Title: Agape Author: Jen aka Marti Mulder Spoilers: Nothing worth searching for… Classification: MSR, case file, 'bation, SMUT. Summary: Imagine Mulder and Scully under the influence of Love Potion Number Nine… Rating: It builds up to NC-17, so hang in there! No young'uns allowed. Archive: Just ask. I'm easy. Feedback: Serve it up to martimulder@yahoo.com Size: 217KB Recipe hints: If you find philosophy a bit tart, garnish liberally with innuendo and sex. XXXXXXXXXXXXX Agape /ah-GA-pay/: Unselfish love for all persons. An ethical theory according to which such love is the chief virtue, and actions are good to the extent that they express it, is sometimes called agapism. Agape is the Greek word most often used for love in The New Testament, and is often used in modern languages to signify whatever sort of love the writer takes to be idealized there. In New Testament Greek, however, it was probably a quite general word for love, so that any ethical ideal must be found in the text's substantive claims, rather than in the linguistic meaning of the word. (Cambridge Dictionary of Philosophy, 1995) XXXXXXXXXXXXX Scully pulled the rental car into a parking garage while Mulder, chuckling at his newspaper, sat oblivious beside her in the passenger seat. She parked in an empty space close to the elevator and reached for the campus map Mulder had tossed on the dashboard. He chortled through his nose, and Scully glanced at him. "What?" She inquired as she shut off the engine. "What's so funny?" "You're not going to believe this. It says here that a doctor developed a small chip to treat back spasms. He attaches this chip to a specific nerve bundle in the spine of his patients, and they're virtually cured of further back problems. He attached it to the wrong nerve bundle in one of his female patients and now she can have orgasms at will." He paused and waited for a reaction, then continued to paraphrase the article as Scully studied the map. "Business is booming. Women are requesting the procedure by the hundreds. The female patient in question has declined to have the procedure corrected, but asked that her name be withheld from the media." Scully smiled, but didn't respond. "Well?" Mulder watched her expectantly. "What do you think?" "I think it's paradoxical. If men can't find the clitoris, how can they be depended on to find the right nerve bundle?" She punctuated the question by exiting the car. As his eyebrows rose in proportion to the falling of his jaw, Mulder followed her to the elevator, his interest piqued by her remark. "You think the overwhelming demand for this procedure is a result of men, as a group, being lousy in bed?" He asked, a surprised look on his face. "If the chip fits," she answered coolly, tagging the elevator button with her fingertips. "On what do you base this negative assessment of masculine ability?" he asked in a playful tone, hoping she'd confess something to him, offer some clue to her private life that he'd never been privy to. "I base it on fact, on studies of human sexuality conducted by experts. Unlike what you see in pornography, women aren't satisfied as often or as easily as men," she said and glanced over at him to see if her porn comment registered. He rolled his eyes at her as they entered the small, creaking elevator. "I know that, Scully. I guess what I'm asking is, do you think this chip thing is a good idea?" He prodded, letting her exit ahead of him when the elevator doors rolled open. Scully waited a few minutes before answering as they entered the mall area of the university campus. Considering his question, she wondered why Mulder couldn't let the subject drop, especially after she made obvious attempts. He seemed to enjoy watching her fluster. Taking one step to her two, he walked alongside her down the sidewalk, his gaze falling on her, then taking in their surroundings. "I don't know, Mulder. I guess I don't object to the device. I'd much rather see society evolve to a point where people work together to solve issues of love and sex, rather than relying on technology, or medical augmentation," she answered, still trying to decipher the campus map. "The orgasm chip doesn't solve the communication problem for couples, which seems to be the real issue." "What about single people?" he went on. "I think it solves a problem for them, or at least makes life a little more convenient." Looking around, Scully still couldn't figure out which building corresponded to the one circled on the document. The layout of the campus was very symmetrical, and all the buildings looked alike. She noticed her hands were clammy and perspiring, the edges of the paper map warping under her grasp. "Did you know that a few states in the US have banned vibrators and sexual aides for women, while the sale of pornographic magazines for men is still legal?" Mulder asked, glancing around at the numerous limestone and brick buildings surrounding them. "Here, this way." As Mulder guided them, Scully sighed with frustration. "How did you figure out which building we're looking for?" She said, arms akimbo and eyebrow quirked. "Scully, not all men have trouble finding their way around," he answered coolly, holding the door open for her, "And, some of us aren't afraid to ask for directions." Scully just shook her head at his double entendre and entered. The suggestive conversation irritated her, making her want to shush him. Yet, as they talked, she found her pulse quicken, hoping he'd confess or contribute some personal experience he'd had. So many of her feelings for Mulder seemed like this—wrought with contradiction, exciting and infuriating at once. Showing emotion was considered a female quality, or more to the point, a female failing. She had always suppressed her feelings, unwilling to give anyone any room to judge her according to the old double standard. Stoicism was habit now, her defense. Mulder didn't really want to break through it, she mused, yet he couldn't seem to stop rattling her cage. Part of her wished he'd back off. But part of her wished he'd release her from the constraints. Department of Chemistry Curie Building Arête University, Ohio 10:44am. A professor and an aging university president met them at the main office of the chemistry department. Skinner had skimped on the details of the case, ordering them out on assignment as soon as he received the call for assistance. The faculty members spoke to the FBI agents as if they'd already been briefed on what happened. Both were in a hurry, and they kept the meeting concise. "I understand that these complaints are highly unusual, but when the local authorities said they don't have enough evidence to merit an investigation, we had no choice but to call your division. We're sitting on a major scandal here. Four professors, a secretary, and eight students are either up on charges, or have had complaints filed against them. I believe these cases are related." Dr. Stuart explained with a worried voice. Her long blonde hair was twisted up in a trendy clip, and she chewed the corner of her lip as she handed a file folder to Scully. "These people are suffering, and I think there's more to it than spring fever. I really want to help them." "We hope you can find the person responsible for these unfortunate occurrences. We'd like to get back to business around here. It's not good for the university to have things like this in the press without a resolution." Dr. Morton said in a rehearsed monotone. He extended his hand toward Mulder. Mulder eyed the university president for a few seconds before shaking his hand. "We'll do what we can, of course." "Very good," Morton said curtly, nodded and left the lab. "You'll have to excuse him. He's under a lot of pressure over this. I set up an office for you both to use near the lab. It's been vacant since last semester." Dr. Stuart showed them to the small office while she shrugged on a white lab coat. "Feel free to use anything in the labs, and to come and go as necessary. I have a class to teach, but I left a directory of phone numbers in case you need to contact me or any of the staff here." Mulder watched her walk away until she turned a corner, disappearing into the winding corridors. He couldn't guess her age, though he surmised she was older than she looked. Scully distracted him from his rumination by shoving the file at him, an admonishing glare in her eyes. "What?" He squeaked, acting innocent and insulted. "Start reading. There's a coffee pot in here, and I'm too tired to wade through the technicalities before I get a little caffeine in my system. Besides, I think you need a distraction." She walked over to the coffee maker and then turned to face him. "Did Dr. Morton strike you as odd?" Mulder sat at the lone desk and leaned back in the chair. "He seemed abrupt and stern, rude. I caught his evasion of you." He opened the file and spread the papers out in from of him. "I'm used to that. A lot of the men we've dealt with talk to you and ignore me," she admitted, hunting around for coffee cups. "Either they resent me or they don't know how to treat me, so they disregard me." Mulder slipped his glasses on and read the papers while Scully went out to fill the pot with water. She returned in minutes, and found Mulder staring out the window in thought. "Scully, I think we're in over our heads here. These complaints involve sexual harassment. Each of the alleged perpetrators claim that they have no idea why they acted the way they did. The professors could offer no explanation for their behavior and immediately issued formal apologies. Six of the eight students Dr. Stuart mentioned have withdrawn from their classes over this." "We're investigating an epidemic of sexual harassment cases? You have got to be kidding," Scully huffed, her back to him as she filled the coffee filter with grounds. She turned the machine on and walked up beside the desk, looking over the mess of documents. "Partially, but some of the cases involve what they're calling 'improper conduct,' such as publicly embarrassing co-workers or students by declaring romantic interest, crying or arguing with them. Dr. Stuart tested them to see if