xXx

Scully struggled not to pace the hallway outside Skinner's reception area as she waited for Mulder. She stared at her reflection from the glassed-in enclosure and caught herself tapping her toe. The staccato sound accented her skittering nerves and the jumbled questions in her mind. What was going on inside Skinner's office? Was Skinner grilling Mulder about his objections to the assignment? Was Mulder finally making his feelings about taking the case known? Why tell Skinner and not her? Was her partner ever going to reveal his true feelings or anything else to her? And if not, why not?

By the end of the day Mulder would be leaving for Milwaukee and Scully feared she'd be left in the dark and thus incapable of lending him support when he needed it. The prospect of reviewing expense reports with Skinner while Mulder was facing a serial killer made Scully both worried and angry. She couldn't help but ask herself, as she looked down the hallway...what had gone wrong in their partnership? She would have said relationship, but she wasn't sure she could call what they had a relationship at this point. Things had been so tense between them lately. They argued more often than not and even the acerbic asides, sexual innuendo and gallows humor fell flat or were just plain absent.

Her loyalty was undiminished. She wanted to be Mulder's partner and realized there were professional concerns that belonged solely to him. But they'd had so much more...something that Scully had to admit revolved around her unrequited feelings for Mulder. She still had hopes he'd return those feelings some day, that they'd both gain the courage to even discuss them. Now she pondered whether time had worn off the gilded edge of those hopes.

She shook her head, unwilling to mentally tread that path any longer. She couldn't dwell over a flagging relationship that might not even be a relationship when the immediate problems of this case loomed. "Jesus, Skinner...come on," she whispered. Skinner? She'd meant Mulder and said Skinner. God, that man intruded into her thoughts even when he wasn't calling her or Mulder on the carpet. She asked herself why he insinuated himself into her head. That line of inquiry was another place she was reluctant to consider. She could not understand her growing interest in a man who deserved nothing more than a begrudging respect--her boss. That Skinner figured into her most private thoughts was ludicrous. Mulder had earned her trust; Skinner had compromised it several times. The only thing he offered was the challenge of an occasional acknowledgment and she'd be damned if she would play into such a compromising hand. No, she would deal with the cards already on the table. A strained relationship with Mulder was easier to tolerate than the introduction of a wild card.

Scully's thoughts veered away from Walter Skinner as she glimpsed Mulder striding out of Kimberly's fish bowl of a reception area. She scanned his face; his expression was inscrutable. He was closing her out. Annoyance seized her but she successfully kept it out of her voice as she spoke to him. "I was getting worried about you, Mulder. What happened?"

"Not much," he said, walking past her toward the elevator. She followed him dutifully, hating her puppyish response. "We have some case files to review before I leave. Ready to get started?"

Not exactly, she thought. But her answer was mechanical because she realized they couldn't discuss anything in full view of half a dozen other agents going about their business in the Hoover hallway.

"Back to the basement?"

Mulder nodded and gave her a half-hearted smile.

The quick click of her hurrying heels accompanied the clack of the heels of Mulder's Cole Haan shoes. They entered the basement office and Mulder sat down at his desk. Scully confronted him, planting herself firmly in front of his desk. Her brow was furrowed and her lips set in a line of disapproval. Mulder blinked up at her, perplexed.

"Mulder...I don't want to get started on case files. The only thing I want to 'review' is what Skinner said to you."

"Why?"

The jerk of his head was almost as irritating as the sudden, sharp look in his eyes. "It doesn't affect you, Scully."

For a moment, she wondered if she misunderstood somehow. "If it affects you, it affects me," she deflected. "We're partners, remember?"

"Partners also know when to allow a respectable distance. Stop hovering, Scully. You're not my mother."

A swift stab of outrage pierced her. The comparison to Teena Mulder added insult to injury. It took all of Scully's willpower not to turn and walk away. Instead, she sat down on a chair and hoped that silence would convey her umbrage.

She watched Mulder go over to the filing cabinet. He pulled open the drawer then slammed it shut.

"I can't do this," he mumbled.

"Do what?"

Scully put aside her feelings and stretched a hand across his desk. "Mulder, sit down and talk to me. Tell me what happened in Skinner's office after I left. Did he say something to upset you?"

"No," Mulder replied as he returned to his chair and sat down. His posture crumbled into a defeated slump. "He just doesn't get it, Scully. He never will."

"Does this have to do with being assigned to find Barbara Sutcliffe?" she asked. "Or Skinner's not understanding your feelings about it?"

"Are my feelings that obvious?"

His icy stare prompted Scully to withdraw her hand. His sudden mood swings alarmed her.

"We're partners, remember?" she repeated weakly. 'Damn it,' she thought. 'Once again we're headed into an argument and apparently neither one of us is capable of stopping it.'

"I can't discuss this with you, Scully," he said shortly. "In fact, it's probably better that we end this conversation right now."

"Why?"

"Because if you can spot the chink in the armor, so will she." Mulder analogized.

"You're not going off to fight the crusades, Mulder," she asserted. "You're helping to apprehend a serial killer."

"Either way I need to prepare myself," he said. "If that includes closing myself off to you, then I'm sorry."

Scully didn't know what to say. Never had she witnessed such aloofness in Mulder. She tried to rationalize it but that part of her that was still insecure rebelled.

"Fine," she retorted. "Have it your own way. Close yourself off to the people who care about you. Call it self-protection if you like. But the truth is you're scared. And not just of Barbara Sutcliffe."

His eyes flashed a dangerous citrine.

"What exactly are you implying?"

"That you're doing this against your better judgment," she retorted. "That you're more interested in regaining your 'golden boy' reputation as a profiler than accepting the nickname 'Spooky Mulder'."

For the second time that day Mulder picked up a pencil and chewed on the eraser. What was ordinarily a cute, nervous habit only irritated her now. "Nice try," he said, pausing to inspect her reaction. "But you're way off the mark."

"So humor me," she suggested. "Pick up from where you describe Sutcliffe's artwork as oddly ornate...even attractive."

"Getting warmer," he taunted.

His attitude was suddenly obnoxious. She didn't care if he was setting out to capture Atilla the Hun. She would not be treated this way.

"This isn't a game, Mulder."

"Exactly," he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air and the pencil with it. "You're absolutely right, Scully. This isn't a game. But to Barbara

Sutcliffe, it is. You heard what was said in the meeting. She's baiting us. More importantly, I think she's baiting me."

"Why you?"

"Because I think I'm one of only a few people who have seen the face of evil for what it truly is," Mulder advised.

It was Scully's turn; as much as she hated arguing with Mulder it was a known, effective way to get to the truth. She contemplated his words and attitude, separating his stubbornness from his fear.

"You need to tell Skinner what you just told me," she suggested. "If you're in danger, he may re-evaluate his decision about this assignment."

"No!" Mulder growled. "I will not... repeat, will not... go from being a disappointment to a coward."

Scully sighed, reaching across the desk again. This time, her hand caught his in what she hoped was a firm, reassuring grip. "Mulder, listen to me.

