Title: Golden Chances
Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com)
Category: X, MSR
Rating: R (I'm not a violent writer so ... draw your own 
conclusions) 
Spoilers: Fight the Future and small ones for early 
season six.
Archive: Sure.
Summary: Mulder. Scully. Atlantic City. Gambling. 
Disorganized crime. Psychics. Spirits. Soul mates. Take 
your pick. It's all in there.
Disclaimer: CC and Co. own it. 
Thank you: To Sybil. I know how busy you've been and I 
appreciate your taking a crack at this longish story. 
You cheer me on and make me laugh. What more could one 
ask for in a beta?


Golden Chances


XXXXX

Dana Scully's apartment
September 7, 1998

After their third time, she watched his desperate 
struggle against sleep become futile. His eyelids closed 
and his breathing slowed and steadied. He suddenly 
startled just as she was ready to join him in slumber. 
She responded as she had all evening, drawing his naked 
body closer to her than it had been before.

Over his shoulder, she could see the alarm clock, its 
LCD screen glowing '4:45' in a bright shade of green. In 
less than two hours their first night together would be 
over: a night of skin against skin--soft and silky; 
heated and damp; cool and sticky. She wondered if, in 
the nights to follow, he would always battle slumber so 
valiantly; if he would always attempt to absorb her in 
each cell of his body. She wondered if each subsequent  
joining would always have the transcendent feel of a 
near religious experience.

"They can never take this away from us," he mumbled into 
her shoulder.

At the time, she thought it an odd thing for him to say.

Later, she thought it ironic.

*They* didn't even have to make an attempt. Fox Mulder 
and Dana Scully were perfectly capable of screwing up 
their relationship without any outside help whatsoever.

XXXXX

Madame Miranda's Love Connection
Atlantic City, New Jersey
January 4, 1999
9 P.M.

It was closing time. Time for her nightly ritual.

Miranda locked the front door to her shop, stood on her 
toes and reached up and grabbed the bottom of the 
security gate. Once she pulled down the garage-door-like 
contraption, and secured the lock, she hesitated before 
standing up. Max's breathing pattern had changed. It was 
quicker and louder. She could now feel someone standing 
behind her.

It took all of five seconds to realize that the breaths 
the Golden Retriever was taking were excited, not 
fearful. He knew the person standing behind his 
mistress. Not that it counted for much. Once Max 'met' 
someone, they were automatically added to his buddy 
list. Still, Miranda hoped he would at least give off a 
disgruntled whimper if someone were about to knife her 
in the back.

She stood up and turned around quickly.

Kevin.

"Some psychic you are," he said with a smile, "I had you 
going there for a while, didn't I?"

"I told you--I'm not that kind of a psychic. Besides, I 
have no need to worry. I've got protection," she nodded 
at the dog.

Kevin's laugh was more of a snort.

"Max? The only thing he'd ever bite is a fly off his own 
ass."

"Now what kind of a talk is that?" Miranda asked.

"Sweet talk, me darlin'"

He was pulling out the big guns: his charming Irish-cop-
on-the-beat routine. He did an admirable job considering 
the fact that the only Irish in him originated from a 
great-great grandmother he never knew.

"Well, it's not very sweet to hear you refer to my dog 
in such vulgar terms. Say what you will about me, but I 
take great pride in my puppy. He has no flies anywhere 
near his ass."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, tipping his hat to her in a 
highly old-fashioned sign of respect.

This was also becoming quite the routine. In the four 
months since Kevin joined the Atlantic City police 
department, he had given her more police 'protection' 
than she had had in the previous two years since she had 
opened Madame Miranda's. She had never felt particularly 
threatened while locking up her place of business. After 
all, gambling occurred at all hours of the day and night 
and there was always someone walking on the old 
boardwalk searching for a *luckier* casino. And she did 
have her four year old 'pup' as her constant companion. 
Still, with Kevin around, she felt downright carefree. 
The sometimes overly polite, solicitous man had 
obviously watched way too many Car 54 reruns in his 
youth, but she appreciated the teasing banter and 
genuine concern that seemed to stem from his idea of who 
the perfect police officer should be.

She decided to stay on the boardwalk until she reached 
South Carolina Avenue. This way, Kevin could walk with 
her without any difficulties. He always took his break 
at this time of the night so, technically, his time was 
his own. While his new partner went for coffee, he chose 
to spend a few minutes making sure Miranda got home 
safely. Still, he was walking her home while in uniform 
and she didn't want anyone thinking he was shirking his 
duties in any way. His beat was the boardwalk and there 
was no crime in having someone walk with him.

"So," he asked as they began to walk, "how many love 
connections did you make today, Miranda?"

"Three."

"And how many people did you see?"

"Twenty."

"And you were able to see all of their soul mates?"

Miranda smiled. "For lack of a better term, yes."

"But only three were actually with the people they were 
supposed to be with?"

"At this time, yes."

"That's frightfully sad," he said, a hint of great-
grandma's brogue slipping between his Jersey accent.

She stopped strolling.

"Sad?"

"All those people--not with the true loves of their 
lives. You'd think, if there is such a thing as Destiny, 
she'd be more organized and make sure that everyone 
ended up with their heart's desire."

She laughed. "It's much more complicated than that."

He stopped walking and stared at her. "Read me," he 
said.

She felt her whole body slow down, as a heavy weight 
seemed to take over her being. She didn't want to do 
this. Not at all. Not with him. What was wrong with 
living in a fool's paradise, anyway? It didn't hurt a 
soul. And it gave her hope.

"Miranda? Do I have to stop by during business hours? Do 
you need your crystal ball?"

He knew, full well, she didn't have a crystal ball. She 
hadn't said a word since he asked her to read him and 
the silence was not comfortable. She was being 
ridiculous. There was no reason in the world why she 
couldn't grant his request.

She led him to the railing dividing the boardwalk from 
the sand.

How many nights had she stood there--a moony teenager on 
family vacations in Atlantic City's pre-gambling days? 
When it was just a beach resort for the working middle 
class. The main attraction was the Steel Pier with its 
rides and amusement park games. She never cared for any 
of those things. She just liked walking on the boardwalk 
at night. The wind whipping her hair around while the 
strong waves crashed to the shore. 

It was a Harlequin Romance in the making. The only thing 
missing was the romantic hero. And now he stood before 
her, tall, sandy blond hair and laughing blue eyes. 
Perhaps not a pirate, or a rich millionaire looking for 
a marriage of convenience but a good, decent man. 

The man destined for her?

She put her hand out and laid it flat against his chest.

Everything faded away and she told him what she saw--
feature by feature. Dark green eyes; light blond hair--
long and curly. High cheekbones. Perfect white teeth. 
"And a beauty mark on the right side of her neck--about 
half way down. That's it. That's all I see."

Kevin's smile became tight. Disappointed. "Sounds like 
my ex-wife," he said flatly.

"It could be. Do you have a picture of her? I could 
confirm it."

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his 
wallet. He flipped through a few photos and showed 
Miranda his wedding picture.

It was her. The woman who, when all was said and done, 
was meant to be the great love of his life.

She nodded.

He sadly tucked the wallet back in his pocket.

"Well, I asked for it," he said.

She smiled. "Again, it's complicated. We can talk about 
it in more detail some other time. I really should be 
heading home. Max is probably hungry."

The Golden Retriever did what he always did when he 
heard the "h" word: he wagged his tail as if it was 
battery-operated and someone had just changed the 
Duracells.

"Good night, Miranda. Get home safely."

"I will. Good night, Kevin."

And she slowly slipped into a side street, with her dog 
by her side.

XXXXX

Hoover Building
January 16, 1999
9:23 AM

Scully was still checking email and wondering about the 
whereabouts of her partner. He was late. For him, very 
late. 

Dana Scully liked stability. Her working life seemed to 
contradict that preference but, nonetheless, it was 
true. She had found that stability in a basement office 
shared by someone who felt very much at home in the 
cave-like atmosphere. And she had felt very much at home 
with him. The artificially bright bullpen with its 
artificially cheery life forms was not to her liking at 
all. And obviously, Mulder felt the same way. She didn't 
like her new role as early bird, especially since there 
was no longer any kind of worm to be caught. At the end 
of the day, their fertilizer and background check detail 
left them both dissatisfied.

She continued to spend time on her email. Just a few 
more moments of relative silence before going through 
endless files and placing phone calls she was beginning 
to despise. 

She looked up just in time to see her partner sauntering 
over to her desk, unsuccessfully holding back a smile. 
She stifled her first thought. There was not a glimmer 
of a suggestion that he and Diana had resumed their long 
dormant relationship. None at all. But the thought 
consistently plagued her at the most inopportune 
moments--especially moments when he seemed to be happy.
 
He rolled a chair over to her side of the desk and 
reached over to grab a stack of files that lay to her 
left.

"Which poor sucker should get these? Anyone pissed you 
off today, Scully?" He asked in a stage whisper.

Scully quickly looked around to see if this 
uncharacteristic jauntiness--and public proximity--was 
being noticed by any of their 'pen' mates.

"Mulder?"

He dropped the files, grabbed her right hand and rested 
it on her lap. He ran his index finger down a line in 
the middle of her palm.

"Well, what do you know? I see travel in your immediate 
future. I see a beach and slot machines and…whoa--I see 
an x-file!" This last bit he nearly hissed--in the most 
cheerful voice she had heard coming from his mouth in 
months.

"We're not on the x-files, Mulder."

"No. Not officially. But if it walks like a duck, and 
talks like a duck. . ."

She pulled her hand away, once again glancing around the 
room to see if anyone noticed their behavior.

He leaned in quickly, "You are *such* a good girl," he 
said in a whisper, "but I take absolute pride in being a 
very naughty boy."

He grabbed the stack of files and placed it on the desk 
of an agent nearby.

"We have to go out in the field, Agent Winters. AD Kersh 
doesn't want this to wait, since the date of our return 
is undetermined at this point. Sorry to dump this on 
you." The tall blonde looked up at Mulder with vaguely 
disguised annoyance.

The shit-eating grin he gave her seemed to temper her 
reaction. She smiled in return. Scully knew she'd do the 
work. It was probably a step up from the type of work 
she normally did. Scarily, the fertilizer duty and 
background checks happened to be one of the cushier jobs 
in AD Kersh's department.

XXXXX

On the road to Atlantic City
1 P.M.

Scully watched as Mulder playfully tapped the steering 
wheel in time to a song he was humming. She could swear 
it was "On the Road Again." She only allowed herself a 
quick smile. 

"A psychic?" she asked, looking up from the thin file on 
her lap. 

He nodded. "Possibly many psychics, but that would be a 
stretch. More than likely, it's just the looove 
psychic," he said, taking great pleasure drawing out the 
word as if he were auditioning for a remake of 'The Love 
Boat.'

"What the hell is a love psychic?"

"A psychic who can look at you and see your true love."

She didn't respond. She didn't have to. The slight scowl 
on her face said it all. On the road again, indeed.

"You going for a reading, Scully?" He teased.

"Exactly what is this love psychic's problem and how did 
we get involved?"

"Subtle change of subject," he said, glancing her way 
with a smile. "Okay. At first, this seemed like a simple 
case of not so malicious mischief. You remember those 
small psychic shops on the boardwalk, Scully? Read your 
fortune for a couple of bucks? Well, four of these 
places had words scratched on their windows sometime 
during the night. Actually, one word on each window 
which, when put together made up a simple sentence: 'She 
warn MM now.' Not the greatest sentence but effective. 
Then, the messages appeared on only one window--the one 
belonging to our loooove psychic, Madame Miranda."

"That's very irritating, Mulder. Please stop."

"Stop what?"

"The stretched out love business. It's annoying."

"I thought it was sexy."

"Think again. You sound deranged."

"Well, Miranda didn't pay all that much attention to the 
messages--even though they had been written after hours-
-from the inside of her shop, without visible signs of 
breaking and entering. She did, however, pay a lot of 
attention when her dog was accidentally poisoned after 
scarfing down a sandwich she had made for her own 
lunch."

"Perhaps the food had been spoiled when she bought it."

"She had made three of these sandwiches that week from 
the same packet of ham. Nothing was wrong with the meat. 
The funny thing is--the dog had a bellyache--but there 
wasn't enough poison to do him any real harm. So, if 
Miranda had actually eaten her own sandwich--it would 
have done her even less harm. Just made her slightly 
ill. I think it was meant to be another warning."

"And this was the most recent incident, or is there 
more?"

"Yesterday, there was blood splattered on her windows. 
Again--nothing was out of place. And she has one of 
those metal security gates--so her windows are not 
exposed when she's not in the shop."

"And what have they determined about the blood?"

"Human. They are doing some preliminary DNA testing on 
it."

"Well, that's all very interesting, Mulder. But this 
barely qualifies as an x-file. Yes, there are some odd 
things involved but nothing so out of the ordinary that 
the local police shouldn't be getting first crack at 
it."

He shook his head. "Madame Miranda, aka Miranda Jenkins, 
is the niece of Deputy Director Michaels. His only 
niece. First, he doesn't want anything to happen to her 
on a personal level. And from what I've heard, his 
sister is giving him shit that her only child may be in 
grave danger. It may not seem a big deal to anyone else 
but I guess the warnings, poison and blood are freaking 
her out on some sort of maternal level. Secondly--and 
this is what Kersh stressed--if something should happen 
to her, there might be negative publicity. Finding out a 
store-front psychic was related to a very high official 
in the FBI who couldn't manage to keep her out of harm's 
way. . ."

"Oh, brother," Scully said, "and you were happy about 
this case? Mulder--this is no better than fertilizer 
duty."

