked, her ears practically tilting forward.

"Lee was the most-even-tempered person I'd ever met, Agent Mulder. Never got flustered, never yelled. It was like all of her emotion went into her music. But lately even that had gotten, I don't know... wilder, maybe. The control wasn't there. I should have talked to her about it. I don't know why I didn't." The young man looked at them. "But she would never have gone anywhere without that flute. It was her entire life."

By unspoken agreement, they stopped for lunch in a small cafe on the main road in town. halfway through her sandwich, Scully yawned so wide Mulder heard her jaw crack. "Mattress not soft enough for you last night?"

She glared at him. "The mattress was fine, Mulder. It was the noise from the cockroaches racing in the tub that kept me awake." He grinned at her unrepentantly. "It was all they had available, Scully."

"So you've said." She yawned again. "Sorry. I guess I did sleep badly. So what do you think? Is there a pattern?"

"Two women with mood swings, one who was -- according to an unreliable witness -- always moody, and two yet to be determined. Other than that, and the fact that they're all living in the same town... nothing. No common race -- they're even all different ages."

"So we focus on the mood swings?"

Mulder polished off his sandwich and leaned over to swipe one of his partner's chips. "Unless you can conjure up another body to autopsy, I don't see what else we can do."

Eden Saint-John had been single, no current boyfriend as far as her family knew. The 25-year-old lived in the converted garage behind her parents' house, so no-one could be sure exactly when she disappeared, or who might have been with her then.

"We trusted her to live her own life," her mother said, staring out the picture window to the garage, yellow police tape still tied across the door. "We had a really good relationship, after so many years of fighting... We didn't ask her anything she didn't want to tell us. She'd stop by, have dinner with us every couple of days... everything seemed to be going so well with her new job, and --" the woman broke down, and was incapable of giving any more information. Her husband, an older, weathered man, escorted Mulder and Scully to the door.

"I still expect her to come back, like nothing happened," he said to them. "But she isn't, is she?"

Mulder met the man's eyes squarely. "Under the circumstances, sir... I don't think so."

Mr. Saint-John nodded. "Here." He handed Scully a small leather-bound book. "It was Edie's diary. I haven't --" he broke off. "I can't read it, and my wife... well, we thought it might help you find out what happened to our girls."

Scully took the diary from his hand gently. "We will," she promised.

Walking down the flagstone path that cut through the well-tended lawn, Scully said, to the air, "no mood swings." Beside her, Mulder nodded. "Although they admitted to not seeing her daily, so something like that might have been missed."

"True. But I'd feel better about this if we had some tangible link between the women."

Mulder shrugged. Scully always wanted tangible =something.= But they both had the same gut feeling, proof or no proof, that the five women were connected. The big question was how.

Back in the car, Scully tucked the diary into her briefcase, then looked at her watch. "We're going to have to leave Allison Hall's family until tomorrow, Mulder. I've got to swing by the hospital and pick up the test results, and then we should check in with Agent whats-her-name. You remember, interdepartmental courtesy, and all those other important things Skinner reamed us on last month?"

Mulder grimaced, but didn't disagree. It had been a particularly painful afternoon, compounded by the fact that the air conditioning had gone off again that day. By the time Skinner had called them in, the temperature in the building had topped off at close to 80 degrees, and none of them had been in the best of moods. Top avoid a repeat of that, Mulder was willing to play political footsie. Or rather, let Scully do it, while he sat there and tried to look harmless.

10:20 PM
Lucky Number Motel

Closing the door firmly behind her, Scully slid the deadbolt home, then hooked the travel-lock onto the knob. She knew it was silly -- these doors were so flimsy someone could break through without bothering about the locks -- but it made her feel better. And after the day they'd had, a good night's sleep was a priority. Hopefully tonight she would sleep easier. Mulder had started counting her yawns at dinner tonight, making a game of it until she had threatened to tie =him= to the autopsy table. There were times, on a case, when she wondered if anyone would mind if she shot him again. Probably not.

Hanging her suit carefully in the closet, she pulled on her nightshirt and crawled into bed, throwing the pillows behind her to form a backrest. Settled, she picked up the small leather bound diary from the nightstand and started flipping through. Her eye caught on an entry, made three days before Eden Saint John's disappearance.

It comes at the most inconvenient times. When I'm calling patients, or ordering supplies. One minute I'm fine, and the next -- and the next I can feel him between my thighs, licking and sucking until I come with a scream that could rouse the dead. But I never make a noise. No-one ever suspects. I never miss a beat, never lose track of what I'm doing. But then I have to lock myself in the bathroom and rub myself raw. Two, three times a day now. And the nights -- oh god! the nights. I blush at the things we do, my mystery lover and I, but I can't stop thinking about them. About him. I've woken up exhausted every morning for a week, but at the same time ready to jump every guy I see. Now I know how Duchess felt when she went into heat! I want him, I =need= him so much it scares me. I have to go to him. I keep telling myself that it's just a dream. Just a case of the summer hornies. But I think it'll kill me before it goes away.

Scully closed the book carefully, her hand shaking. Eden had been a talented writer. Either that, or she, Dana, needed to get laid, because she could feel the sensations the younger woman had written about as though they were her own. Scully shifted uncomfortably, putting the diary down and reaching over to turn out the light. She lay there in the dark for a long while, thinking. The pieces were starting to fall into place, but she didn't have a picture yet, and none of the images were making any sense. it was like working a round jigsaw puzzle. You knew where the pieces fit, just not what you were creating. It was so damn...frustrating. I'll show it to Mulder, she thought sleepily. God knows what he'll see, but he'll see =something.=

Wednesday
7:35 AM

Mulder knocked on the door impatiently. "Scully? Aren't you up yet?" A long moment of silence. "I'm going across the road to get some breakfast."

There was silence, and Dana snuggled back into the embrace of the pillows, a small, satisfied smile on her face. Mulder had interrupted the most wonderful dream... her eyes flew open as she realized that she had obviously overslept. Now wide awake, she felt the memory of the dream slip away. "Well, damn," she muttered, and swung out of bed. She noticed with some bemusement that her underwear was shoved under the covers at the bottom of the bed, and she grimaced. It must have been some dream. Probably due to her bedtime reading material. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of showing that to Mulder. Then again, she doubted it would phase him in the least, based on his usual bedtime 'educational materials.'

Standing under the spray of lukewarm water, Dana set her thoughts to the day ahead, and thought no more about it.

Taking a seat on the vinyl cushions across from her partner, Scully placed the diary on the table and pushed it across to him. Mulder raised one eyebrow, putting down his coffee cup to pick it up.

"Any dirty secrets?" he asked teasingly.

Dana smiled at him crookedly. "She may not have been having mood swings, but there was certainly something going on in there."