they'd been drugged, but the only thing she found was elevated hormone levels." He handed her several pages. "Nor-epinephrine, serotonin, dopamine, testosterone, and at least half a dozen others. The levels are off the scale. Levels this high don't occur naturally in the human body. The CDC has checked thoroughly for contaminants, contagions and chemicals, but they found nothing." Her puzzled expression intensified as she continued reading. "I don't think we're looking for any of those things, anyway. Skinner was right. This is definitely an X file." "So, what is it this time? A magic spell, I suppose. Eye of newt and hair of toad?" she said with derision. "Love potion number nine?" "I don't know yet. Would these elevated hormone levels cause a drastic change in behavior or personality?" He arose from the desk and walked toward the door. "It's possible. I've never seen anything like it before. I doubt anyone else has either. Before this, that is." She took a seat in the chair he just vacated. "Where are you going?" "I'm going to find the library. But first, I'm going to fetch you a coffee cup, boss." He winked, and was gone. After scheduling interviews with the professors over the phone, looking up contact information on the students and reading all the documents in the file, Scully poured herself another cup of coffee. Her shoulders and back ached, her temples pulsed with tension, and her mind buzzed with doubt. Science and medicine had been the basis of her ideology for as long as she could remember, but this case had her questioning if they hadn't been carried too far. Weren't love, lust, sexuality--and even the orgasm-- supposed to be intimately related to human interaction, the ties that bound people together? The idea of self-gratification and masturbation didn't bother her. The idea that love itself could be synthetically reproduced disturbed her terribly. She didn't want to believe it. It made the human condition seem trite somehow. Deep in thought and staring out the window at the sky, Scully was startled as Mulder bounded into the room. "Hey, Scully. I found some information that might prove useful. Some scientists are successfully isolating the hormones and chemicals in the human brain associated with sexuality and love. The folks at Hallmark are going to have to come up with a card for this." He put his hand over his heart and mocked a wistful, far away gaze. "How about this: 'I love you just because, my dear, my oxytocin levels are elevated.'" "Charming. I can't believe you actually turned to a scientific journal for research." "I didn't. It's in the latest issue of Romance Weekly." He tossed the magazine on the desk, and then set a few books down beside it. "They call it the 'love cocktail.'" "Oh, brother." "However, the article gives the scientists' names, so we can contact them for help." He said, helping himself to the remainder of the coffee. "So, what do you think so far?" "This is depressing, that's what I think," she sighed. "Let's get these interviews over with today." "Why depressing, Scully?" "Forget it, Mulder. Sometimes I get touchy when I have too much coffee," she said, only partially lying. "Really? I hadn't noticed," he retorted. "Let's get it on." Heartland Motel Arête, Ohio 8:39pm Exhausted, Mulder stood under the hot shower and let the spray pelt his sore muscles. He thought about the orgasm chip, wondering if it worked on men. He had tired of satisfying himself years ago and thought how nice it would be to just furrow your brow in concentration and come. Then he thought about the downside. How awful it would be to lose his self-control during lovemaking, even though the opportunities to do so were few and far between. Sorry buddy, he said to his penis, not worth it. His intuition told him that someone had indeed drugged the people at the university. The events were mainly centered on the biology and chemistry department. That made sense. But who, and how, and for what reason, he couldn't speculate. He couldn't to get into the mind of someone who would do such a thing. Not without more information. Also, something about this case was getting to Scully. Wanting to solve both mysteries, he dried himself off and dressed, determined to pick her brain. She didn't answer her door. He dialed her cell phone, and she answered. "Scully." "It's me. Where are you?" "I'm in the bar downstairs. I'll come up." "No, I'll come down. Be right there." Mulder found her outside on the patio with a glass of wine. Soft music played, and the warm wind blew sensually. It smelled like the lake nearby, damp and alive. The stars had just begun to shine, and he thought that she looked soft and beautiful in her simple black jacket and jeans. He looked around and noticed the businessmen staring at Scully and drinking from short bar glasses. He went to the bar and ordered a draft before joining her. "So, Scully. What's up?" He slid onto a metal chair and set his glass down on the tabletop. "I was wired and thought maybe a depressant might help me sleep," she said, indicating her wine. "That, and I felt like being outdoors. I didn't know Ohio weather could be so nice." "From what I hear, this is an anomaly," he joked and then took a long drink of his beer. "I'm wondering about the person or people who might have drugged those students and professors. I can't find a motive yet. I can't even conceive of one." "You forgot the secretary," Scully reminded him, and drank the rest of the wine in her glass. "Oh, right. You know, that's an idea. Why bother targeting a secretary?" "What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, her tone accusatory. "I only meant that it stands out. The perpetrator probably knew the students and professors. The secretary didn't have much contact with students or other faculty members, only the two professors she worked for. From what I read, she did research, kept track of appointments, typed. Maybe she wasn't a target. Maybe that was an accident." "I think you're way ahead of yourself. We don't even know that this is a drug. No traces were found, Mulder. Dr. Stuart was very thorough. She drew blood and administered tests on half of them while they were still exhibiting strange behavior." Scully stopped as the waitress approached. Ordering them another round, she continued. "Even if it is a material of some kind, we don't know how it's delivered into the body. It could be a gas, a liquid. But something that enters the body and leaves no trace, that seems impossible." "Then what do you think it is?" "Like you said, Mulder. It's an X file." She paid the waitress and tipped her well, dismissing Mulder's attempt to pay. "Maybe we're just not looking in the right place yet." "I just wanted to bounce some ideas back and forth. Get a jump on the case. I'm stumped, and I figured you could help me with the profile. You already have, actually." He looked at her, as she stared up at the darkening sky, flecked generously with stars. When she met his gaze, he looked away. "There's something bothering you, Scully. I really wish you'd talk to me about it." A warm sensation had come over her. Caution often made her resist sharing even the simplest of personal conversations with Mulder, especially those that involved romance. The case, the wine and her usual spring fever made the issues they were dealing with especially hard on her. She had come here tonight to enjoy herself, but found the warm weather and balmy air just made her isolation more apparent. Not wanting to tell him the truth—that she was genuinely lonely—she settled for the other matter on her mind. "I'm having a hard time facing the possibility that love is just a chemical reaction. These people thought they were madly in love with the people they harassed, but it was temporary, almost like being intoxicated. Maybe science and technology have overstepped their ethical boundaries." Her voice was low as she spoke. "I guess I want to believe that love isn't reducible to physical matter, that it's something--" her voice trailed off. "More sacred," he finished for her. A handful of seconds passed before he noticed her eyes watering. Watching her as she looked up and inhaled sharply, he recognized her attempt to prevent even one tear from falling. It was her way, but he always ached inside, witnessing it. A lump formed in his throat. He washed it down with a large gulp of imported pilsner. "Maybe I'm just reading too much into this." She shrugged and sipped her wine as the warm spring wind blew her hair across her face. Propping her elbow on the table, she raised her hand, pushed the strands away, then rested her chin on her palm. "First the chip thing from this morning, then I started thinking about all the drugs on the market that might relate to the case, like Viagra, for example. When I came in here, the waitress told me about a new soda they ordered for the bar. It's supposed to simulate romantic feelings." "I read about that. I seriously doubt the validity of it," he put in. "The point is the same. It's possible, isn't it?" she pushed. "Love might be nothing but chemical soup." "I don't know. Alcohol raises testosterone levels. Oregano, oysters, bee pollen, all sorts of things have been said to be aphrodisiacs. You mentioned earlier that coffee makes you irritable. These things affect the brain and even our disposition, but that doesn't mean that love is dependant on a chemical reaction." He finished his second beer and shifted in his seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Under the table, his foot nudged hers and she jumped. "Is that what you really think?" she asked in a near whisper. "I enjoy a good chemical reaction, personally," he chided, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows at her. "But, yeah, that's what I think. You don't have to agree with the current theory all the time. After all, they used to say the sun revolved around the earth." "You mean it doesn't? Well then I'm not paying off those student loans," she verbally parried. "Touché." He beamed at her, and she managed to smile in return. "Walk me home?" she asked. "Of course." As they approached the doors to their rooms, they each took