Dana Scully turned her key in the lock and entered her apartment. Though her furniture was in place now, the rooms still had the ineffable scent of new--a new space, a new beginning. A fresh start.

Dana had been teaching forensic science at Quantico for over six months now, and it was about time she found a place in the Washington area. The commute wasn't bad, and she was closer to the FBI headquarters. She tossed her keys into a ceramic bowl on a shelf near the door and dropped her purse on the kitchen table. Along with the 'new smell' there was still a certain sterility to the apartment--she hadn't had time yet to fill it with the odds and ends of her personality.

As if I know what that really is, yet. Dana sighed. She was a doctor and an FBI agent, a scientist and a law-enforcement official, a teacher at the Academy and an ambitious woman looking for a more prestigious assignment. Teaching: it was the only thing that didn't fit with the recent changes she'd made to her life.

Dana walked back along the hall to the master bedroom. The afternoon sunlight was a bright golden spill across the bed and hardwood floor, heightening the shine of the wood. She closed her eyes and stretched her arms out into the sunbeam. A shiver of excitement filled her and for a long moment she just smiled at the room: this is mine, all mine, all new. It's not another army base, another house with the exact same layout as the last, another fenced-in egg-carton off-white box of a home. How her parents had managed to live such confined, orderly lives for over thirty years was beyond her; something to do with a military mindset, she supposed. Bill and Charles had never minded, not like her--or Melissa.

Dana smiled, remembering Melissa as she'd last seen her, at Christmas a year ago. During Christmas, the old base house seemed to lose its boxed-in formality. Dana had stayed up late, watching the lights blinking on the bushy spruce in the living room, wondering whether the FBI would fulfill her the way medicine somehow couldn't. Missy had come in and sat down with her, sensing Dana's difficulties from the other end of the house, just as she had when they were kids.

When Dana expressed her fears about the academy, Melissa had laughed softly, the Christmas lights reflecting within the meditation crystal at her throat. "Life is just a path," she said. "You follow your heart and it'll take you where you're supposed to go."

"God, you sound like a greeting card." Dana shook her head. "I don't believe in fate. I think we have to choose our own path."

Missy looked away, a sad look in her eyes. "Well, just don't mistake the path with what's really important in life."

"Which is what?"

"The people you're going to meet along the way." Melissa smiled. "You don't know who you're going to meet when you join the FBI. You don't know how your life is going to change--or how you are going to change the life of others."

But that hasn't happened yet, Dana thought. I haven't met anyone who's changed me, and I don't think I've changed the life of others...unless it was to make them sick at the sight of an autopsy. Jack Willis was the only one I really got to know. Dana made a face at herself in the mirror. But that's over now. My life still revolves around the same medical procedures, day in and day out. Nothing new, or exciting; everything is identified, categorised, and easily referenced.

Now, as Dana opened a drawer and started laying out clothes, she winced at the thought of dinner tonight at her parents' place. They were all pledged to attend, even Charles and his family, a rare occurrence now that he lived so far away. The big table in the dining room always felt like a trap, where she couldn't escape Bill's thinly veiled criticism of the FBI and Charles' morbid interest in the rate that agents were shot down in the line of duty. Melissa would try to provoke both of them about Dana's career by asking leading questions about the number of criminals she'd brought down single-handedly. What could she answer? Simply this: that she was still teaching, still working in forensic science, still, despite the Bureau's enticing recruitment, just a doctor.

Not that there was anything wrong with that. Though she knew that simply practising medicine was not what she wanted to do in life, it was nevertheless a fascinating field of study, with the possibility of surprising any doctor, no matter how well trained. She longed for that sort of surprise, the intellectual puzzle of seeing something totally new--there was that word again. Maybe the Bureau treated all its cases, to some degree, with the same sense of routine.

The phone rang, interrupting her thoughts, and Dana hurried to the living room to pick it up. "Hello."

"Hello. Is this Special Agent Dana Scully?"

"Yes. How may I help you?"

"Sector Chief Blevins has requested your presence in his office at four o'clock this afternoon to discuss a possible reassignment. Can I tell him that you'll be there?"

Dana paused for a moment. She hadn't requested a transfer--yet, she told herself. What sort of assignment could Blevins be thinking of for her?

"Agent Scully?"

"Yes, excuse me. I'll certainly be there."

"Thank you." A pause, and the dial tone sounded in her ear.

Dana let her hands fall, the phone forgotten. A new assignment? Something other than the drudgery of teaching? She hugged her arms, wondering what it could be. Sector Chief Blevins was associated with the Violent Crimes Unit. Perhaps she could look forward to a break in the Bureau routine after all.

She remembered that there was at least one agent who pursued unusual cases. She'd heard about him from...whom? Tom Colton, in their last year at the Academy. He'd told her about the agent who chased unexplained phenomena the way the rest of them tracked drug shipments and illegal weapons.

"He's a real ghostbuster, apparently," Tom had said, laughing. A group had gathered around him, ready to hear the sort of case study their instructors didn't see fit to assign to them officially. "They say he's rather--spooky. Spooky Mulder, chasing after aliens with a badge and a gun. You know you've gone bonkers when, you know what I mean?"

Dana smiled with the others, but the idea intrigued her. "And they let him?" she asked.

"The way I hear it, it's the only way they can keep him happy enough to do their V.C.U. profiling for them." Tom snorted. "They say his profile caught Monty Props almost single-handedly."

"Then he must be good."

"Maybe at one time he was, Dana, but really, aliens? Like ALF, or E.T.? It's a wonder he passed the Bureau's psych screening."

The group laughed again. "Too many reruns of Close Encounters," somebody said.

"They really shouldn't let him do that," added another. "The Bureau should think of its reputation."