"Were you not listening? There's a good possibility that 
--no matter how small--this is an x-file. That's good 
thing number 1. We're out of the office for a while. 
Good thing number 2. Atlantic City smells a hell of a 
lot better than fertilizer detail. Very good thing 
number 3. And--most importantly--solving this thing for 
Madame Miranda will put us in the good graces of someone 
slightly higher than our beloved Alvin Kersh. To quote 
Martha Stewart, *that's* a very good thing." He glanced 
over at her. "I've never seen that jacket before."

She stopped for a moment, wondering if he actually made 
the verbal U-turn she thought she heard. When she 
confirmed it by looking at the expectant expression on 
his face, she answered.

"I don't wear it to work. You said to only bring casual 
clothes."

"Yes. We need to blend into the crowd. G-woman wear is 
not standard on the boardwalk. Still, you'd think I 
would have seen that jacket." She stared at him as he 
frowned while looking out at the road.

Fox Mulder was a very puzzling man.

End of Part 1

________________________________________________________
__ 

Part 2

September 7, 1998
Dana Scully's bedroom
12:37 AM

After the second time, she found herself listening to 
new sounds. His sounds.  Deep and heavy breathing in her 
ear as she lay on top of him. Spent. Satiated. The 
thudding in his chest matching hers, then calming with 
each passing moment. A moan as she moved herself off his 
body and curled to his side.
A soft sigh escaping his lips as he placed his forearm 
across his eyes.

Had they really done this? Was it the right thing to do?

Earlier, they had stood outside in the afternoon sun.  
He was firmly advising her to do everything he had 
begged her not to do that fateful evening in his 
hallway. Everything she had been halfway prepared to do 
before their world had literally been turned around by a 
bite from a tiny insect. Her refusal now was solid and 
she used his own words to back up her argument. He had 
been right. There was no quitting. Not only because 
*they* would win but because the commitment Mulder and 
Scully had was full and complete. There was no turning 
back. When she took his hand, she told him with the soft 
press of flesh against flesh everything that was in her 
heart. Everything he had tried telling her then with an 
unwavering gaze and lowering lips. Soft, inviting lips 
that were just a hair's breath away from hers when they 
had been 'interrupted.'

She prayed he would get her message--her full message--
without the words. Words seemed trivial and inadequate. 
As they began walking, he once again grasped her hand 
and she invited him to her apartment for an early 
dinner. 

He *had* received her message. Before she could put on a 
pot of water to boil, he stood before her with the same 
look he had that afternoon in his hallway. Sans flying 
insects. Dinner was not only never consumed, it was 
never prepared.
 
She listened to the sounds of rustling bedclothes before 
she felt him tuck the blanket around her.

"Do you feel cold?" he asked.

She snuggled closer to him and pressed her mouth against 
the lips recently warmed by hundreds of kisses.

"I'm fine, Mulder," she said. And, for once, she meant 
it.

XXXXX

Blue Shores Motel, South Carolina Avenue
Atlantic City, New Jersey
January 16, 1999
4:45 PM

Scully walked into Mulder's room as he was putting his 
clothes into the old dresser on the far end of the room. 
His room seemed to have the same inadvertent sepia tone 
as hers.

"You didn't lock your door," she said.

"Actually, I did. The lock is broken."

"Mulder, you need to have that fixed. Our rooms face the 
street. Anyone can walk right in."

"Someone's on the way."

"There's mold in my bathtub," she stated 
conversationally. The discovery was not one that had 
pleased her. It was a cold, gray day and a nice hot bath 
before bed would have felt wonderful. Now, even if they 
cleaned it, the memory of the mold would keep her from 
the indulgence.

"He can fix that, too. Or you can use mine. I didn't 
think it was especially dirty when I looked at it 
before."

"Great. There are thousands of rooms in this town and we 
end up in the most disgusting ones. Disgusting, yet 
expensive. How did you find this place, Mulder?"

He walked over to the window and pulled back the heavy 
drapes. A puff of dust accompanied the movement. Scully 
walked over and looked through the dingy windows at an 
ugly structure which had originally been painted in 
Pepto-Bismol pink.

"See that nifty residential hotel across the street?" he 
asked.

"The one with the balcony that looks like it's going to 
crash-land on the sidewalk? With the peeling  paint?"

"Hotel Andres. Home of none other than Madame Miranda 
and her faithful dog, Max."

"I don't get it."

"You don't get what?"

"How someone gives up a fairly lucrative career to live 
in relative squalor." 

"Spartan lifestyles, Scully. Remember?"

< Men with spartan lives, simple in their creature 
comforts if only to allow for the complexity of their 
passions.>

She remembered. Once again, he had created a Kodak 
moment out of the words she had once used to describe 
both his and Max Fenig's living quarters. She smiled at 
the memory and wondered about Miranda's 'passions.'

XXXXX

Madame Miranda's Love Connection
5:15 PM

Miranda put the 'Back in Five Minutes' sign on her front 
door and walked to the back room. She smiled softly at 
the sight before her. Kevin and Max were asleep on the 
couch, the dog lying behind the fully- uniformed 
officer's knees, his head on his thigh.

She cleared her throat.

"Officer Simmons, are you sleeping on the job again?"

He jumped up and Max leapt off the couch in response.

"Wasn't sleeping, 'Randa. Just closed my eyes for a 
minute."

"Please, you two were sawing more wood than a pack of 
lumberjacks in Seattle."

"Seattle has lumberjacks?"

"More than Atlantic City, I'm sure."

"Safe bet. Anyway, I wasn't sawing anything. Max and I 
were on guard at all times."

"I was joking. God, you must be exhausted. I would have 
let you sleep but your lunch hour is almost over. . ."

"No, I'm glad you didn't." He got up and adjusted his 
uniform. "I'll be back during my break."

"Kevin. . ."

"I'll *be* back."

"You don't have to."

"I know what I saw and I'm not leaving you alone here 
for long. I should see about arranging for some leave."

"Don't you dare. Kevin--my uncle called in the FBI, for 
heaven's sake. I think we have more than enough manpower 
on something that's probably just some stupidity. If it 
wouldn't have been for Max getting sick, I never would 
have mentioned it to my mother. I just got scared."

She couldn't figure out which set of puppydog eyes were 
more expressive. The canine's or Kevin's.

"You were right to be scared. But, it would be nice if 
these FBI agents actually showed up. Just when are they 
planning to drop in, anyway?"

"According to Uncle Paul, they've already arrived. I 
believe they are doing some investigating on their own 
first and then will come by before closing time tonight. 
So, there's nothing to worry about. We'll be fine."

"How do you know?"

"Just a feeling. I don't get any bad vibrations from any 
of this."

"You're not that type of psychic, remember?"

"I remember. Go to work."

He picked up his jacket then dropped it again as he 
turned to hug Miranda. It was warm and all encompassing 
and very, very comforting.

"See you later. Max, keep an eye on her. Come and get me 
if there's trouble."

"He's not Lassie."

"No, but he loves you just the same. That's got to count 
for something, no?"

"It counts for a lot." She said, and led him through the 
door.

XXXXX

McGee's Restaurant
Boardwalk
7:05 PM

Scully had left Mulder to supervise the locksmith's work 
on his door and they planned to meet for dinner before 
their evening meeting with Miranda Jenkins. They each 
wanted to casually interview the other psychics who had 
their storefronts marred with the etched writing. Mulder 
felt comfortable enough playing the role of a 
disgruntled, unlucky gambler willing to blow his last 
few bucks on a psychic. Scully did not feel the same. 
She approached her two interviewees as a reporter from a 
Philadelphia paper doing a story on the 'other' Atlantic 
City: a piece which was to focus on the myriad of 
lesser-known tourist attractions a visitor might find 
interesting during a jaunt to the gambling town.

Two hours later, she had arrived at the pre-arranged 
meeting place first. The restaurant was warm and cozy 
and atypical of the bustling, quick service eateries 
that categorized the type of dining fare in the rest of 
the city. Surprisingly, Madame Miranda's shop was 
located nearby. Both were somewhat off the beaten path. 
They were on the boardwalk but nestled between the last 
two casinos in town. Prime real estate, Scully imagined, 
would be further up where there was casino after casino, 
broken up only by the 99 cent stores, the psychic booths 
like the ones she had visited earlier, and salt water 
taffy places. Business here would not be as brisk, she 
was sure. They would probably only get the crowd that 
was seriously interested in walking long distances.

Scully looked out the window as she sipped her coffee. A 
few people walked by, looked at the restaurant's menu 
displayed in a plastic case on the outside wall, and 
walked away. A few brave seagulls could be heard even 
from inside the restaurant and the Atlantic ocean was 
nothing short of angry--it's waves reaching a dangerous 
height and crashing to the shore. It was a cold and 
bleak picture and once again she wondered at the type of 
woman who would leave behind a fairly comfortable life 
in order to read fortunes for a tiny amount of money, in 
a town where even borderline loneliness would be 
amplified a hundred-fold.

"Hey--no daydreaming on the job, unless it's about me," 
She nearly jumped as Mulder slid into his seat with a 
smile on his face.

"How did it go, Mulder?"

"Let me order something first--do a quick pit stop at 
that highly inviting men's room back there and then 
we'll talk."

The meal was served before he got back. He came into the 
dining room looking refreshed. His hair had been tamed 
and he smelled of generic liquid soap. But the color in 
his cheeks was still high. He had walked a long way in 
the wind and the cold and it suited him. Between the 
nature-induced glow, and his enthusiasm over a hot meal, 
Scully had every bit of her old partner back. She never 
fully realized how much she had missed him.
 
"Did you get lucky?" She asked between bites.

"Well, since you brought it up--almost."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, psychic number one--all the way over by the Taj 
Mahal--told me a dark haired vixen would soon be 
entering my life and that I was greatly affected by 
someone with a J or a G name. You know, a John, or a 
Joe, or a Josephine, or a Georgia, or a Georgette or a 
Giovanni. . ."

"I get the picture," she said, trying to hide the 
infinitesimal scowl that seemed stuck to her face over 
the mention of the dark haired vixen.
 
"As I was leaving, I casually noticed the message etched 
in the glass. The word 'warn'--clear as day. Etched from 
the inside. I joked about it and asked what she was 
warning us about and she must have thought I was 
flirting because her answer was. . .off-topic."

"Uh, huh."

"Anyway, psychic number two--"Epey" didn't tell me my 
future at all. Instead, she offered. . .other services 
at a greatly reduced rate. I declined, of course, and 
then did the 'my, what is that," routine over the world 
'she' etched in the glass. She had tons to say on the 
subject. She considers it malicious mischief. 
Surprisingly, I don't think the paranormal has even 
occurred to her."

"Was she a dark haired vixen?" Scully asked.

"Perhaps, " he said, moving the green beans to the side 
of his plate, "to the farsighted, anyway. A bit on the 
skanky side."

Scully winced.

"How about you?" he asked and leaned forward. "Did *you* 
get lucky?"

"Well, I didn't go up and down the boardwalk collecting 
propositions, like some people I know. Actually, the 
first woman was very publicity shy. She was very careful 
about the amount of information she doled out and was 
quite belligerent over the idea of discussing the 'MM' 
engraved in her window. Everything she said seemed to be 
preceded by the word 'fucking." The second couldn't be 
more anxious for her fifteen minutes of fame. She threw 
in a free, unasked for, reading. Told me I'd marry a 
doctor and have twins."

It was Mulder's turn to wince.

"But, she appears to have been the most creative in 
dealing with her message. She has two handwritten signs. 
Above the etched word 'now', she wrote "the time is ... 
" and below it "for a reading by Giselle."

He let out a brief laugh.

"Enterprising."

"And now, what about Miranda?" she asked.

"What about her? We listen to her story and take it from 
there. And, of course, while we're helping her, I'm sure 
she could let us know who the loves of our lives are or 
whatever it is she is supposed to be good at finding."

"I wouldn't know. You are the one with the looooove 
psychic information."

"Good job, Scully. I'm impressed." She watched his smile 
fade a bit. "Actually, who knows what information she 
imparts. I suppose it's a service of sorts."

A dozen different thoughts entered Scully's mind. He 
looked way too pensive for what had been a light moment 
before. She wondered whose name he expected to hear in a 
reading and just how often he thought of Melissa 
Ephesian or Diana, for that matter, as potential 
candidates. One had proclaimed herself his eternal soul 
mate while conjuring up images so vivid he could still 
see the smoke from bloody battles fought long ago. The 
other held up a mirror to his beliefs whenever it suited 
her purposes.
 
Smoke and mirrors. 

Illusions for a man who was desperate to believe.

This case was just what they needed all right. Another 
ticket for the soul mate lottery. 

She stopped her internal wanderings only to find him 
looking back at her. Whatever he had been thinking of 
seemed to have resolved itself. He was smiling as he 
reached over and dipped a finger in the caramel sauce 
from her apple dumpling dessert.

"Hurry up and finish, Scully. Destiny awaits."


End of Section 2

___________________________________________________ 

Section 3

Scully's bedroom
9:30 PM
September 6, 1998

After the first time, they were completely in the dark. 

The last of the day's sunlight was gone and no light 
shone on the depths of their bed. And she would now 
consider it their bed, she thought, even if he never 
spent another moment in it. He fit there. Surprisingly, 
their first time was not as clumsy as the first times 
that had come before. And she expected it to be. Both, 
she suspected, were long out of practice. Or maybe 
neither of them noticed or cared if they had been less 
than graceful. They had been so swept away in their own 
feelings and emotions.

She felt his hands on either side of her face, his 
thumbs rubbing gingerly over her cheeks.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. The redness will be there for a little longer but 
it doesn't hurt."