It takes great strength to admit that you're susceptible. Skinner won't view you as weak."

"Right," Mulder sneered. "Skinner is the type of man who defines his whole life by duty. I don't think he'll appreciate that an evil spirit scared me from doing mine, especially when he doesn't believe in the paranormal in the first place."

"Would you like me to talk to him?" she asked.

"Thanks, but no thanks," he said. "I don't need an excuse from Mom."

"You know, Mulder, if you don't stop comparing me to your mother Barbara Sutcliffe is going to be the least of your worries."

Her words prompted a grin.

"Now that's a threat I can live with," he joked.

"I'm serious," she said, dropping her eyes to their clasped hands when Mulder started stroking the inside of her palm. "Stop that...."

"Why?" He leaned closer to whisper. "Does it bother you?"

In more ways than one, she thought. The tips of his fingers were tracing circles of seduction, erasing the imaginary line he had drawn. "Of course not," she countered, hoping that her voice sounded convincing. "I just want you to focus on what's important right now."

"What's important?" he asked as his thumb massaged her knuckles.

"You are...," she murmured, floundering. His touch was light, but dangerously tantalizing. "I mean, your safety..."

He released her hand; leaving her bereft of sensations that both confused and aroused her. The contradiction did not sit well. Instead of answers, he was leaving her with more questions; questions that suddenly shifted the focus from his feelings to her own. She decided to end their argument if only to stop this uncomfortable line of inquiry.

"Let's do this," she suggested. "If you promise to keep me posted on this investigation, I'll make sure that Skinner never knows that you're afraid to disappoint him. And I'll be there for you, Mulder. Every step of the way..."

"Deal," he acknowledged, getting up from his desk. He turned back to the filing cabinet so she couldn't see his face.

"It's not as if I could ask for anything more, right Scully?"

She wasn't sure how to answer him. So she didn't.

xXx

A UNITED AIRLINES FLIGHT FROM DC TO MILWAUKEE

Mulder stared down at the seat back tray. Barbara Sutcliffe stared back. Alvarez, true to his word, delivered the psychiatric report from Mid-Hudson to the basement office. A recent photo of Sutcliffe had been included with the report. The picture had already gone out over the wire so the Milwaukee Field Office received it along with local law enforcement. Mulder shook his head; he still couldn't get over the change in her.

In 1989 Barbara Sutcliffe had been 34 years old. That made her 43 now. Mulder thought she looked at least 63 and not a youthful 63 like for example, Margaret Scully. No, Barbara Sutcliffe had aged dramatically in the intervening years. Alvarez said it best...and bluntly..."She looks like hell". Incarceration hadn't been kind to her.

Her eyes look the same though, Mulder mused; crazy eyes, even in the photograph. A knee-jerk expression and not clinically correct...but it was descriptive enough and apt. He wondered why the psychiatrists at Mid-Hudson hadn't deduced she was as crazy as a shithouse rat just from looking in her eyes. Because maybe they didn't hear hissing seashell voices when they looked in them?

'Fuck that idea,' he told himself. 'I know what I felt. I need to keep that in mind no matter what happens. This woman is more than just a dangerous and skilled sociopath. She's got something else going on behind those burning eyes. I need to not let it affect me and I need to stay one step ahead of her.'

He turned her photo over and focused his attention on the report underneath it again. He re-read it but it was clear to him that it held no real clue to what Barbara Sutcliffe had been about over the last 9 years or anything of therapeutic value in her treatment.

It wasn't that Barbara had been uncooperative with treatment...she'd simply been unable to participate. Sometime after Mulder interviewed her she descended into a catatonic-like fugue state and ceased even to write notes. So her care became largely custodial with periodic uncommunicative visits to the staff therapists. She wasn't aggressive; she fed herself, dressed herself, used the toilet, and took showers when instructed to do so. She'd done it all in a mechanical fashion much like the somnambulist in that silent film, 'Dr. Caligari'. She even shuffled around the grounds for exercise as mentioned by Alvarez. She was quiet, orderly, and clean, in weight and in condition...there just didn't appear to be anyone home so to speak.

He could see what happened in the upstate New York hospital. They'd let their guard down and Barbara had flown the coop. Barbara was very resourceful...and evidently she was also very patient. Scully surmised Sutcliffe had planned her escape for years...and somehow feigned her catatonia successfully enough to wait for just the right opportunity to do it.

Mulder's thoughts trailed off as he considered his partner's words. His eyes moved away from the folder to gaze out the window at the passing clouds. The plane's engines rumbled in his ears.

'Why in God's name did we argue about Skinner?' Mulder blinked in surprise. He'd been thinking about his argument with Scully in more general terms, so what in the hell made that question pop into his head? The back of his neck grew hot at the sudden memory of Skinner looking disappointed with him during their conversation in the AD's office. His whole body grew warm and he ran his hand through his hair to dispel the feeling. Was that it...was he ashamed of Skinner's displeasure? Oh come on...he and Scully argued about a lot of stuff yesterday afternoon. But for some reason their exchange about Skinner suddenly came to the forefront of his mind and lodged there.

Why had he gone ballistic over the idea Skinner might be disappointed in him or think him a coward? Why did he care what Skinner thought of him? Well...hey. Even if psychologists were usually their own worst doctors he could make a stab at guessing why. He could theorize that he saw the AD as a father substitute. Bill Mulder hadn't exactly lived up to the 'Father Knows Best' image. He'd been remote and indifferent before Samantha's disappearance; afterward his father distanced himself even further. It didn't take much of a mental jump to realize that as Skinner started to show more support for Mulder that Mulder tried to gain even more approval from him; since approval and support were precisely what he felt he'd never gotten from his father it was only natural.

So while in one respect Skinner reminded him directly of his father with the trust or mistrust issues between them, he also represented something Bill Mulder didn't; stability, a supportive masculine influence. He was an older man in authority, who although a taskmaster was also fair and sometimes compassionate. Mulder sensed he still needed that. He sure as hell wished that his father had done half as much for him.

He had to admit logically that the 'Daddy Skinner' theory was probably partly responsible for his defensiveness with Scully. No one likes to admit they still need Daddy when they're afraid or in doubt, much less that they see their boss as a father figure. But why such a strong reaction if he understood that? And why were his thoughts stuck on Skinner when he started out thinking about Scully?

Yeah, he should be thinking about Scully; lately it seemed like they were at odds about everything. It wasn't bad enough yet to endanger their partnership but the atmosphere was tense. They were both questioning their faith; Scully's religious faith, and his faith in the quest...and their work on the X-Files. Maybe they were even questioning their faith in each other. Did they wonder if the work was still worth it? They argued for the sake of arguing rather than to keep each other on their deductive toes. Both were battle weary, frustrated and in doubt.

He just wished he didn't act like such a prick at times. He knew he'd hurt Scully yesterday. He regretted it. He knew it was stupid to let his fear of Barbara Sutcliffe override his reason, affect his ability to function on the job, and alienate Scully in the bargain. He wanted to protect her...yet he knew that was the very thing that Scully would resent. He knew it and proceeded to go about being overprotective anyway.