By the end of that day, Mulder understood why the women had disappeared. He would have, too, if he'd had to deal with this kind of deadly-dull normalcy every day of his life. Apparently, the only thing unusual to happen this year had been the fact that the local college students hadn't gotten into a brawl with any of the local kids during senior week. He was tired, sweaty, and not looking forward to another night in the cramped and uncomfortable motel room. Even the prospect of reading the rest of Saint-John's diary didn't lift his spirits any. It was too much like eavesdropping and besides, he preferred his kicks to be visual.

"Mulder, I really think that we're going about this the wrong way. Nothing we've come up with has proven any more conclusive than the fact that all five women were out-of-sorts. If I lived in this town all my life, I'd be out of sorts too."

Despite the fact that her words only echoed his thoughts, Mulder couldn't resist baiting her a little.

"Oh, come on, Scully. Five women all deciding to up and out of their lives at the same time? Don't you think that you're stretching the facts just a bit too much to make them into a recognizable coincidence?"

Scully placed her coffee cup down on the Formica with a gentleness that boded worse for him than had she thrown the cup across the table at him.

"No. I. Do. Not." The words were bitten off with efficiency. "So far we've collected second-hand testimony and weeks-old recollections. That's not enough. If there had been bodies to examine, tests to run, that would back up my initial hypothesis of medical tampering, then maybe -- and only maybe -- we would have something to hang our suppositions on. But we don't, Mulder. We have nothing. And I thought we agreed that when we had nothing, we would back away."

"There's something odd going on here, Scully."

"I agree. And what do you propose that we do about it?"

Mulder stared at her across the table, frustrated helplessness written across his features. Scully looked at him, and relented.

"All right. I'll go back over to the hospital tomorrow morning, and have them run some more tests. And you can run down whatever wild hares you desire. One day. And if neither of us finds anything..."

"We turn it over to Unsolved Mysteries." Mulder knew that he sounded bitter, but Scully's matter-of-fact practicality irked him sometimes, all the more so when he knew that she was right. They were only two people. They couldn't take on every damn windmill, no matter how much he might want to.

"They might be fine," she said.

He looked at her steadily, until her gaze dropped. Neither of them believed that.

Thursday
1:30AM

Something had woken him. Mulder resented that. After two nights of this, he was sick of this hotel. The bed was lumpy, the carpet smelled of mildew, and he was tired of watching the day's racing simulcasts on the tv. After a while, even the direct-dial phone to the track became boring. Not to mention expensive.

There was a noise outside his door. Suddenly alert, Mulder reached for his gun with one hand, grabbing his pants off the chair with the other. Stalking to the door, he looked out cautiously, then threw open the door with a sigh of relief.

"You scared the hell out of me, Scully." She froze where she was, halfway off the porch. Mulder frowned. "Scully?"

She turned to face him slowly, as though fighting her own body. "Mulder..." She swallowed. "Don't...

He took a step closer. "What's wrong?" He could see now that her face was ashen, sweat beading along her brow and dampening her hair until it clung to her face and neck. It wasn't that warm out -- Mulder could feel a soft breeze on his arms, but it didn't seem to effect Scully at all.

Her gaze lifted to his, and his breath caught in his throat. Her lips were parted, her eyes wide, and the look on her face was nothing short of sheer, unadulterated lust.

"Please," she whispered. "Let me go, please..."

He stood there, his mind and his body warring over what to do, and she turned away from him, moving down the shallow steps, her bare feet making no noise whatsoever. She moved like a ghost, silent and swift, heading --

Mulder broke from his paralysis long enough to realize that she was heading directly for the woods behind the motel.

"Scully!" Swearing under his breath, Mulder tucked the gun into his waistband and ran after her. His longer stride cut the distance between them, and he was able to grab her by the hand before she reached the treeline.

Her skin was like fire, sending shockwaves through his system. He pulled her around, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Scully?" He shook her. "Dammit, Scully, snap out of it!"

Her eyes tried to focus on his. "Mulder... Oh god, just let me go. I have to..." she stopped to suck in air, and his attention was drawn unwillingly to her lips, red with blood from where she had bitten them. "Let me go. I have to... I need..."

Mulder felt a sudden chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with the breeze. Those were the same words Eden Saint-John had written in her diary. The last words she had written before disappearing.

He shook his partner like a rag doll, his fear overpowering anything else. "Scully, listen to me! Have you been having dreams? Dammit, answer me!"

Her eyes suddenly cleared for a moment, and she was "there," staring up into his eyes. "Mulder? Oh god Mulder, help me."

He gathered her into his arms, meaning to console her, but that moment of coherence was gone, and she struggled against him, trying to break free.

"Scully, you've got to help me, here. What's going on? What's calling you?" He held her to him tightly, uncomfortably aware of the heat coming off her body. It was like she was possessed... his thoughts slowed, froze. No. Oh no.

Four women suffering the same symptoms of sleeplessness, erotic dreams, and irritability disappear without a trace when they try to recreate the dream. One woman, prevented from recreating it, kills herself. And now Scully... No! His instincts kicked in, refusing to consider any thought of letting this play out, of letting Scully walk, unprepared, into danger.

Mulder yelped as one well-placed elbow caught him in a sensitive area. He didn't want to hurt her, but the thought of what might happen if he let go terrified him more. If he could just hold onto her until this passed... it would mean nothing. Rissa Mueller had been restrained, and she had killed herself the morning after.

Swearing incoherently under his breath, Mulder wrapped his arm around her shoulders and forced her back to the motel porch. Fortunately, he had left the door ajar, otherwise he would never have been able to get all 5'2 inches, 130 pounds of fighting Irish into the room.

"Dammit, Scully," he muttered, pulling her fingers out of his face. "Ow! Come on, don't hurt the nice partner, he's only trying to keep you alive." She whimpered, trying to twist out of his grasp. "Whoa, nice move. Looks like you were paying attention in self-defense class."

Scully collapsed suddenly, falling forward into his arms. When Mulder went to catch her, she slid to the left, breaking out of his grasp and bolting for the door.

"Scully!" She hesitated for half a second, long enough for him to catch her arm, pulling her back from the door a little more roughly than he intended.

"I have to go!" she cried, staring at the door. "Please. Please!"

"Scully --"

She started to scream, and Mulder reacted instinctively, forcing the heel of his hand into her mouth until he could find a piece of cloth to use as a gag. She glared at him from around the gag, still trying to wiggle free.

"I'm sorry, Scully," he said softly, holding her wrists together in one hand. "I really am sorry. And I hope, in the morning, you'll be able to forgive me." His free hand went to his belt, sliding it from the loops and making a slipknot with it around her wrists. A small, despairing noise escaped her throat, and Mulder closed his eyes against the pleading in hers. "I'm sorry," he whispered again as he forced her to sit against the wall, looping the belt around the creaky bedframe. She strained against the bond, her eyes never leaving the door. He sat beside her, moving to stoke the hair off her forehead, and narrowly missed being castrated by a wicked jerk of her knee.

Mouth compressed into a thin line, Mulder went into the bathroom, coming out with one of the threadbare towels in his hand. Using his teeth, he tore a corner of the towel, using that start to tear the cloth into several strips. Not looking at his partner, he went to the foot of the bed and caught her legs, binding them together with the strips.