one last look at the night sky. Mulder slipped his arm around Scully's petite shoulders. She felt the heat radiate from his skin, through his shirt, and savored his scent. She found herself thinking, if only I could meet someone who could make me feel half of what I feel standing beside Mulder. She wondered if they could make an antidote to love. Then she wondered if she'd take it. "G'night, Scully." He kissed the top of her head and pulled his room key from his pocket. "'Night, Mulder." She turned her key in the lock and pushed open the door. Stale air and darkness surrounded her. Flipping on the lights and turning the bed down, her mind wandered. She heard Mulder's TV switch on in the next room, and the faint, familiar sounds of pornographic moaning reverberated through the wall. Suddenly, she wished she'd had more to drink. Or less. Shedding her clothes, she found herself staring at the connecting door that divided the two of them. Pulling on her robe, she unlocked her side and nearly knocked. If she did, Mulder would open the door a crack to ask her what was wrong. Instead, she rested her head against the wood and listened to the sounds emanating from the room. Pictures formed, images of what might be happening on the other side of the door. Porn, she thought, was another substitute for love, or at least for lovemaking--for the touch and arousal and release that another person could give. It made her sad, more for herself than for him. It dawned on her that she was obsolete. No one needed her. The alternatives were easier, and readily available. Modernity made it easy for people to avoid needing people. Or so it seemed. Scully crawled into bed and left the light on, vowing to keep her eyes closed until she could fall asleep. Department of Chemistry Akrasia University 9:02am In the night, someone had entered a chemistry lab and erased some files from at least one computer. Dr. Stuart received a call from the night janitor, but didn't bother to wake Mulder and Scully. She explained that she had come in herself, and no one was around. The missing files would have gone unnoticed, except that the janitor suspected something was strange and startled a young woman. The suspicious woman had fled in a rush, leaving a disk in the drive. Dr. Stuart left the disk in the drive until Mulder and Scully arrived. They studied the its contents, which included spectral and chemical analyses of various organic compounds. Mulder told Dr. Stuart to re-copy the files carefully to the lab computer and her own, and then he bagged the disk for evidence. He could have the disk dusted for prints, but there was no point in doing the same in the lab. Too many people used it; there would be hundreds of prints on the equipment. He sensed that the suspect wasn't a career criminal, and wouldn't be in any of the databases anyway. Scully busied herself with Dr. Stuart, analyzing the data taken from the disk. Mulder excused himself, deciding to interview the secretary and then cross-reference the students that the four professors had in common. Hours later, Mulder found Scully with her head down on the desk. A notebook and pen rested beside her, along with some computer printouts. "Scully?" He woke her. "Sleeping on the job, eh?" "I'm worn out. I had to question several of the student victims by myself, Mulder. Where did you disappear to this time?" She smoothed her hair back into submission and rubbed her face groggily. "I had a lunch date." He let the words hang in the air until she frowned at him, and then continued. "I interviewed the secretary, Miss Southern. She was very helpful." "I'll bet," Scully retorted, rolling the kinks out of her neck. "The report didn't do the situation justice. What happened in that office ten days ago could best be described as an averted orgy. One minute she was typing at her desk, the next minute she the two professors were playing twister without a game board. They made quite a spectacle of themselves in front of a few students and some of the staff." Mulder wore an ornery grin as he spoke. "She still had a hickey on her neck, Scully--" "The point, Mulder?" His expression changed from sardonic to serious. "The point is that this woman has a fiancé, and is terrified that he'll leave her if he finds out what happened. One of the professors has a wife. The other professor is homosexual. There seems to be no reason those three people would want to do what they did with each other, let alone risk their jobs and reputations for a little on the job recreation. Someone or some thing had to have caused this." "The data we found just doesn't support that. The chemical analyses we found on that disk were nothing more than common, organic substances: ash, dust, and bits of dyed cotton. Some of the readings indicated what might be animal remains of some kind, possibly from a fish given the high sodium content." "Sounds like Vodoun." "Voodoo? Don't tell me that's what you're thinking." She warned him with a glare. "That's what I'm thinking. Could something in those remains elevate specific hormone levels?" "I don't see how. I won't know unless we can conduct some controlled experiments. I'll need to find out for sure what the substance is, though," she explained. "I might be able to help you on that. Get a detailed description of the woman from the janitor. Then compare it against any photos you can find for the names on this list." He handed her a piece of computer paper. "These are all the students the four professors had in common over the past four years." "I'll start with the most recent and stick to the females, for now," she said, looking over the list. "What are you going to do?" "That voodoo that I do so well," he deadpanned. "I think I might have an idea of the motive." Before she could ask him what that motive was, he was long gone, as usual. Scully headed for the department office, hoping the school was small enough to publish a university yearbook. Otherwise, it would be a very long night. Scully was able to find photographs of several of the young women on the list. A few were from microfilm archives of the school paper, some were in the social register, and staff members gave a few to her. When those resources were exhausted, she went to the records department to look up which high schools the others had attended. Five o'clock was nearing, and she offered to help the clerk search the records to expedite things. After an hour of sifting through dusty file cabinets and boxed files, she had the information. She hurried back to the office, grabbing a phone book from the chemistry department and getting their fax number from a student working there. By five, she had phoned all twelve of the high schools on her list, requesting the most recent yearbook photo of each student be faxed to her immediately. Leaving a note for Mulder on the desk, she walked down the hall to the chemistry office to wait for the incoming information. Mulder had a folder and two library books in his right hand and sipped coffee from a Styrofoam cup in the other. The office was dark and empty. He left, checking the main offices. "Hey, Scully. How's the photo hunt going?" "I don't think I'm going to get all the photos tonight. I'm still waiting for three of them, but I got all the rest here," she replied wearily. "What'd you dig up?" "Some books on Vodoun complete with recipes. And some really HOT gossip from the secretarial pool," he answered, mocking a teenage, valley-girl voice. "Read this." She looked at the documents. There were photocopies of reports filed against each of the four professors, alleging various charges: two for homophobic remarks made during a class, one for accusing a female co-worker of being "a bitch," and the last for making a very public, very derogatory comment on the mixing of races. The reports had all been filed during the previous school year. "Where did you manage to get these?" she asked, impressed. "After I convinced Miss Southern that I could help resolve this case much faster with her cooperation, we snuck into the president's office files and did some snooping. I, of course, provided the distraction while she worked her professional magic," he bragged. "It seems that our suspect was using sex as a weapon," she quipped. "You think she was trying to teach the victims a lesson about their limited ideas about love?" "It looks that way to me. I'm not sure if it qualifies as irony, but it's poetic justice. Except for Miss Southern. I still don't get the connection with her." "The motive for targeting the students will be next to impossible to figure out, too. At least you have a lead, though," she said, standing and stretching. "I wonder why some of the victims reacted with sexual arousal while others simply seemed upset." "Maybe it was a variation in whatever concoction the suspect mixed up. It might be a psychosexual reaction, though," he thought out loud. "How so?" Scully queried. "That's the question. The scenario we know for sure is the one involving the two professors and Miss Southern. What would make those unlikely three want to gang bang?" Scully frowned at his choice of words. "Hard to tell. Maybe they each went for the most unlikely partner possible," she offered. "Possibly. There's a chance that each of the three could have been attracted to one of the others all along, mathematically speaking," he explained. "Miss Southern to Dr. Elvin, Dr. Elvin to Dr. Goldberg, and Dr. Goldberg to Miss Southern. A sort of unrequited love triangle." Scully glanced at her watch as she listened to his explanation. "The night janitor ought to be here in an hour. We can show him the photographs and hope for a match." "In the mean time, I'm starving. Let's lock up this office and get out of here for a while." After not making a positive ID with the janitor's help, they had narrowed the suspect list down to the three names on the list without corresponding pictures. They decided to wait until morning to return to the chemistry office and check the fax machine, since they had secured the door themselves. Back at the motel, Scully left Mulder at the door to their rooms. Her back ached and a hot bath sounded like heaven. As