His lips soothed the skin still raw from exposure.

"Antarctica," he said, in a voice that told her he still 
couldn't quite believe what they had been through.

"Antarctica," she said, in awe of not only their 
incredible journey but also for the motivation behind 
it. He literally went to the ends of the earth for her--
not for an x-file, or a conspiracy, or anything but 
saving her.

"Can I pull back the drapes a bit? I'd like to see you. 
I need to see you."

"Yes, please." She needed to see him, too.

Touch and taste and sound were all wonderful but she 
felt truly grounded when she could look in his eyes. And 
there were things that only his eyes could say right 
now.

He opened the drapes and returned to bed.

XXXXX

Madame Miranda's Love Connection
January 16, 1999
8:13 PM

Mulder pushed open the door to Madame Miranda's Love 
Connection and held it until Scully entered. It 
contained all of the trappings she expected from a 
psychic's place of business. Two gilt-edged chairs with 
a potted palm between them graced the small waiting 
area, which was separated from the reading room by thick 
purple drapes.

What she didn't expect was Madame Miranda herself. At 
the sound of the wind chimes clinking from the breeze of 
the open door, a tall, 30-something brunette dressed in 
jeans and a thick turtleneck sweater came out of the 
back office. She stood still for a moment, staring at 
Mulder. She smiled and glanced Scully's way, the smile 
still intact. 

Before they could introduce themselves, a big bouncing 
yellow bear of a dog came bounding out of the room, 
leaping at Mulder with such force that the agent landed 
flat on his back.

"Max!" Miranda went over and pulled the dog's collar as 
he was sampling Mulder's aftershave with his tongue. 
"I'm so sorry. He's really friendly--he just doesn't 
know his own strength sometimes. Are you hurt?"

"Just my pride," Mulder said as Scully leaned down to 
give him her hand. He took it and whispered, "and my 
ass." 

Mulder smiled sheepishly and started brushing himself 
off as Scully reached into her jacket for ID.

"We're. . ."

"Agents Scully and Mulder. I know. Come on in. It's 
warmer inside."

"Boy, you really are psychic," Mulder said.

"I am gifted. In a way. Yes. But that's not how I knew 
who you were. You just have a certain. . .bearing. . ."

"Told you to slouch, Scully," Mulder said.

"Actually, I think I looked at you first, Agent Mulder."

"Damn," he said.

Scully felt the color rise to her face as she promptly 
took one of the seats Miranda had offered. Women had a 
tendency to flirt with Mulder right in front of her--
especially tall, dark haired women. Mulder's "type" of 
woman. Now *she* was reading things that were not 
necessarily there and had to stop doing it. She 
scratched Max behind his ears and he happily beat out a 
response against the carpet with his tail.

"So, where do we begin with all of this? The only 
Federal officer I ever spoke with is my uncle Paul and I 
can't say he's ever interrogated me before."

"Well, you're not a suspect," Scully quietly replied, 
"so, there is no interrogation. Why don't you just tell 
us what's been going on."

Miranda sat back against the high-backed purple velvet 
chair.

"Okay. The very first incident was about ten days ago. A 
friend of mine, as a joke, bought me a crystal ball. I 
mean, there is nothing wrong with crystal balls but it's 
just not me and I didn't have one. Actually, if I could, 
I would simplify this setting but this is the boardwalk 
of Atlantic City and people expect a certain atmosphere. 
Anyway, it was a little before 9 PM and I was closing 
for the evening when the ball just shattered, in a 
million pieces. Max was in the back room and I grabbed 
him and kept him out of here--then took the dustpan and 
managed to gather everything up. It was odd but I 
thought there had to be a logical reason. It wasn't 
apparent to me what that reason could be but I just 
forgot about it.

Two days after that the etched messages appeared on my 
window."

"But you don't have any writing on the glass now," 
Scully said.

"That's Uncle Paul's doing. After he heard about the 
incident with the blood, he had someone come in this 
morning and redo the windows--carting the entire front 
window away as 'evidence.' A bit of overkill if you ask 
me."

"What did the writings say."

"There were three of them. 'Warning.' 'Connections.' 
'Memory.' All on different nights. And then I heard 
about the other messages some of the mediums on the 
boardwalk were receiving. I don't know. It's just odd."

"The incident with Max?"

Miranda's green eyes darkened. "I don't think it was 
intentional. Well, it wasn't directed at Max and I 
consider whoever did this rather lucky that I feel this 
way because Max is my--well, he's my best friend. I know 
that sounds corny but it's true. He makes me happy. He's 
my family. I wouldn't be all that charitable if I felt 
someone meant to harm him. Anyway, I made a sandwich 
that morning for lunch. Same bread I had been using all 
week. As a matter of fact, it was the same bread I made 
toast out of that morning for breakfast. I pulled out 
some ham--also the same deli-sliced ham I had been using 
for days, and threw a couple of slices on the bread and 
that was it. Around 5 PM, I decided to have lunch. I 
keep strange hours. I pulled out the sandwich and went 
to the front to put the 'out to lunch' sign on the door 
when someone came in to ask me about a reading. While I 
was explaining what I do, Max ate the sandwich. Within a 
few minutes, he was drooling and vomiting and did not 
look well at all. I closed the place up and took him to 
an animal hospital where it was confirmed he was 
poisoned. But they didn't think there was a lot of 
poison in his system. Enough to make him sick but not 
enough to cause permanent damage."

"Did they test the stomach contents to see what type of 
poison?" 

"No. I mean, I wasn't thinking all that clearly and 
didn't ask them to. I just wanted to take Max home at 
that point and hibernate. Of course, I did get up and go 
on with my life the next day but still. . .it was 
discouraging. And then--there was the blood incident."

"Blood was on the windows this morning," Scully said.

Miranda nodded. "But there was more to it than is 
mentioned in your reports. I locked up last night as I 
always do. I have a metal security gate that goes down 
and no one has access to the windows through the gate. 
However--I locked someone inside. My friend, Kevin, who 
is a police officer, insisted that he wanted to stake 
the place out. Unofficially. So, he came in through the 
back entrance--which is a rather seedy way of entering 
these stores and a door, frankly, I never use ... and I 
locked him in for the evening. He witnessed it."

"What exactly did he witness"

"A shadow without real form. And blood--spattering. Then 
nothing. I think it scared the hell out of him."

"And when did this happen?"

"Shortly before dawn."

"Can we speak to this witness?"

"Sure. He'll be by in a while, if you'd like to wait. 
He's taking his break here."

"Actually," Mulder said. "I'd like him to stop by our 
motel. I'll leave the address with you. It will save us 
some time before we come back here tonight."

"You're coming back?"

"Yes. You're going to lock us in as you did the good 
officer Kevin yesterday."

Scully suppressed a sigh. It was going to be a long 
night.


XXXXX

Mulder's Room
Blue Shores Motel
9:05 PM

"They fixed your door, I see." Scully said as they 
walked through the door of room 105 at the Blue Shores 
Motel. 

"I wonder if they cleaned your tub."

"I don't think I care anymore. This is the longest day 
of my life," she said, sitting on the ugly orange couch 
across from the bed. "And it's only going to get 
longer."

She watched Mulder crack a small smile as he lowered 
himself on the bed. "You know we have to stake out her 
place. At least for tonight."
 
She stifled the whimper she could feel rising from her 
throat. The air was damp and cold and a sinus headache 
was in the making. "I know."

"For the record, I don't think anything will happen if 
we do."

"You don't think it's an x-file?" She asked, surprised.

"Oh, I do. I'm pretty sure it's a spirit who is unable 
to find rest because he has some information to impart 
to Miranda. And, also for the record, I think he's 
harmless. I think he's just desperately trying to get 
her attention and doesn't know how."

"He?"

"The movements are a bit clumsy. I think it's a he, all 
right."

She smiled at that.

"Disgruntled customer?" She guessed.

"You're not fighting me on this? You're not telling me 
I'm full of shit and it's some teenage rabble rousers 
who are somehow doing this?"

"I thought we'd just skip over that whole part this 
time," she smiled, leaning back against the cushions.

"Wow. Where's my calendar? I need to mark down this 
date."

"Well, let's just say my mind is slightly more open to 
the possibility due to the odd way I spent Christmas 
Eve. Mulder--why did you suggest that Officer Simmons 
meet us here instead of on the boardwalk?"

"I don't know the nature of their relationship but I 
thought he could speak more freely without Miranda being 
present. And I wanted to sneak in a shower before we go 
on stake out. You could probably take a short nap, if 
you want."

"No, it's all right. I'll take a shower, too, and we can 
buy about a gallon of coffee on the way."

"Are we conserving water?"

His eyes twinkled but she wasn't quite in the mood to 
play.

"I don't think this place wastes a lot of water. They 
certainly don't use it to clean."
 
"Suit yourself."

Someone knocked on the door. Mulder looked at his watch. 

"Prompt."

Scully got up and opened the door to a tall, good 
looking, All-American police officer. That was the best 
way she could describe him. 

He shook hands with them and seemed a bit nervous.

"Agents Mulder, Scully," he said, nodding to the wrong 
one in turn, "Miranda has told me a lot about your visit 
this evening."

"I'm Mulder, she's Scully," Mulder said. "Miranda told 
us you had a personal encounter with--something--early 
this morning."

He ran his right hand through his wavy hair.

"Well, you'll probably think I'm crazy but. . ."

Mulder interrupted. "Let me put your mind at ease. We 
belong to the X-files division of the FBI. We 
investigate the paranormal. So, feel free to tell us 
whatever you saw. Don't censor yourself because you 
think we'll feel you're odd. Nothing you could tell us 
would come near to some of the things we've seen."

"Really? Miranda's Uncle Paul sent *you?*" He colored at 
his own words. "I mean, it's just surprising. From all 
I've heard, he's rather a by the book type of person."

"Well, sometimes even by the book people will call in 
the right ones for the job if the need is great enough."

"I suppose."

Scully interjected. "Could you tell us a bit about what 
happened this morning?"

"Okay. After a lot of discussion--well, argument, 
really--Miranda agreed to lock me in for the night. I 
think she pretty much feels that this is not being done 
by people--I do believe she feels it's. . .paranormal? 
But she didn't want me to be in a position of being 
alone with it--the entity, ghost or whatever.  I talked 
her into it using the opposite argument. Because I was a 
hundred percent sure--although I couldn't figure out the 
logistics--that it was a case of malicious mischief. And 
I didn't like Max getting hurt. I like the dog, too, and 
frankly--it could just as easily have been Miranda--and 
it could just as easily have been a fatal dose of 
poison. So, I just settled in for the night. And, 
basically, it was a little creepy in there. All quiet 
and everything. I had a walkman with me to listen to the 
news. That was about it. It was about 5:45 in the 
morning and I figured I'd give it until 6:30 and then go 
home. I don't know why but I was pretty sure that 
whatever would happen would happen at night. And people 
start roaming on the boardwalk more about 7 AM--
breakfast and all of that. 

So, I go to the bathroom and when I come out--there is 
like--I don't know. A fog--but more than that. A fog 
with substance to it. No shape but kind of like a 
translucent blob. And out of the blob--all of a sudden, 
blood spattered against Miranda's windows. But not as if 
it were thrown from a bucket but as if it were coming 
from someone who was shot in the head or something. Just 
spattered--really quickly. And then the blob thing was 
gone and everything was normal except Miranda's windows. 
I got my wits about me--checked the back exit--checked 
the locks. Nothing had been touched at all."

"You weren't overly tired, were you, Officer Simmons?" 
Scully asked.

"I thought you were open to anything I told you, no 
matter how odd," Kevin said, looking a bit hurt. Scully 
smiled reassuringly.

"We do believe you. It's just a routine question--not 
one trying to discredit you in any way."

"I wasn't overly tired. If anything, I was energized. I 
really wanted to catch this guy for Miranda."

"You are friends?" Mulder asked.

"Yes, we're friends," Kevin said with a slight lowering 
of his eyelids. Mulder caught Scully's gaze and smiled.

"What did you feel it was when you left this morning?"

"I don't know. But it wasn't human. That's for damned 
sure."

"Thank you, Officer Simmons. We'll be staking out the 
place tonight."

"If you need my help, I'll be more than happy to relieve 
you or whatever you want. I'm not afraid. Well, I am to 
some extent but not enough to keep me away."

"That won't be necessary. Just get some rest this 
evening. We'll let you know about tomorrow."

"All right. You figure this out for her, okay? People 
shouldn't have to live in fear."

"We'll try our best."

And Mulder escorted him back to the door and out of the 
motel.

"We should have offered him this room. He might want to 
keep an eye on Miranda this way," Scully said.

"Hey--he can be a man and keep an eye on Miranda in her 
own room."

Scully smiled. "Yeah, Mulder. That's quite convincing. 
You should probably open up your own shop and give 
advice to the lovelorn."

He smiled. "What do I know about romance? But, as far as 
stakeouts are concerned, "*Do* bring lots of coffee--as 
long as a bathroom is available. *Don't* be late. Meet 
you back here in a couple of hours?"

"I'll be here," she said, turning to go back to her own 
room.

End of Part 3


________________________________________________________ 


Part 4
Madame Miranda's Love Connection
January 17, 1999
12:37 AM

"Stop that, Mulder," Scully said as Mulder sat behind 
Miranda's desk and began rifling through the top drawer. 
They were in hour three of a fruitless stakeout and 
Mulder's mind and body needed exercise. For her part, 
Scully was content to lay back against the ornate purple 
chair with her stockinged feet up on a footstool she had 
pulled up to use as an ottoman. They had pulled back the 
velvet draperies, which gave them access to two rooms at 
once--the reading room, where they spent most of their 
time, and the waiting area.