"This really is hurting me more than it does you, Scully. With any luck, you won't remember any of this tomorrow." He looked up at her as he said this, and stopped cold. She was looking at him, her pale eyes filled with angry tears. His throat tightened. "But I'll never be able to forget."

Mulder sat slumped in the one chair in the room, staring at the body lying on the bed. She was motionless, but Mulder didn't believe for a moment she had given up trying to get free. He only hoped that the cheap wood of the bed would stand up to her determined tugging. His brain was numb, his much-vaunted reasoning skills locked in place, unresponsive. Her words to him played over and over again:

Let me go. I have to, I need...

Pressing his hands against his closed eyelids, Mulder tried to force his brain into working. Five women. Mood swings. Increased hormonal levels. Manipulated menstrual cycles. Increased libidos. Five women of childbearing age. Four missing, presumed dead. One dead by her own hand. After being restrained from taking off into the night. Into the woods. After being prevented from finishing whatever had been started.

And Scully. Oh god, Scully. No. He wouldn't let her go. Not again.

Mulder could see where this logic was leading him, and he didn't like it. Or rather, he liked it just enough to disgust himself.

A soft whimper broke him from his thoughts, and he rose to stand next to the bed. Scully stared at him, her eyes wide, her pale face covered in a fine sheen of sweat. She was still sweating, her blue satin nightshirt sticking to her skin in too many places. She twisted again, her body arching off the bed in a silent plea. She was running a high-grade fever. He could feel the heat coming off of her body, and wondered that the sweat didn't evaporate the moment it hit her skin.

Unable to stop himself, he sat next to her, placing one hand along the side of her face. She turned into the touch, her body canting towards him.

Four women gone into the unknown. Four women likely used, and destroyed, by whoever -- whatever -- had done this to them.

One woman dead, unable to continue after being prevented from going to whatever force was calling her.

And Scully.

"Scully." His voice broke on her name, and he swallowed against the knot in his throat. "Forgive me, but I can't --" He stopped, his thumb stroking the damp hair away from her face. "I can't risk it, Scully. Forgive me."

Drawing a deep breath, he leaned over his partner, taking her face between his hands. She stared up at him, the faintest glimmer of recognition fighting its way through the fog of lust. Removing the gag slowly, his lips brushed against hers. Despite his determination to keep this as clinical as he could, his mouth returned for another pass, pressing harder. Her lips opened underneath him, her tongue darting out to trace the corners of his mouth. Mulder groaned, feeling his cock harden painfully.

Scully whimpered again, this time directing the noise at him rather than to something beyond the door. Heartened, his hands went the material of her nightshirt, sliding slowly underneath to touch the heated flesh of her stomach. Scully purred like a cat, moving against his hands, her lower body rising off the bed in a silent plea.

He knew that he should do this quickly, not get sucked into the moment, but the smell rising off her skin was intoxicating. For the first time in his life, Mulder understood the term `in rut,' and found the strength to envy the average tomcat. Having touched her, he could no more stop than she could. Sliding his hands further up, he felt the soft rounding of her breasts, loose beneath the satin. She jumped when he touched her nipples, her eyes closing even as her mouth fell open. He raised the shirt up to look down at her, bunching the fabric up just below her chin. She bucked slightly, as much as the restraints on her wrist would allow, and he bent his head to touch the tip of his tongue to one distended nipple. Scully jerked again, and his mouth opened to taste the sweat coating the soft peak, his nostrils flaring, drawing in the musky smell.

Pulling away, he smoothed the material back down her body, watching as a shiver rippled down her spine. His fingers went to the small mother-of-pearl buttons, unfastening them with a dexterity that amazed him.

"Please..."

Mulder closed his eyes against the expanse of pale skin that lay underneath him, glowing with the sheen of sweat. Ladies perspire, a small voice informed him. Scully was definitely sweating. For that matter, so was he.

He shifted off the bed, ignoring her soft sound of disappointment for as long as it took him to drop his trousers on the floor. Sitting on the bed by her legs, he ran one possessive hand along the inside of her thigh down to the back of her knee, bending to place a gentle kiss there.

"Hurry."

Mulder looked back up, meeting his partner's gaze. She was staring at him like he was filet mignon and she hadn't eaten in a week. Reaching further down, he tried to untie the cloth holding her legs together, but her straining had swollen the knots uno an unpenetrable mess. Swearing under his breath, Mulder tore himself away long enough to grab his suit jacket, reaching into the pocket to pull out a small Swiss Army knife. "Eat your heart out, MacGyver," he said grimly, flipping a blade out and sawing through the cloth.

Her legs freed, Scully wasted no time wrapping them around his waist, pulling him across the bed so that he lay over her, his arms braced on either side of her body. Shifting his weight to his knees, his hands went to the scrap of cotton still separating them, fingers curling around the elastic. His thumbs slid lower, slipping easily into the wet heat waiting for him. Scully groaned, jerking upwards, and Mulder's fingers convulsed, ripping the fabric away from her hips before he realized what he was doing.

"Fuck me," Scully ordered, her soft voice oddly right with the coarse words. "Now. I need to feel you inside me. I need this."

Mulder grabbed her ass, lifting her body just enough to shove himself inside that waiting heat, sheathing himself with no thought for delicacy, or affection, or anything except burying himself until he came out the other side. Pulling her off the bed, his fingers dug into the soft flesh unnoticed. The leather belt snapped taut as she tried to move forward, impaling herself on him as he shoved and retreated, shoved and retreated like a madman.

In the back of his mind, where something rational still lurked, Mulder was disgusted at himself, but he could no more have stopped than he could have willingly stopped breathing. One hand went to the small of her back, lifting her body so that he could take one breast into this mouth, sucking and tugging on it like a nursing baby. Scully moaned, tugging harder on the belt, digging her heels into his ass like a jockey pulling up to the finish line.

The bed quaked beneath them, and Scully let out a low scream, her thighs convulsing around him, pulling him even deeper. He let go of the nipple, pulling back to stare into her eyes as she came, her pale eyes completely aware as she cried his name. At the sound of her voice, hoarse from panting, Mulder felt himself rush over the edge of orgasm, his spine turning to jelly.

They collapsed back onto the abused mattress, the only sound in the room that of their labored breathing. Mulder let his heartbeat slow down, then gathered his courage and rolled over to look at his partner. Her hair tousled and her face flushed, Scully looked the picture of an angel. A satiated, sleeping angel. Mulder closed his eyes in relief. He had time to figure out what the hell he was going to say, how he was going to explain his actions.

Or maybe he should just run now, and hope the head start would be enough?

Glad that he could still find humor in the situation, Mulder started to unloop the belt, then paused. He had no assurances Scully wouldn't still be under a compulsion to leave. His heart sinking, he realized that he couldn't take the chance.

She's going to kill me, he thought, lying on his back beside her and staring up at the cracked plaster ceiling. Slowly, painfully, and with malice aforethought.