"Don't worry," Tom said. "I'm sure nobody takes this guy 'Spooky' seriously. One fo these days he'll annoy some bigwig enough and they'll send somebody in to prove he's off his rocker."

"Until then," toasted the group, but Dana wasn't listening anymore.

Seeking out the unorthodox files was rather eccentric, but if they were FBI files to begin with, then certainly they merited investigation. Spooky Mulder. Talented enough to work the most interesting cases he chose.

That was something Dana wanted for herself.

The rhythmic thwack of the basketball on the hardwood floor echoed in the gym. Mulder flicked his eyes, left, right, looking for some way to the basket. Harsh, gasping breaths pumped in his chest, but he laughed at the sweat dripping down his opponent's face.

"You ready to quit yet, Purdue?"

"Not likely," was the sharp reply. Reggie Purdue kept one hand out, ready to smack the inviting ball out of Mulder's hands, but his eyes watched for the first sign of a fake, Mulder spinning away to the inside and an easy lay-up.

Mulder laughed again and switched the ball to his left hand. "Come on," came a shout from the sidelines. "Your hour's up, buddy. Get on with it."

Reggie's eyes wavered to the bench for a fraction of a second, and Mulder moved. He twitched right, then committed to the left, dribbling the ball past the three-point line and into the paint. Reggie was with him a second later. A second late. Mulder took the jump shot, falling back even as he flicked his wrist, the ball spinning towards the net. Reggie's block was low. The ball curled around the far rim and dropped into the basket, the swish of the net lost under Mulder's whoop of triumph and Reggie's groan. They slapped each other on the shoulder, grinning, ignoring the ball bouncing away to the top of the key.

"I'll get you next time, Mulder, you can count on that," Reggie said as they reached for their towels and water bottles.

"Maybe not, Reggie. I'm afraid I'll have to cancel."

"Afraid of a rematch?" Reggie smiled as he spoke but the teasing light left his eyes. "Where are you and Diana off to this time? Another clairvoyant unfairly institutionalized?"

"No," Mulder said shortly, turning away. "Not with Diana," he added under his breath. He tossed his towel into his sports bag and headed for the showers.

Reggie grabbed the basketball and hurried after him. When Mulder emerged, dripping, Reggie stopped him. "Now what do you mean by that--not with Diana?" he asked. Mulder kept walking. "Mulder. It hasn't been so many years since I was your ASAC tht you can just walk away from my questions."

Mulder opened his locker and pulled out a fresh suit of clothes. "She's leaving, Reggie. Requested a transfer to Tunisia."

"Tunisia! What's in Tunisia?"

Mulder gave a bark of laughter. "That's what I asked. Apparently, the Director's anti-terrorist program. But I suppose you'd know more about that than I would, since they've stuck me down in the basement."

"No, I don't know anything about it," Reggie said. "They don't tell me everything, you know, just because my office is on the third floor."

Mulder nodded. "Sorry I didn't tell you sooner." He held up his left hand, fingers splayed, and pointed to the slim gold band on the third finger. "This is going with her."

Reggie shook his head and sighed. "Oh, Mulder. It's only been two years."

Mulder shrugged, twisted off the ring and tossed it on top of his sweaty clothes in the sports bag. Sometimes I wonder why it happened at all, he thought. How did I get here?

"You two have so much in common," Reggie said. "This weird obsession with those buried case files--"

"The X-Files," Mulder corrected. Did I really give two years of my life to that woman?

"Sure." Reggie wiped his glasses and peered closely at Mulder. "I wasn't sure that the higher-ups would let you two work together, all things considered, but you seem to be under someone's protection, and it hasn't caused any problems yet."

"Until this." Mulder draped his tie around his neck. "Maybe we had too much in common."

Reggie raised his eyebrows at this, but stepped into the shower without further comment. Mulder looked into the mirror over the row of sinks and rubbed his chin, debating whether he had time for a shave. Too much in common. Maybe Diana was too easy to convince about the legitimacy of the work. Sometimes it seemed as though she only agreed with him because of who he was. Just like...Mulder frowned, admitting it to himself for the first time...just like Phoebe Green. He winced at the thought of her. Skewered twice, by women just a little to sure of themselves. Cocky.

"Maybe I should swear off brunettes," he muttered to himself, and reached for his razor.

Reggie showered and dressed in silence, leaving Mulder to shave in peace. As he was finishing, the locker room door burst inward, letting in a crowd of younger agents. Jerry Lamana was at their center, laughing too loudly--as usual. Turning, he saw Mulder at the sink.

"Hey, if it isn't Spooky in the flesh," he said, slapping Mulder heartily, grinning too much and showing off his overbite.

"Jerry," Mulder said dryly. "Can I surmise from that greeting that you've been talking about me again?"

"Oh, hell, Mulder, you know, if the boys here want to learn a little something about you from your oh-so-capable former partner, who am I to deny them?" He turned to the posse behind him. "The best duo in Violent Crimes, '86 through '89. Tell them about the Monty Props case, Mulder. They're dying to hear."

"Sounds like silence on my part would lead to an interesting medical study," Mulder said.

"Yep," Jerry continued as though Mulder hadn't spoken, "We knew that guy inside out before we were done. Who'd have thought the occult played such a big part in the poor guy's life? Of course, Violent Crimes is my calling, but Spooky here is more into the paranormal."

"Jerry..." Mulder started, but Lamana interrupted.

"Word is there's a major restructuring going on in your office, Mulder. Getting a new partner, hunh?"

Mulder grabbed Jerry's arm and pulled him away from the group. "What do you mean, a new partner?" he hissed.

Jerry's eyes widened and he picked at Mulder's hand on his elbow. "What do you mean, what do I mean? It's been watercooler scuttlebutt for days. Diana's leaving and you're getting a new partner. Jeez, Mulder, don't you listen?"