she turned the knob and pressed the door open, she noticed a layer of dust covering the entrance. The motel was right by a highway, after all, she thought. Lots of airborne dirt. Mulder didn't feel like sleeping yet. He went to the small bar and ordered a beer, then took it and his books out to the table on the patio. He read about voodoo love potions, spells and practices. Ph.D.s had written both books, so he doubted how authentic the information would be. Especially since the practitioners of Vodoun would have been reluctant to share all their powers with strangers who wanted to publish the information. That, and the authors were obviously not believers in the validity of those powers; he could tell by their descriptions and commentary. He read on as he finished his beer, skimming the section on powders and liquid potions, two primary means of delivering the spells. Finally, he found a mention of grinding up the remains of a fish--rare in the waters of areas other than the Caribbean Sea, where they were fairly plentiful. The fish was the key ingredient in the well- known 'zombie dust,' which slowed a victim's vital signs down so severely that they appeared to be dead, only to awaken days later. His eyelids started to sag, and he decided to try to sleep. Picking up his books, he headed for his room. As he unlocked the door, he noticed a powder spread generously over the doorknob and surface. By then, it was too late. He had touched it. Instinctually, he wiped his hands on his slacks. Dropping the books on the floor, he went outside to check Scully's door. It was covered with the powder as well, her small handprints visible in the dusty mess. Frantic, he entered his room and locked the door behind him. He pounded on the adjoining door and called her name as he shed his slacks. Still yelling, he ran to the sink and washed his hands. "Open the door, Scully! Come on!" he hollered, grabbing his pajama bottoms off the bed. "Scully! Open the door!" "Mulder? You have to unlock your side," she yelled back. He finished pulling on the pants and unlatched the door. And he nearly went into full-blown shock. Scully stood inside her room wearing only a white bra and panties. There was a blush to her cheeks, and a barely perceptible sheen of perspiration covered her skin. If she felt any sense of embarrassment, she wasn't showing it. "It's hot in here," she said simply. "Scully, we've been targeted. That powder on doors of our rooms is our 'love potion.' We need to get a sample and wash that stuff off of you. I should call the police, call for backup. Get me a specimen container," he babbled, still staring at her body. She put on a robe leisurely and walked over to her suitcase, retrieving a compact evidence kit. Crossing the room, she held the kit just out of his reach. He stepped forward to take it, but she took a step backward. She smiled coyly as she taunted him. He took her by the arms firmly and looked her in the eyes. "Scully, stop. You're not yourself right now. You have to maintain control, okay?" "Maintain," she purred, laughing. "Right." "Give me the kit, Scully." "You're such a shit sometimes, Mulder," she playfully scolded, handing the kit over. "You don't know how to have fun, you know that?" Shaking off the unreality of the situation, he opened the kit and took two scrapings from each door, not bothering to put on the rubber gloves. He sealed the vials and put them into an evidence bag. Setting the bag and kit on the low wooden dresser, he rushed over to the sink to wash his hands again, just in case. Before he could turn around, Scully put her arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder. "You need to get the powder washed off of yourself," he said, dreading the fact that he'd probably have to drag her into the bathroom and wash her himself. He dreaded it because he knew he'd enjoy it, and soon he could lose control of his better judgment. Most Vodoun potions were known for quick absorption into the skin, and the immediate washing might not stop the effect. "I already took a bath, Mulder. Go check if you don't believe me." Her look challenged him. He flicked the light on in her bathroom and examined the tub. It was wet, as was her washcloth and towel. Satisfied, he walked back out and guided her to the bed. He could smell the bath soap on her skin. They sat down, and she scooted over so that their hips and legs touched. "Scully, I'm going to call the police and have our rooms guarded. I'm going to call Dr. Stuart and tell her to check on the faxes you were expecting and who to contact with them. Then, we're going to secure ourselves, right?" "Is that a metaphor?" she asked, lifting her face to look at him and laying a hand upon his knee. "I don't get it." Mulder left her sitting on the bed. He went to his room and made the calls, while Scully mumbled something about all work and no play. His mind was getting hazy. The air in the room did feel hot. He knew he had to act fast. 'I don't know how I'm going to get us out of this one,' he thought. Then he saw his handcuffs on his belt on the floor, and had an idea. He made sure his door was locked, and then secured his firearms in the nightstand drawer. He put his phone, the handcuffs and the TV remote on the bed. Next, he went into Scully's room to get her ready for the night. He noticed her standing by the mirror, staring critically at her reflection. Ignoring her for the moment, he retrieved her cuffs and keys, gun, and checked to ensure her door was locked. Bending at the waist to deposit her gun in the nightstand drawer, he felt a delicate hand come to rest on his back. His body jerked, and he spun around to face her. "Mulder? Can I ask you something?" she asked, her voice quiet and breathy. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. Her eyes were sad, introspective. As she reached up and put a hand on his bicep, he watched the front of her robe gape open. Blushing, he realized his grip on the cuffs was so tight that his palm hurt. "Sure, what?" he answered, trying to disregard his racing pulse. "Promise to be honest?" she asked, and he nodded. "What is it about me that men find unattractive?" Her head pitched to the side a few degrees, like a puppy might when it's puzzled. "Is my looks or my personality?" "Scully, nothing--" "No, I mean it. I want to know, and I don't trust anyone else to tell me the truth." Her voice was soft, innocent. "Why am I unattractive to you?" He realized that she was under the influence of the potion, but her questions seemed to him to be directed and sincere. He needed to rush, to make sure they were safe for the night. Safe from the suspect—who obviously knew they were staying here—and safe from each other. If they made love tonight, he knew, it could shatter the trust they shared, wreak havoc on their partnership, and any hope they had of retaining their relationship as it was. The fact was he loved her too much to walk away from her just then. She was upset, and he wanted to help her. "Scully, there isn't a thing about you that I find unattractive." He grasped her upper arm lightly and guided her to sit down on the bed. Sitting beside her, he turned and crossed his legs at the knee, facing her. He didn't want her to notice how aroused he was becoming. She exhaled a breath, and the forming perspiration on his chest tingled as the air passed over it. He lowered his head as she untied her robe, letting it slide down her arms and pool around her on the bed. "Sometimes when we're in motels, I sit on the bed and listen to you while you watch those movies, and I wonder. I wonder what you look like, when you… What kind of lover you'd be… If you ever wonder those things about me. I care about you too much to tell you, and I care about you too much to stop wondering." She lay back on the bed, continuing. "I'm glad this is just a dream, or I'd be really embarrassed right now." "How do you know this is a dream?" he asked, and he looked at her in spite of himself. She smiled and started to laugh, then reached her arm out and hit him lightly, a joking motion. Mulder memorized the way her smile looked, the indentation of her waist, the hourglass of her body. "This feels like a dream. I never feel this good when I'm awake." She sat up energetically. "I'd never talk to you about this if I was awake. Never. This is most coherent dream I've ever had." His mind started to make the connection between Scully's behavior and the other victims of the potion. They must have thought they were having an erotic dream, felt the lust, and took action without fear of the repercussions. Scully, on the other hand, had been used to suppressing her feelings for so long that introspection and fantasy must be her natural reaction, even in a dream state. Mulder laughed, and took her hand. "I think I have it figured out, Scully," he said excitedly. "This explains why the victims behaved the way they did, and why each reacted differently." "God, Mulder, even in my dreams you act the same," she observed, and tugged sharply on his hand. His balance was thrown off, and he barely got his arms braced enough to keep from landing too hard on top of her. Their faces were an inch apart, and she stared up into his eyes again, a thing she often did but rarely with such unveiled intensity. He had longed to see that look on her face, but somehow he felt different about it than he thought he would. There was more to it that he couldn't quite find a word for, more than the simple desire to escape conscious thought and bury himself inside of her repeatedly. He leaned in closer to her, bringing his to her cheek, brushing fingertips over her lips. She ran her hands up his waist to his chest, over his nipples, his shoulders, and then tangled her fingers in his thick, unruly hair. Without hesitation, she guided him down onto her, and kissed him softly. They wound their arms round each other, kissing more and more frantically. She moved under his body, her leg snaking over his hip, pressing her groin against his in slow circles. Mulder heard his pulse thundering in his ears, the rapidness making his extremities throb in time with his heartbeat. He started to move