Disclaimers in Chapter One



Residual Effect



Chapter Five



Carl Franklin died of a heart attack. In technical terms, he died of

fright.

Dana tried not to think too hard about it. The unimaginable brutality of

the crime shook many a seasoned agent within the walls of this building.

Even Scully shuddered with revulsion every now and then. Imagining the

fear, horror, what were the final moments of Mr. Franklin’s life.



Still, Dana carried on, carried out the arduous task of mapping the

workings of death. In some eyes, they considered Dana’s work macabre, maybe

even morbid. Dana considered herself an artist, a cartographer, mapping the

human body, learning its fragile history. Charting her course on bone,

blood, sinew.



Mr. Franklin was a 53 year old émigré from Haiti. That Scully knew from his

file. What his body told her couldn’t be found on any paper. He died

approximately 45 hours before his body washed on the shores of the Potomac.



Carl put up a good fight, however futile. Even bound, suffering blows that,

Dana assumed, forced his tormentors to continue their brutal torture.



The autopsy took roughly seven hours. Dana finally settled herself behind

Dr. Claiborne’s desk deciphering her notes.



She took off her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose. She hadn’t

intended to become so entrenched in this case. If not for the phobia’s of

Dr. Claiborne, Dana should have been home by now. Not that being at home

was a good thing. She didn’t even want to consider the upcoming months and

the course of her career, or what was left of it. A soft knock at the door

broke Dana away from her thoughts. Abbie stood in the doorway, a little

worse for the wear.



"How’s it going?" She asked.



"Almost done with the preliminary, it’ll take another day for me to type

everything up. Of course, that’s not including the lab results."



"What do you have so far?" Abbie stepped into the room. She took a chair in

front of the desk. Dana could see dark circles forming under the woman’s

eyes.



"For starters, your suspect is a white male. I suspect between the ages of

50 and 60. Judging by the color of his hair. He’s also left handed."

Abbie’s eyes widened slightly at the comment. "I could tell by the way the

knot was tied. Carl died about 45 hours ago. Heart attack, although I’d say

he’s one of the healthiest fifty year olds I’ve seen."



Dana’s cell phone began to ring. Quizzically, she picked the phone up.



"Scully."



"Scully, it’s me." Mulder answered in her ear. Dana’s face widening into a

soft smile.



"Mulder, it’s two-thirty at night, what are you doing up?"



"What and miss a second of ‘surveillance tonight’? Besides, I heard you had

a little excitement up in New York."



"How’d you hear I was in New York?"



"Do you think anyone around here would skip the opportunity to rub in my

face that you’d been given an actual assignment?" He commented a tinge of

jealousy in his voice.



"It’s not that exciting," She tried to reassure him, "I don’t even know why

I’m here." On that comment, Dana looked up at Abbie, the woman returning

her glance. Abbie had taken some of Dana’s notes casually thumbing through

them.

Dana took one of the pictures, staring at the strange symbol drawn on

Franklin’s chest.



"Mulder, what do you know about symbols?" She asked.



"Are you flirting with me, Scully?" He laughed on the other end. Mulder

paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "Aside, from the cursory,

like, religious, national and mathematical, I’d need a little more

information."



Dana stared at the photo, trying to comprehend the various swirls and

loops.

"Well, it’s nothing I’ve never seen before. Plus it ties into my

victimology. How about I fax you a copy."



"Scully, what would the principal say?" He joked again. "You sure you want

to risk getting me involved?"



"Why should only one of us have all the fun?" She could hear him chuckling

softly. "I’ll fax it over in the morning. Goodnight Mulder."



"Goodnight Scully." She hung up her cell, laying it back onto the desk.

Abbie laid the notes on top of the picture.



"Was that your better half?"



Dana nodded. "He’s been taking the closing down of the X-Files a little

hard. Not mention that shit job they have him working now." Dana looked at

her watch, noting the time, again. "Do you want to go over my preliminary

notes?"



"Hell no," the attorney replied, "I’ve had enough gruesome for one

evening."



"Then why are you still here?"



"And miss chewing every piece of ass in the tri-state area?" Dana snorted

at the comment. "Have you decided where you’re going to sleep tonight?"