Dana tried to stretch, and pain ran through her arms, all the way down her spine. She let out a soft cry, aware only that she was stiff and sore and brutally tired. Her eyes were gummed together, and she had difficulty getting them open. There was a soft rustling noise, then the world tilted. A soft, warm cloth was passed over her lids, and she was able to open her eyes. Mulder sat beside her, his eyes concerned. Staring up into those eyes, Dana felt her breath catch in her throat, and suddenly the events of the previous night came back to her. Her arms jerked against the restraints involuntarily, wrenching her shoulders and causing her to cry out again. Mulder caught her elbows in a gentle hold, stopping her from moving again.

"Wait," he said, his voice raspy. He leaned forward, out of her range of sight, and she felt the restraints give way. Her arms came forward, the pain almost unbearable, but before she could give in to the pain she was launching herself forward, numb arms flailing at the man seated beside her.

Mulder bore the assault stoically, letting her vent on him. Finally, when her anger-inspired strength wore out, he held her against his bare chest, soothing her hair with one hand while the other rested in the small of her back.

"I'm sorry, Scully," he said, his voice heavy. "But I didn't know what to do. I didn't... I couldn't think of anything else to do." He bent his head into her hair, his words muffled. "This wasn't the way I wanted it."

Her face burned as she recalled exactly what had happened the night before. She remembered waking from the most incredibly erotic dream she had ever had, knowing only that if she could just get outside, someplace private, the dream would continue. She remembered Mulder stopping her, remembered hating him with an intensity that should have incinerated both of them. And, just as clearly, she remembered that hate turning to lust. Overriding, overwhelming lust.

And the worst part of it, the part that made her want to cringe, was the fact that Dana Scully had no regrets for what happened last night. None. As a matter of fact, she realized, she was rather proud of herself. Satisfied. Like she had done something...

Her mind went blank, and then she was out of Mulder's arms, racing for the door that connected their rooms. Tugging on the handle, she swore, remembering only then the fact that she had left it locked on her side.

"Scully?"

"I need to get to my bag," she said quietly, trying not to give in to hysteria.

He frowned, not understanding.

"My supplies. My medical supplies," she clarified, not looking at him. If she looked at him, she didn't know how she'd react. "Dammit, Mulder, don't you get it?!" She was ready to cry in frustration.

Mulder looked at her standing there, her pale skin made even paler in contrast to the cheap paneling on the walls, and tried to work his brain independently of his body, which was already responding to the sight of the flesh he had learned so intimately a few hours before. Medical supplies. She needed to... the same realization hit him and his skin flushed, then went pale. No protection. Standing, he grabbed his shirt off the chair and wrapped it around her, urging her back to the bed. "Sit down."

She resisted.

"Scully, sit down. I'll go get your bag, okay?"

She nodded, still not looking at him. Sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, looking like a piece of overglazed porcelain, Dana Scully still retained the fine-honed mind that had made her such an asset to the X Files. "The small vial in the inside pocket," she instructed him, relying on details to keep the hysteria at bay. "And the notepad. I need to document the dosage."

Mulder started to protest, then stopped himself. If she wanted this on the record, she had to have her reasons. They could talk about it later. He headed for the door, thinking, they would talk about everything -- later.

Dana stood in the bathroom, washing down the pills with a glass of tepid water. Her face in the mirror was flushed, her neck and wrists bruised. Her eyes seemed like the eyes of a stranger; overlarge, glassy, and... she dropped her gaze -- satisfied. She looked like a woman who had been screwed to within an inch of her life. Which, she supposed, she had.

She chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. How did she feel about that? It was nice, in a way, that Mulder hadn't just let her go to whatever was calling her in order to solve the case -- nice, but unexpected. Not that she thought he would willingly put her in harms' way, exactly, not willingly, but...

But you're avoiding the point, Dana Katherine, she told herself sternly. How are you going to handle going out there and dealing with him now?

She supposed that pretending nothing had happened was an option. It would be awkward, but...

Or they could deal with it, discuss it, lay down rules... She stopped, bemused. What kind of rules could you make for this situation? Yes, you were incredible, but don't ever do it again unless, of course, I am possessed by a passing nymphomaniac walk-in? She smiled reluctantly, thinking of Mulder's reaction to =that.=

Or... and this was the kicker -- she could walk out into that motel room, and they could do it again.

Mulder smoothed the leather of his belt between his fingers, listening to the sounds from the bathroom. At least she hadn't tried to bolt out the window. That was a good sign, right? His gaze fell to the belt, and he dropped it as though burned. He stood, pacing the small room, then dropped into the room's one chair. This wasn't any better. From here, the view was entirely of the bed, the blanket tangled in a heap at the foot of the mattress, the pillows thrown to one side. He had picked his clothes and put them on in order to retrieve Scully's bag, but her pajamas still lay on the floor. He reached down and picked up the shirt, holding it to his face briefly. He had never asked her what scent she used, something light, and musky. He inhaled deeply, fixing the memory for the long nights ahead. Assuming that Scully didn't come out of that bathroom and shoot him.

He frowned, listening. There were no more sounds coming from the bathroom.

Rising, he went to the door and knocked gently.

"Scully?"

"Yeah."

"You... okay?"

There was a soft laugh. "Yeah, sure. Just counting my bruises."

Mulder flinched. "I'm sorry," he said softly, not knowing if she could hear him, or if it would make any difference whatsoever.

The door opened, and Scully walked out, still wearing his shirt. It came almost to her knees, and the sight made his heart twist painfully. She should have looked ridiculous. Instead, it made him hornier than hell, and =that= made him feel an all-time guilt. And he knew from guilt.

She walked past him without a word, going to sit on the bed.

"Scully?"

She looked at the floor, one hand reaching up to curl in her hair. She suddenly realized what she was dong, and dropped her hands into her lap. Mulder's gaze followed her hands, and from there fell to her legs, flinching at the light green-yellow bruises circling her ankles.

"Scully," he began again, only to have her wave him silent.

They waited there in silence until Mulder was convinced that he could hear the cockroaches holding their breath as well. Her head raised slowly, her lower lip caught between even white teeth, her face set in tense lines. He felt his heart twist again at the strain he read there.

"Why?" she asked finally, her grey-green gaze steady on his face.

Mulder stared at her. Of all the things he might have expected, that blunt question wasn't it. Although, in retrospect, maybe he should have. His partner never did believe in wasting time, or playing coy. He opened his mouth to explain, then closed it again. Best to proceed carefully here.

"The previous cases indicated that merely restraining you wouldn't have a..." he hesitated, "positive effect. And then I'd get stuck doing all the paperwork."

He flinched. That wasn't what he had meant to say. Damn his wiseass tongue!

Scully ducked her head, and he thought, maybe, that she was trying to hide a smile. But when her face came up again, she was somber. "We lost a valuable chance last night. You could have followed me to the source, found out what it was -- =who= is was that infected me, and how. Why didn't you?"