in time with that rhythm, grinding his erection against her so firmly that he could feel the seam of her underwear through his pajamas. "Off," she ordered, and brought her hand down, tugging at the drawstring at his waist. He lifted his body and her fingers tickled his stomach, in search of the knot. Impatiently, she flattened her palm to his belly and slipped under the cotton fabric. Her knuckles brushed against him. "Can't believe you didn't see how attracted I am to you. How could you not notice?" he murmured, lips roaming to her neck. He put pressure on her hand, and she wrapped it around his shaft, her thumb grazing the tip. Scully took her other hand out of his hair and brought it to his arm, which he'd pushed under her back to hold her. He moved it at her insistence, and she snatched his hand, pushing it to her breast. He curled his fingers over the cup of her bra, finding her nipple and massaging it. He lifted his head to look at her, and hoped that he'd never forget how her face looked at that moment. They shared a slight smile of acknowledgement, and he recaptured her mouth in a turbulent kiss. He hoped he'd never, ever wake up from this dream. "Love you, Mulder," she managed to groan into his mouth. Suddenly, grabbing her cuffs off the nightstand in one swift motion, Mulder handcuffed her left wrist to the bedpost. "What are you doing?" she gasped. The passionate expression on her face melted into one of trepidation. "I love you, too, Scully. You might not understand why I have to do this right now, but you will in the morning. Just trust me. Do you trust me?" he pleaded with her with his words, his expression. "Yes," she answered, unconvincingly. "If anyone tries to break into this room, take your gun out of this drawer and fire on them. Scully, this isn't a dream. This is real. I'll be right next-door. Do you understand?" he asked. She nodded, her mouth open in alarm. He grabbed her cell phone and the television remote and laid them beside her on the bed. With the last of his power, he leaned over her and touched her chin. Then he took her cuff keys from the nightstand and fled from the room before he could change his mind again. He bounded onto his bed and cuffed himself to the bedpost, then tossed both sets of keys toward the bathroom, well out of his reach. Beside him on the bed his phone rang. He reached over and hit the talk button. "Yeah?" he answered, breathing heavily. "Mulder?" Scully said in a quivering voice. "What just happened?" "Nothing. But it almost did. It's okay, Scully. Just watch out for our suspect. She hasn't resorted to violence yet, but she knows where we are. I bet she's getting out of town right now, but I don't want to bet our lives on it." he panted, struggling to keep a soothing tone to his voice. "We're both under the influence of the spell." "Mulder, uncuff me. I don't like this. I feel trapped." "Scully, I don't think either of us is in complete control right now. I was in your room, thinking about how to protect us, and completely lost my sense of reality. If we can get to each other, it'll happen again," he explained. "I don't want you to regret making love to me, do you understand?" "Why did you say it like that? That you 'don't want me to regret making love' to you?" she questioned. "Oh, Scully. How can someone so good-looking and intelligent be so utterly clueless?" he sighed. "I better hang up before I say something else I'll regret." "Something rude, or something suggestive?" "You know, you get awfully inquisitive when you're aroused. I'll have to remember that." He smirked as he spoke, and put the cell phone between his raised, cuffed arm and his ear so he could recline on the bed. "To answer your question, I'm concerned that when the spell wears off you'll be very offended with the thoughts I'm having about you right now. Do you remember what you said to me a few minutes ago?" "Vaguely. I feel like I'm dreaming. I keep fading in and out. This is overwhelming," she said. "I seem to remember saying that I love you, and then you cuffed me to the bed." "If you should wake up and feel taken advantage of in any way, how could we recover that love?" "How can you stay so clear-headed?" she gasped. "I didn't absorb as much into my skin as you did. But I'm definitely feeling the effects," he explained, running his free hand over the persistent bulge in his pajama bottoms. "I'm so, so frustrated." "Frustrated?" "You know, Mulder, sexually frustrated." "Why do you think I cuffed your left arm? You are right handed." He could her laugh as he said it. "And, I put the remote control on the bed for you. There's some interesting programming on channel fourteen." "Mulder?" "Yes?" "Turn on your TV, to channel fourteen. Okay?" she asked. He hit the on button and the screen flickered on. He turned the volume down. "It's on, Scully. Now what?" "You'll figure it out," she said. He heard her jostling the phone, and remembered what she said to him earlier about sitting on her bed in the next room, listening to him as he watched porn flicks. He grinned. "Scully, you still there?" "Sort of," she breathed. "What are you doing?" He could barely keep from tremor from his voice. "How can someone so good-looking and intelligent be so utterly clueless?" she echoed his own words back to him in a sexy drawl, and disconnected the call. He muted the television and listened intently. He heard her sigh, then a faint staccato of rustling fabric. She must still be wearing her underwear, he decided. "Mulder," she said sternly. "Volume." He disengaged the mute button, and the on-screen couple's moaning filled the room. He couldn't stand it, and yanked hard at the handcuff around his wrist. Pulling himself into a sitting position, he shook the headboard, and then tried to pull the slat of wood loose so he could get free. It didn't budge, and he realized the wood was too thick and too close to the wall to break. Defeated, he lay back down and loosened the drawstring around his waist, yanking the clothing down. Closing his eyes, he pictured what Scully looked like tonight as she touched herself in the next room. Biting his lip, he imagined the gripping friction of his hand was her surrounding him, writhing on him. Over and over he stroked, his mind conjuring the curve of her breasts swaying above him. His face tightened in a grimace of pleasure, his chest rising and falling. He moaned, knowing she could hear him, knowing in that way at least, he was touching her, and came hard. He realized that in the rush earlier, he forgot to bring a towel out from the bathroom. Looking around, he saw his white shirt on the floor. With his foot, he reached the garment and pulled it onto the bed. Wiping himself off, he also realized that his bladder was dangerously full. He searched for a solution to that problem and spied a plastic wastebasket beside the bed. It was going to be a long, long night. Scully awoke with a headache and what felt very much like fur on her tongue. Sunlight forced its way in through the miniscule gaps in the garish green and orange curtains. Her left arm was numb from hanging by the handcuffs locked on the headboard. Wiggling her way into an upright position, memories of the night before flooded back to her as she looked down at her state of undress. She brought her right hand up to rub her eyes, noticed it felt stiff and sticky, and thought better of it. Turning to the headboard of the bed, she saw how futile it would be to try to free herself. "Mulder," she called out in the direction of the open connecting door. No answer. She called to him louder, but got no response. Picking up her phone, she hit the speed dial and heard Mulder's phone ring in the next room. "Mulder," he answered, blearily. "Are you planning on taking these handcuffs off of me anytime soon?" "Yeah, about that. You might want to cover up. I'm going to have to call the front desk." "Why?" "Because I had to toss the keys across the room last night, so I couldn't get to them." "Great. Just great." "You want to hear the best part? I'm going to have to convince them to wash the voodoo love potion off of the door before coming inside to retrieve the handcuff keys for two half-naked FBI agents who are cuffed to their beds, who also spent ten dollars on the Spice Channel last night. Now, would you prefer to make the call, or cover back up and try to get another hour of sleep?" "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "Try to hurry." "I'll be over as soon as the crippling embarrassment wears off." He disconnected the call. She heard him pick up the motel phone and try to convince the clerk that he wasn't a prank caller. She covered up and lay back, calling the events of the previous night back into her mind. Memories of his body on hers made her blush, even though he couldn't possibly know what she was thinking about. He'd looked absolutely adorable, wearing only a pair of blue flannel pajama bottoms, his muscular upper-body exposed. The look on his face as he entered her room was of panic and concern, and she remembered how much that turned her on. She could clearly recall their kissing, his hungry look, and the feel of his lips on her neck. His scent still clung to her skin. Then she remembered the things he'd said to her, the way he somehow managed to act noble despite everything, and she felt like crying. She wanted him to hold her, wanted him to tell her they would get past this thing that they experienced, but feared that it would be awkward, or worse. She put it out of her mind, returning to her recollections. She had touched him, had run her hand across his tight stomach until her fingers reached the base of his erection. She had held his flesh in her hand, and he had pushed, enjoying the feeling. It was so clear, and she knew she would never, ever forget the strokes, kisses, moans, looks, or sensations. His arms had wound around her, and she held on to that memory as she drifted back to sleep. "Hey, Scully, wake up," he said gently. She could feel him sit on the edge of her bed. His hand gripped hers as he unlocked her from the cuffs. She opened her eyes, and he smiled at her as he held her hand and rubbed the sore, red skin of her wrist. "Dr. Stuart and the local police were able to convince the Cincinnati field office to put out an APB on the three women left on the list. One of the names popped up when they checked the airport passenger lists. Seems our woman decided to fly south of the border. They picked her up about three hours ago. Her apartment had a makeshift lab in the spare bedroom. They found several obscure species of dried fish in her pantry, and I'll bet she wasn't planning on using them for cooking." "That evidence is pretty circumstantial. How are we going to prove she was the one, other than running an analysis of the powder?" "We might be able to lift prints off the computer disk. That, and in addition the library of books on Vodoun they found, they also discovered that three men from the floor above her in her building, roommates in fact, had an experience similar to the ones at the university. Well, we know how that goes." 