"No, actually, I haven’t. Too busy concentrating on this autopsy."



"Good," Abbie slapped her hands on her knees, rising from her chair,

"You’re staying at my place."



Dana was about to argue with her, then thought otherwise. Looking for a

place to stay would take more time than she really wanted to spare. Plus,

something in Abbie’s eyes told her that ‘no’ was not an option.



**



Dana tossed and turned in Abbie’s bed relentlessly; fluffing and punching

the pillow before rolling over, continuously repeating the process

throughout the night. It’s not that the attorney’s bed was uncomfortable,

far from it. She remembered commenting on the furniture as Abbie showed her

about the apartment. The only piece that Dana considered ‘extravagant’ in a

dwelling that reeked of restraint.



Abbie’s apartment was cluttered with box upon unopened box.



When Dana asked if Abbie just moved in, the attorney replied dryly "Yeah,

about 6 months ago". With the exception of the bed, Dana didn’t think the

apartment a home. There weren’t the normal sundries that one expects. Aside

from the few diplomas and pictures about, Dana knew that Abbie considered

this more a place that she ‘slept’ rather than called ‘home’.



Now, as Dana tossed and turned she found her thoughts drawing more and more

to the raven-haired attorney, the tenacity and attitude in which the woman

worked. The word that most came to mind was intense. Dana had compared

herself to the attorney. In some ways, she realized how wrong she’d been.

If Dana were to describe herself passive-aggressive would be the word that

most came to mind. It’s not that she didn’t consider herself a strong

person, it’ s that she’d always been one to follow the ‘order’ of things.



Abbie was the polar opposite. Aggressive-aggressive, Dana mused to herself.



Abbie knew what she wanted, went for it, and to hell with anyone who

thought otherwise or dared get in her way.



Dana heard the soft sounds of Abbie moving about in the living room. She

rolled over onto her back as she heard the soft shush of the fridge

opening, followed by ice clinking into a glass. The thought of a nightcap

sounded better than spending another moment tossing and turning, so Dana

rolled out of the bed and entered the living room.



"Hey." Dana called softly to the attorney. Abbie sat on the sofa feet

propped up on the coffee table, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s next to her feet.



She was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a Dallas Cowboys jersey with the

name ‘Staubach’ stenciled on the back.



"Hey." Abbie called back to her. "Couldn’t sleep?"



"It’s not for lack of trying. Your bed takes some getting used to."



"Yeah," Abbie snorted, "Lord knows why I bought it. I never sleep on the

damn thing. Usually wind up falling asleep on the couch."



Dana smiled at the comment, tucking a tuft of hair behind her ear. "Mind if

I join you?" She asked pointing towards the bottle on the table.



"The more the merrier."



Dana grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filling it with ice before joining

Abbie on the couch.



"I never took you for a football fan."



"Dana," Abbie snorted, "I’m from Texas, you either love football or you’re

forcibly removed from the state."



They both chuckled at the comment as Abbie pointed towards her bookstand.

Dana followed her finger, noticing the football laying in a glass display

case.



"Autographed by the ’77 champions." Abbie beamed. She poured some whiskey

into Dana’s glass before filling herself another round. Dana could tell

that the attorney had consumed a few. The tops of her ears were turning a

deep shade of red. Plus, that oh-so-subtle Texas twang was taking on a more

pronounced drawl.



"Football was like a life-force in my house." Abbie leaned back into the

couch, swirling her drink in her hand. "My mom died when I was 11. Cancer.

Afterwards, it was like my Dad had no idea what to do, as a father, ya

know.

Even before she died, football was big in our family. He’d take me and my

brother to games, more my brother than anything."



"But, after she died, something changed. Football became a sort of

touchstone for us. Brought us together. Dad could be mad at us or vice

versa, but as long as we were sitting together come Sunday, it was all

okay."



Dana watched Abbie’s face as she told her story, her expression the sort of

melancholy people get when recalling their memories of childhood.



"Then my brother had to go and ruin it all by falling in love with

baseball," Abbie snickered, "That was a dark day in the Carmichael house.

But that was okay, as long as it was sports related."



"Is that how you became involved in track?" Dana asked, referring to the

small number of awards and trophies Abbie displayed on her bookcase.