Damn...his approach to Scully right now was...for lack of any better words...'really fucked up'. He realized his feelings for her were all over the map. She made him angry one minute and feel like a 16-year-old with his first crush the next. He knew he thought of her as more than a just a partner. He wondered why he was afraid to say the "L" word or the word 'relationship' in connection with her when he obviously wanted them to be closer. Was he that afraid of making a deeper commitment to her? Why not come out and admit that he loved her instead of trying to convey his feelings through banter and sexual innuendo?

And what about Scully? Had he been misguided in thinking she had feelings for him? She concealed her emotions at the beginning of their partnership, but they'd been through so much. She didn't seem as intent at remaining closed off any longer. He had to think she was showing him what was in her heart sometimes. He pondered why the hell neither one of them had the balls to talk about the situation.

He sighed and shook his head. This wasn't getting him anywhere. He needed to concentrate on the case. Maybe the way to accomplish that would be to stop carrying around the guilt over acting like a jackass. He'd just call Scully tonight and apologize for being a dickhead. He'd tell her his fear was probably unreasonable and he'd speak to Skinner about getting her assigned to the case. Yes, that would work. He felt his confidence rise as he felt better about Scully, sighed in relief and went back to perusing Barbara Sutcliffe's file.

By the time the plane made the approach to Mitchell Field in Milwaukee Mulder had even convinced himself everything would go fine in Milwaukee. Later he would think back and realize he couldn't have been more wrong.

xXx

MILWAUKEE FBI FIELD OFFICE. THE PLAZA EAST BUILDING.

Agent Ross Lyon sat back with feet propped up on his desk and lips pursed in thought. His eyes moved over the sheet of paper he held in front of him, speed reading the e-mail printed on it. 'Well...Tom didn't mince words,' he thought.

"Colton, I'm glad I never did anything to piss you off," Lyon muttered.

He glanced around; no one in the busy office noticed as he voiced his thoughts. Good. He wasn't eager to have anyone hear him mention Tom's name. He had to admit his association with Tom Colton was a mixed blessing. Tom was good at digging the dirt up on fellow agents and passing it on to his old buddies from the Academy at their request. But Colton had a shitty reputation at the Bureau. He bore grudges and wasn't above resting on other people's laurels. Lyon pumped him for information on occasion but he always felt slimy afterwards. He also felt more than a little nervous because shit sticks.

But this time around it looked like even though Colton bore a grudge, his assessment of the agent coming out from DC was correct. Ross Lyon had heard the Bureau scuttlebutt on Fox Mulder. Colton's information only confirmed his own judgment; whether he was an ace profiler or not, Mulder was certifiable. Nuts. End of story.

Lyons sighed and stuck the e-mail in the shredder beneath his desk.

Ok, so he was stuck with Spooky Mulder; well, he'd do the best he could under the circumstances. Shit, he was feeling too good to do otherwise. Lyon's mind flashed back to the reason he felt particularly good this morning and thoughts of Spooky Mulder receded into the background.

Yeah, meeting a spectacular woman and getting her in bed on the first date wasn't something that happened to him very often. It usually took him at least a couple of months of wining and dining to get laid. But he'd been the lucky dog last night. And man...the bitch had been dynamite in the sack. Hot, ready to go and eager to take it wherever he wanted to put it. Great tits, legs that went on forever and a nice, tight cunt. Brother...he could still feel that cunt squeezing his cock. He smiled to himself. He must have been pretty good himself because she asked to see him again. Hell yes, he'd see her again he'd said. If he could get some of that on a regular basis he'd be a happy Fibbie. He absentmindedly scratched at his balls.

A voice interrupted his remembrance of last night's sexual conquest.

"Hey, Lyon...get your mind out of the gutter you horny bastard. DC's gonna be here in 5.

He looked up to see his partner Max Fowler grinning at him. He glanced at his watch. Shit, yeah...it was almost 8 o'clock. Mulder had phoned from the airport at 7 when he got in. He'd probably be here any minute. Lyon sat up and straightened his tie. 'Time to get my big head off my little head and get down to business,' he thought.

As he smoothed down his dress shirt, his phone rang. He picked up the receiver.

"Agent Ross Lyon."

"Agent Lyon, Agent Mulder is here."

"Tell him I'll be right out."

xXx

Agent Ross Lyon reminded Mulder of Alex Krycek when Krycek was trying to play FBI agent. Actually, Mulder had to admit Krycek had been a very convincing agent. He was still chagrined that he had let his guard down, but Alex was like a chameleon so the fact he blended in convincingly helped Mulder to feel fractionally less of an idiot.

Yes, Lyon with his regulation 'every hair slicked perfectly into place' haircut, off the rack suit and earnest demeanor reminded him of Krycek back in the day. He was probably close to Krycek's age back then too. But where Krycek was skillful at making Mulder believe that he liked and respected him...well, Ross Lyon wasn't coming nearly as close as Alex had in that regard.

Lack of respect was par for the course and old news for Mulder, but it still rankled on a case this important. Sometimes he just got so tired of seeing the smothered sneer and fake jocularity that came with the inevitable question, "They call you 'Spooky Mulder', don't they?"

The Milwaukee agent obviously didn't like Mulder's retort to that predictable question. "Only my friends. You can call me Agent Mulder." Even delivered with a smile that said, 'See...I'm only making a joke', Lyon wasn't buying it. So he and Lyon got off to a bad start.

Now he was sitting with Lyon and his partner Fowler in an under air-conditioned conference room ostensibly sharing information. In reality Lyon and Fowler were sizing him up further and it was ratcheting Mulder's annoyance level up even more. Lyon was summing things up while keeping an eye on Mulder's reaction.

"New York faxed us all the background material they had on Barbara Sutcliffe, but we don't have a lot to go on locally. It's too bad the Milwaukee connection wasn't explored in more depth in 1989, but we've got what we've got...an affidavit from her aunt, a few interviews with associates, some school history...we'll have to fill in the gaps. Anything you want to add, Mulder?"

Mulder shook his head.

"No, that about sums it up. New York was more concerned with what Barbara had done out there. There's a bit more in the psychiatric report but even that's not going to give you a lot of detail about her life in Milwaukee."

"Fine. Fowler will continue to act as liaison with the Milwaukee Police; hopefully information will continue to move smoothly between them and the Bureau. Public relations departments for both agencies are ready to help with the media so thankfully we don't have to go before any cameras...at least not yet."

Fowler cleared his throat.

"Ok, so we agree to focus on this last time Barbara visited Milwaukee. After that Sutcliffe went to Rome and then to New York," he said.

Mulder tapped his pencil on the pad in front of him, lost in thought for a second, then focused on the file in front of him.

"Where she immediately started her career as a serial killer," he interjected, finally looking up at Lyon.

"Right. So I think we need to re-interview her associates from that time period to see if they have any new ideas about a possible secret studio, stash of supplies or whatever," Lyon replied.