'We sure do,' Scully thought as she pulled her wrist away from him. She avoided his gaze, and then covered her face with her hands. His first instinct was to cut through the tension that had suddenly overtaken them. "I've had many humiliating experiences in my lifetime, but that one this morning gets the gold medal. If I hadn't had to explain to the motel owner why I used his wastebasket as a chamber pot, it might have merely rated a bronze," he smirked. "Are you all right?" "I'm fine. Can you hand me my robe?" she asked, feeling the need to use the bathroom, as well as flee the room. He picked it up off the floor, and then stood up, turning his back so she could put it on. "Dr. Morton called. He wants an explanation. We also have to contact the FBI office in Cincinnati, to explain to them why they should hold our suspect for arraignment. I'm going to grab a shower," he said with his back to her, and then left the room. Scully tried to gauge the damage their partnership had sustained, but forced herself to get ready. They would have to deal with it when they had time. If the time ever came. Mulder and Scully talked to Dr. Morton and Dr. Stuart, explaining what they felt had happened. Dr. Morton was angry, both at the fact that Mulder had obtained confidential personnel files, and that he suggested that the motive for the events had been in retaliation against sexism, racism, and homophobia. When Mulder told them his theory that voodoo rites were the cause of the aberrant behavior on campus, Dr. Morton became enraged. Scully tried to intervene, and told him that the suspect used an chemical to drug the victims, which was difficult to detect in the human body, imitating the Vodoun system of delivery. It didn't work, and he exploded at them verbally. "How am I supposed to release this to the public? The explanation is worse than the mystery! And, since when did the FBI justify closing a case by blaming hocus-pocus for the crimes?" he spat, his square face red and twisted up into a scowl. "Right about the same time as the intellectual community started to forget it's ethics, apparently. You don't have the right to dismiss the rituals and practices of another culture just because it's not a part of your own. Seems to me you're at least indirectly to blame for all of this, because you never took any of the complaints against those professors seriously," Mulder shouted back. "Did you avoid disciplinary action against the tenured faculty to avoid negative press coverage for the university, Dr. Morton?" Scully asked him pointedly. "I intend to keep this institution reputable and functional," he shouted back at Mulder. "And I also intend to file a complaint against you with your immediate superior at the FBI." "I'm sure he'll give that complaint the same attention you gave to yours," Mulder returned boldly. Dr. Morton spun on his heels and retreated down the elegant, arched hallway, his footfalls heavy. "I envy you, Agent Mulder," Dr. Stuart laughed, as she walked with them down the corridor toward the tall, ornamented main doors. "Why's that?" "Because I've wanted to knock Dr. Morton down a few pegs for years," she confessed. "I'd like to be involved in the research on that powder you took samples of. It's a good thing you knew what to look for, or you could have ended up in a sticky situation yourselves." She turned to escort them to the exit. Scully shot a warning glance at Mulder, cautioning him against making any of his characteristic smart remarks. He shrugged at her and mouthed silently, "Who? Me?" They thanked Dr. Stuart for her help and promised to send her information on the samples. "Well, that went well," Scully remarked sarcastically. She wanted to thank him for omitting the details of what occurred last night, but she was afraid to acknowledge it. And, she wanted to allow Mulder to ignore it if he chose to, as well. "I'm thinking they ought to officially change the title 'president' to the Yiddish word 'schmuck.' It has an appropriate, powerful ring to it," he said flippantly. "Can I ask you something?" she asked. "That depends. Are you turned on?" he teased. "No," she fired back, a hot blush covering her face as she caught his reference to last night's conversation. "Well, I guess you can ask me anyway," Mulder returned evenly. "After what you said to Dr. Morton, in defense of the practitioners of Voudoun, I'm wondering what made you empathetic? Was there a specific event that caused it, or was it a result of your training in psychology?" "Actually, I think it started with Star Trek, if you want the absolute truth. Science fiction is full of references to empathy. How about you?" he asked as they approached the parking garage. Scully held the door for Mulder, and he passed her, pushing the button for the elevator. She considered the question, trying to isolate the fist time she had put herself in the metaphorical shoes of another. "I guess it happened in kindergarten. Some of the kids in my class used racial slurs to taunt a girl named Shauna. They used to tease me for having red hair, and I realized how awful it was, how wrong, to be attacked by a group for being different." "I wonder what experience pushed the suspect over the edge. I intended to ask Dr. Stuart what she knew about her, but after that exchange, I just wanted to get out of that place," he explained. "Well, we can contact her about it before we file our official reports. Oh, God. What are we going to put in our reports?" she asked him. She immediately regretted the question, because they had a thirty-minute drive to Cincinnati and she dreaded how awkward the ride would be. Mulder unlocked the car and waited until they were on the road before he responded. "I think it would be a good idea if we keep the details to ourselves, but we do need to report that the suspect targeted us. It needs to be on the record that she drugged two federal agents, because that will give added weight to the case against her. We could tell them about handcuffing ourselves to our beds to prevent, well, to prevent--" he fumbled for the right words. "The effects of the substance?" she offered. "Well put. Yes, that'll work. I think I'll let you do the talking, if you don't mind." "I don't mind." "Are you ready to discuss what happened last night?" he asked, stealing a sideways glance from the road to look at her. She looked at him, and then down at her black pumps. She remembered being almost aggressive with him, making the first move. It seemed wrong to be the one to shy away from the situation now. But she needed time to think about what she would say, how to react to what he might or might not say. She wanted to be prepared. "I'd rather let it alone for now, if you don't mind," she replied modestly. He didn't say anything, instead concentrated his attention on the road ahead. Inside, he felt like a bridge had been burned. While Scully wrapped up matters with the local feds regarding the suspect's arraignment, Mulder headed for a pay phone to arrange their return flight to DC. Since it was a Friday, the flights were booked solid, except for one overnight and another leaving Sunday at 10:30am. He thought about it, and decided to book them on the latter of the two. They hadn't had time to question the suspect yet, and he decided if Scully was stuck with him for one more night, she might open up and talk to him. He feared that once she got home, she would close herself off from him and try to maintain the status quo. Keeping them here another night might be the only way to resolve what happened. He was ready for the worst, but hoped for the best. He just wished he knew beyond a doubt which outcome that would be. Scully didn't react to the news that they would have to spend the night in Cincinnati. Motionless except for the jostling from potholes along the highway, she sat in the passenger seat and stared out the window. Mulder steered them into a motel parking lot, choosing one near the airport. There was a franchise of auto rentals at the terminal, so they could return the car and get out of Ohio in one efficient trip. Longing for her to speak to him, he hoped that the precautions he had taken in case things went badly wouldn't be necessary. As he approached the motel office to rent their rooms, Mulder noticed a billboard across the street. It read "Ohio! The heart of it all!" He wanted to empty his clip into it. Scully stared at the fast-food restaurant next door. Out front, she watched as couples herded their children on and off the small playground. Children swung from equipment shaped like French fries and climbed a hamburger shaped jungle gym. She wanted to go home and draw the blinds; she wanted to run before Mulder could come back. She didn't want to face him after what happened, realizing her feelings for him had become a little too real. For most of her life, she pictured getting married and having a family. Now, she couldn't even picture what the next day would bring. If the universe was trying to send her a message about love, which seemed like a safe bet after the events of the past few days, she was not able to decipher it. Love, sex, the body and the human will were all vulnerable to deception, whether it came in the form