"Yeah, it’s not like I’d be a linebacker for the Cowboys anytime soon. And

I damn sure wasn’t going to be a cheerleader. That’s how I got into UT, on

a track scholarship, distance running. At the rate I was going, I was a

contender for the Olympics."



"What happened?"



"You should have seen him," Abbie ignored the question, "My Dad was so

proud. Both he and my mother were UT alumni so it wasn’t like I had a

choice as to which college I was going to. ‘College will be the best years

of your life’ he always told me. How could he be so wrong?"



Dana watched as Abbie’s face darkened even more, her rhetorical question

hanging in the air.



"Abbie?" Dana placed a hand on Abbie’s shoulder. For just a nanosecond, she

felt the attorney flinch, shrinking from her contact. Then, Abbie

stiffened.



"How long until your final report is completed?"



"Um," Dana stammered for a second as Abbie switched gears on her, "Should

be finished by tomorrow. I still have some samples I want to examine, but

other than that, the lab should take care of everything else." She slid

forward, placing elbows on her knees holding her glass in front of her.

Abbie’s change in demeanor had thrown Scully. She watched as Abbie downed

her glass, refilling it immediately.



"Every time I try to fall asleep, I keep thinking about it."



"Yeah, you try not to think about all the evils out there. But then,

something like this comes along." Dana trailed off on the thought,

realizing that maybe too much whiskey really wasn’t such a bad idea. She

took her glass and drained it placing it on the coffee table. "I can’t

imagine what he went through."



"I can."



Dana blinked at the comment, turning her head towards Abbie.



"Held down like an animal, trying to get away. But he’s too strong and no

matter how you fight, or kick, he’s stronger. And then he says that if you

scream he’ll kill you. And you don’t ‘cuz there’s this look in his eye and

you realize he means it, he *will* kill you."



"Abbie?" Dana watched as the tears filled her eyes. She could hear the ice

in Abbie’s glass tinkling slightly, looking down quickly to notice her

hands shaking.



"But, it just keeps getting worse. ‘Cuz you realize what he’s about to do,

and you know that death would be a..relief. You pray to God, praying for

rescue, for death, to just be a little stronger.."



"Oh, Abbie." Dana stroked Abbie’s cheek. The attorney finally turned her

head towards Dana, her eyes filled with tears and secrets, both flowing

freely.



"Why couldn’t I have been stronger, Dana? Why couldn’t.." Her words trailed

off as Dana wrapped her arms around Abbie’s shoulders. Abbie brought her

head down into Dana’s lap, her body crumbling as the anguish and pain that

had bottled deep inside poured out of her.



Dana stroked her hair, cooing soft words of comfort. She could feel Abbie’s

body trembling as she continued to sob uncontrollably. In the back of her

mind, Dana calculated the years that Abbie had bottled her secret deep

within her. The years of carrying it around inside, a silent albatross

hanging around her neck. Dana wondered what well of strength the attorney

drew from. And how deep the effects her secret had upon her. An answer that

maybe even Abbie didn’t know.



**



Abbie awoke with a splitting headache threatening to rip open her cranium.

She slowly stirred realizing that she wasn’t quite alone in her slumber.

Her head resting on Dana’s belly, Abbie felt the slightly damp spot

pressing against her face.



Jesus, Abbie thought to herself, I must have cried myself to sleep.



"Fucking pathetic." Abbie mumbled softly as she rose onto an elbow. The two

were lying on the couch, a blanket half-strewn across their legs. She felt

a hand on her head, fingers running across her scalp, tucking the hair

back.

Abbie glanced up, Dana staring back at her through sleepy eyes.



"Hey." Dana mumbled.



"Hey," Abbie replied an embarrassed tone in her voice. "Did you get any

sleep."



"A little, every now and then you’d squeeze me a little too tight and I

couldn’t breath." Dana giggled trying to reassure the woman, "But, I must

say, it’s a lot more comfortable than your bed."



"I told you." Abbie clambered over Dana’s legs, standing on shaky feet.

Dana swung her feet over the edge, sitting as she stretched, working the

kinks out.



"Listen Dana, I really have to apologize for last night. I usually don’t

drink so much.."