"I'm just being thorough. There may be clues that 
Miranda has overlooked. Besides, it's not like I'm 
looking in her underwear drawer or anything."

"Mulder. It's still her desk. Do you think the ghost--or 
whatever you think we're dealing with--left her a note?"

"He wrote on glass. Why not paper? Ah--what have we 
here?"

Mulder pulled out a  small printed card with a picture 
of a crystal ball on the front. Inside was a description 
of where it was made and how many years the company had 
been in business but on the back was a handwritten note.

"'A crystal ball for a rusty psychic. Your reading last 
night sucked. Love, K'. K--" Mulder closed his eyes and 
put the card up to his forehead. "K--I see a cop--a cop 
named Kevin.  So, he's the 'friend' who gave her the 
exploding crystal ball."

Scully smiled softly. Mulder frowned. "You find that 
romantic, don't you? God. It sounds downright insulting 
to me. He told her that the work she does sucks. 
*Sucks,* Scully. That's romantic?"

"If it was an insult, she wouldn't have kept the card. 
There must be more to it and therefore, yes--it's kind 
of romantic."

Mulder stared at her with an unreadable expression on 
his face. When she first met him, she found that look 
intriguing. Then there was a short phase when she felt 
she actually could read those unreadable expressions. 
Now, they just annoyed her.

"What?" Scully asked, finally.

"Nothing," he put the card back and closed the drawer. 
He let his arms hang down between his spread legs and 
looked up. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

"Where did you pick that up? Ghost-busting 101?"

He looked at her again. "Aren't you bored? Tired? 
Frustrated?"

"All of the above. And I'm cold, too. Miranda should 
have warned us that they turn off the heat."

"She probably didn't know," Mulder said. "She made you 
uncomfortable, didn't she?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Just a feeling."

"Mulder--you throw out these odd statements and have 
nothing to back them up."

"You gave her a strange look, okay?"

"What kind of a strange look."

"A look of avoidance. Like you didn't want her delving 
into your private thoughts."

"She not going to go delving into anything."

"Oh? Don't be too sure."

"Mulder. This is ridiculous. You think she automatically 
reads everyone she meets?"

"I would."

"Yeah, I have no doubt about that."

"And I would have read *you* the minute you walked  
through the basement door."

She said nothing but rolled her eyes and smiled. She 
knew he was doing this just to stir up the static air in 
the place.

"Would you have read me?" he asked.

"No."

"Really? Come on--picture it. You have this wonderful 
gift of seeing into another person's love life and you 
wouldn't use it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I would never imagine it to be as simple as it 
seems."

"You complicate things, Scully."

"I'm sure I do," she said.

"You're very agreeable today."

"Yes, I am."

"I bet all that would stop if I made a really smutty 
suggestion, wouldn't it?"

"Well, you answered your own question, didn't you?"

He frowned. "Scully--have I ever done anything you 
consider the least bit romantic?"

It was Scully's turn to stare at him. The question was 
unexpected. They had had one night together--so many 
months before that she assumed he just considered it a 
big mistake on both their parts and wanted to move on. 
The next day had been tempestuous, at best. It started 
with the OPR hearing where he felt personally betrayed, 
and was followed by the return of Diana Fowley, which 
stirred up all kinds of negative emotions in Scully. At 
times, she wasn't so sure they *hadn't* made a mistake. 
But, Mulder had been right in what he said as he held 
her after their last time together. They had one night 
that no one could take away from them. One perfect 
night. And then, without discussion, they returned to 
their easier, tried and true relationship. The banter 
soon resumed but was without real promise. Mulder's 
question seemed to go beyond banter, however, and threw 
her enough to allow her to answer without guile or 
hesitation. 

"Antarctica," she said softly. "And a few other times 
but that one--well, you can't get much more romantic 
than that."

He smiled, warm and genuine and then deflected.  "Hey--
it's just the type of guy I am. I'm making some coffee. 
You want some?" 

XXXXX

Miranda's apartment
Hotel Andres
1:45 AM

Miranda closed the door behind her. Max ambled by her 
side as she walked down the dimly lit hallway past the 
faded floral wallpaper.  At one time, the Hotel Andres 
was a reasonably priced hotel catering to families on 
seashore vacations. Now, it was an inexpensive 
residential hotel filled with retirees, people down on 
their luck and  ...  Miranda. No one questioned why she 
lived there. She seemed to belong in some vague, 
inexplicable way and the other residents accepted her 
without question.

Max ran over to an elderly gentleman seated on a ratty 
wooden rocker. He was facing the balcony doors in one of 
the hotel's communal lobbies. The old man laughed and 
ran his fingers through the golden coat.

"Hey, Max, old boy--what's happen'in?"

"Good evening, Rupert."

"Evening, Randa. What you doing up so late?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"You could, but you already know the answer. I'm an old 
man. Don't need more than 4 or 5 hours at night--tops. I 
do take a nice afternoon nap, though. Now, what's your 
excuse?"

"I don't know. I just wanted some fresh air."

"Girl, that air can get no fresher. It's twenty degrees 
out there. It's so fresh, it'll bite you on your bee-
hind."

She smiled. "I'll only be out there for a few minutes. 
You can time me, okay?"

"Okay."

Miranda left Max by Rupert's side and stepped out onto 
the old balcony, closing the french doors behind her. If 
she leaned far enough to her right, she could see the 
ocean but she chose to just concentrate on the empty 
streets.

A sudden movement caught her eye and she stepped back 
for a moment.

"Miranda, Miranda, wherefore art thou, Miranda?"

"Kevin?"

Kevin stepped out of the shadows of the motel across the 
street and crossed to her side.

"Kevin, it's almost 2 AM. What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing up?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"No  ...  sightings?"

"No. Of course not. Kevin, you're going to wake everyone 
up."

"So, I'll arrest myself."

"Kevin, go home. I'm fine."

"Where's Max?"

"In with Rupert."

"He should be with you."

"Next time."

"I should be with you."

"You should be home."

"So should you. I'll go in when you get off that creaky 
balcony, stop freezing your butt and the lights go off 
in your apartment."

"So, is that what you've been out here waiting for? My 
lights?"

"Yes it is."

"You're hopeless. And I think you might qualify as a 
stalker."

"I don't care."

"Good night, Kevin. Go home. I'm not kidding."

"Lights off."

"Go home. I already had one father. I don't need another 
one."

He smiled up at her and she gave him a quick, dismissive 
wave.  She smiled as she closed the doors behind her.

"Girl! You didn't tell me you got yourself a fella," 
Rupert said.

"I don't."

"Uh-huh."

"Good night, Rupert."

She walked back to her room with Max following closely 
at her heels. The old man's laughter gently accompanied 
their steps.

XXXXXX

Madame Miranda's Love Connection
6:45 AM

"Scully," she felt a hand touch her hair. She'd 
recognize that voice anywhere.

Scully opened her eyes with a slight groan. It was even 
colder than before.

"What time is it?"

"6:45--rise and shine."

"Mulder, I've only been asleep for a half-hour."

"I know. You fell asleep right in the middle of one of 
my more scintillating stories. Remember?"

"Uh, huh."

"Of course you don't. You need your jolt of caffeine by 
now. But, we're being relieved in fifteen minutes and 
you can either caffeine yourself up or go to bed in your 
nice, deluxe motel room. Your choice."

"I'll get back to you on that. Who's relieving us? 
Kevin?"

"Nope. Miranda's old uncle got someone to relieve us 
during the day. He's giving us time to sleep and 
investigate outside of the shop."

"Your government dollars at work."

"Scully, you're not taking this case seriously."

"I am, Mulder--but I'm also putting it in perspective. 
If this happened to anyone other than a relative of a 
high ranking FBI official--you wouldn't even be able to 
get the local PD involved."

"Well, it is happening to a relative of a government 
official. And it is an x-file--albeit a seemingly minor 
one. So, we are on the case."

She leaned back against the couch and then leaned 
forward. "Where are you going?"

"You'll see."

She heard the back lock being opened and the door 
closing. In a few minutes, she heard the metal security 
gate lock being opened. She got up and stood by the 
windows. She couldn't see anything from inside but the 
bright morning sunlight should tell the tale.

When Mulder pulled it up, the only thing seen through 
the windows was Mulder's smiling face.

Their ghost had writer's block.

End of Part 4



_______________________________ 

Part 5


January 17, 1999
2:30 PM

Scully woke up earlier than she had wanted but it was 
still not early enough to catch up with Mulder. He was 
off and running. Before they left each other that 
morning, they divided up the day's work. She was to 
interview Miranda again, and he was to hit the Atlantic 
City police department looking for possible connections 
with their latest cases. She wondered how far he'd get. 
Somehow, this hardly x-file hardly seemed to warrant FBI 
intrusion in local police matters. Still, Mulder could 
be persuasive when he decided to charm the right people. 

She ordered a quick served-all-day breakfast and 
wandered over to the young psychic's shop before 4 PM. 
Miranda was in the middle of a reading and Scully sat in 
the outer office trying to look inconspicuous.

Miranda gave her a big smile as she said goodbye to her 
customer and put up an 'out to lunch' sign. She ushered 
Scully in the reading room where she was, once again, 
greeted by an enthusiastic Max.

"Sit, sit, Agent Scully. You look tired. Didn't you get 
any rest?"

"I did. A few hours worth. It's difficult to sleep 
during the day."

"Well, I would imagine the Blue Moon would have paper 
thin walls, anyway," she smiled.

"It's not that bad," she said, scratching Max behind his 
ears, and then turning her attention to Miranda. The dog 
slinked back to his spot on the floor and was asleep 
within minutes. "I would like to discuss your 
background, what you've done before and how you got into 
this line of work. Actually, I could use a more detailed 
description of the actual work itself. We might find 
patterns or clues in what you tell us that you might not 
be able to see. *I* might find  ... " she corrected 
herself with a smile, "You were in the financial field 
originally?"
 
"Yes. Wall Street. I was going through a practical phase 
in college. I can't say my heart was ever in it. But I 
was damned good at what I did. After a while, though, 
the stress got to me. I didn't have any great commitment 
to what I was doing and couldn't imagine doing it for 
the rest of my life. And I always knew I had this gift--
for lack of a better term."
 
"How?"

"Well, it actually began with my parents.  I would catch 
my mother's reflection in my father's face--even when 
she was not in the house. Kind of like a superimposed 
image. I don't remember what I originally thought of it. 
Probably nothing much. Kids see things sometimes and 
just don't know enough to question them. 

I did not see my dad's face when I looked at my mother. 
From time to time, I got flashes of another man. One I 
did not know. Anyway, as I said, it didn't concern me or 
even make me terribly curious. I had always been told I 
had an active imagination and I just thought it was a 
outgrowth of that

One day, a few years after my father died, we moved and 
I found a box of pictures--and one of them was of that 
man. It turns out he was my mother's high school 
sweetheart and when I asked her about him--her whole 
face lit up as it never had for my father. And her face 
will always light up for him--until the day she dies. 
I'm convinced of it."

Scully tried to keep her face as emotionless as 
possible.

"You're thinking it's not much to base a life's work on, 
aren't you?" Miranda said.

"You read minds, too?"

"No, but I can read your expression. You don't 
understand. It wasn't just my parents. It happened with 
other people as well. When I was younger, it was random. 
When I was a teen, I tried to harness that energy. To 
actively "read" people. And I got to a point where I 
could pretty much read almost anyone I wanted. But it 
was always something that was in the background of my 
life. Few people knew about it. One day, there was a 
woman at work who was pretty much in the same boat  I 
was--single, lonely, successful with more money and less 
time than any single person should have. She was 
miserable. She was over thirty and desperately wanted a 
husband and children but was so far beyond the dating 
scene that she hadn't dated in years.  She felt unloved. 
And unlovable. I read her. I could clearly see someone 
out there for her. And I told her. She thought I was 
completely nuts but within six months--she found him. I 
went to their wedding. It was the same guy I saw in my 
reading."

"And this convinced you to give up your career?"

"I gave it up to save myself, first and foremost. I had 
money before I began my career. I had much more money 
afterwards. But I was not happy. The job demanded all of 
my time and then some. I chucked it. And then I looked 
at options. I liked giving that woman hope. Even if she 
thought I was full of it--she began to look at herself 
in a slightly different way. Perhaps open herself up a 
bit mentally. Feel less unlovable."

"But why here? Why not Manhattan?"

"We used to come here as kids--before all the gambling. 
I used to dream here. I feel a kinship. It's cold and 
lonely sometimes. Elemental. But I feel I can almost 
reach out to souls who may need me here."

"And tell them about their true loves?"

"No. Well, I don't know. It's far more complicated. The 
way I look at it now is that I see the person, when all 
is said and done, that SHOULD be considered the love of 
your life."

"A soulmate," Scully physically willed herself not to 
roll her eyes heavenwards.

"No. Maybe more of a grand passion. Your greatest love. 
It's very complicated. For example, married people come 
here all the time. I don't necessarily see them with 
each other at all."

"You tell them that?"

"Only if they are being read separately-which I've 
pretty much come to insist upon."

"What if they are happy in the situation they are in?"

"Well, that's what I tell them. Sometimes you are not 
meant to be the happiest with the grand passion of your 
life; sometimes someone more suitable to your 
temperament can make you happier."

Scully shook her head slightly.

"So, pardon me for asking, but what is the point then?"

"This service ideally should not cater to those who are 
happily married or in a relationship. If I had a choice, 
I would only read the so-called lonely hearts. To let 
them know there is hope. But I can't pick and choose my 
clientele. People are out here to have a day of gambling 
and wandering around the boardwalk and think it would be 
fun to come in and have a reading. I can't turn them 
away."