Mulder stopped. "Fewer rumours than you'd think manage to trickle down to the basement," he said, and dropped Jerry's arm. "Do you know who it is?"

Jerry shrugged. "Some rookie doctor they've got teaching forensics at Quantico," he said. "I've heard she's one tough cookie. Doesn't bat an eye at the goriest crime scene."

"She doesn't, huh? Well, that's something, at least."

"Yeah, but Mulder, you better watch yourself with this one. You know Blevins isn't too happy with this 'unassigned project' you've got going on." He glanced over his shoulder at his friends, changing into workout sweats.

"Of course," Mulder said impatiently. "So?"

"So, it's Blevins assigning this lady agent to you. Why would he do that? I'm thinking it's go keep an eye on you, you know?"

Mulder grinned. "A spy?"

"Well..." Jerry made a so-so motion with his hand.

"Thanks, Jerry." Mulder gave Jerry a gentle shove towards his group. "I'll take it from here."

Mulder joined Reggie at his locker just as he was buttoning his suit jacket.

"They're doing it, Reggie," he said. "I expected this sooner or later, but..."

Reggie slammed his locker shut. "Doing what?"

"Blevins is starting a paper trail. They're after the X-Files."

Reggie raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You got this from Lamana?" he asked drolly.

"Yes. Listen, Reggie, they're assigning some green, report-writing scientist to me. Just when I'm about to find proof..." Mulder trailed off.

"Really. Proof." Reggie folded his arms. "Is this why you've cancelled our game?"

Mulder's lips quirked. "No, that was because of my abject terror of your court skills, Purdue."

Reggie nodded. "Fine, fine. Don't tell me where you're going. I hope this scientist of yours is as skeptical as they come."

"Right," Mulder said. "I've got to go, Reggie. I've got some research to do."

He left the locker room, sports bag looped over one arm. A scientist as skeptical as they come. An agent who would only accept empirical proof of his claims. Mulder sighed. He doubted this doctor, whoever she was, would be objective enough to listen to his beliefs; she was probably just some plant of Blevins'. Yet he relished the idea of the challenge of persuading someone so skeptical of what he knew to be true.

That challenge was something he wanted in his life.

The base never changed. The small, neat houses with yards like parade grounds; the military precision of the streets. Only the faces of the soldiers changed, all young, fresh-faced, proud of the uniform but bored with sentry duty. They always had a smile for a pretty lady--but this pretty lady was a navy brat, and knew all their tricks. Dana returned the smiles but not the come-hither glances.

She pulled up in front of her parents' house, watching the amber light spilling out the front windows and on to the newly greening lawn. In the porch light, she recognised Bill and Charles' cars. There was no sign of Melissa, but there rarely was. She had her own peculiar means of transportation. Dana walked up the steps and knocked with the bottle of wine she'd brought. Her mother opened the door, her face open and happy.

"Dana! You made it!"

Dana smiled at her mother's exuberant greeting. "Of course, Mom. You seem surprised."

Margaret made vague tsking sounds as she drew Dana in out of the evening's coolness. "Well, when you phoned to say you'd been called into work...I never know what to expect. You and Billy and Charles, you're all the same. When duty calls..."

"It was just a meeting, Mom." Dana felt her smile fade into a thoughtful frown. Sector Chief Blevins' office had an oppressive atmosphere, heavy with Old Boy chumminess among the two men who'd interviewed her. The third, standing at the file cabinet in the corner, had watched her with such intensity that she felt she was about to be fired, not given a field assignment. She shook off her misgivings as her mother brought her into the living room.

Billy and Charles were seated on the sofa, glasses of Scotch in their hands. They were nearly twinned in their height and build, but where Bill's hair was his father's coppery-red, a shade lighter than Dana's, Charles took after their mother. The youngest of the Scully children, he alone had Margaret's dark, fine hair, though it had been redder when he was younger. His eyes were different too, caught somewhere between brown and hazel, shining like dark honey when he laughed. Melissa was curled up in the rocking chair across from them, hugging her knees. Her hair was long and wild, and rings glittered on her fingers. Her choker necklace held at its center a white meditation crystal.

William Scully, Sr., was enthroned in the large easy chair at the head of the room, allowing himself to relax as far as 'at ease'. He wore a suit and looked uncomfortable in it; he never seemed to be at peace with his clothes unless he was wearing regulation Navy whites. He glanced up with a pleased look as Dana and Margaret entered from the foyer.

"Hello, Dana," he said. This cued everyone else to stand and come forward with hugs and greetings. When she had hugged her brothers and sister, Charles called his children in for their dutiful chorus of "Hello, Auntie Dana," and their solemn, soft-lipped kisses. Charles' wife had had to work at the last minute, but the TV in Bill's old room entertained the kids. They knew not to interrupt adult conversation.

Finally, Dana leaned over her father to kiss his cheek. He raised a hand to her shoulder and whispered in her ear, "And how's my Starbuck?"

"Shipshape in Bristol fashion, Ahab," Dana answered, and sat in a hard-backed chair at his right, accepting the drink her mother brought to her.

"Margaret," William said, "How long does a man have to starve in this house?"

"Twice as long as he would if he helped with dinner," Margaret said tartly. "I've had no help and a horde of you to feed." She smiled around the room, clearly loving the excuse to cook.

William raised his eyebrows. "You ought to delegate more," he said. "Get Missy and Dana in there with you."

"Oh, Dad," Melissa said. "How old fashioned is that?"

"Now, Melissa," William began, but Margaret interrupted.

"Those two are apt to burn a salad. I'll take Charles to stir the gravy and Billy to season the potatoes. You--" she took William by the arm, half pulling him out of his chair, "are needed to carve the turkey."