"She took some classes at the Milwaukee Institute of Art and Design; one of her professors, John Borden, is still on the faculty."

"Yeah, he was in charge of the Rome study trip, wasn't he? Sutcliffe and three other students went to Italy with him," Fowler said. "You think there was anything going on between the two of them? Maybe she'd try to contact this Borden guy? I mean his background check makes him out to be on the up and up but..."

Fowler shrugged as his voice trailed off.

Mulder resumed his pencil tapping on the table and stared off into the distance.

"I think we can follow up on that question with Borden himself," he replied thoughtfully.

"Maybe he screwed her over, made her hate men and she snapped," Fowler surmised.

Lyon looked at Mulder in expectation of a comment but Mulder was still lost in thought. Noting Mulder's distracted expression Lyon and Fowler glanced at each other. Fowler mouthed the word "spooky" and Lyon didn't even bother to smother his shit-eating grin.

"Something else you'd like to share with the class...Agent Mulder?" he said.

Mulder blinked and looked back at Lyon.

"Sorry...I was just thinking."

Mulder didn't speak but continued to mull over what he wanted to say.

"And?" Lyon prompted.

"Well...doesn't it strike you as odd that from what little we know about Barbara Sutcliffe's life, from the conversations the police had with her only remaining relative before her death and from neighbor's depositions here in Milwaukee, she had a normal childhood, adolescence and early adulthood? There was no evidence of abuse in the family of any kind."

"Yeah, so?" Lyon asked.

Mulder was beginning to realize the reason why Barbara Sutcliffe had disturbed him so much was because what he knew of her past had seemed so normal. As he voiced his thoughts he wondered why he hadn't considered that idea before. He wondered if his fear had blotted the issue from his mind.

"Do her subsequent actions in New York and here in Milwaukee square with that kind of earlier life?" he replied.

"Like Fowler said...maybe she just snapped."

"People just don't...snap," Mulder answered. "They've been on a short fuse for a long time and something sets them off."

Fowler sat back and absently smoothed the front of his shirt down.

"So...Like I said...Borden..."

"Borden could have been a catalyst for her final extreme behavior I suppose. But, female serial killers are extremely rare, gentlemen. I just can't help thinking there should have been some evidence from her childhood that indicated a problem. Her aunt should have noticed unusual behavior of some kind. Someone who exhibits the kind of extreme behavior that Barbara Sutcliffe displays must have been giving off signals of things to come. Serial killers, especially female ones, don't just spring up over night and suddenly start killing people."

Lyon gave Mulder a peeved look.

"So...we don't have all the information. That's why we have to investigate further. Maybe someone out there will remember she used to set fire to kittens or something. Look...the important thing here is that we catch this bitch before she kills anyone else. I don't care if she went to church on Sunday, woke up on Monday and said, 'Today I think I'll become a serial killer'.

Fowler tried to be a bit more conciliatory.

"Mulder...we don't have much to go on so leg work is going to have to be where we start."

Mulder took a deep breath to tamp down his anger. Ok, fine. Obviously Lyon and Fowler were from the school of thought that serial killers were like any other escaped felon and you could use standard FBI procedure to bring one in. Well, that was partly right, of course. But you also had to think beyond the box when you were working this kind of case.

"I'm not saying leg work isn't a good approach. I'm just saying that I think part of our investigation should entail giving some thought as to why Barbara Sutcliffe was a seemingly normal art student before she left on a trip to Rome with John Borden's group, and why she was a sociopath when she came back."

Lyon stared at Mulder for a few seconds and then gave him a begrudging nod of approval.

"Ok. We can give that angle some thought while we start our interviews. I want to start with John Borden anyway. Mulder, you can come with me on the interview. Max..."

Lyon picked up some stapled together papers from the file in front of him.

"Max, these are the names, addresses, and background checks for the three other students from the Rome trip. See if you can contact them and pick their brains. I realize the woman is in Green Bay. If you have to drive up there, go ahead."

"Can I take a tour through the Packer Hall of Fame?"

"Get outta here," Lyon chuckled shoving the paper at him. Fowler took the paper with a laugh.

Mulder watched as Lyon got a very self satisfied and self-confident expression on his face. Oh brother, he thought...this guy really does think he's hot shit. He was going to show how magnanimous he could be toward old Spooky. 'Yup, here it comes,' Mulder thought as they all stood and Lyon approached him; the slap on the back nearly rattled Mulder's teeth.

"'When in Rome' as they say--is that what you were getting at?" Lyon chuckled.

'Har, har har,' Mulder thought. 'Please don't try to make me think you're my buddy now, you patronizing "SOB".' He gave Lyon a "thanks, asshole" smile in return.

"Sorry--I'm just yanking your chain. No offense."

"None taken," Mulder replied smoothly.

Fowler chuckled and gave Mulder a "thumbs up".

"Ignore him, Mulder. He's just jealous because you're partnered with a gorgeous redhead and he's stuck with me."

Lyon laughed and slapped Mulder's back again.

"Yeah, and I guess Mulder's stuck with us both. Come on, let's hit the street and catch this crazy UNSUB."

Mulder winced a little. Why did he feel like he was in a bad episode of 'Dragnet'?

"Sounds like a plan," he said.

Fowler and Lyon proceeded him out of the conference room and as Mulder followed, his mind again turned to contemplating 'Roman Holiday', starring Barbara Sutcliffe.

xXx

AIR ITALIA FROM ROME TO WASHINGTON D.C.

"Closer it comes, silent, and mad and vast..."

Archpriest Dimitri Yvashko woke to the sound of her voice as the jet dipped towards the setting sun. She had chosen the hour of his awakening. As he glanced out the plane window he felt his body spin to the madness of the earth. Below, the Washington Monument greeted him like an obscene phallic symbol.

"Just as you are," she mocked him.

She had colored the marble a hideous red. She was as timelessly creative and evil as the Serpent. He wouldn't be surprised if the Tree of Life was desecrated with her graffiti.

"Taste it, Priest," she taunted him, spreading her legs so her juices dripped down his forehead. "The apple falls close to the tree...."

Dmitri mopped his brow with a handkerchief, not surprised that his sweat was the color of cider. So was his urine. She was the worm inside the apple, gnawing away at his decision to fly to the United States. But a phone call wouldn't adequately explain his vision or warn a lifelong friend. It didn't matter that years had passed since Sergei had desired an FBI badge; what mattered was that desire had been smeared with blood, tears and semen...

He had left Moscow on the first available flight using his credentials with the Holy Synod to obtain an immediate travel visa. He stopped in Rome to pick up her scent and familiarize himself with the details of her last incarnation. The journey was long and he spent most of it in a troubled sleep. Dreams of his youth plagued him. He had spent years disciplining himself against the temptation of the flesh; of all his vows, chastity was the hardest.

"Your lips hold yet the memory of his breath..." she whispered.