"Do you tell them the truth about what you see? Even if 
it could possibly effect their long-standing happy 
relationships?"

Miranda looked down at her hands.

"I don't lie. I try to lighten up my readings and put 
things in perspective when I see potential trouble and 
would hope that the relationships they are in are 
serious and committed enough to survive a half- hour in 
my shop. But if they choose to accept everything I'm 
saying and they are discontented to begin --yes. It 
could possibly affect a long-standing relationship or 
marriage."
 
"Someone could have something against you."

"Yes. If you follow that line of reasoning, yes."

"You don't keep records of any kind?"

"None. It's a cash business. And it's Atlantic City. 
Some locals pop by but mostly it's the tourists from the 
buses. In and out in one day."

Scully let out a breath. This was not going to be easy.

XXXXX

Boardwalk Outside of Madame Miranda's Love Connection
8:45 PM

Scully turned onto the boardwalk from the side street 
immediately preceding Madame Miranda's.  She saw a 
figure on a bench that could only be Mulder's. They had 
been separated for quite a long time that day. Following 
her interview with Miranda, she had made her way to the 
Atlantic City police department, where Mulder was 
scouring over a stack of files hoping to find something 
connected to their case. It was a needle in a haystack. 
After a few hours, Scully had gone back to quickly check 
on Miranda and have a solitary meal. 

It was lonely in this town. Very lonely. She was tempted 
to pop into a casino just to hear some noise and see 
some people actually enjoying themselves but decided 
that might very well depress her further.

He turned before she quite made her way to him. A bright 
smile lit up his face and made something in the pit of 
her stomach do a brief, nearly painful somersault. 

It was supposed to have turned out differently. It was 
supposed to be different.

And it wasn't.

She sat next to him.

"Did you eat?" she asked.

"Yeah, I grabbed something. I didn't have a chance to 
shower, though."

"Thanks for the warning," she said, butting her side 
against his. "Did you find anything?"

"Not really. This town sure does have it's suspected 
mob-related crimes, though. Amazingly, none of them seem 
to lead anywhere. Very few trials. Very few convictions. 
No witnesses. How strange is that?" He feigned wide-eyed 
innocence.

"Very strange, indeed."

"There were a couple of local murders. That's about it."

"You didn't really expect to find much, did you?"

"No."

"So, why are we sitting here, Mulder?"

"Miranda has a late reading. I thought it would be 
better if we were out here instead of hovering inside, 
screwing up business."

Scully got up and walked to the railing. Just sitting 
there with the cold wind blowing was becoming 
intolerable.

She looked out at the water and a sudden thought 
occurred to her. She turned to face Mulder.

"Do you remember your first kiss, Mulder?"

He looked at her in surprise. She shrugged her shoulders 
in response. She had very little idea as to where the 
question came from. She just wanted to hear the answer.
 
He seemed to accept her shrug, leaned back against the 
bench and looked up into the night sky.

"I saw stars," he said finally.

"That good, huh?"

"That bad."

"Tell me."

"Well, Pammy--that was her name--was about 13. I was 
almost 14. It was a very big embarrassment to me that I 
had lived to such a ripe old age without having anything 
to share in the boy's locker room discussions. So, I had 
to change the course of history and selected Pammy as 
'the one.' She came from a very functional, if somewhat 
reserved family. She had seen some public displays of 
affection but no great slobbering matches. I had my 
romance lessons from the street."

"Yeah, I hear the Vineyard was tough."

"It was a regular Fort Apache. Anyway, what I had been 
taught was a real man--one considered a highly skilled 
kisser--always attempted to shove as much of his tongue 
down the recipient's throat as possible. So, Pammy and I 
go to the movies and she is eating popcorn and I turn to 
her--pretty much as she is about to pop another kernel 
in her mouth and pop my tongue in instead. She gagged; I 
gagged at her gagging and she proceeded to bitch slap me 
about the head and face until…"

"You saw stars."

He nodded. She tried desperately to keep from laughing 
at the mental picture.

"You would never bitch slap me about the head and face, 
would you Scully?"

"You mean I haven't already?"

"Not so far," he smiled softly. "So, why the sudden 
interest in first kisses?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's just the atmosphere. All the 
moonlight and water and talk of the great passions in 
one's life. Maybe it's just some long dormant curiosity 
over what you were like when you were younger. I have no 
idea."

"What was yours like?"

"Not all that much better than Pammy's, actually. I 
didn't gag but I didn't find it all that exciting 
either."

"Men can be such beasts."

She laughed and looked back out at the water. She felt 
him move behind her and drape his arms around her body 
for warmth. She stiffened at his touch and felt his arms 
stiffen in response.

"Don't hate me," she thought she heard him whisper. She 
was just about to turn and ask him to repeat what he 
said when she spotted a woman determinedly coming up 
toward them

"Uh, oh. Trouble."

"What?" he said, dropping his arms to his side.

"One of the psychics I interviewed is coming toward us."

"Oh. Well, I'll be your  ...  "

"We have to talk," a thin, bleached blond approached 
Mulder and Scully.

"Change your mind about being interviewed for the 
article?" Scully asked.

"What article? The one for the Federal Times? Please. . 
."

The gig was up.

"Okay. Then what would you like to talk about?" Scully 
asked evenly.

"Dead people."

XXXXX

McGee's Restaurant
Five minutes later

They led Rita into McGee's restaurant and took a corner 
booth. The restaurant was no longer crowded and privacy 
was not an issue.

"Okay. What about dead people?" Mulder asked.

"Right to the point, are you?  That's good.  No offense 
to you, Ms. Scully, but no newspaper worth its salt 
would do an article on the non-gambling joys of Atlantic 
City. I've lived here all my life. AC is gambling. 
That's it. That's all she wrote. You want the seashore--
you go somewhere else. Hey--even places not far from 
here have nicer beaches. You want old world charm and 
kitsch--again, find another place. Anyway, I knew you 
were some sort of law enforcement officer and I just 
thought you guys might be picking on charlatan 
psychics."

"And are you one?"

"I admit to nothing. Well, no, that's not true. I admit 
that my particular expertise in the paranormal world is 
not the one I currently represent in my little 
storefront booth. But then again--no one wants to hear 
what I'd have to tell them. At least, not during some 
one day gambling junket."

"And what is that?"

"I can channel the dead."

"I see."

"Not all that thrilling is it? When you come in to find 
out your lucky numbers of the day, or if you will be 
riding home in a limo instead of the bus--you don't want 
to hear that great-aunt Ethel is standing over your head 
telling you to be better to your mother."

Mulder smiled.

"But, I do have this 'gift'  ...  curse  ...  whatever. 
And I can't do much with it but it's always there. 
Except now I'm not flying solo. Since you got into town, 
I've had this damned near constant companion--Miranda's 
ghost. And he just won't quit.  And he sucks at 
communicating although he's trying all the time."

"A bumbling ghost?"

"Nah. Just pathetic. No offense," she says to the air 
around her. "He doesn't seem to have the energy to come 
through clearly. For example, he tries to stir up a 
breeze--it comes out as a puff of air. Tries some of 
that ghostly writing stuff and can barely do more than a 
word or two. But I have managed to pick up a few things. 
He's been sort of playing some kind of psychic charades 
with me. Sending me mental pictures. So, I'm passing it 
on to you and you can do with it what you will. I know 
he wants me to tell you because that image came through 
loud and clear. It was you, Miss Scully and this guy 
you're with."

"Agent Mulder," Scully supplied.

"Yeah. Well, I didn't know him from a hole in the wall 
but I saw you with this good looking guy in my vision 
and lo and behold, I find you two groping on the 
boardwalk."

"We were not  ... "

"Look, you don't do any exposes on charlatan psychics 
and I never saw a thing. Anyway, this guy--and I call 
him Freddie--I have no idea why. I don't think it's his 
name but I needed to call him something. He was killed 
pretty recently. His killer was caught. It was his wife. 
She had the direct Madame Miranda connection. She had 
been read. She later told her husband about this and he 
went to her shop. I don't know why. Anyway, I see 
Freddie standing outside of Miranda's shop and looking 
in the window and something happened. I don't know if 
she was busy, or what, but he never got read by her 
himself.  Instead, I see him kind of walking off in a 
fog.

He went home and as he's sitting there, a little 
lightbulb goes off in his head--and believe me--that's 
the way the guy showed me what he wanted to say. I don't 
know what strange shit this man watched but every 
freaking message he gave me more or less came through 
this way. Me trying to pull some meaning out of his 
weird ass images --like I'm pulling some fucking teeth 
with a pair of rusty pliers. Anyway, he's sitting there 
having some sort of revelation at the same moment that 
the poison his wife has been slowly feeding him for a 
week has finally accumulated to the point of being 
fatal. 'Aint that always the way? And now--geez, I'm 
seeing Miranda's dog. What's up with that? He's sending 
me a mental picture of the board game 'Sorry." Make any 
sense to you?"

"Um, yes. It does. I think he was trying to tell us 
about the poisoning and perhaps regrets how he tried to 
get his message across," Scully said.

"Okay. If you say so.  So, he never got to say what he 
had to say to the people he had to say it to. But he 
made it seem like his wife knew. That he told her during 
his dying moments. We need to talk to her. Well, you 
need to talk to her. I need Freddie out of my head. No 
offense," she again addressed the air.

"And how do we get in touch with this anonymous woman?"

"Well, apparently, she's in the slammer. That should 
rule out all those people not in the slammer." She 
smiled wryly. "And her name is ... unless I'm really 
fucked up with the game ... Natasha. He was running this 
little Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon in my mind and I saw 
Boris and ... Natasha. She had a spotlight over her and 
when I said her name out loud, the cartoon disappeared. 
So ... Natasha. How many freaking Natashas can there be 
in jail?"

"In the country?"

"Yeah. Even in the country. I can say with one hundred 
percent certainty that I have never met an actual 
Natasha. Have you? But I can narrow it down even 
further. I am getting a strong, strong feeling they were 
local. So, check the local jails." She shook her 
shoulders. "Whew. He's gone. Cool."

Mulder shrugged. "That's it?"

"Yeah. That's it. He got his message through. I don't 
think he'll be bothering anyone anymore. May he rest in 
peace and leave me the hell alone."

She swallowed the last of her coffee and bid the agents 
a good night.


XXXXX

Scully's Room
Blue Shores Motel
January 18, 1999
1 AM

The evening's stakeout was cancelled. After a brief 
consultation with a Miranda who had no recollection of 
anyone announcing that their name was Natasha--it was 
the general consensus among those who believed in ghosts 
that it would be worthless spending the evening waiting 
for a spirit who had now found some rest. Scully scowled 
in response and tried to think of what she would tell 
Paul Michaels when he called to chew them out for not 
fulfilling their duties.  Mulder pointed out that their 
only duty was to find the rest of the ghost's message to 
Miranda and once that was fully understood, it was back 
to background checks--or, if the Deputy Director was 
extremely grateful, back to the X-files.

Mulder spent a few minutes on the phone trying to locate 
a Natasha but gave up on conventional routes. Instead, 
he called the Gunmen who promised an answer by morning. 
Scully took a shower, got dressed in a warm pajama and 
then found it hard to even begin to relax enough to 
sleep. She opened her curtain and looked out onto the 
dark, Atlantic City streets. This wasn't the boardwalk. 
This was a sidestreet. It made all the difference in the 
world. Whatever feelings of desolation one felt on the 
boardwalk, one could always pass it off on the ocean on 
a winter's night. This street was just cold and raw and 
ugly.

Scully didn't even think. She picked up her key and 
Mulder's key and left the room. In a few moments, she 
jiggled the spare key in Mulder's lock and let herself 
in. The television was on but Mulder was sound asleep. 
Good. She was hoping to find him in just such a state. 
She didn't particularly want to talk; she just wanted to 
be in his presence.  She sat down on a dusty easy chair 
near his bed. It was nice watching him sleep. He didn't 
have to say a word or even be conscious. Just being with 
him helped give her life a sense of structure and order.

"Scully? What's wrong?" he asked, groggily.

"You think I hate you," the words were out of her mouth 
before she was fully aware of the thought forming in her 
mind.

"What?" he asked half asleep. She was surprised she 
uttered the statement herself. She hadn't been aware 
that it bothered her so much.

"I think I heard you say that on the boardwalk," she 
said, backpedaling a bit.

He sat up on one elbow and rubbed his face with his 
hands.

"Well, that was pride. I wanted to kiss you. I thought 
you had issued an invitation with your choice of subject 
matter but when I felt you stiffen up when I touched 
you--I guess a lot of issues we haven't discussed came 
flooding into my mind and I just channeled it into that 
general statement."

She smiled. Even half asleep he could psychoanalyze 
himself.

"Do you?" he asked gently.

"Hate you? Of course not. I was just taken surprise by 
that little public display of affection. That isn't our 
usual M.O."

"No, it isn't," he said with a soft smile.

"Mulder. . ." his name was almost carried on a sigh. "I 
know we screwed up badly. I don't know how anything that 
started out feeling as right as it did that night got so 
complicated, but it's so hard to sit there, sometimes, 
and pretend I don't want to show you how I feel."

"I don't want you to pretend."

"But it *is* easier to not be involved romantically, 
isn't it?"

"Of course it is. Romance seems to have this big--I 
don't know--expectation of complete devotion. Maybe 
that's not even the word I'm looking for. That next 
morning, Scully, I expected you to completely back me up 
during the OPR hearing. and you were the same skeptical 
scientist I had known all along. Making love didn't 
suddenly change that. And I think you were expecting me 
to not have unreasonable expectations. When have I ever 
given you any indication that I was even capable of such 
a thing?" 