Soon the family was seated around the dining room table, passing dishes and serving themselves. The children were called in to wash up, then everyone bowed their heads and joined hands for Grace.

"Bless us, O Lord," William Scully said. "We are thankful for the food we are about to receive. Young Bill and Charles have come home safely from sea. Our family is well, and able to gather together for this meal You have provided. Thank you for your small mercies and great bounties. Lord, support us all the day long, until the evening lengthens, and our labour is done, and the world is hushed. Then, let us find peace, and rest at the last. Amen."

"Amen."

Dana began to eat with the others, and though she smiled and nodded at their stories, her mind was drawn back to the meeting in Blevins' office that afternoon. Why had she joined the FBI? Was she familiar with Fox Mulder? Did she know about "the so-called X-Files"?

In actuality, she knew little enough, but it didn't do to display ignorance in front of one's superiors. What she did know, from Tom and others at the Academy, was perhaps not suitable for such a formal setting. That this Mulder was not, never had been, a "team player". That he had a killer jump shot, but refused to play whenever the DOJ basketball team was pitted against the other Departments. That the only reason he'd been allowed to continue with his work on the paranormal was because he had support from "some nutty liberal Congressman".

It was made clear to her that Blevins wanted to use her to destroy this man's work. Her initial incredulity had worn off and she now felt the heat of anger. How could she act as Fox Mulder's partner and his watchdog? Trust was the foundation of any partnership, especially among law-enforcement officers. How could two people trust each other when one was working to debunk the other?

"Debunk," she said to herself, half-aloud, tasting the word with disgust.

"What's that, honey?" her mother asked. "Dana, you've hardly touched your food. Are you all right?"

Dana looked up to find the eyes of the entire family upon her. "I'm fine, Mom," she said. "I was just thinking about work..."

She regretted the words as soon as she'd said them. Her job was the last thing she wanted to discuss with her family. Certainly this assignment to the "X-Files" would not go down well. Already she felt her father drawing back, and saw Billy's supercilious frown. There was silence; not even a fork clicking against a plate was heard.

Kevin, her six-year-old nephew, looked around at all the still faces. "Mommy says your work makes it impossible for you to find a man," he offered. "What man did you lose, Auntie Dana?"

"Kevin!" Charles half-stood, his face bright red.

Dana stopped him, though it felt like her heart was pounding at double time. "No, Charles, that's all right. If that's what Gina thinks, that's fine."

"Now, Dana," Bill said. "You know that's not what she thinks. It's just that, well, the FBI--"

"What, Bill?" Melissa jumped on his unfinished sentence. "The FBI isn't a place for a woman? That Dana is more likely to get shot because she'll panic if she breaks a nail? That she might have to be bitchy to get respect, and that the male agents won't be falling over themselves to ask out a woman just as competent--or more!--as they are?"

"Melissa--" William Scully's hands were fisted on the tabletop.

"Oh, Dad, I know what you're thinking. But this is Dana's choice, and Dana's life. Personally, I wouldn't mind hearing a story about a workplace other than an aircraft carrier, for once!"

This time it was Margaret who tried to stop Melissa. "Nobody is saying those things, Melissa. Why don't we let Dana tell us about her day, now?"

Everyone turned to Dana once more. She hesitated for a moment, and shot a glare at Melissa for putting her in the spotlight.

"Actually, I was given a new assignment today," she said. "I won't be teaching at Quantico any longer."

"Nothing that puts you in the line of fire, I hope," Margaret said. Dana knew it was because there were already three Scullys who faced such danger every day of their lives.

"It's possible," she admitted. "But this is an investigative assignment. My partner and I will be--" She stopped, not knowing how to express what she and "her partner" would be searching for, not to mention the fact that she was supposed to secretly monitor his cases and his behaviour.

Fortunately, Bill spoke as soon as Dana paused. "This partner--have you met him yet?"

"No, I haven't, Bill," Dana said. "But I know of him by reputation. He's said to be the best analyst in the Violent Crimes Unit."

"Violent Crimes, Dana? Are you sure...?" Margaret trailed off, looking at William, but he said nothing, only stared at Dana.

"Yes, Mom, I know. This is what I want to do. I never wanted to be stuck teaching at the Academy for my entire career. I've always thought of the FBI as a place where I could distinguish myself, and I can't do that sitting behind a desk writing forensics reports." Dana looked at her father, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. His silence hurt far more than Bill's chauvinism or Charles' pained look.

Suddenly, everyone seemed entirely engrossed in their plates once more. Margaret got up to make coffee and bring out the pie she'd baked. Charles sent his kids to clear the table, and Bill began telling his father about the prospects of his summer tour of duty. Only Melissa looked at Dana. She grinned, and squeezed her hand under the table. "I know you'll do great, Dana," she said. "You were wasted in that lab. You're a scientist; investigating is what you were meant for."

Dana returned her sister's smile. A scientist. Yes. She couldn't just follow the spirit of Blevins' instructions. He'd told her he would rely upon her scientific judgments, and that was how she would do her job. Empirical, pragmatic, objective science. If her partner's--Fox Mulder's--claims were nothing but air and smoke, she would tell him so. If there were something out there, though--something new--and if the evidence could be found to support it...then as a scientist, she would adjust herself to what the data showed.

Nothing was beyond the realm of science: the answers were there; you just had to know where to look.

Dana smirked to herself. She looked forward to tomorrow's meeting with Fox Mulder.

No file in the Bureau could be buried so deeply that Mulder couldn't unearth it. The Oregon case had come to him via the expense reports of the two agents who investigated the deaths of three young residents of Bellefleur. Baked salmon with a lemon twist for lunch two days in a row and not so much as a search warrant had been issued on the case. For Mulder, that meant pay dirt.