Dimitri reached into his pocket for a vial of holy water. He sprinkled it liberally on the handkerchief to bless his shame. She discovered his piece of forbidden fruit, but he would not allow the passion of his past to be her foreplay. More than his soul depended upon it.

A sudden lurch of the plane caused the bottle to slip from his fingers.

"Beati possidentes..."

Blessed are those who possess.

As the jet engines roared to stabilize its descent he heard her laughter.

xXx

THE HOOVER BUILDING. WASHINGTON, DC.

Scully glanced at her watch as she stepped off the elevator in the Hoover Building. She was fifteen minutes late for her meeting with Skinner. She considered blaming traffic, but the lie would be as transparent as the make-up on her face. There was no disguising a poor night’s sleep. The shadows beneath her eyes were as noticeable as the run in her hose. So much for using the rear view mirror of her car to apply foundation. The results were snagged nylon and a blotched complexion.

Not that the AD would notice; his attention span was limited to numbers--the digits on a clock and the figures on an expense report. She might not be able to balance her budget, but she could certainly calculate his response. A scowl, maybe even a reprimand. She couldn’t blame him. Once again, she had fallen short.

What irritated her was the reason. Mulder. When it came to her partner, Scully had lost more hours of sleep than she cared to count. It was yet another lopsided equation. He moved on to face his demons. She was left behind to toss and turn over his attitude. Had he called her the night before, she might be more forgiving. Instead, she felt stung by his silent disregard.

"Good morning, Agent Scully." Kimberly greeted her with a sympathetic smile, confirming what she already suspected. She looked as bad as she felt. "The Assistant Director is waiting for you."

"Has he had his coffee yet?" Scully glanced at the closed door.

"He’s on his second cup."

'Not a good sign,' Scully thought as she knocked on his door. A caffeine infused Skinner meant an overly charged meeting. She wouldn’t be able to keep up, much less compete on an empty stomach. She should have stopped for a bagel instead of applying mascara.

"Come in."

"I’m sorry to be late, sir."

"Are you?" Skinner looked up from the paperwork on his desk.

His question confused her. "Sorry or late, sir?"

"Late..."

Scully glanced at the clock on the wall. It was twenty minutes past nine, although she wasn’t going to call his attention to it. "I have the expense report you requested," she said, patting the folder tucked beneath her arm.

"Are you changing the subject, Agent Scully?"

"Sir, I thought the expense report was the subject," she deflected.

"Then take a seat at the conference table and we’ll get started," he growled, getting up from his chair.

Scully closed the door, anxious to get out of his path. But his panther-like gait quickly overtook her small, tentative steps. Both of them stopped, waiting for the other to pass.

"After you..." Skinner’s politeness incited more embarrassment. She scurried to the conference table, grateful that it would, at least, hide the tear in her stockings. As she sat down she remembered not to cross her legs. Taking a deep breath she said, "The budget is incomplete, sir."

"Incomplete?" The Assistant Director’s tone held a noticeable edge. He sat down next to her, his close proximity unnerving her more than the sound of his voice. "Incomplete as in lack of data?"

"Incomplete as in I didn’t finish it." Scully stared at the wall, steeling herself for his reprimand. When he didn’t speak, she gave him a sideways glance. His glasses were off and he was rubbing his eyes. Only then did she notice how tired he looked. She forgot her own anxiety and reached out to touch his arm. "Sir?"

"Did Agent Mulder call you last night?" he asked.

Scully withdrew her fingers. Her hand fell heavily onto her lap. "No, sir."

She wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or disappointed. Her unbalanced budget was not the focal point of his interest. Mulder was. "Not that I expected him to," she lied.

"I wish he had," Skinner replied. He turned around in his chair to face her. Absent his glasses, she had a clear view of his eyes. Their color wasn’t really a swarthy black but more a puppyish brown. The comparison led her to realize that the Assistant Director’s bark was worse than his bite.

"You’re worried about him," she said, unable to restrain her own startled response.

"It comes with the territory." Skinner replaced his glasses, preventing her from deeper scrutiny. "I worry about every agent I supervise."

Except me, she thought.

"Especially you," he added.

For a second, Scully panicked. Had she spoken her thoughts out loud or was he more intuitive than she thought? Before she could respond Skinner answered the question for her.

"Forget it Scully, it’s just fatigue talking. You’re a competent agent, one of my best. I just don’t want Mulder to run you down to the point of exhaustion."

"May I speak candidly, sir?"

"Of course..."

"Look at me, sir, I am exhausted. Can’t you see that?"

Scully held his gaze, willing him to notice her pinched lips and the dark smudges under her eyes. She wanted him to recognize her for what she was, a live, human being not a Bureau automation. An occasional nod over her job performance wasn’t enough. For once she wanted him to acknowledge her as a woman, not just another agent.

"I see a great deal, Scully," Skinner told her gruffly. "More than you realize."

Scully released a sigh that resembled a scoff. She tried to disguise it by shuffling the papers in front of her. Looking down, she said, "Should we get back to work, sir?"

"Scully..." It was Skinner’s turn to lay a comforting hand on her arm. She winced, unprepared for the solid warmth of his touch. It was more intimidating than she had ever imagined. It was more personal than she had ever hoped for.

"Sir..."

"You asked me to look at you," Skinner murmured. "But you’re not willing to extend me the same courtesy?"

"I can’t," she whispered.

"Why not?"

"Because I’m afraid of what I’ll see."

Skinner instantly released her arm and picked up her report. "Maybe you'll find a solution to the problem that keeps you up at night," he said curtly.

When she didn't answer, he cleared his throat. The sound signaled a return to work, but his preceding statement posed a new problem. Was she interested in adding or subtracting to the equation? Was Skinner the common denominator for both she and Mulder?

xXx

THE MILWAUKEE INSTITUTE OF ART AND DESIGN (MIAD).

She stood in the otherwise empty restroom and let the waves of pleasure stream over her. Buon, she thought. Cosi buon. Definitely good...oh yes.

After all these years...he had come to her! She had tried to attract his attention, never being sure if he would take the bait or if someone else would be sent in his stead. But he came...It was preordained after all. Now she could waltz with him...Watch and when she was ready, pull him into her embrace. And yes--as she had divined after all these years--he was indeed the key. She only needed a whiff of his essence--a mere touch of her mind to his mind again--to know he was the opener of the way. The sacrifice that would finally rip wide the door. Only two more to go...and he would be the second and last.

It made her wet to think about it. Oh, how he was ripe for the taking; so driven, so lonely and so full of sadness. His mind dwelled on the father and mother who he thought cared little for him, the lost sister and the men responsible for her disappearance...colleagues that belittled his abilities, his work...and even more wonderful...all that unrequited lust. If he was the key to the door, the lust was the key to his temptation, torture and glorious death. He couldn't even admit his appetites to himself and pierce that loneliness with his cock. She thought him a fool...that made him more than adequate prey. His unfulfilled desires made him prime meat.

And what of the love she saw in him? Oh that was there too, of course, but it was the hidden sexual desire that she was more interested in. He couldn't admit the love either, but the lust was what she fed on...depended on and reveled in.