"You wanted me to let whatever it was have you?"

"I've told you before, Mulder. This is my job, I can handle the risks. That was our best shot to find out what happened to those women. Why didn't you take it?"

Million dollar question, Scully. Points for directness, too. Mulder drew in a heavy breath, staring at his hands, then looked her in the eyes.

"I thought about it. But I didn't want to send you into danger. My every instinct was to keep you away from the woods, to keep you safe." He shrugged, tried for a weak smile. "Maybe I got an attack of common sense."

"A side effect on you of whatever drug was used?" she suggested, not returning his smile. Mulder swallowed, thought about lying. But in the end, looking into those familiar eyes, he couldn't.

"No."

She sat there, waiting patiently.

He broke eye contact, staring down at his toes. "I didn't want you to go into the woods... because I was jealous."

Mulder heard the words coming out of his mouth, and cringed inwardly. Now he'd done it. First there would be the exasperated sigh, then the gentle comfort, and then the lecture. The same lecture he gave himself every time they sat in a motel room together. Every time she dated someone new. Every time he hit the bar scene looking for someone to dull the pain. It wasn't love he was feeling. It was need. Friendship. Obligation. Enforced intimacy. The Magic Circle, one of his textbooks had called it. He knew that.

And yet, what was love except need. And friendship. And yes, obligation and all the rest. He didn't know. He just didn't know anymore. And in letting his gonads do his thinking for him... he closed his eyes, waiting for Scully to talk him through the situation wither her soft, rational voice. She'd find some way to put this into perspective, some way for them to go on from here. She had to, dammit. He was counting on her to get them through this minefield intact.

The phone rang, and Mulder grabbed at it like a lifeline.

"Mulder. Yeah, no I was awake, don't worry. Damn. Okay, where?" Mulder reached the pad of cheap paper on the table next to the phone, swearing softly when the pen didn't work. Dana reached into his jacket pocket and tossed him another. He caught it, scribbling down directions. "Yeah, okay. We'll be there ASAP."

He turned to her, his face set in grim lines. "They found a body in the woods this morning. They think it's Beth Winters.

She nodded, and he could see the change in her face just as he was sure she could follow it on his. Whatever was happening between them, whatever fallout there would be from the previous night, it would have to wait. They had a case to deal with.

9:45 AM
Saratoga Springs County Hospital

Dana stared at the body lying on the stainless steel table. The lights were a little bright, and she reached up to adjust the lamp. Her eyes were gritty from a lack of sleep, and she wished for another cup of coffee. Her hands were steady as she prepared her instruments, but she couldn't help but wonder if it would have been her lying on the table if Mulder hadn't stopped her. If she wouldn't have gone through what this girl -- and likely the girls still missing -- had gone through.

And what did you go through, Beth? she thought. Tell me what they did to you.

Gloved hands began their work, and Scully began to speak into the microphone.

"The subject is a Caucasian female, age twenty-nine, named Elizabeth Winters. Cause and time of death presently unknown..."

Mulder watched his partner perform the initial examination, then turned away. He wouldn't be helping any by hanging around the hospital lab, and there were still questions to be asked. The grounds keeper who had found the body on the 6th hole of the county golf course had been taken to the police station in town so that he could give his statement. Mulder figured he'd stop by the imposing brick building, get the reports, and then question the man in his home, where he might be more comfortable, and therefore remember more details. It was a long shot, but long shots had a way of returning big payoffs sometimes. This was, after all, Saratoga Springs.

4:30 PM
Saratoga Diner

Mulder looked up to see his partner walk in the door, and he raised his arm to wave her over to what had already become their regular table. He noted that she looked tired, and dropped his gaze back to the menu he had already memorized.

She slid into the booth with a soft groan, flexing her shoulders. Mulder fought the urge to offer his usual post-autopsy backrub. Somehow, he didn't think it would be too wise right now.

"George Claremont, the greens keeper, was not a lot of help," he opened the conversation. "Apparently the body was found in the middle of a sand trap. There were some disturbances in the sand, but by the time he reached the body, and dragged it out, there wasn't much left to look at. A herd of elephants could have gone through, for all these sense we could make of the prints. I waited around for the photographs to come back, but even enlarged they weren't a lot of help." He shrugged. "I've got someone out there sifting through the sand, just in case."

He waited a moment. "Scully?"

She rubbed at her face, then reached into her bag and pulled out a plain manilla folder. "Winters, Elizabeth" was written in her handwriting along the tab.

"From the initial examination, Beth Winters shouldn't be dead. She was perfectly healthy. All of her internal organs were functioning, there were no foreign substances introduced... nothing. Apparently, she died of a sudden shock that caused her system to shut down completely, causing death."

"She was scared to death?" Mulder asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Along those lines, yes. It's a natural phenomena, but not one you see too often without accompanying symptoms -- a weak heart, or something of the sort. The two times it has been verified as cause-of-death without additional cause, the verdict came back as manslaughter." Scully stopped, touched the folder, then folded her fingers together. "Trivia book details, and not really of any use. But the autopsy did provide two interesting facts."

She paused, but didn't refer to the file.

"One. Within 96 hours of her death, Beth Winters engaged in consensual intercourse."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Mulder could feel the guilt inside him grow until it threatened to choke him. The waitress came along then to break the tension, and they ordered coffee.

When the matronly waitress had poured them each a cup of the thick sludge the place specialized in, Scully continued.

"The second piece of information is a bit more startling."

Mulder raised one eyebrow.

"Within the 12 to 24 hours before her death, Beth Winters gave birth."

Mulder almost snarfed his coffee, putting the mug down quickly. Scully stared down into her own mug, watching the swirls of milk.

"Beth Winters wasn't pregnant when she disappeared," Mulder said, making it into a question.

"No. I double checked with her doctor before I left the hospital. She had recently gone off the Pill for medical reasons, but she had been using spermicide regularly." Scully took a sip of her coffee, grimaced, and added more milk. "I did some checking around. Mulder, each of the missing women were not currently using any form of long-term birth control."

"And you think there's a connection?" He was watching her face intently now, the earlier awkwardness gone. He could almost see the wheels turning under that head of auburn hair.

"Maybe. I..." She hesitated. "Look, I want to go over Eden's diary again, see if there's something I missed, before I say anything. I'm going to go back to the motel." Scully looked up at him. "You should get some sleep. You look wiped, and there's nothing we can do this afternoon. It's too soon."

"Too soon for what?" Mulder asked, not sure what she was talking about.

"For another victim, Mulder. Based on the previous victims," Scully paused so briefly Mulder wasn't sure it had happened, "it takes several days from infection to ... reaction. And based on the evidence we have, only one woman is infected at a time."

She stood then, picking up the file and her pocketbook.

"Get some rest, Mulder. It's going to be a long week, if we can't find the next victim soon."

8:30 PM
Lucky Number Motel

There was a knock on the door connecting their rooms. Mulder put down the magazine he had been skimming through and swung his feet off the bed. "Come in."