He'd been anticpating the trip to Oregon for close to a week, but Jerry's information that a newbie partner would be dumped in his lap tomorrow put a kink in his plans. In two days he was going to be on a plane to Bellefleur, new partner or not. If she was Blevins' spy, well...he knew enough not to tell her his real thoughts on the case. Three murders--four, now--were enough of a distraction to any agent worth their badge. That was all he had to rely on.

For an hour, Mulder alternately skimmed Doctor Scully's personnel file, which he'd cadged out of Danny after promising him a fifty-yard line ticket to the next Redskins home game, and reading the good doctor's undergraduate senior thesis.

Mulder pricked his ears when he heard the apartment door open, but ignored the footsteps coming through the kitchen into the living room.

"Fox?"

Mulder didn't turn around at the sound of Diana's voice. She came up behind him where he sat at the desk, running her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, bringing her face close enough to blow in his ear. "I'm home." The words were playful, but there was an edge to her voice. He hadn't so much as acknowledged her presence.

"What are you reading?"

"Mm?" In Diana's hands, even such a casual question sounded seductive, Mulder thought. Especially when she wants something. He kept reading.

"I said, what are you reading, Fox?" The edge was sharper now. Strident.

Mulder looked up, taking off his glasses. " Einstein's Twin Paradox: A New Interpretation," he said.

"Has anyone ever told you that you work too hard?" Diana tried to laugh, but it fell flat. "That's hardly light reading."

Mulder shrugged. "I'm enjoying it," he said, and put his glasses back on, flipping the page. There was an intricate bit of calculus here that he almost understood...

Diana's hands smoothed their way back up to his shoulders, and she started massaging his neck and upper back. Her fingers lingered on his skin, perfectly manicured nails trailing through his hair. When he didn't respond, she reached around to unbutton his shirt, then under it to massage his chest.

"Diana..."

"Yes, Fox?"

"I'm trying to read."

Diana's hands became wooden on his chest. Mulder reached up and withdrew them from his shirt. He looked back over his shoulder at her, still holding her hands. "Shouldn't you be packing?" he asked. "Your flight is at ten o'clock."

Diana was staring down at his hand covering hers. Her full, painted lips were pursed into a thin line and her eyes were dark. "You've taken off your ring," she said.

"Diana, we agreed--well, mostly you agreed--that this was the best thing for both of us. You don't know how long you're going to be in Tunisia. It could be years."

"Just because we filed paperwork, Fox, doesn't mean that we don't still have feelings for each other."

Mulder tossed his glasses on the desk, on top of Einstein's Twin Paradox. "I don't know what else it might mean," he said.

Her eyes widened and she jerked her hands back. "Fox--"

"Your stuff is still in the bedroom," Mulder said. He spun his chair around to face her.

Diana strode to the other end of the living room, her heels clicking out her agitation. She stopped in front of the bedroom door and turned to face him. "You think I've abandoned our work on the X-Files," she said. "That's what this is all about."

Mulder raised his eyebrows. "Frankly, no, it's not," he said. "I'll be continuing with the X-Files myself."

"Oh, Fox, when are you going to realise that you're not going to be able to muck about with unexplained phenomena forever? Eventually there will be a reckoning."

"Maybe so, but that hasn't happened yet."

"Without me to partner you--" Diana stopped and bit her lower lip.

Mulder narrowed his eyes. "Actually," he said slowly, "I've been assigned a new partner." He watched for her reaction. She's surprised, he thought; but surprised about the partner, or surprised that I already know?

"Oh?" Diana asked. The innocent question seemed to stick in her throat. "Who?"

Mulder shrugged. "A Doctor Scully, I've been told. A teacher at Quantico." He shook his head, as though that was all he'd been able to find out. He had stuffed her personnel file beneath the mass of papers on his desk when he'd heard Diana enter.

Dana Katherine Scully. Thirty-two years old, 02/23/64. Five-three, 100 pounds. Two brothers and her father were in the Navy. Mother and one siser, occupations unknown. Undergraduate degree in physics. Harvard Medical School, class of '88. Residency in forensic pathology. Handgun scores at last certification, 87%. She could write, too; he'd never been so close to understanding relativistic physics as when he read her senior thesis. A nice photo: creamy skin, with long red hair, and even features. ID photos were notorious for misrepresenting reality, though. Like drivers' licences. Mulder found himself wondering what she really looked like, whether he was just imagining the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, whether her blue eyes sparkled to life when she smiled...

"Is she competent in fieldwork?" Diana's sharp question brought Mulder's thoughts back. A smirk was twitching at the corners of Diana's mouth. "Does she even know about the X-Files, let alone have a sympathetic attitude towards the paranormal?"

"I don't know," Mulder said. I also didn't mention that Doctor Scully was a 'she'.

"This woman doesn't sound like the type who would be successful, working on the X-Files. Probably too rigid, conservative in her thinking. You need a partner who understands your perspective," Diana said. "Maybe I should..."

"What? Rescind your transfer application? Diana, you have a career ahead of you. Not like me, as you so aptly point out." Mulder tried to leach the bitterness from his voice. "This doctor might fail, and so might the X-Files. If so, I'll go back to the V.C.U."

"I don't believe that for a second, Fox," Diana said. "I know what you have at stake."

A sarcastic smile took possesion of Mulder's features. "And yet you've chosen to go to Tunisia. What exquisite timing, Ms. Fowley."

Diana folded her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. Behind her was a chaos of clothes strewn over the box-spring bed, all that was left of the bedroom furniture. "Fox, I know you wanted me to go to Oregon with you, but I--" She stopped. Mulder was nodding, his smile bitter, his eyes cold. Already he was turning back to the files piled over his desk.

"You're answering the Director's call," he said, shuffling his papers. "Saving us all from terrorism. Very noble, Diana. I think I'll wave my flag extra hard this July fourth."