of lies, pills, chemicals, or potions. She wondered if the very substances in the body that triggered human emotion weren't a part of the problem as well. She had always cared strongly about Mulder, and now those feelings had been given an opportunity to overpower her conscious efforts to control them. Now, the truth was there, demanding her attention. To make the right decision about what to do next, she needed to know whether she could trust those feelings. Mulder had proved to her that love was much more than just a chemical reaction, a place in the brain, or a desire to be gratified. The problem was another paradox. Precisely because he had cared enough about her to overcome impossible temptation, she now wanted him to succumb to it even more. She wondered if the same paradox was true for herself in reverse, if the temptation to keep him at a safe distance to preserve their relationship was the thing she must overcome to keep them together. The internal struggle to understand this, to solve the philosophical puzzle, was tearing her apart. "Hey, Scully, do you want to get some dinner? We haven't eaten since—" "I need to talk to the suspect, Mulder. Take me back to the jail," she insisted. "Why? It's getting late, and we aren't supposed to question her until she's spoken to her lawyer," he reasoned. "Please. This is important to me. There's something I need to know before I can let this go." "If you don't mind me asking, what do you think you can learn by talking to a woman who terrorized people by playing with their minds and emotions?" he asked, looking at her, puzzled. "It's complicated, Mulder. It's about, uh, paradoxes," she answered. Cryptic, as usual, he thought, and started the engine. If she'd rather discuss her personal problems with a criminal, that was just fine with him. Except that it wasn't. Scully was a mystery to him at times, but like most of the unexplained phenomena he investigated, he had a good theory. She was upset, he thought, and was looking for some missing scrap of logic, an answer to a question that she felt was inappropriate to ask him. What pissed him off was that, this time, she should be asking him. Lines had been crossed, and the only way to redraw them, to give their lives order again, would be to go ahead cross a few more lines. But he knew why she needed her boundaries. She just didn't need them with him, and it hurt him that after all they'd been through in the past day, let alone the years they'd spent as partners, she still didn't know that. He sped along the highway, figuring that she had followed him on his wild goose chases. The least he could do was indulge her. He was also curious about the case and the origin of the mysterious substance, but he didn't want to jeopardize a possible conviction simply to get a few questions answered. The suspect sat in the interrogation room, which had been Adorned sparsely with light gray walls and a dark gray table and chairs. She was nearly as dull as the room, her dishwater blond hair pulled back from her pallid face. "So, Miss Bacchus, have you contacted your lawyer?" Scully asked. "I already confessed. No point in dragging this thing out any longer than necessary," she said with contempt. "Are you going to cooperate and tell us what's in the compound?" Mulder pressed. "The main ingredient is the dried remains of a fish specific to the south Mediterranean. It seems to have a mission, as do I. The small fish only breed in large quantities during periods of marked upset in the food chain. It seems to know, somehow, where the ecosystem needs help. Procreation and migration occur rapidly. They then become food for the aquatic life, and some scientists realized that the endangered populations also began to rapidly reproduce after ingestion. These fish seem to target and heal the ecosystems of waters where pollution causes imbalance in the food chain. Naturally, I thought this fish might affect people in the same way," she explained wearily, as if they couldn't possibly understand her anyway. "Why would you want to use this find to drug these people? How could you know that the substance wouldn't poison them?" Scully argued rather than asked. "Local people on the islands have used the fish for medicinal purposes for years. The medical community shuns so-called 'witch doctors' and 'potions,' whether or not the practices and substances work. I heard about the fish and did some research on its use in human subjects. I thought the substance could be modified to induce love in all its forms. Just think of what the world might be like if this substance could be introduced into the freshwater supplies. People might stop fighting and start healing the earth. An epidemic of peace. Never has there existed a more noble pursuit," the young woman explained, her expression serious and candid. "I tried to modify the substance to create a reaction that might give them insight into the feelings they despised in others." "Don't you realize that drugging people is wrong? Even if this scheme worked, even if you found people to help you, all this business about love and peace and working together would be based on an act of power and aggression," Mulder huffed, his face reddened in exasperation. "Are you telling me that the end wouldn't justify the means? That's an old argument, and not very valid considering everything that's been forced upon the people of this world. Slavery, industrialization, technology, all these things were more or less introduced into the world without regard for how they would affect populations." She stood, pacing and gesturing with her hands. "And I have found people to help me. They will carry on this work whether or not you can get me convicted. How will anyone ever really know if what they feel for others is due to my colleagues' efforts? They won't. And what does it matter as long as everyone gets along?" "So the best way to fight things you disagree with is to mimic them? You intend to end war and hate with an act of aggression?" Mulder returned with disdain. "That's Timothy McVeigh logic. It's contradictory, not to mention sick." "Why didn't you just report your findings? This could be a great asset to medical science. If you just gathered up all these animals, you could have destabilized the population," Scully spoke up. "By its nature, it should reproduce itself. If not, I think the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," Miss Bacchus answered, sitting down and crossing her arms over her chest. "Do you know anything about long-term effects of this substance on the human body? Many mood-altering drugs eventually create a hormone imbalance, a flattening of effect. CHB, Ecstasy, and other drugs end up preventing the very feelings they were meant to enhance. Did you stop and think that you might be sabotaging love in the long run?" Scully reasoned, staring at the young woman seated at the table across from her. "Look, I'm talking revolution here. You don't have to agree with me. If you were smart, you'd let me out to continue my work." She seemed pleased with this analysis, smiling and defiant. "Seems to me that people only change when you give them ideas, when you appeal to their minds. All you would have accomplished would be a temporary fix. You might want to read some philosophy while you're in jail. Start with ethics." Mulder suggested curtly, then opened the door and stalked away. Scully got up to follow him, but turned and asked one last question. "Do you think about love differently now that you think you have control over it?" "I think love is a choice you make. But too few people realize that they can choose to love, to hate, or to be indifferent to the feelings of others. People go with their first inclinations rather than making the conscious decision to be open to love. I wanted to provide that first inclination," she explained. "Otherwise, people may never see the truth, that we can control how we feel, that we should. And we should be open to love in its various forms instead of suppressing it, hating others, starting wars. I guess I was making that choice for people. But, I still believe it can save the world." "Maybe we should be more concerned with helping those around us. Then the world will follow. Seems to me when people try to act globally, they become corrupt," Scully said and left the woman to work through her thoughts. Scully thought she had a new perspective on things. She had been fighting for the truth, for justice, but hadn't been truthful or just with herself or Mulder. Another paradox. She wondered at this. Maybe she was wrong to continue dodging the issue, maintaining this façade of detachment. As she approached, where Mulder stood talking with a police officer, she decided to finally discuss this with him if he brought it up again. But, she still had no idea what she ought to say, how much to admit and how much to keep inside. Or maybe all this discussion, all this rumination was the problem itself. Of course one should think before they act, but at what point should the introspection stop and the living begin? She wondered. She wanted a drink, or two, or ten. "Did you get what you came for?" Mulder asked, sarcasm in his voice. "I guess we'll see," she answered, her expression somber. She turned away and walked toward the exit. Mulder saw the look on her face and felt immediately contrite, like he'd just unintentionally rubbed salt in an open wound. He followed her out. The drive back to the motel was quiet. Both had felt awkward and nervous for most of the day, but now it was overwhelming. The physical intimacy barrier that they had crossed could easily be explained away, but the sentiments expressed, in word and deed, couldn't be. Mulder felt less angry at Scully's aloofness, as the idea of discussing his feelings began to scare him. They had discussed empathy earlier, and he thought about it again; he realized he hadn't been considering her feelings. It wasn't easy for her to deal with emotions, and expressing them in a male dominated field was often dangerous. They were partners who had crossed a line. He wanted to help, to understand what she was feeling, but she wouldn't