"Hey," Dana reached up, clasping one of Abbie’s hands into her own. "You

don ’t have to apologize for anything. Secrets are dangerous things. And

there’s nothing wrong with a shoulder to cry on, or a stranger that’ll loan

you one."



"I’d hardly consider you a stranger."



"You know what I mean," Dana released the hold on Abbie’s hand, then patted

the couch, "Now sit, I think I know just what you need for that hangover."



"Does it show?" Abbie laughed as she gratefully sat back down on the couch.



"Well," Dana stood from the couch heading towards the kitchen, "To

paraphrase from ‘the Southerners Guide to Clichés’, you look like ten miles

of bad road."



Abbie laughed a little louder, laying her head back on the couch. Damn, it

even hurts to laugh, she thought.



Dana returned to the living room, handing Abbie something that Abbie could

only describe as rancid. She wrinkled her nose as Dana handed her the

drink.



"It smells bad, tastes even worse, but trust me, the people most likely to

have a hangover recipe that actually works are medical students."



"Oh my God!" Abbie gagged slightly as she sipped the concoction.



"C’mon Texas," Dana teased her, "Slam it like one of those whiskey’s you’re

so damn fond of."



"Through the lips, over the gums, look out stomach ‘cuz here it comes."

Abbie toasted before slamming the drink. She gagged, convulsing slightly

before exhaling deeply. "Jesus Christ on a crutch, what the Hell was that?"



"Pray now that you never get that drunk again and I have to tell you."



"Yes ma’am."



"Now go take a shower." Dana slapped her knee. "I swear you’ll feel ten

times better by the time you’ve dried off."



**



The doctor was right. As Abbie cooked breakfast, she really did feel

better.

In fact, the thought of food no longer repulsed her. As she made the final

touches on Dana’s omelet (Texas omelet, no less) Abbie could feel hunger

pangs cramping her stomach.



"Do all Southerners have this kind of death wish regarding their

cholesterol levels?" Dana asked, tucking her shirt into her pants as she

stepped into the kitchen. She stood next to Abbie at the stove, her hair

partially damp from her shower.



"Yes, that’s why we all die with a smile on our face."



Abbie smacked the back of Dana’s hand with the spatula as she reached for a

croissant. Dana feigned looking hurt, leaning her back against the counter

as she bit into the pastry. She watched as Abbie cooked, both lost in their

thoughts.



"Mind if I ask you a question?"



"Only one?" Abbie smirked.



"I’m serious Abbie."



"I know. I come from a long line of smart-asses."



Dana paused watching as Abbie slid her omelet onto a plate. "You never

pressed charges against him, did you?"



"You don’t charge an MVP of the UT football team with rape." Abbie finally

admitted. "I just refocused my energies. I didn’t think I was strong

enough."



Dana turned towards the taller woman. As if on instinct, Dana brushed the

back of her hand across Abbie’s cheek. "You’re a lot stronger than you

realize."



"Dana," Abbie sighed, her voice barely above a whisper, "Please don’t pity

me."



"Believe me, this isn’t pity." Dana stated. She could feel the two of them

moving closer, a magnet between them drawing them together. Dana’s hand

moved across Abbie’s chin, cupping it, her thumb tracing her bottom lip. "I

think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met."



Their lips brushed lightly against each other, the tiniest of contact, as

hearts raced, and breathing rushed. Dana could feel Abbie place her hands

on her hips, drawing her in. She closed her eyes as they moved closer,

boldening herself for the inevitable. Abbie’s lips felt so incredibly soft

as her flesh pressed against Dana’s. Dana opened her mouth slightly,

brushing her tongue against Abbie’s lips, an invitation. She could feel

Abbie moan slightly as her mouth opened and their tongues began a tentative

dance.



Time seemed to turn on its side, as they kissed. It was forever. It was

minuscule. It just didn’t seem to be long enough. Dana could feel the

distance between them as they pulled apart breaking their kiss.



"Um, breakfast is getting cold." Abbie breathed as she released her hands

from Dana’s hips. Just as quickly as it had happened, it was over. Now, the

two felt incredibly uncomfortable. The uncertainty of what occurred

spreading over them.



"Yeah," Dana stammered, passion replaced with embarrassment.



"I’ll set the table."



End Chapter Five