Diana looked into the bedroom, at the suitcases she had yet to pack. "This won't take long," she said. "I'll call a cab."

Mulder glanced over his shoulder. Half conciliatory, half resigned, he said, "I can give you a ride to the airport."

"No, Fox. I don't believe you should." This time, it was Diana who turned away.

Mulder shook his head and went back to his reading. If Doctor Scully was anything like her senior thesis, she would do well on the X-Files. Logical, methodical, willing to question authority--rewriting Einstein was a credential there--and throughout, there was a thread of intensity that he understood as passion for her subject. Dedication. He'd felt the same way when writing his monograph on serial killers and the occult.

Mulder put his glasses back on, smiling. Spy or not, he was becoming very interested in meeting Dana Katherine Scully.

The park was fresh from a brief rainstorm during the night, the bushes glistening with the water droplets still caught in their silver-green leaves. Dana ran through it all, her breathing deep and even, her footsteps light and quick. It was early enough that the traffic sounds were muted, and the park was nearly empty. Dana loved running at this hour--before the smokers came out from the office buildings across the street to 'enjoy the fresh air'.

Then there was the church. Its steeple shone in the morning sun, visible from most points in the park. Dana ended her run at its steps, feeling her spirit soar upwards with the white columns of the stone facade. Inside, the rising sun burst through the stained glass windows like sparks of fire, illuminating a portrait of the Ascension. Though Dana was not as close to the Church as she once had been, much to her mother's dismay, she nevertheless loved the beauty of the architecture and the artwork of this church.

One painting in particular drew her, like a moth to a flame. It showed Christ, his hands extended, and suspended between them was a human heart, burning and yet not consumed by fire. The artist had chosen a style uncommon to religious paintings, avoiding perfection, for Christ's face was careworn and his beard unkempt. Dana thought she saw in His eyes not only His infinite compassion, but also a hint of clinical detachment as he looked at the fiery heart--as though human life were a mystery even to its Creator. The oils of the painting came alive in the morning light, until Dana thought the flaming heart beat with each wavering of light and shadow.

"May I help you, my child?"

Dana turned around quickly. A priest stood behind her, his black suit accented by his crisp collar and silver hair. She smiled, embarrassed by her running clothes and sloppy ponytail. "You have a beautiful church, father," she said.

"For God's glory," he answered. "I've seen you here before, haven't I? Do you run in the park often?"

"Yes."

The priest smiled. "I'm sorry; you've come here for your own reasons, not to answer a nosy old man's questions. I, too, find this painting soothes...when I am uncertain."

Dana looked back at the picture. It was true that she still had some doubts about her meeting with Fox Mulder today. After seeing her father last night, she once again found herself wondering if she'd made a huge mistake, giving up a promising career in medicine to chase aliens with a man considered by most to be unstable on a good day.

This is what you wanted, she reminded herself. Something new and exciting. "I suppose we project ourselves into such paintings," she said. "See them as being reassuring when that's what we're looking for ourselves."

"Or else perhaps the artist was favoured with the Lord's blessing, and it is indeed Christ's mercy that comes through the paints." The priest glanced sideways at her, gauging her reaction to his suggestion.

"I'm sorry, father, but I don't believe that," Dana said.

"No? You are of the faith, I see," he said, looking at the small gold cross her mother had given to her when she was fifteen.

"Yes, but..."

The priest gave her a sad smile. "I hear that so often, now. 'Yes, but'. People want to seek out the Lord, but they cannot accept His powers."

Dana tensed. She regretted her distance from the Church, but she was not ready to be lectured about it today. So many religious people couldn't accept her scientific beliefs, and yet expected her to accept theirs.

The priest noticed her hesitation, and smiled again. "Will you humour me for a moment longer?" he asked. "Look again at this painting, and then close your eyes."

Dana gave him a sceptical look, but did as he said.

"Now," the priest said. "Is the painting still there?--Wait, don't open your eyes. Is it?"

Dana raised her eyebrows at his question, but kept her eyes closed. "Yes, of course."

"Really? But you can't see it. How do you know it's still there?" There was a ripple of laughter in his voice as he questioned her. Dana stayed silent. "You can't feel it; your arms are at your sides. I doubt very much that you can hear it, or smell it. Do you still insist that the painting is still hanging on that wall?"

"Yes."

"Without evidence?"

Dana smiled. "I understand what you're trying to say," she said, and opened her eyes. "But..."

The priest raised his eyebrows. "All I am illustrating is that you understand faith," he said simply. "What you do with that understanding is yours to decide." He nodded a farewell and walked back into the nave.

A gentle hand shaking his shoulder roused Mulder from sleep. "Fox, wake up. Why are you sleeping on the couch?"

"Mom?"

"Yes, it's me. I thought we were going to breakfast together today. When you didn't answer your door..."

Mulder sat up, swinging his legs off the couch. He rubbed his eyes, and sent a sour glance at the closed bedroom door. Diana had taken the alarm clock. "What time is it?" he asked.

"Nearly nine." Teena Mulder's face, framed with silver hair, was lined with worry.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Mulder said. "I forgot that you were in town. Diana..." He hesitated, knowing there was no love lost between his mother and Diana. "She left last night," he said.

"Hmm."

"'Hmm'? That's all you have to say, 'hmm'?" Mulder put his watch on and swore mentally at the time.

"Yes, well, I think you'll find it preferable to the other things I could say about...that woman."

"Diana."

"Hmm."

Mulder shook his head and went searching for clean clothes. "I'm afraid I'll have to skip breakfast," he called to his mother. "I've got a meeting at eleven."

"Oh really?"

"Hmm."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Teena followed Mulder into the kitchen, and watched him brewing a mug of instant coffee.