Scully laughed and watched Mulder lay back against the 
pillows with his arms behind his head.

"Anything else you want to clear up, Mulder?"

He looked her straight in the eye. "Anything else you 
want me to clear up?"

She knew what happened during the OPR meeting. She knew 
why they had both been cold toward each other 
afterwards.  One issue remained: Diana. It still hurt. 
Perhaps it always would but she was now convinced that 
Mulder was acting on the basis of old loyalties toward 
his former partner and lover. Scully had expectations of 
total devotion of her own--perhaps she deserved it but 
she could only deal with what she was actually given. 
Just as Mulder learned about her and her scientific 
ideals. So be it.
 
She shook her head.

"Then come here--it's warmer." 

He lifted up a corner of the blanket and she scooted in 
next to him. She was tried of fighting against something 
she wanted so badly.

He put out a hand to gently touch the curve of her 
waist. Such a soft, tentative touch. She looked in his 
eyes and found a soft, gentle, tentative look--afraid of 
revealing too little or too much without some kind of 
signal from her. She quickly put her arms around his 
neck and buried her head on his shoulder. She needed to 
feel him again.

"No pretense?" he asked as he nuzzled his face against 
her hair.

She shook her head against him.

No pretense.

End of Part 5


__________________________________



Part 6
Mulder's Room 
Blue Shores Motel
January 18, 4:45 AM

In the middle of their fifth time, Scully heard herself 
moaning. Soft, little sounds of pleasure that she had 
never  heard coming from deep inside her. Part of her 
wanted to be quieter, more dignified, but she knew it 
was impossible. Mulder had found a good rhythm, the 
exact right spot to practice that rhythm on and she was 
quickly making  her way toward seventh heaven.

She had her eyes closed and was concentrating on the 
rocking motions of the bed and their bodies when Mulder 
suddenly slowed his pace dramatically. She opened her 
eyes to find him looking at her with amusement.

"Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention."

"Mmmmm, yes, I am."

"Good," he said, twisting his hips a little. She let out 
another moan. Louder. His smile widened in response.
"You like that, huh?"

She nodded and moved her hands from the middle of his 
back onto his behind. Once there, she tightened her grip 
until she knew he would have the crescent-shaped 
imprints of her fingernails as a souvenir.

He squeezed his eyes shut. "You are a devil woman, you 
know that. You're messing up my concentration."

"Don't *you* like that?" she asked him in the same self-
assured voice he had used to ask almost the same 
question.

"Why, yes, I do. But this wasn't supposed to be about me 
yet."

She tightened her hold on his firm flesh once again. 
"It's all about us, Mulder. Both of us."

He looked down into her eyes and began to move. Same 
rhythm, same spot but double the intensity. She was 
moaning almost constantly now--over the incredible 
feeling of him pumping in and out of her and the 
accompanying look of concentration on his face. He was 
so intent on giving her the most pleasure he was capable 
of and that was an incredibly sexy feeling. He reached 
down with his right hand and moved one of her legs a 
little further apart. It was enough to set her body in a 
full-on spasm of pleasure and her internal contractions 
were enough to make him join her chorus of moans as he 
leapt into a heaven of his own.

She pulled him down on top of her, not caring for the 
moment that her breathing was slightly obstructed with 
the bulk of his body. 

"Mulder," she murmured, running her fingers through the 
hair on the back of his neck. She was glad to find it 
slightly wet from his exertion in this rather cold motel 
room. "God, Mulder. I missed this so much."

He pulled away from her and moved off of her body, 
rolling her with him. She could breathe easier now but 
missed him inside her already. Their first time that 
evening was quick and frenzied but this time was so slow 
and exquisite, she never wanted it to end. 

"Sometimes easy is not the answer. I would have given up 
everything as long as I had you in my life, Scully. In 
any capacity--but now--I'm fighting like hell for this 
one. If I act like an idiot by noon today--feel free to 
grab my ass again and remind me what I'm fighting for."

She buried her head in his shoulder and laughed.

"We've never laughed in bed together, Scully. This is 
kind of nice."

"There's a lot of things we haven't done yet."

"I think I'm scared and turned on all at once."

She ran her hand down the front of his body to check for 
physical proof.

"Scully  ...  you're good but not a miracle worker."

"Just checking."

"Sex maniac."

"It's just as well. We need a few hours of sleep before 
dealing with Rocky and Bullwinkle."

"Natasha," Mulder murmured.

"Whatever."

He kissed her head lightly.

"I do love you, Scully."

"I know. The feeling is completely mutual."

His soft laughter was a nice sedgeway into sleep.

XXXXX
7:39 AM

Natasha was not all that difficult to find. The Gunmen 
were able to track her down to the Newark Correctional 
Facility. As promised, they had a full name and history 
by morning.

"Three, Mulder. Three Natashas in prisons in the United 
States," Frohike said in lieu of a greeting.

"I'm surprised there are that many."

"Well, I'm glad this chick seems to fit the bill because 
she could have Americanized her name and we could be 
trying to sort through a butt-load of Natalies."

"We'll save the butt load for another day, Frohike. Give 
me the rundown."

"Poisoned her old man. Fed him small amounts of arsenic 
over time. I'm not entirely sure how she thought she'd 
get away with it but she was apparently very surprised 
over her arrest." 

"That's strange."

"Human nature, Mulder. We all think we're a lot smarter 
than anyone else."

"Aint it the truth."

"Anyway, she was caught--confessed, and got twenty five 
to life. Eligible for parole in 18."

"And that's it?"

"Pretty much."

"What was her motive?"

"She was having an affair with a man whose name she 
refused to divulge."

"Ah ... "

"But, the plot thickens. *She* wouldn't reveal his name 
but a neighbor swears it was Ricardo Monte--a small time 
mobster who controls a portion of the boardwalk--one 
casino, protection on some stores--that type of thing."

"Now we're getting somewhere."

"Mulder, one last thing to keep in mind. Natasha's 
husband--Douglas Burk--was in debt. In and out of 
Gambler's Anonymous. He owed money to Monte. Not a hell 
of a lot in the grand scheme of things but enough for 
Monte to *not* want it swept under the table."

"I see. So, Natasha was actually doing Ricardo a favor 
by killing her husband?"

"Yup."

"Okay. Thanks, Frohike. I owe you one."

"This one is a freebie. I won't start collecting again 
until you've got the x-files back."

"We're working on it."

"Give Agent Scully my love, Mulder."

"Oh, I'll be sure to do that."

Mulder disconnected his cell phone, put it on the night 
table and moved the blanket aside. He nudged Scully's 
shoulder with his lips.

"Frohike sends his love but it will just have to wait in 
line. I was here first."

XXXXX
Newark Correctional Facility
10 AM

Natasha Burk sat in the small interrogation room and 
started with a question of her own.

"Got a cigarette?"

"No," Scully said.

"Too bad," the weathered brunette said, "I could use 
one. So, what's the deal? I'm already in here. You have 
your confession. What else do you want?"

"We are here to try and get a few more details. They may 
have a bearing on a case we're currently working on."

"What's in it for me?"

"Personal satisfaction?" Mulder suggested. "Or  ...  
nothing?"

Natasha barked out a phlegmy laugh. "I like you. You got 
balls."

"I should hope so," Mulder replied. "Now, how about 
starting with Madame Miranda's Love Connection. Ever 
been there?"

"Madame Miranda? The psychic? Oh, sure. I did it as a 
goof, really. The reading. I was with a girlfriend and 
we were kinda drunk, to tell the truth. She was from 
outta town so we hit the slots and took advantage of the 
free booze. 

Anyway, we went for a long walk to try and sober up 
because --well, my husband really didn't like to see 
that. He thought it was unladylike. 

So, we passed by the little shop and it was different 
from the others because of the love connection crap. And 
Annie--my friend---dared me to go in and find out if 
Dougie--my husband--was really the love of my life."

"And?" Scully prompted.

A shadow crossed Natasha's face until she visibly shook 
it off. "And  ...  she was a nice kid. Takes her job too 
seriously if you ask me."

"And did your husband prove to the be the love of your 
life, according to Miranda's reading?" Scully continued.

"No."

"Did you recognize the description Miranda gave you or 
is it someone you didn't know yet?"

"Yeah, it's one of the butt ugly women in my cell-
block," she sniped, then quickly turned serious. "I 
recognized the description."

"Who was it?" Mulder asked.

"That's my business and mine alone."

"Fair enough," he said, "So, you were pleased with this 
reading? Or did it disturb you?"

"You know I poisoned my husband. I didn't do it because 
I considered him the love of my life."

"Why did you do it?"

"He was in the way. There was another man."

"The man Miranda described?"

"Depends. How good is Miranda's memory?"

"She doesn't have a clue who you are or any recollection 
of your meeting."

"In that case, yeah, her reading was good."

"And what happened to this guy? Where is he now?"

"I haven't seen him since I was arrested. And I don't 
expect to."

"I don't understand. I thought getting your husband 'out 
of the way' was going to help your relationship with 
this person."

"You and me both. I wasn't supposed to get caught. 
Dougie was a big man. Real big--and not in a good way, 
if you get my drift. I was feeding him this poison for a 
while. He was supposed to just drop dead one day--and 
really, if it had gone as planned with witnesses and 
all--no one would have questioned that it was anything 
but a heart attack. They would have asked if I wanted an 
autopsy done and I would have told them I wanted to 
preserve his body as the shrine that it was. But he died 
in the apartment with just the two of us there and I 
said something that was 'inconsistent' with death by 
natural causes. I could cut my freaking tongue out for 
that. How the hell was I supposed to know? I've never 
seen anyone die before and I thought I could wing it 
from what I seen on tv."

"So, your --boyfriend--wasn't in on it?"

"No. And I'm not talking about him any more. Ask me 
something else if you want but I'm not talking about 
him. It's clear as day I'm not the love of *his* life."

Scully took over the questioning. "Did your husband know 
about the reading?"

"Yes. I told him. Well, I just told him she saw a face 
that wasn't his. I kind of did it to piss him off but he 
took it real seriously. He went over there--I think--to 
get read himself." She shut her mouth quickly.

"And  ...  " Scully prompted.

"And I don't think he got read."

"Why don't you think so?"

"I don't know. Just a feeling."

She was lying but both agents knew that antagonizing her 
would do no good.

"Tell us about your husband's last moments, Mrs. Burk."

"Natasha, please. I killed the guy. I feel funny using 
his last name, you know? He knew something was up and I 
think he knew it was my doing. He just kept saying, 
"why, why," and then he died."

"That's it?"

"Why are you asking me that? I'm telling you what I 
know. You want me to make up a story for ya?"

"No, we just thought there'd be more of a connection to 
our case."

"I don't even know what your case is. What? Is Madame 
Miranda in trouble? Cause I know I only saw her the one 
time but I gotta tell you--she seems legit. You want 
some bogus psychics--I can point you in other directions 
all right."

"We're not really at liberty to discuss the case."

"Hey, then I don't know what more I can tell you."

Mulder cut to the chase. "Your husband never said 
anything about Madame Miranda directly before his 
death?"

"No," she frowned. "All right--yeah. I don't know what 
happened. He went to see her and told me he saw 
something through her window--something he had to warn 
her about." 

"But you don't know what it is?"

"Not really. By that time, his speech was going and he 
was gasping for air. I didn't understand exactly what he 
was trying to say. Look, Miranda's a good kid.  I think 
she's okay and she made me happy that day, y'know? But I 
'aint gonna do anything to get myself in more trouble 
than I'm already in. I'm just not going there. So, I 
hope you can get something out of this because I'm not 
giving you any details that will fry my ass."

XXXXX
12 PM
Atlantic City Expressway

"Ass-frying, Mulder. What do you know about it?"

Mulder was driving them back to their motel when Scully 
gave him his pop-quiz. He turned to her and gave her a 
quick, amused glance before focusing his eyes on the 
road.

"Well, in this case, I'm pretty sure she was not talking 
about any further legal punishment."

"No, I didn't get that impression, either. I think she's 
pretty open about the only skeleton in her closet. So, 
she's somehow afraid of punishment by Ricardo Monte?"

"It would seem so."

"And yet--falling in love with a mobster is not a crime. 
Even admitting an affair with him is not a crime. Unless 
she knows something."

"Or suspects something. Some kind of connection between 
Miranda's warning and Richard Monte."

"Well, we now have pictures for her to look at. Perhaps 
something will jog her memory."

XXXXX
Madame Miranda's Love Connection
2 PM

"I remember her face," Miranda said cautiously as she 
looked at Natasha's photo. They slipped a press photo of 
Ricardo Monte in next. He did not have a mug shot. 
Rumors and innuendo surrounded him but no actual 
criminal charges were ever filed. The photo was from the 
opening of his casino.

"Oh, yes. I saw him during a reading."

"Hers?"

"Probably. I recognize both of their faces and I 
actually tend to focus more on people who come through 
in readings since I have to give those being read their 
descriptions."

"Okay. What about him?"

They passed a picture of Douglas Burk.

"No, I have no recollection of this man at all."

"Well, meet our ghost."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry but I know I've never seen him 
before."

Mulder flopped back in his chair and covered his face 
with both hands. He quickly removed them and looked at 
Scully.

"What next?"

"I don't know, Mulder."

"We have the ghost--your original problem," he said to 
Miranda. "who more than likely will never bother you 
again because he felt he delivered his message. But, his 
message was a warning. And we don't know what the 
warning is. So, do we sit around and wait for something 
or  ...  "

"We call Rita," Miranda said firmly.