She let her mind reach out and stabbed the tendril into his subconscious. She was close enough to him to do it...and it was so easy to just slide in deep and savor the hot, moist, thick heat of his rutting impulse. Easy to see the woman...red hair like flame, naked, writhing under him. She watched him plunge his cock into her again and again and moan her name as she cried out in pleasure. She breathed in and out, her own excitement building and then she looked closer...deeper and saw...a shadow behind the man. She could almost smell...ah...this was something different and...Delizioso...delightful! She could smell...another man's musk. Someone...large, with a broad chest...muscular. A man...a man behind him, thrusting his cock up his ass while the redhead twisted in ecstasy below them both....

Her probing psychic tendril snapped back suddenly causing her to gasp as the bathroom door slammed shut and voices brought her crashing back to reality.

"Lucy, I told you. O'Neil's a pervert. If he told you your portfolio was weak and wanted to offer you extra help yeah, that means he wants you to sleep with him for a better grade."

"Well what do I do? File a complaint in the dean's office? I can't afford to fail this course. I graduate this semester remember? No one's going to hire me if I fail 'Graphic Design for the Internet'."

"I told you to stick with fine arts and skip the commercial art bullshit, didn't I...oh, excuse us."

She stared at the two art students and pulled her hand out from under her skirt; her fingers were sticky and shining from her own juices. Both young women looked at her in combined surprised disgust and amusement.

As she walked through the restroom door with the memory of the smell and shadow of that muscular man in her head she heard the art students giggling. "Squisito," she murmured. Delicious. And she wasn't referring to the two young women laughing behind her.

xXx

MIAD. OUTSIDE JOHN BORDEN'S OFFICE.

Mulder rubbed at his temples with his fingers. He could feel a headache coming on. His body was warm all over again too. A spasm flashed in his groin; almost pleasure but closer to pain. Christ, he hoped he wasn't coming down with that stomach flu. It had been going around the Hoover. First you got the headache and then you were worshipping the porcelain god...with both ends. 'That's all I need,' he thought as he listened to Lyon drone on about the Green Bay Packers.

They were standing in the hallway outside John Borden's office in the Milwaukee Institute of Art and Design. Borden was seeing a student at the moment and after answering their knock at the door had asked them to wait until he was done. He'd be happy to talk to them, he said, but his priority was understandably his student's review.

So the two agents were cooling their heels. Mulder removed his hand and glanced around. Students walked up and down the hallway, talking, laughing even arguing in the lively way of students everywhere. They all looked so young. He tried to imagine a younger Barbara Sutcliffe passing through the corridor, but he couldn't do it. All he could picture was the face in the file photo, haggard, framed by nearly white uncombed hair...and those insane eyes staring back.

"Earth to Mulder," Lyon said. Mulder blinked and focused on the other man. "Off somewhere putting two and two together?"

Mulder shook his head.

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking about the case. I…I was thinking about my days in college, I guess."

Lyon chuckled a little.

"Yeah, I heard you went to Oxford. Must have been a little different compared to colleges here."

Mulder gave him a brief smile. Might as well at least attempt to be convivial he thought. Maybe greasing the wheel will make it squeak less.

"I did go to Oxford. And it was definitely different. Where did you go?"

"Southern Mississippi, believe it or not. Same college as Brett Favre. As a matter-of-fact...we were classmates," Lyon announced.

"That must have been different for you after growing up in Milwaukee."

Lyon nodded. "Oh yeah...there was some culture shock. I couldn't get a decent brat anywhere and I had to get used to gumbo and grits. But ya know...the weather in summer was almost the same. Hot and humid."

Mulder gave him a slight nod in return but before he could answer, the door to Borden's office swung open. Both agents stepped out of the way as a young male student made his exit.

"Thanks, Dr. Borden. I appreciate it."

Standing in the doorway, John Borden appeared to be about 50 years old; tall and thin, with long salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail at the back of his head, he was dressed casually in jeans, a beige Henley and cowboy boots. His smile was genuine and traveled all the way up to his eyes where they looked out through round frame eyeglasses.

"You're welcome Brian. I think we can talk about you mounting an exhibit next month in the student gallery. You certainly have the body of work to do that now."

The young man smiled and straightened his slouching posture, puffing out his chest in the process.

"Outstanding. Thanks again," he said, extending his hand. Borden shook it and then the student was off down the hallway, loping toward a young female student sitting on a bench along the wall.

Borden turned toward Mulder and Lyon and raised an eyebrow.

"May I see your IDs again, please?"

The agents pulled their IDs out of their coat pockets simultaneously.

"Special Agent Ross Lyon and this is Special Agent Fox Mulder," Lyon murmured studying the older man.

"So you said. All right...what does the FBI want with me?" he asked. "I gave up smoking dope when Sid Vicious died in the Chelsea."

Borden's face was quizzically amused and Mulder relaxed a little, his headache starting to subside. He got a good vibe off this guy...he liked him. Now he'd just have to confirm...hope...Borden wasn't involved with Sutcliffe somehow.

Lyon's face looked blank--Either he was stunned by the comment about dope or he missed the reference to the late member of the punk rock band, 'Sex Pistols', or both. Mulder refrained from smirking and placed his ID back in his pocket.

"It's not you that we're concerned with, Dr. Borden," he said. "We'd like to ask you some questions about Barbara Sutcliffe."

"It's not in the papers here yet, so you may not be aware of it...but Ms. Sutcliffe escaped from a psychiatric hospital in New York State. We believe she may have returned to Milwaukee and murdered the man who was found on Bradford beach," Lyon added.

"Good Lord," Borden replied, running his hand across his mouth. "I read that story about the murder in The Journal Sentinel. The article didn't say anything about a connection with Barbara Sutcliffe…."

"That's because they don't have all the facts," Lyon said.

"God...what a horrible situation."

"Then you can understand our concern and the urgency of this matter," Lyon replied.

Borden gave an absentminded inclination of his head.

"I knew she was hospitalized after...well after what happened, but I'd lost track of her years ago. I had no idea..." he mused.

Mulder was about to interrupt when Borden's far away expression disappeared and his face focused in concern.

"Are you telling me I'm in some kind of danger?" Borden asked

"Could we go into your office and discuss this, sir?" Mulder replied. "I don't think that's the case but your answers to our questions might tell us for sure."

"Oh...yeah. By all means...come on in," Borden said.

xXx

THE HOOVER BUILDING. WASHINGTON, DC.

Once Scully left his office Skinner returned to the sanctuary of his desk. Resting his elbows on the blotter like a prayer rail, he bowed his face into his hands. The budget meeting had turned into an awkward confessional. By admitting his feelings he had committed the worst professional sin. He had expressed a sexual attraction toward a subordinate thinly guising his proposition as concern for her health.