"I know you don't like hearing about my work," Mulder said. Teena gave him an impatient look, asking him to continue. "But, to answer your questions, yes I'm still working on the X-Files; yes, even though Diana and I are finished, and the divorce will be final in three weeks; yes, I'm working with someone new, but no, I haven't met her yet; and--" Mulder paused, threw his teaspoon in the sink, then plunged ahead. "And yes, it is still because of Samantha."

Teena's lips tightened and her blue eyes glistened with pain. "That was uncalled for, Fox."

Mulder grimaced. He ducked his head and stared at the coffee, then gulped it down all at once, despite its bitter taste. If he didn't say Samantha's name, his mother would dance around the subject for hours, always wondering but never inquiring. "I'm sorry," he said. Searching for a new topic, he asked, "How's Dad?"

Teena made a dismissive gesture. "I'm sure he's fine."

Mulder nodded. "And how are you doing? Everything's going well?"

"Yes, I'm fine, Fox." Teena smiled now, but her eyes were still sad. "If only my son could remember a breakfast date with his old mother," she teased. "They say the first sign of a nervous breakdown is when you start thinking your work is terribly important."

"You're not old, Mom."

"Hmm." The pleased light came back into her eyes, despite the 'hmm'. "So you're meeting your new partner today. I hope she's better than that Lamana fellow. He had a weak chin."

"You're judging the people I work with based on appearance, now?" Mulder thought that if that was the case, his mother would approve of this partner.

"I know strong character when I see it," Teena said. "You need to work with someone who has an appreciation for facts, to keep your feet on the ground. You're too impulsive by half, you know."

Mulder grinned. "Yes, Mom," he said facetiously.

"I'm serious, Fox. You're far too credulous. You need to know when to get your head out of the clouds, and a partner with common sense will show you that. I hope she pokes a few holes in your theories." Teena peered up into Mulder's face, concerned. "You could stand being pegged down a notch or two, I'm afraid."

"All right, instead of breakfast, you're treating me to a free analysis." Mulder shook his head. "I promise, I'll respect her opinion, if it's well founded." Mulder rinsed out his cup under the tap. "Are you heading back today, or tomorrow?"

"Will you be home?"

"No, I'm going to Oregon tomorrow."

"Oregon, now." Teena smiled. "Ambitious boy. I'll be taking the train tonight. The Galbreges have invited me over for bridge."

"Okay." Mulder gave his mother a hug. "Have a safe trip."

"I'm expecting you home for Easter," Teena warned him. "I love you, Fox."

"Love you too, Mom."

After his mother left, Mulder showered and dressed, carefully avoiding the empty bedroom. After he had shaved, and was knotting his tie, Mulder sat on the couch and stared at the door, frowning. The couch was really more comfortable than the bed ever had been. He stood and walked across the living room, pushing the bedroom door open. The bed was bare even of sheets, now, and the hangers in the closet were no more than off-key wind chimes. This had never really been his room, or even theirs. It was Diana's, from the frilly bedspread to the vanity beside the closet.

Mulder made a face at the room. One person alone didn't need so much space...yet moving had its own problems. Finding a place with decent rent, and as close to work, would be next to impossible. Then, moving, with his busy schedule...all for a place he used less than he used motel rooms on the road. Motel rooms with hard beds, just like this one. Mulder returned to the couch and lay down, testing it.

What the room needed was some life. Plants always died under his care...maybe fish. Goldfish, in a glowing green aquarium, at the foot of the couch, next to the desk. He could almost picture it. Mulder got up again, took one last look into the bedroom, and slammed the door.

"Now that's common sense," he muttered, and grabbing up Dana Scully's senior thesis--an opinion of hers that he could respect, though he hadn't even met her yet--and left for work.

Dana pressed B and the elevator doors mouthed shut. She pressed her hands against her thighs, forcing away the prickling of nervousness in her palms. When the elevator doors opened, she was abandoned in a cement-block hallway, narrowed by rows of shelves laden with boxes of files.

Ahead of her, a man carrying a cup of coffee glanced at her, then hurried away. As if the X-Files are contaminated, she thought. I'm contagious, now.

Dana stepped slowly towards the door at the end of the hall. She had never felt so much like an intruder. Steeling herself, she knocked lightly at the door.

When Mulder had arrived at work, he felt a sudden desire to do three years' housekeeping in the half-hour that remained before Dana Scully walked in the door. He shrugged the urge off, and settled down to arranging his presentation. Though a week ago he would have said that he was above all the office gossip about his work, it was now imperative that he didn't come off as a nut on the first day.

"Sorry," he called, when he heard the tap at the door. "Nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted."

Dana entered the office. Filing cabinets stood everywhere, all available surfaces covered with dossiers and loose papers. The walls were pasted with newspaper articles, glossy photos, and sketchy diagrams. The only area free of clutter was the wall dominated by a poster of a blurred, metallic object suspended over the suggestion of forested hills.

I want to believe.

Her gaze travelled to the man seated at a desk across the room, intent on the slides arranged on a lighted plate. When he twisted around and looked up, Dana quickly banished the unprofessional thought that leapt to mind and suppressed an appreciative smile. Fox Mulder was younger than she'd imagined him. His strong features were softened by his full mouth and the fall of hair across his forehead. His glasses lent him a touch of academia, but they didn't hide the gleam of challenge in his hazel-green eyes.

"Agent Mulder," she said. "I'm Dana Scully. I've been assigned to work with you."

Mulder took her extended hand in his for a desultory shake. Her palm was smooth and warm, though her gaze was neutral at best. "Isn't it nice to be suddenly so highly regarded? So who did you tick off to get stuck with this detail, Scully?" Mulder drew out her name as though it was an odd taste and he hadn't decided whether he liked it. He turned back to loading slides. He had started to say "Dana", but it stuck in his throat. Too close to bad memories. And, after all, he didn't plan to let her call him anything but Mulder. It was bad enough that his parents insisted on Fox, not to mention...