"The one who channels the dead?"

"The one and only. We need her to get back in touch with 
our spirit."

End of Part 6


____________________
Part 7

Mulder's Room
Blue Shores Motel
7 PM

Mulder threw the motel room key on the dresser. Scully 
took off her coat and draped it over a chair. 

"Did you ever hear such a creative string of expletives 
in your life?" Mulder asked.

"Well, certainly not followed by the statement, 'now 
leave me the fuck alone so I can meditate."

He smiled. "The woman has a process. Gotta respect 
that."

"She wasn't even sure she could do this, Mulder. They 
usually come to her. She doesn't have to summon them."

"Well, just think--maybe we'll get to be part of a 
seance tomorrow."

"Yipee," she said in a voice completely devoid of 
enthusiasm.

Mulder removed his shoes and laid back against the 
headboard, closing his eyes. He suddenly looked very 
tired and frustrated.

"What's wrong, Mulder?" she asked, sitting by his feet.

"I want to solve this."

"Mulder--a lot of x-files are never solved. You know 
that better than anyone."

"Knowing it doesn't make it any easier. And I'm not 
really talking about the brownie points we may or may 
not get from the Deputy Director. It's just that I don't 
want to leave Miranda in doubt over her life. Having to 
live with a vague warning of  'something' about to 
happen because we couldn't solve this."

"But how do we solve this, Mulder? There is not all that 
much we can do if we are truly dealing with the non-
physical realm."

He smiled. 

"What?" she asked, knowing the answer already.

"I don't know. I just love hearing you talk about these 
things. It's an incredible turn-on, in its own way. And 
I'm serious about that. It's like I've actually had an 
influence on you."

"Gee, do you think?"

"Oh, you know you would probably melt like a puddle of 
goo if I started espousing true scientific theory."

"Perhaps. But right now, the only thing turning me on is 
the prospect of water. Hot water and lots of it."

"Did they ever clean your tub?"

"Yes. They did but I won't be sitting in it any time 
soon. Showers are safer."

"Are you coming back?" he asked softly, seeming to walk 
a thin line between eagerness and nonchalance.

"Do you want me to?"

Nonchalance flew out the window. "Let's get this 
straight. I never want you to leave."

"My clothes are in my room."

"I can loan you some. If you get cold. And I can also 
promise that I will do everything in my power to keep 
you warm."

"It's a deal. Mulder?"

"Yes?"

"We can conserve water now, if  you're interested."

"I've always been a closet environmentalist." He leaped 
off the bed and followed her into the bathroom.

XXXXX
Blue Shores Motel
9 PM

Scully watched Mulder as he snuggled her breast in post-
coital bliss. He opened his eyes a little wider and 
suddenly seemed fascinated by the nipple nearest his 
line of vision.

"Are you cold, Scully?"

She smiled, "Something like that."

"That will never do," he said and latched on, massaging 
her nipple with his warm tongue.

"Better?" he mumbled, his mouth still occupied.

She lifted his hand from her waist and covered her other 
breast with it. Now, both were warm. "Much better."

His soft massaging turned into slight nibbling, which 
quickly progressed to full-on suction. She put her hands 
in his hair and encouraged the movement of his mouth.

She had a sudden flash of a few past lovers. This was 
always part of foreplay--never more than a means to an 
end. Mulder had not had anywhere near sufficient 
recovery time and yet, he seemed to want to do this for 
her.

And a part of her knew that, at one time, she might 
consider it selfish to take so much pleasure. She could 
picture herself muttering a quick, "that's all right, go 
to sleep," and roll over and do the same.

But this was Mulder. A couple of days ago, she wasn't 
even sure she would ever be this close to him again. She 
would take it all--completely, selfishly and thankfully.

And she would stop counting the times they made love 
because she planned on enjoying each moment as a routine 
expression of their feelings; not a rare special 
occasion.

She pushed a stray lock of his hair back in place and 
watched his beautiful lips pursed over her breast. She 
couldn't remember a prettier sight.

XXXXX
Hotel Andres Second Floor Lobby
9:30 PM

Kevin, Miranda and Max all sat in the old lobby facing 
the balcony. Rupert had been there when they initially 
came out but he made a hasty retreat, scoffing at 
Miranda's half-hearted protestations.

"So there is a possibility that Mulder and Scully could 
pack up and leave before solving this?" Kevin did not 
look happy.

"Kevin, just how long are they supposed to stay? As far 
as their 'assignment' is concerned--they finished it. 
The initial 'threat'--the spirit--is gone. If we can't 
summon him and find out what he was trying to warn me 
of, really, how long are they supposed to wait?"

"As long as it takes."

"He might have been warning me of something five or ten 
years in the future. Who knows?"

"Well, then, we should force his wife to tell us more."

"How? She has her rights--even in prison. She doesn't 
have to tell us anything."

He ran a hand through his hair. 

"I know. It's just so damned frustrating."

"Yes, it is," Miranda wanted to lighten the mood and 
knew just what would do it. "Tell me, how is Russo 
taking in your 'tales of the paranormal?'"

Miranda enjoyed watching the color flood into Kevin's 
cheeks.

"Russo is an idiot."

She leaned forward. "Tell me."

"Russo thinks you're cute but 'freaky.' And I should run 
as far and as fast as my legs can take me."

"Isn't that what Murphy thought?"

Kevin's eyes softened at the mention of his former 
partner's name. George Murphy had been killed in a hit 
and run accident a couple of months before. The two men 
had an instant bond of friendship and Miranda knew that 
Kevin enjoyed the memory of the man he had known for all 
too short a time.

"Murphy was joking. He liked you a lot. Russo doesn't 
know when to quit."

"Ah, well, when whatever is out to get me, gets me, 
you'll get along better."

"Don't even joke about that, Miranda."

"I'm sorry. I know you take this all very seriously."

"Well, I am the only one who saw this 'spirit.' I figure 
he came to me for a reason--that blood splattered on 
your windows was there for a reason. And none of the 
reasons I can think of are good ones."

She took his hand.

"You're a good guy, you know that, don't you?"

"My momma didn't raise any hooligans."

"Hooligans?"

"Old fashioned term. There is rampant usage of them as 
part of my genetic makeup. Just a warning for you to 
store away for the future."

"And why would I care about such a thing?"

"I don't know."

"Okay. Since we're revealing genetic flaws, I can do you 
one better. I can see the love of people's lives by 
concentrating on their faces."

"Well, personally, I think your radar is off so I 
wouldn't go bragging on that one yet."

She laughed and he brought their joined hands to his 
lips. The kiss he left on the back of her hand was rough 
and desperate. It was also the most romantic gesture she 
had ever been the recipient of.

XXXXX

Mulder's Room
Blue Moon Motel
January 19, 1999
4 PM

Scully got off the phone. While she had been talking, 
Mulder came in from outside, taken off his jacket and 
shoes and preceded to give himself what looked like a 
foot massage. The boardwalk was very long and not easy 
on shoe leather or the bottoms of feet.

"I had them add a sample of Doug Burk's DNA to the ones 
they are already testing. Actually, they are almost 
through testing those but if nothing shows up, they can 
test his."

"Yeah, why not?" Mulder said, digging into the arch of 
his foot with his knuckles.

"You're distracted," she told him.

"Rita hasn't called yet."

"Give her time, Mulder."

"We're paying for her to take the whole day off to 
'fucking' meditate--what more does she need?"

"Maybe the spirit's not willing, "she said with a smile. 
"What did you find out about our mobster?"

"Nothing much at all. He's suspected of all kinds of 
illegal activities but there is very little evidence to 
get anywhere near building a case against him."

"So, we'd have no business questioning him?"

"None at all."

"And we won't."

"Not at this time." His answer both surprised and 
relieved Scully. While they did have the Deputy 
Director's sanction, she knew it would be withdrawn 
quickly if they stepped out of line completely.

Mulder continued. "We will wait to see if Dougie shows 
up. Right now, we're going on next to nothing. I 
wouldn't want to arouse Monte's suspicions when I don't 
know what I'm even aiming for."

Someone banged on the door.

"Let us in. It's fucking freezing out here." It was 
Rita's voice. Scully opened the door and Rita smirked at 
her presence in Mulder's room. Scully ignored her.

"Let *us* in?" she asked.

"Yeah, I got Dougie with me. The pain in the ass."

XXXXX
Mulder's Room
4:45 PM


Rita was sitting on Mulder's bed, eating the potato 
chips she insisted he run out and buy her. Mulder sat 
backwards in a straight backed chair, patiently watching 
her while Scully sat in the threadbare easy chair, 
assessing the current state of her manicure.

After finishing half a bag in silence, she drank half a 
can of Diet Coke before taking a breath and putting her 
snacks aside.

"That's better. I was so fucking hungry, I couldn't 
think straight."

"So, how did you get Dougie back?"

"I just concentrated on everything he told me--tried to 
remember the energy I felt at that time and boom--I 
didn't have to remember because there he was. And I 
gotta say--he's a little pissed. Kind of like being 
yanked off a plane when you're halfway to Hawaii."

"Did you tell him that we didn't get much out of his 
wife?"

"He's not deaf, you know. He knows. You know, if Miranda 
ever did read this guy, I'm sure she would have found 
that the love of his life was Natasha. The stupid bitch. 
Okay, okay. I'm sorry," she told the air. "He's very 
defensive," she stage-whispered to Mulder and Scully.

"Let's leave her out of it for a moment. He's showing me 
pictures--three of them. One of them is him. Man, he was 
a big one. Oh, another one is this brunette--I'm getting 
the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon again so it must be 
Natasha and there's this man posing near a slot 
machine."

"Yes, we know the pictures."

""Okay, he's sending me an image of him waving his arms 
back and forth. I think," she grabbed her coke and the 
agents had to wait a moment before she polished off the 
rest of the can, stifled a small burp, and continued, "I 
think he's trying to say you showed the pictures to the 
wrong person. Oh, cool. I got a thumbs up! Good signal, 
Dougie. Very clear."

"Who should we be showing it to?" Scully asked.

Rita closed her eyes.

"Wow. Everything turned blue."

"Blue?"

"Yeah, a navy blue."

"Cops uniform? Boys in blue?" Scully suggested.

"Bingo. Another thumbs up."

"Okay. We need to show this to Kevin. He'll know someone 
in the pictures?"

"Oh, I'm getting a shoulder shrug. Dougie, Dougie--what 
are we trying to say here?"

She leaned back against the headboard and closed her 
eyes. She reached out blindly toward the nightstand and 
grabbed her potato chip bag. She stuck her hand in and 
thoughtfully munched on chips with her eyes closed. 
Mulder and Scully exchanged glances with Mulder smirking 
at the expression on Scully's face. If they had been 
alone, she would have been tempted to stick her tongue 
out at him.

"Okay, I'm getting the cop that hangs out with Miranda. 
The cute one. Dougie is standing outside Miranda's shop 
and watching her talk with the cop. I see a lightbulb 
flash over them. Okay. Now, I see Miranda's shop and 
there's blood on the window. Yuck. Now, I see mud and 
that picture of the guy near the slot machine is 
sticking out of  it."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Mulder asked.

"I have no idea," Rita said.

"The guy is dirty?" Mulder asked.

"He's giving me a mezza-mezza on that one, big guy," 
Rita said.

"Clear as mud? Muddy connection?" Scully said.

"Thumbs up! Damn, you're good at this, Agent Scully."

"Great. So, he may or may not be involved in anything."

"No  ...  I'm not getting that feeling. I'm getting a 
feeling of someone not necessarily knowing what the 
connection is."

"And he can't tell us?"

"No. I think it's beyond him at this point. I'm 
surprised he's been able to do as much as he has."

"Anything else?"

"Nah, he just pulled back. In like ...  one second, all 
his energy is gone. He must have been a freaking dynamo 
in bed," Rita said and bit into a small stack of potato 
chips with a resounding crunch.

End of Part 7

_______________________

Part 8

Madame Miranda's Love Connection
6:30 PM

Madame Miranda's "Out to Lunch" sign was on her door 
again. The sun had gone down a short while before and 
Kevin had come in for his supper break. The three 
pictures were laid out before him.

He pointed to Doug Burk's picture, "I know I've seen him 
on the boardwalk. He had a slight problem with his gait-
-like you have when your knees are shot? Like that. I've 
never talked to him but I have seen him--definitely."

"But not Natasha."

"No."

"And what about this gentleman?" Scully tapped the 
picture of Ricardo Monte. He stared at it for a long 
while. "Maybe," he said finally.

"Maybe?" Mulder echoed.

"Something is ringing a bell. I certainly didn't see him 
in this setting--in a casino taking a publicity shot. 
But there's something vaguely familiar about him."

"Keep thinking," Mulder urged.

Kevin shot him a look. "I'm trying. I am trained to pay 
attention to faces and details but something is off 
here."

"Have you ever been hypnotized before, Kevin?"

"Mulder  ...  " Scully said, once again trying to keep 
from rolling her eyes.

Kevin cut of an argument before it could begin. "Can I 
take the picture with me? Give me until tomorrow to try 
and remember naturally and if I can't--well, I'm willing 
to do whatever it takes."

Scully looked not at Kevin but at Miranda. She was 
looking down at her hands with a small, shy smile 
lifting the corners of her mouth. She could have kicked 
herself over thinking that Miranda was a potential 
threat to her relationship with Mulder. Miranda was 
completely taken by Kevin and she hoped that whatever 
was holding things up between them resolved itself soon. 

"Okay," Mulder agreed somewhat grudgingly. "We really 
just want to do everything we can before we're called 
back to Washington."