It didn’t matter that he spent the rest of the meeting sermonizing about budget cuts. What mattered is that she knew the truth: He wanted her. Hell, he’d shatter every FBI commandment for the chance to have her. Dana Scully. Not the agent who gradually earned his respect, but the woman who sat next to him with torn pantyhose and smudged mascara. He noticed her disarray the minute she stepped into his office; it was the first time she ever appeared in his office as less than meticulous. For the first time he saw her as a woman he could love instead of a forbidden fantasy.

Or was love the forbidden fantasy?

And Mulder? Ironically, Mulder was the catalyst which had launched a dangerous chain reaction. Mutual concern had led to foreplay by innuendo, a strategy Mulder used effectively on them both. With Scully it was an intellectual tease. With him, it was more basic.. repetitive acts of defiance followed by long periods of silent brooding. No wonder Scully was exhausted. He was too.

But rather than suggest a sexual sleep aid he could have just reduced her workload. Instead he sent her back to the basement with his desktop calculator. Strangely enough, she seemed grateful for the challenge. Maybe it was easier for her to contemplate a spreadsheet than imagine herself spread naked across his conference table.

Unfortunately, it was now easy for him to imagine them both. Not together, but together with him.

xXx

MIAD. JOHN BORDEN'S OFFICE.

"I never noticed anything...abnormal about Barbara. She was a very talented printmaker who decided to pursue sculpture and enrolled in our adult continuing education program to do so," Borden said. "She proved to be equally as talented at sculpture and it was very rewarding to be her advisor."

Mulder glanced around the cluttered office as Borden answered Lyon's question. He preferred to let the other agent take the lead for a few moments in order to observe the surroundings. You could tell a lot about a person by studying their body language and possessions. It was a very 'Sherlock Holmes' way of thinking, but it was the hallmark of a good criminologist and profiler nonetheless.

This office told Mulder that Borden was pretty much your typical art professor. He had a collection of eclectic belongings from prints to small bronzes and armatures scattered about; piles of paperwork, student portfolios, books and personal photographs.

The man himself, although understandably shocked and worried about the murder and Barbara's escape, didn't act suspiciously or strangely. Mulder got the impression that Borden was harmless and whatever information he shared would be his innocent best recollections and entirely accurate.

"Nothing at all?"

Borden shrugged.

"I don't know what you want me to say--I can give you copies of her reviews and transcripts if you like. They're still on file in the registrar's office and I kept copies as well. Those would give you an idea of her academic progress and her demeanor at the time. But I have to tell you...she seemed as sane as you or Agent Mulder."

"We'd like to see those reviews and transcripts," Lyon said.

Mulder had straightened at the sound of his name and refocused on Borden.

"Sir...Barbara Sutcliffe accompanied you on a trip to Italy just before she left MIAD and moved to New York, is that correct?"

Lyon gave Mulder an annoyed glance for interrupting him, but to his credit settled in to listen.

"Barbara and three of my other students. It was a special trip to study the sculpture of the great masters."

"I understand you went to Rome," Mulder continued.

"We visited Venice, Florence and Rome."

"Did anything unusual happen on the trip?" Mulder asked.

"Unusual? What do you mean?"

Mulder studied his hands for a second.

"Any unpleasant occurrences or...illness for example," he said, looking up.

"Well Marjorie Smith had her purse stolen in Florence but luckily she had her passport and wallet in a tote bag at the time."

"No...I meant with Barbara Sutcliffe in particular."

"Did Barbara seem...unusually quiet or...distressed for some reason?" Lyon prompted.

"No," Borden replied, shaking his head. "She seemed like her usual vivacious self. Look, I can show you slides from that trip if you'd like. You can examine them and maybe they'll show you something I didn't see. But honestly, I...."

Mulder watched as a sudden realization crept over Borden's face. He glanced at Lyon and the other man raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Lyon asked.

Borden returned his attention to the Milwaukee agent.

"Now that I think of it...I do recall one odd thing that happened on the trip," the art teacher said. "Well...at least it might fit Agent Mulder's earlier query about an illness."

"Go on," Mulder said.

"In Rome we were visiting a ballet school. The 'Varelli Academy di Ballet'. It was well known for a small collection of bronzes by Benvenuto Cellini which we wanted to see."

"And Barbara Sutcliffe became ill there?"

"Yes...she fainted actually. She had wandered upstairs into the dancer's dormitory area for some reason and a student found her lying on the floor in a bathroom and raised the alarm."

Lyon was making notes in a small pad as Borden had been speaking. Now he looked up from his writing and addressed the teacher.

"Was she hospitalized?"

"No... The ballet company physician did see her on the spot, however. She was coming around when the student found her, but he gave her a whiff of smelling salts and pronounced her fit. He passed off the fainting spell as the effects of the heat...and the fact she was menstruating at the time and had cramps. It was blasted hot in that building. There wasn't any air conditioning."

"Did she seem ok afterwards?" Mulder asked.

"Yes, I think she did. She was embarrassed about it, but I didn't see anything that indicated she was still ill. She seemed in fact to really enjoy the rest of the trip. We went to Florence next and she was very enthused about seeing Michaelangelo's David."

Mulder steepled his fingers in front of him and considered what Borden had divulged. Before he could speak again Lyon cleared his throat.

"Would you have known if she was still feeling ill or not? Did you check up on her later, say back at the hotel?"

"Yes, actually I did...that evening. Barbara and Marjorie and the other woman...Suzanne Hardaway were in the room across the hall from the male student and me. Keith Mitchell was bunking with me. After dinner I went over to see how Barbara was doing."

"In her room?"

"What?"

"Did you go into her room to ask her that evening? Were Marjorie and Suzanne there?"

Borden gave Lyon a raised eyebrow and Mulder smothered a sigh. He knew Lyon was going to bring up the student/teacher affair angle but he had a bad feeling his line of questioning was going to end up being offensive. That wasn't the way to go about gleaning information.

"What are you implying?" Borden asked.

Lyon had the good grace to at least feign embarrassment.

"Well...in situations involving a serial murderer, something can set off the perpetrator--a flashpoint if you will--that starts them on their murderous way. Many of Barbara Sutcliffe's crimes show a distinct...hatred for men. I have to cover all the possibilities and ask if there's a reason for that particular hatred. If say, one man made her angry enough that it pushed her over the edge to murder other men."

"You mean me? I'm the one man you're referring to?"

Mulder glanced at Lyon and decided it was no sense beating around the bush any longer. Borden was smart enough to know what Lyon was getting at.

"What Agent Lyon is implying is that if you were involved with Barbara Sutcliffe and the affair ended in Italy…"

Borden's laughter interrupted Mulder's explanation. Lyon looked put off by the unexpected outburst and glanced at Mulder, puzzled. Mulder gave a slight shrug.

"You can't be serious?" Borden asked, catching his breath.

"We're deadly serious, sir," Lyon said.

Borden grew sober then and shook his head.

"I'm sorry it's just that...well, let me show you something."