Scully, he said to himself. I could get used to that.

"Actually," she said, trying to sting him with honesty, "I'm looking forward to working with you. I've heard a lot about you," she added, deciding that two could play at innuendoes.

He looked up quickly at that. "Oh, really." Then, with studied non-chalance: "I was under the impression that you were sent to spy on me."

He knows. Dana tried a different tack. "If you have any doubts about my qualifications or credentials -- "

"You're a medical doctor, you teach at the Academy." He stood and retrieved a familiar report from under a pile of documents. "You did your undergraduate degree in physics. Einstein's Twin Paradox: A New Interpretation. Dana Scully, senior thesis. Now there's a credential, rewriting Einstein." His voice edged into mockery.

"Did you bother to read it?" she asked coldly.

"I did. I liked it." He stood and placed the loaded slide cartridge onto the projector. "It's just that in most of my work, the laws of physics rarely seem to apply." He half-shrugged as he said this, ignoring her offended look. He walked to the door and shut off the lights. "Maybe I can get your medical opinion on this, though." He flicked on the projector. The slide showed a shrouded body covered in leaves and debris. "Oregon female, age twenty-one, no explainable cause of death. The autopsy showed nothing. Nada. Zip." He glanced sideways at her, and switched the slides forward. "There are, however, these two distinct marks on her lower back. Doctor Scully, can you ID these marks?"

Dana walked forward to look more closely at the screen. "Needle punctures, maybe. An animal bite. Electrocution of some kind." She turned back to judge the effect of her guesses.

His only reaction was to flip the slide. "How's your chemistry? This is the substance found in the surrounding tissue."

"It's organic." She stared at the unfamiliar configuration of amines, carbonyls, and methyls. "I don't know. Some kind of synthetic protein?"

Mulder raised his eyebrows. She was astute. "Beats me. I've never seen it before, either." He smiled to himself, remembering how long he'd spent trying to resurrect his faded knowledge of organic chemistry...only to remember he'd dropped that course at Oxford. Admittedly, though, his confusion over the material had only been part of the reason. He shifted to slides again. "But here it is again in South Dakota, and again, in Shamrock, Texas."

Dana crossed her arms, intrigued by the evidence. "Do you have a theory?"

"I have plenty," he said. "But maybe what you can explain to me is why it's Bureau policy to label these cases as unexplained phenomena and ignore them." For a moment, he seemed serious, but then he paused and whispered huskily, "Do you believe in the existence of extra-terrestrials?"

Dana suppressed a snort of derisive laughter. This was what the X-Files were about, after all. Her interest was piqued by the case he presented, but this was surely a joke. Spooky Mulder.

"Logically, I would have to say no," she said. He nodded as if this were the expected, yet disappointing, answer. Angered by his dismissal of her opinion, she said, "Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed a spacecraft's capabilities."

"Conventional wisdom." Mulder nodded again. "You know, this Oregon female--she's the fourth person in her graduating class to die under mysterious circumstances." He sighed internally, and tried an argument he'd repeated in vain too many times. "When convention and science offer us no answers, might we not finally turn to the fantastic as a plausibility?"

"The girl obviously died of something," Dana said. Plausible, indeed. "If it was natural causes, it's plausible something was missed in the post-mortem. If it was murder, it's plausible there was a sloppy investigation." She raised her voice, hoping to wipe the smirk off his face with facts. "What I find fantastic is any notion that there are answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there. You just have to know where to look."

He grinned. He had been right--the photo ID didn't do her justice. You're pretty when you're angry, he wanted to say. Not the sort of thing to tell your new partner on ten minutes' acquaintance, and cliche, too. "That's why they put the 'I' in FBI," he said jauntily, and sauntered back to the desk. She'd do, she'd definitely do. "See you tomorrow morning, Scully, bright and early. We leave for the very plausible state of Oregon at eight A.M."

Dana raised her eyebrows at his back. She seemed to have passed some test in his estimation. Scully, she thought. If nothing else, this trip to Oregon with Mulder would be something...new. Scully smiled, and let herself out of the office.

Mulder paced up and down his living room, glaring at the phone. He'd just finished talking to the Raymond County's D.A. Office. Sorry, Mr. Mulder, we don't have the information you requested. No, I've never heard of Billy Miles. No, there is no file under that name. No, I'm sorry, I can't redirect your call. It's after business hours, Mr. Mulder. Won't you call back tomorrow?

Lost it all. Again.

Damn it. He had to tell Scully.

He checked his watch. It was twenty after eleven. Would she still be awake? He bit his lower lip, hesitated, and then picked up the phone.

She answered on the first ring. "Hello?"

"Scully? It's me." Mulder rubbed at his eyes, but kept pacing. "I haven't been able to sleep. I talked to the D.A.'s office in Raymond County, Oregon. There's no case file on Billy Miles. The paperwork we filed is gone." He threw himself down on the couch and let his head fall back. "We need to talk, Scully."

There was a long pause. Mulder squeezed his eyes shut. Come on, Scully. Answer me. Are we in this together, or are you just here to stick your nose up Blevins' ass? Like the rest of them.

Then, her voice in his ear. "Yes." Another pause. "Tomorrow." And the click of the phone settling into its cradle.

Mulder set the phone on the coffee table and stretched out on the couch. It would be damn tough working with Scully and her logic. He respected her integrity...and that was more than he could say for any partner he'd had before. He smiled. They'd talk tomorrow. There would be other cases. For the first and last time in his life, he thought of Sector Chief Blevins without contempt. Thank you.

Evidence or no evidence, he felt better already.

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Summer 2002