"And we're very grateful, Agent Mulder. But even Uncle 
Paul can't keep you out here indefinitely."

"I've got to go. I'll be by to pick you up after work, " 
Kevin stood up and quickly squeezed Miranda's shoulder 
before he moved out into the reception area to put on 
his jacket. 

Scully would have questioned her vision or her sanity if 
what she saw next had not led to the chain reaction it 
did.

When she looked down at the sleeping Max, the view was 
suddenly obstructed by a thick, translucent fog. Before 
she had a moment to even get startled, she saw what 
looked like a hand reach over and pinch the dog's 
behind--the dog yelped in response and immediately ran 
out of the reading room, and through the open door that 
Kevin was passing through. Max leapt up on Kevin and 
knocked him flat on his back just as a bullet came 
sailing through the front window of Madame Miranda's 
Love Connection.

Mulder took off at top speed in the direction of the 
shooter while Scully quickly checked to make sure that 
everyone was all right. Once she did, she ran across the 
railing--jumped over it and landed on the sand. In the 
distance, she could see Mulder running to her left and 
she took off in his direction.

He slowed down and she caught up with him.

"Did we lose him?" she asked.

"No. Not yet. You see that tunnel?" Atlantic City had a 
system of small tunnel-like pathways that ran under the 
boardwalk connecting the beach to various sidestreets. 
They enabled bathers to have easier access to the beach. 
Since gambling was instituted, they became run down and 
were not used much but a few of them were still open and 
functional. They were standing in front of one of them.

"He went there and I haven't taken my eyes off the 
place. He knows if he moves, I've got him. He's hiding 
in the shadows, Scully."

"Okay--do we go in now?"

"No. Double back and get Kevin. Go to the side street 
entrance to this place. We'll block him off."

"Be careful," she hissed and ran back to the boardwalk. 
Kevin was still sitting there with an apologetic Max 
licking his face.

"Can you come with me? We have the shooter trapped. We 
also need backup."

"I called a few moments ago. They are on their way," he 
jumped up and followed the already running Scully.

As they approached the entrance, two shots rang out.

"Mulder!" Scully yelled as she entered the tunnel.

"I'm fine, Scully," she followed his voice and saw him 
leaning over the shooter, checking for a pulse.

"Dead?" Scully asked.

"Yes."

Kevin caught up with both of them and leaned down to get 
a good look at the man who had tried to kill him a few 
minutes before. His eyes widened.

"Recognize him?" Scully asked.

"Yes, and I now know where I've seen Ricardo Monte."

XXXXX

Madame Miranda's Love Connection
10 PM

Madame Miranda's small shop had been lit up like a 
Christmas tree. Several police cruisers had come and 
gone and there had been a fairly short, but fruitful, 
field trip to the beach with Max, Miranda, Kevin and two 
officers. It was not a doggy potty break or an aerobic 
activity. Miranda had been the lucky one this time and 
witnessed the translucent blob surround her dog once 
again. Doug Burk decided the very best medium for his 
messages was the open and friendly yellow dog.

Max walked purposefully to the entrance of one of the 
closed tunnels under the boardwalk. It had been boarded 
up for quite a while. He pawed the ground until they 
removed some boards and went inside. After Max went 
directly to the spot they needed to focus their 
attention, it took only five minutes to find a severely 
decomposed, male body.

He was bagged and shipped off to the coroner's office 
with several officers assigned to guard the body. 

Mulder and Scully came back from the police station, 
after filing some paperwork and making several phone 
calls--just in time to see another of Miranda' front 
windows being carted away as evidence.

"It's too damned cold," Miranda said. "Let's take this 
party elsewhere."

She went outside and pulled down the security gate with 
a resounding thud. On it, she scotch-taped a handwritten 
sign:

"Closed until further notice."

XXXXX
Hotel Andres
Second Floor Lobby
11 PM

This time, they all sat in the lobby of the Hotel 
Andres. Rupert chuckled out loud when he saw Miranda, 
Kevin, Mulder, Scully and Max coming up the formerly 
ornate wrought iron staircase.

"Damn, girl, you're a regular social butterfly," he 
said, taking his newspaper and cane and making his way 
back to his room.

Miranda sat down and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. 
This room was relaxing. In the evening, only small table 
lamps illuminated the space. You could almost hear the 
former occupants of the hotel: the faint laughter of 
children ready to spend the day at the shore; honeymoon 
couples arriving with hopes and dreams and very modest 
amount of money to build them with.  Those ghostly 
sounds were muted by the constant crash of waves hitting 
the shore in their never-ending song. She found it all 
soothing.

When she opened her eyes, she found Mulder and Scully 
looking at her with some concern but Kevin was there--
alive and calm. And Max was sticking by his side like 
glue. That was really all that mattered.

"I talked to Detective Bryant. The shot hit the exact 
spot on your storefront window that the blood had been 
splattered on. And I checked on the DNA work. They never 
needed to check Doug Burk's. The blood was yours, 
Kevin," Scully said.

"Damn," he said. "Well, it sort of makes some kind of 
sense now."

"How so?" Scully asked.

"Well, I knew the shooter and Mr. Monte from the same 
place. Actually, I'm pretty damned sure it was one of 
the times I saw Doug Burk, too. He wasn't with them, 
though. I think that's what drew our attention to the 
situation in the first place. Doug Burk was kind of 
limping his way over to a bench to rest while two men 
were arguing loudly nearby. We kept an eye on the 
situation because if tempers flared--well, in this day 
and age--you never know who might pull a gun--and we now 
had an innocent bystander who potentially had problems 
leaving the scene quickly.

My former partner--George Murphy--thought it would be 
best to just confront the situation. Ask if anything was 
wrong and give them enough of a diversion to take the 
anger down a notch. He approached them directly. I was a 
little further back so I didn't see them as clearly and 
that's why I had difficulty remembering Monte, in 
particular. I saw him at night, in an area of low 
lighting. But I do remember they were not at all happy 
over the intrusion. Just by the looks on their faces. 
They did leave the scene and we went on with our patrol 
but apparently--we witnessed more than we thought we did 
and  ...  " A look of slowly dawning horror crossed his 
face.

"What?" Mulder asked.

"Murphy," Miranda said and Kevin nodded, suddenly very 
intent on petting Max and not looking anyone other than 
the dog directly in the face. Miranda continued, "Murphy 
died in a hit and run accident. There was a suspected 
drunk driver but the car and driver were never found. 
There was just a witness who saw the car operating in an 
erratic fashion before plowing into Murphy. I guess 
there's a possibility it wasn't an accident after all."

"How long ago was this?"

"A couple of months. But only a week after this 
incident," Kevin said. "But I don't understand, then. 
Why not kill me, too. Right then and there?"

"Because I suspect they might have wanted it to appear 
as it did--as an accident. Two accidents to men who were 
partners in a very short amount of time would seem 
suspicious."

"And a murder wouldn't?"

"I think--that in some odd way--they might have felt 
forced into taking action tonight. Word would have 
gotten around as to who we were and since the general 
public would have no idea about the connection between 
Miranda and the FBI--they might naturally think a big 
mob shake-down was in the works. They needed to clean up 
loose ends--even if it was risky."

"So, the warnings might have precipitated the events?" 
Miranda asked, ready to kick Dougie's non-corporeal ass.

"Perhaps these particular events but I think Kevin as 
their target was very real. And so was the warning. It 
would have happened eventually."

"Well, we'll figure out all the connections in time," 
Scully said, "but for now--I think we're going to leave 
you alone to get some rest."

Miranda looked away from Kevin and Max and up at Mulder 
and Scully.

"Thank you. Really. To say you went above and beyond 
would be an understatement  ...  " she smiled. "If you 
ever want a reading  ...  "

"Thank you, but it won't be necessary," Mulder said.

Scully gave a half-smile and walked down the stairs.

End of Part 8

Part 9

Hotel Andres Lobby
11:30 PM

Miranda watched as Kevin came down the hall with a cup 
of tea and a yellow dog by his side. He had gone to her 
apartment to make her the warm drink and Max ambled by 
his side. He obviously was still feeling guilty over 
knocking him down earlier in the evening. Bless his 
furry soul.
 
"You're wrong." Kevin told her, handing her the cup.

"What?"

"Your reading--it was wrong."

"My reading of you?" 

"Yes. Perhaps you don't have the gift you thought you 
have."

"I know what I saw."

"Maybe you have x-ray vision or something. Instead of 
seeing in my heart, you saw through my pants and into my 
wallet."

"Which brings up an interesting point," she winced at 
the inadvertent sexual innuendo but needed to address 
the exact issue that she had with the whole situation. 
"You were divorced--what? Three years ago? And you still 
carry your wedding picture in your wallet. And you claim 
this woman is not the love of your life?"

"I claim she is A love of my life. My first love. The 
one that was tangled in teenage hormones and young adult 
frustrations and loneliness. One love. One of perhaps a 
few. Perhaps not. But it would be sad to think that she 
was *it* when I feel nothing for her now. That I may 
now--thanks to Max and the ghost--live maybe thirty or 
forty more years and have no one else."

"I never said that."

"And the picture carrying thing? I have my sister's 
first communion picture in my wallet. She's 31 years old 
now. You give me a picture ... it pretty much stays in 
there for life. Or until I get a new wallet--whichever 
comes first."

"Remind me to give you a wallet for Christmas, then."

He smiled. A full-out, dazzling smile.

"What are you so happy about?"

"Exchanging gifts. I'll buy you perfume. Or exotic 
underwear."

"Kevin."

"I never would have asked you to read me if I wasn't 100 
percent certain of whose face you'd see. And it wasn't 
my ex-wife's. And I'm not settling for thirty or forty 
years of loneliness when there is a perfectly lovely 
woman right in front of me who I have been crazy about 
since she and her dog first bowled me over on the 
boardwalk. Quite literally.

You're open to all kinds of thoughts and ideas. A whole 
other world. A whole other dimension. Why can't you be 
open to the idea of someone really loving you?"

XXXXX

Blue Shores Motel
January 20, 1999
11:45 AM

Scully walked down the boardwalk and let herself into 
Mulder's room. He was just getting off the phone and she 
made herself comfortable by removing her jacket and 
sitting in her favorite dusty easy chair.

"The dead man was IDed as Hank Jenson, a bigger fish in 
the mob pond," Mulder started without preamble. "I guess 
Monte felt by killing him--he could take over some of 
his territory."

"So, Kevin is not in a good space, is he? He witnessed 
Monte setting up the hit. The only witness to Monte's 
crime where there have been absolutely no living 
witnesses before." Scully asked.

"No, actually, that problem has been solved. The mobster 
was missing from the day after that meeting Kevin and 
his partner interrupted. Murphy kept a running log of 
all their activities--even the ones that seemed like 
they were nothing much to speak of, which gives us an 
exact date.  Well, Jenson must have had friends in very 
high places. The coroner positively IDed the body during 
the night and this morning, Ricardo Monte was found 
dead.  Bullet hole through the brain."

"Justice-mob-style. Well, at least Kevin won't be going 
into witness protection."

"No, he can stay here and moon over Miranda."

"I think there's mutual mooning going on, Mulder. And I 
think she might have more time for it because I don't 
think she's reopening the shop."

"She's not?" he asked, surprised and somewhat 
disappointed.

"I don't think so. I went to say goodbye to her and she 
said she had to think about it but that life--and love--
was a little too complicated to define. Even with help 
from the paranormal."

"Damn."

"What?"

"I didn't even get my free reading."

"I thought you turned it down. You didn't 'need it." 
Well--run on over. I'm sure she'd make an exception in 
your case."

"Nah. I really don't need to be read. I'm just yanking 
your chain."

She lifted his hand and traced the lines there.

"I see us getting the x-files back."

"Now you're yanking my chain, right?"

"No. I didn't say when it would happen. It could be now, 
when we return as the defenders of the Deputy Director's 
niece--or we could be back to fertilizer duty by the end 
of the week. Who knows? But we will get them back."

"And what do we do in the meantime?"

"We do whatever it takes to hang on to what really 
matters."

He smiled and brought her hand up to his lips. He 
planted a soft, gentle kiss there.

"Want to hit the slots before we leave. Maybe we'll 
strike it rich. Get enough money to open up our own 
casino or something. Or do you want to go home?"

"Let's go home. Just you and me in a room without mold. 
We're bound to get lucky."

"Luckier," Mulder corrected, leaning over and kissing 
her gently on the lips. She cupped his face for a moment 
and looked in his eyes, then nodded in agreement. 


On the way out, each of them looked up at the rundown 
facade of the Hotel Andres. For a brief moment, Scully 
could have sworn she saw the hotel restored to its 
former glory. A light pinkish hotel that sparkled in the 
sun with a tropical warmth that radiated old world 
charm. An old man sat on the new wrought iron balcony 
with a smile on his face and a cane by his side.  She 
blinked and the image was gone. 

She knew what Miranda's next career move would be. It 
would cost money. More money than most single people 
ever needed in their lifetime. And it would need the 
dreams of someone with a lifelong passion for filling 
lonely hearts. She wished Miranda Godspeed.

And, as she allowed herself the indulgence of taking 
Mulder's hand in public, she could swear she heard a 
cheerful bark in response--warming the cold, hollow air 
of winter in Atlantic City.
 
The End.



Dedicated to:
My mother, father and brother for timeless memories 
(including family vacations--guess where?)
And to the four-legged creatures in my life--past and 
present. Max is a blend of the dog of my childhood and 
the nutty, wonderful creature I live with now, and the 
name is an homage to my cat, Maxine, who I miss like 
crazy.
And to Atlantic City--in all its bizarre glory.