Scully opened the door and walked in. She had taken off her suit jacket, and her hair was tousled. "Did you grab any dinner?"

"A burger. You?"

Scully shook her head. "I started reading... forgot what time it was. She was a good writer."

Mulder ginned, unable to help himself. "Yeah, I noticed that."

"No, I mean the other passages. She really made things come alive. She talked about her life, her dreams. There was so much she wanted to do. It's a shame..." Scully paused, moved her hands restlessly.

"Yes?'

"Mulder, we need to talk about last night."

The change in topic took him by surprise. He stood, moving towards the window, away from her. Away from the entire conversation. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Scully. Why don't we just --"

"You said that you were jealous." She went on as though he hadn't said anything

Mulder stood there, staring out the window, his shoulders stiff. Damn. She would remember that.

"Look, I think --"

She walked over to stand behind him and reached for his shoulders, turning him to face her. Her face was calm, motionless. "Jealous. Of what?"

He stammered a little, unable to meet her gaze.

"You maybe wanted to be the one possessed?" she suggested. "The one being called? You wanted to be the one in the middle of an X-File, not just as the investigator?"

She could have been carved from ice, there was so little emotion there. Mulder's internal organs twisted themselves into new, painful patterns. Stop now, before she =does= shoot you! his brain screamed. He backed away, meaning to put an end to this somehow, without getting himself into deeper trouble. But his mouth plowed on, unable to stop. "NO! No. It wasn't like that. I... I wanted... to be the one possessing."

He watched her eyes widen slightly as she absorbed that, and he mentally gaged the distance between her and his gun. Could he reach it before she did? Stop it, his rational side scolded him. This is Scully. She won't really shoot... his rational brain reconsidered, and shut up.

She looked at him, her head tilted slightly to the side. Her eyes blinked once, twice, slowly. Mulder watched in stunned fascination as her face reflected the activity in her brain.

"And did you?"

"Wha?"

"Possess me."

Her voice was calm, even, as though they were discussing the weather. She was in perfect control, every inch in command of herself and the situation. Mulder felt sweat drip down his spine. He bit his lower lip, aware that his breathing was ragged. "No," he said huskily. "I don't know who was in control last night, but it sure as hell wasn't me."

Her lips curled in a satisfied smile, and Mulder could =hear= the sounds of canaries squawking. Suddenly he had a feeling that, if he looked down, he'd be covered with yellow feathers. Moving slowly, just in case he was wrong, he lifted one hand to Scully's face, tilting her chin up. Her eyes sparkled back at him, mischief clear in her expression.

He growled low in his throat, and pushed her away from him, not roughly. She backed away from him, still wearing that smile, her fingers going to the top button of her blouse.

"So how was I infected?"

His mind went blank, and for a minute he couldn't think of what she was talking about. "Um, the autopsy?"

"My guess as well," she said with an approving smile, her fingers slipping one button from its mooring. "So it's likely biological in nature."

"From contact, rather than airborne. A random sampling of the population?" God, this was killing him! What the hell was she up to?

Scully shook her head. "No, I think that the choices were deliberate. All females in perfect health, during their prime reproductive years..."

"Whipped into a sexual frenzy..." Mulder watched her slide another button free, and felt his throat dry out.

Scully nodded, her hands pausing. "So, why would someone arrange that?"

"They were looking for breeding stock?" Mulder suggested, part of his mind busy at the puzzle, the rest of his attention focused on the remaining button holding the blouse closed across her breasts.

"The question, of course, being -- who? Or what?"

Mulder drew in a deep breath. "It's not the usual pattern of abductions," he reminded her.

"True," she said, her fingers poised over the last button. Her gaze flicked up to meet his, and her smile deepened. Moving slowly, she flicked the shirt open, her thumb resting in the valley between her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra. How had he missed that?

"Dammit, Scully." But his voice lacked any conviction whatsoever. She stepped forward, standing toe-to-toe with him. "You were a little rushed last night. I can't say I was too impressed with your technique." There was an eternity-long pause. "Want another chance, Mulder? The pill's good for twenty-four hours."

Dana could feel the heat pouring off Mulder, even from across the room. He had blanched even whiter at her words, and for a moment she thought she might have gone too far, that he was going to go into coronary arrest right in front of her.

She had a second of hysteria, imagining explaining that to Skinner -- "I propositioned him, and he died of shock," before the shirt was on the floor and she was lying on her back, slanted across the bed, Mulder a heavy weight on top of her.

His hands came up to frame her face, his eyes inches from hers.

"I don't care if you were kidding," he husked into her ear. "I don't care if you suddenly decide this is a bad idea. We can sling blame later." He reached down to flick open the waistband of her slacks, slipping them over her hips and down her legs with one practiced motion.

She brought her arms up to encircle his neck, turning her head so that her lips brushed his. "I won't blame anyone but myself," she promised, her voice low and sweet like honey. Her tongue tasted the flavor of the corner of his mouth, sweeping gently along the soft skin. Mulder groaned into her mouth, burying his fingers into her hair with a convulsive gesture. His legs fit alongside her thighs, the lightweight wool of his slacks rasping against her skin. She bent her knees, bringing her groin into contact with his, the silk of her underwear scritching against the wool.

"Get up," she whispered, only to be greeted by a soft moan of protest. She laughed. "You've got too many clothes on."

He rolled off her, lying on his side. She reached down, fingers sliding inside his waistband. Flicking the button open, she slip the zipper down slowly, enjoying the shudder she could feel running though her partner's body. Last night had been a haze of heat and friction; a rush of sensations but no particular details. She wanted the details. Wanted them badly, and of her own volition.

Reaching down, she discovered that he wasn't wearing underwear. Oh my, Mulder, she thought. You were being a bad boy, weren't you? Her fingers curled around his balls, stroking gently, softly, until they hardened even more under her touch. She could remember the feel of him inside her, of his body around her, the way he reacted to pleasure...her smile grew wider, and a little wicked. The way he reacted to pain. Her fingers curved a little more, and her fingernails trailed up the length of his shaft.

Mulder jumped, then shook himself like a dog suddenly come awake. "Don't =do= that!"

"You didn't like?"

Mulder drew a deep breath, then let it out. "I didn't say that," he allowed cautiously.

She closed her fingers around the tip of him, rubbing the pad of her thumb across the head until moisture coated it. "Mmmm." She looked into his eyes, noting with pleasure the heavy lids drooping. His mouth was slack, his tongue showing between parted lips. She half-expected him to start purring at any moment. Putting her face into the curve of his neck, she inhaled deeply, drawing in the musky-sour scent of his sweat.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?" His vice was drugged, indolent.

She smiled wickedly. "You're not paying attention," she whispered, and bit his neck, hard.

Mulder stiffened, then growled, his body rolling so that he was poised over her.

"That's going to be quite a hickey," she diagnosed, grinning up at him. "Hope you weren't planning any heavy dates until it fades."