Borden swiveled in his chair and took down one of the framed personal photographs that sat on the shelf above his desk; Mulder had noticed it earlier. The photograph was of Borden and a slightly younger, shorter man. Borden's arm was draped over his companion's shoulder and the other man's arm circled Borden's waist. Both of them were smiling.

"This is Keith Mitchell," Borden explained, turning back around and pointing at the man in the photo.

"We've been partners since he enrolled in the adult continuing education course here in 1987."

"You mean...you're gay," Lyon stated flatly.

"My whole life. And believe me gentleman...Keith and I were an item before this trip was ever planned. I was more intent on getting into Keith on that trip than any woman...much less Barbara Sutcliffe."

Mulder smothered a smile at the dumbfounded expression on Lyon's face. What kind of fucking background check had the agent done on Borden that he hadn't found out he was gay?

Lyon recovered quickly, and although he was clearly barking up the wrong tree Mulder had to give him credit for the recovery.

"Could Barbara have been jealous of your relationship with Keith?"

"You mean could she have had some kind of unrequited love for me? I doubt it. I never noticed anything. Would you like to interview Keith, Marjorie or Suzanne...they might..."

"My partner, Agent Fowler is seeking an interview with them now."

"Oh. I could have saved you the trouble with Keith and asked him to come in," Borden said. He glanced at Mulder. "I thought you were his partner?"

"No, I'm from DC..."

Before Mulder could say anything further, Lyon interrupted him.

"Our apologies, Doctor Borden. Sometimes we have to ask unpleasant questions...it goes with the territory."

Borden waved his hand in dismissal and placed the picture back on the shelf.

"No problem. It's your job. And hell...if I can help in any way, I'll be happy to do it."

"We'd like to see those reviews and transcripts," Mulder replied.

"Yes, of course. They're still stored upstairs as hard copy. We haven't had the budget to convert them to any other medium. I'll go get them."

As soon as Borden left the office Lyon slapped his notebook shut in disgust.

"I'm going to ream Wilson's ass for not finding out this guy was a faggot," he said.

Mulder almost burst out laughing at the obvious reference to 'reaming' the unfortunate Wilson in tandem with the use of the pejorative for the gay Borden. Nothing like letting your homophobia hang out...and saying precisely what will make you seem like twice the fool about it in the process.

"That's some kind of mixed metaphor there, or at least an interesting juxtaposition of images."

"What?" Lyon asked.

"Never mind. Who's Wilson?"

"The agent I asked to do the background checks. He's gonna hear about this. We'd better re-run all the background checks. Shit...like we have time to do that."

Mulder was about to answer when there was the sound of someone fumbling with the door. Mulder rose to help, grabbing the doorknob.

"Thank you," Borden said as he entered, his arms full of file folders.

Before he could shut the door someone was standing in it. Mulder stared into the piercing ice blue eyes of one of the most stunningly beautiful women he'd ever seen.

"Oh...excuse me...I was looking for Uncle John," she said.

Borden turned and smiled.

"Laura! I almost forgot our late lunch. I'm so sorry...I was talking to these gentlemen."

Mulder pulled his eyes away from the attractive black-haired woman and glanced at Lyon. He was surprised to see the look of surprise on his face...a surprise that seemed to indicate he knew this young woman. The woman smiled at Lyon.

"I hope he's not in serious trouble with the FBI, Ross. He'll tell you he hasn't smoked pot since Sid Vicious died in the Chelsea."

"Yeah, he said that," Lyon smiled a little. He was embarrassed and it showed.

"You know Laura?" Borden asked, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, and I'm sorry. Laura, this is Agent Fox Mulder; Agent Mulder, my niece Laura Massey."

"Agent Lyon and I had the pleasure of meeting at the Gingrass Gallery the other night at Paul Stringer's opening," Laura Massey replied. As she turned toward Mulder he had a split second to see Lyon nodding dumbly at Laura's comment before she stretched out her hand to him. Mulder grasped it and their eyes locked again. Her pupils were ringed in black, but the irises were the ice blue of a glacier. "It's nice to meet you too, Agent Mulder."

His headache was back almost instantly. His stomach fluttered for a few seconds. 'Damn,' he thought. 'I hope I'm not going to lose my United Airlines complimentary breakfast.' Mulder swallowed to regain his composure. The pain in his head subsided and he was glad to feel his stomach relax as well. He cleared his throat.

Laura Massey smiled brightly at him.

"My pleasure," he said as their hands parted. "And your uncle isn't in any trouble. He was providing some background information for a case we're investigating."

"Right. It involves one of his former students," Lyon added.

"Barbara Sutcliffe," Borden said.

"Barbara?" Laura asked.

"Did you know Barbara Sutcliffe?" Mulder asked.

"No, not really. I'd seen her around the school of course, when I'd visit Uncle John. I was much younger during her time here. That seems like a long time ago, and I don't recall her very well, I guess."

"Laura went to the Pratt Institute, the School of Art and Design in New York. I guess her Uncle's school didn't quite suit her," Borden said.

Laura playfully slapped his arm.

"Oh, Uncle John. You know me...I love to travel and I always wanted to see New York City. I returned to Milwaukee to teach here didn't I?"

Borden chuckled.

"Yes, you did."

Mulder realized he was staring at her and focused on Lyon instead but he was staring at her too. His hand moved and when it did, Mulder followed it down to the other agent's belt line. He couldn't help but notice Lyon's hard-on tenting the front of his dress slacks as he adjusted himself in an attempt to make his erection less evident.

It would seem that Lyon was more than ready to mix business with pleasure... maybe he already had. Well, maybe not strictly business. Laura Massey didn't seem to have any information about Barbara Sutcliffe, even if her Uncle had been the murderer's teacher. Nevertheless, Mulder filed her name away just in case something later should point to that being an incorrect assumption. She was certainly a beautiful woman and she seemed intelligent as well. He hoped she knew what kind of dickhead she was getting in Lyon if they were seeing each other.

Lyon finally took his eyes off the prize and cleared his throat again.

"Well, if we could get copies of those documents, we can be on our way. I think we've taken up enough of your time, Dr. Borden."

"Yes, certainly. We can use the copier in the registrar's office," Borden said.

He moved forward, heading out of the office and Mulder, Lyon and Laura followed him. He shut and lock the door while still juggling the files.

"I'll wait here, Uncle John," Laura said.

"Uh...I need to use the men's room," Lyon muttered. "Mulder...can you get the copies? I'll catch up in a few minutes."

"No problem," Mulder replied.

"Ok, did you come in by way of the registrar's office?" Borden asked.

"Yes, I know where it is," Mulder said.

Borden tilted his chin at Mulder and proceeded to walk down the hallway.

"Great. Come on then," he said and Mulder dutifully followed.

On a hunch, he glanced back and saw Lyon cozying up to Laura Massey. 'Oh yeah...he had to take a piss...right,' Mulder thought. Bullshit. The agent was talking and Laura Massey was smiling seductively and touching his arm. The last thing Mulder saw before he and Borden turned the corner of the hallway was Laura's hand trailing down the front of Lyon's slacks.

-Continued in Part 3-