Mulder stared down at her so intently that her grin slipped away. "What?" Her hand reached up to brush the hair away from his face, fingers trailing down the side of his jaw. He turned his head and caught those fingers in his mouth, his teeth just grazing the skin. She felt a shiver run down her spine, and wondered what those teeth would feel like elsewhere on her body.

"Hey," she said, trying to wiggle her fingers free. He nipped, and she squirmed under him, enjoying the way his breathing sped up as her skin brushed against his. She could feel herself warming inside, wanting him. Last night had been too quick, too fierce. She wanted this evening to last. And to hell with the case. The case could wait.

Pushing the fabric down over his hips, to his ankles, she shifted so that she could wrap her legs around his, keeping him still. Her fingernails skimmed over his shoulder blades, down his spine, scratching lightly across his buttocks. His hands clenched into the pillow beneath her head, and he smiled down at her.

"If we're going to have payback for last night, I suppose you'll have to tie =me= down."

"Restraints are the easy way out, Mulder. I want to see how strong that self-control of yours is." She smiled at his reaction, then slapped his ass lightly. "Kiss me."

His head bent forward, his lips lightly bushing hers. Butterfly-soft, no more, then he pulled away.

"Like that?"

Dana closed her eyes, pleased. He understood the game, then.

"That would be nice... if I were your elderly aunt. I've gotten more action from the lip of a soda can."

Mulder chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then bent his head once again. This time his mouth came down with more pressure, stroking back and forth along the soft skin of her lips. His mouth opened, and hers followed suit, expectant. She pulled back, feeling his breath hot on her face.

"Taste me," she ordered, her voice calmer than she felt.

Obediently, his tongue flicked at the corners of her mouth, dipping inside and testing the edges of her teeth. She caught the tip of his tongue between her teeth, tugging slightly, then let go. He moved his mouth to the side of her face, his lips brushing her skin softly, then returned to her mouth, forcing it open in a slow, seductive caress. She felt his tongue press against her teeth, stroking the insides of her mouth, the sensitive area at the roof. A satisfied purr came from her throat.

Mulder pulled away, looking down at her, his eyes heavy-lidded and sparkling. "Better?"

"You... show promise."

She reached up for him, her fingers digging into the flesh under his shoulder blades, and kissed him, hard and fast . Hooking one leg around his thigh, she used that as leverage to push out from under him, ending up with her knees pinning his thighs down, her elbows holding down his upper arms. His face turned to the side so that he could breathe, Mulder wuffed in surprise.

"You ever do a stint as a contortionist, Scully? Because I --"

His voice caught as Dana's mouth fastened to the soft skin of his neck, sucking small, wet mouthfuls until she heard him moan. Nipping at the back of his spine, she trailed her way down the vertebrae, leaving small red bruises to mark her passing. Underneath her, Mulder squirmed, but didn't try to break loose. Her hand trailed down, tracing the curve of flesh where ass joined to leg. He moaned something that she didn't quite catch, and tried to arch himself backwards into her hand. She stroked the pale skin, tickling the light scattering of hairs, then reached down and lightly bit the cheek she had just been caressing. He jumped and moaned, and Dana smiled. Her hands curved around his hips, sliding down to cup his balls.

Mulder sighed, thrusting himself forward against the bed, grinding himself into her hands.

"Scully... Dana please."

She tightened her hands slowly, gently, and Mulder let out a long exhalation of air. He could have moved out of her grasp at any time, ended the game easily, but he stayed where he was, awaiting her next move. Self-control. The name of the game was control... Her thumb sliding up his shaft, she let her fingers trail behind, well-trimmed nails scraping against him. He moaned, not sure if he was enjoying the agony or not.

Concentrating on Mulder's reactions, Dana nonetheless was aware of the heat flooding her insides as well. Her breasts felt as though they had been rubbed with fine-grain sandpaper, the nipples tight and swollen into hard nubs, and the insides of her thighs were slick with sweat. At this point, she wasn't sure who was being tortured more.

"God, Dana. Dana."

She smiled against the soft skin of his nape. "What do you want?"

"You."

"What do you want?" she asked again, her breath tickling the short hairs behind his ear.

Mulder groaned.

"I want to," his swallowed hard as her fingers played with the head of his penis, rubbing the shaft in firm, slow strokes. "I want your tongue to do that," he said harshly. "I want you to suck me off until I come in your mouth." His body tensed under his ministrations, and a low groan came from his throat. "I want to suck on you until you scream. Until you can't remember your own name, can't remember anything except me." He drew a deep breath, as though fighting against his own lungs. "And then I want to be inside you," he said in a harsh whisper. "I want to feel you soft and wet and silky all around me. I want to make you come over and over again until you can't breathe. And I don't ever want to stop."

Dana swallowed against the rise of sensations his words brought forward. She felt dizzy, as though they had already made love.

"You must be real popular on the phone sex lines," she whispered into his hair, her thighs astride one of his legs so that her dampened underwear was stroking his sensitized flesh.

He stirred underneath her, as though tensing to turn over, but held himself still. She could almost hear the words running through his head. Self control. The game is about control.'

"Dana..."

Mulder could hear the begging in his voice, and gritted his teeth together. He felt like a rocket about to launch, and only the knowledge that this was what Scully wanted was keeping him from tossing her down onto the bed and taking her like an animal. It might be a gossamer thin leash, but she held it. This time. He grinned, a decidedly feral-looking grin, and thought about the games they would play next time.

Then her hands closed on him once again, and he lost those thoughts in the wave of sensations.

"Oh Jesus, don't do that. No, no, don't stop. I'm sorry, don't stop..."

Her fingers slipped down his thighs, then back again. Her hands were no longer gentle, forcing an involuntary grunt from him. Tendrils of flame raced in the wake of her touch, burning into the sinews. Strands of hair trailed along his skin as she brushed her lips down his spine, and Mulder had to clench his teeth to keep from crying out. He'd been aroused to fever pitch before, had made love to women with more experience than he suspected his partner had -- had survived Phoebe and her painful games. But never once in his entire life had he been this close to madness.

=What are you doing to me, Scully?= he wondered, letting his head thump forward into the pillow. =What the hell is happening to us?=

"Dana... " His voice was very soft. He felt her pause, then her lips found the soft skin at the nape of his neck, kissing it softly. Her weight shifted, and he took the opportunity to lift himself onto his elbows. His spine felt like it was made of silly putty, but every other part of him was rigid in anticipation. Reaching one arm behind him, Mulder dragged his partner off his back, landing her on her side next to him.

They stared at each other for an eternity. He could see the pulse in her throat, the beat calling him to lower his mouth, bite along that soft flesh. Before he could act on that impulse, however, she was shifting down the bed, her arms going around his hips, her mouth trailing soft kisses across his abdomen. Her tongue dipped into his navel, and he jumped. Then her mouth moved lower, and Mulder groaned in pleasure.

"Ah, love, I don't think I can take that..." Her hands fit against his ass, holding him still as she worked on him. "Please God, Scully, I'm dying. Let me inside you. Let me feel you around me."

Her teeth teased his head carefully, then, with one last wet kiss, she pulled away, looking up to stare into his eyes. Her pupils were wide, the grey-green color almost completely obscured.

His hands found her hip, pulling her back to him. Hooking his thumbs into the damp fabric of her underwear, he tugged it down her thighs. Once past her knees, he rolled over, pinning her beneath him.

"Do you want me inside you?" he asked. "Do you want this, Dana?"

She smiled up at him, her lower lip quivering from the strain. "Yes."

It was as simple as that. They slid together like lovers of years' history, pressing their sweaty bodies together in a steady, slow rocking motion that put paid to the frantic play of earlier. The sheets bunched up beneath them, their bodies slanted across the bed in a way that would have been uncomfortable had they spared any time to notice it. Mulder murmured under his breath, all of the things he'd never been able to say to her flowing out of him in a stream of whispered endearments.

Dana reached up to grab his shoulders, her fingers digging into the muscles as she arched against him, her eyes closed tight against the rush of sensations filling her. His words were only a buzz in her ears, her entire concentration centered on the heat and friction between them. Ankles locked around his thighs, her knees clenched together, drawing him closer into her embrace. Her nostrils widened, taking in the musky smells of sweat and sex as though she had never smelled them before. She whimpered mindlessly, her hands slipping along his sweat-drenched back.

The pace quickened without conscious thought, their bodies straining towards each other as though to merge into one form. Dana threw her head back with a raw gasp, and Mulder fastened his mouth in the curve between shoulder and neck, burying his groan of completion in the pale skin there. He kept the pace steady even though he wanted only to collapse, stroking in and out until he felt her body stiffen, then shake like a marionette cut loose from it's strings.

"Scully.." His voice was raw, slow with exhaustion.

"Shh.." she said, resting her head on his chest. "Not now. Later."

"Later," he agreed, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and dropping a kiss into the tangles of her hair. "But we are going to talk."

"Mmmm." Her voice drifted off into a sigh, and he felt her slip into sleep. His eyes fixed on the ceiling, Mulder watched the hours tick by, his arms curved protectively around his partner even as sleep finally claimed him.

Friday
7:25 AM

Mulder woke to the agreeable sensation of having gotten almost a full night's sleep, and the comfort of a warm body still pressed against his. He smiled, unaccountably pleased that she hadn't left him, hadn't pulled away or, worse yet, gone back to her own room.

She murmured something, turning in his embrace, pushing her face against his chest. It surprised him, somewhat, that she was a snuggler. Somehow it didn't fit his image of her. Then again, neither had last night. Last night...

Contrary to popular opinion, Fox Mulder didn't leave his apartment every morning =looking= for trouble. He would have been very happy to get through a day without having someone yell at him, shoot at him or generally make his life miserable. But he'd long ago learned that these things were going to happen, and how to make a life of sorts around them. But this kind of trouble he hadn't anticipated. Dreamed about, yes, but never anticipated, never planned for.

His arms tightened around the woman sleeping in his embrace and he bent to place a kiss into her fiery strands of hair. And then, the first rays of sunlight creeping through the one window, Mulder went back to sleep.

9:30 AM

They sat across from each other at their" table, and the waitress brought them each a cup of sludge, unasked, then took their order.

"Hungry this morning, huh?" Scully said with a grin. Mulder shot her a look that only made her smile grow. He was so cute this morning. A little confused, a little smug, and completely bewildered. The looks he had been giving her while they dressed, the hesitation in his movements when she went to use her own shower, it was all very appealing, and definitely addictive. She wondered how long she'd be able to keep the upper hand. Not long, she expected.

"Dana..." He stopped when she laughed and shook her head. "What?"

"Sorry. It just sounds... odd, coming from you. My name, I mean."

"You'd rather I called you Scully?"

She shrugged, stirring her coffee with more concentration than it warranted. "I guess I've gotten used to it."

"You didn't seem to mine being called Dana last night," he reminded her, and she could feel her ears pink.

"Last night was last night. Today we're on a case."

Mulder stopped, looked at her, then nodded. Dana could see the tension in his shoulders and back ease. One of the advantages of a long-term association, she thought. Two simple sentences, and they knew what the other was thinking. Eventually they'd have to sit down and sort this new relationship out, but for the first few weeks at least they'd have some guidelines to follow, just until they figured out if this was going to work. And if it didn't? Well, she'd proven that she could work with former lovers, and she doubted Mulder could get any more difficult to deal with. Lord knows, there certainly wasn't anyone else lining up to fill her spot as his partner!

"If you were infected by the first autopsy," Mulder said after the waitress brough them their plates, "is there any chance that you could have been reinfected with the second one?"

Dana shot him a "you wish" look, and shook her head. "Not if my hypothesis is correct, and the women were open to infection because they weren't currently using long-term birth control. The dose I took that morning would have given me enough protection."

"So we should just have every woman of child-bearing age go on the Pill, and this should stop?" Mulder shook his head with a smile. "That would not go over well with a certain percentage of the population, Scully."

"But it does explain why this town was chosen," she said slowly, putting her fork down. "Saratoga is a small town, but it's rather cosmopolitan, being close to Boston and New York City, and with the influx of summer visitors to the track, so the women here aren't your usual small-town girls. They're more likely to be informed, medically, and have a variety of options. And the college outside town is also upper-class, and likely to have a high percentage of students on the Pill."

"A good control group," Mulder said around a mouthful of toast. "Small enough population to monitor, mobile enough to cover a few missing bodies..."

"Not the usual pattern of alien abductions," she repeated his words back to him.

"No," he ageed. "Which means that there probably won't be any more infections."

She looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

"If they're monitoring the town, they know we're here, and that we're closing in on the hows, if not the whys and the whos. They can't afford that kind of attention."

"So they'll just move shop to another town? Mulder, we can't..." She stopped. "We can't stop them. We don't even know who "they" are."

Mulder shrugged, obviously no happier with the situation than she was. "We know the how. What sort of group would have the technology to speed the gestation period so quickly?" He

reached across the table to vover her hand with his own when her eyes shut in a reflex of pain. "Scully. This group operates best when people aren't looking for them. A few well-placed words, a few well-placed comments in the right bulletin board, and people will be looking, and paying attention."

"It's not enough." She could feel the tears building, and forced them back.

"It's all we can do. Isn't that what you've been drumming into my head? We're only two people? Do what you can, when you can? Leave the windmill tilting to people with the resources to handle it? Any of this sounding familiar?" His grin was teasing, but his eyes were serious.

She forked a mouthful of her eggs into her mouth and chewed reluctantly. "Mulder."

"Yeah?"

"Do you think the babies are still alive?"

Her partner looked her in the eye, and lied.

"No. I don't think so, Scully."

 

 

== note: this (obviously) was written before the entire cancer/infertility arc was aired. So let's just call it an alternate universe...==