open up. Perhaps that was the best decision—leaving it alone. His chest felt like it contained the contents of a hundred years of restrained emotions, lost chances and impotent desire. The dam was about to burst, and he wanted to be alone when it did. He wanted a drink. Or perhaps a bottle. Mulder pulled up to their motel, but didn't park, letting the car idle by her room. "I'm going to find a store. Do you need anything?" he asked in a monotone. "Booze," she answered, only half joking. "I'll be back." She got out and went inside, deciding to take a hot shower and to stop thinking for the night. After she used up all the hot water, she dressed in a pair of white oversized pajamas and lay on the bed. Mulder knocked on the door, and she got up to answer it reluctantly. "Here, you only get half," he said, handing her a six-pack of coke and a bottle of scotch from a paper bag. He knew she couldn't drink half, but it sounded fair. "Thanks," she said, taking the bottle and looking around for something to hold her share of the scotch. She rinsed out an ice bucket and poured in a generous portion. Then she emptied the cans into it and poured some of the mixture into a plastic cup. "Have one?" she offered. "Nope." He felt edgy, but figured that a drink or two might help. The tension between them all day had taken its toll, and he felt drained. But sharing a drink seemed symbolic of the end of that. He'd have preferred actual closure and resolution, but symbolism would suffice--it always had to before. He walked over to Scully's bucket of booze and, with a lop-sided smirk, emptied more scotch into it. "Now I'll have one." She laughed, handing him a plastic cup. He shook his head at the cup and, carrying the bucket to a chair, sat down and drank. This launched her into hysterical laughter, and after a few seconds, he thought it was pretty funny himself. Scully sat on the bed, wiping tears from her eyes and trying to breathe. "We are so pathetic." "I'm pathetic. You're just repressed," he chided, taking a cup and filling it up. He drank heartily. "That's my professional opinion." She drained her glass, finally able to after the giggling abated. Tossing him her empty cup, she said, "Another one of those, and that'll change." Mulder got up and offered her the bucket exaggeratedly. She swatted his arm, and started howling again. "C'mon, Scully. You're seriously repressed!" he mock- defended himself. "Yes, I am." She got up, retrieved her cup, and proceeded to dunk it into the bucket. In the process, her hand contacted his. Instead of pulling away, she simply tapped the bucket with her cup. "Let's make a toast to repression and pathos." "And bathos, the anti-climax." He grinned. "We know all about that one." "And to love, in all its forms." She swallowed a third of her drink. Mulder drank again. His buzz had already started, and he felt more relaxed already. He sat down on the bed, and Scully sat down on the other side, turning to face him. He wanted to ask her what meaning she got out of the conversation with the suspect, but caught himself. They finally seemed to be comfortable around each other since the morning, and he didn't want the tension to return. "So. Tell me something," he said. "What?" "I dunno. Something. Just think of something." He sipped at his drink and leaned back onto the bed, resting his head on his arm. He looked at her, but didn't stare. When she made eye contact with him, he broke it, shifting his gaze down to his hand and the plastic cup. The carbonated cola made popping sounds even with scotch in it, he noticed in the silence. "Hmm. Let's see." She considered, draining her cup. He reached over and refilled it for her. "Well, I think I've made some peace with the issues I had about this case," she began. "I think the idea that love is a physical, chemical thing scared me." She stopped, stared at something on the ceiling, then drank from her glass. "It doesn't scare you now, or did you decide love isn't a physical thing?" he inquired. "Sorry, I was thinking about getting one of those chips you mentioned the other day. What did you say?" she teased. He raised an eyebrow and smiled. They sat quiet for a minute before she continued. "I realized that I had a lot of misconceptions about love, that I'd never really thought about the subject before. Now I think I've ignored or repressed," she grinned at him, "a lot of what love is. It may be a physical manifestation, but it's not reducible to that. It seemed so at the start of the case, but not anymore." "What changed your mind?" "You did," she said. "If it was just a bodily function or an impulse, things would have turned out much differently. I guess you proved to me that love actually involves choices and free will rather than just a feeling and a chemical reaction." "Hey, don't knock chemical reactions," he joked, holding up his cup of scotch and cola. "And from what I remember, some of the higher bodily functions can be pretty fun, too." "So, tell me something." She pulled her legs onto the bed and sat cross-legged, facing him. She felt relaxed, almost daring, and she didn't think it was the alcohol. Talking to Mulder was easy. He made it easy, usually. She was the one who made it difficult most of the time, she reflected. "What do you want to know?" he asked, refilling his cup again. "I dunno, just tell me something. Whatever comes into your mind." He thought about this and continued to drink. He was feeling a decent high from the alcohol, and grinned as he decided whether or not to make a lewd comment. "Well, let's see. I'd like to check into the old FBI investigation surrounding the song 'Louie, Louie.' I think there's a hidden message in the lyrics. Maybe that'll be our next case. I've decided the orgasm chip is a really bad idea for me personally, but has some valid practical application for people, with spinal cord injuries, for example. I think that love is like consciousness; it defies explanation, but it exists. And I think it will always exist, no matter what happens." He made eye contact with her. "No matter what happens, huh?" she said, suddenly serious. "Absolutely," he said, making and maintaining eye contact until she looked away nervously. "So, if something were to actually happen, or nothing were to happen, it would go on?" She ventured, staring down at her knees. "As long as you don't start singing that Celine Dion song, yes," he teased, then patted her knee. "Always." "I believe you." "I'll drink to that." "You'll drink to anything." "Cheers." He grinned, and sat up. "Well, I should let you get some rest." "No, stay. I'm not tired," she said, extending her cup toward him for refilling. "You know, that's the closest thing to a proposition I've had in years." He filled her cup with the last of their concoction and let the empty ice bucket fall onto the floor. "That's the closest thing to a proposition that I'm brave enough to offer," she returned, watching his reaction. He stared at the polyester bedspread and considered that remark. Then he downed what was left of his drink. Turning to face her, he said, "You better finish that right now." "Why?" she asked smiling. He stood up and walked over to her side of the bed. "Because I'm going to take it away from you." "Oh, no you don't. Go make more for yourself." He grabbed her wrist, spilling a bit of the drink. She seized the cup with her free hand and took a gulp. They were breathing heavily and laughing again, and she found it hard to swallow. "Better be careful, or you'll have to sleep in the wet spot," he said with a mischievous grin. "Chivalry is dead," she declared, and released the drink to him. He downed the rest. "Chivalry isn't dead, it's just confused." With that, he finally made his move. She didn't want to do it, couldn't, he realized. She would never give up that composure. It was how she survived. It was her armor. He sat beside her and took her face in his hands. They looked at each other for a few seconds, hearing only each other's breathing. He leaned down and kissed her, only breaking eye contact at the second their lips touched. He pushed her backwards onto the bed gently, but with determination. She yielded. Of course she loved him, but she needed this to be his decision. It's not that she was weak, but that she was too strong to make a decision based solely on feelings. She knew, now, the distinction between reason and emotion was crap. Where one exists in abundance, the other does as well. As he ended the kiss and pulled back, she met his gaze. They'd surely fall apart denying themselves, denying the truth after proclaiming to be seeking it. "You thinking about paradoxes again, Scully?" he asked, his lips in a pout of concern. "Nope. I'm thinking about paradigm shifts." "Is that sexy?" he asked, "I'm a little rusty." "It's very sexy, Mulder. Trust me." She thought he looked boyish and ornery. He wore it well. "I trust you Scully." He smiled, and then launched an attack on her mouth again. She returned his attentions, feeling his chest and then his back with her hands. She wanted to touch every part of him, memorize all the tactile sensations that made up his flesh and blood. Love, she decided, isn't only a physical thing. But it was physical, and anyone at the Bureau, anyone who couldn't handle that could screw themselves. Some paradoxes could only be solved with hot sex. She cupped his ass and squeezed. Mulder was wondering if it was safe to start taking off her clothes. He'd learned all about paradigm shifts years ago, but never got the timing part quite right. Feeling lucky, he reached up underneath her pajama top and splayed his hands over the skin of her back, marveling at the feminine taper from shoulders to waist. He kissed his way down from her lips to her jaw, lower to her throat, where he suddenly had the urge to give her a hickey. The part of him that rarely got laid in high school wanted to leave its mark on her. So, he formed a hermetic seal over her skin and sucked, careful not to hurt her so much that the mood was ruined. Scully moaned audibly. Damn, what the hell was he doing? She wondered. The suckling sensation sent a thrilling throb directly to her groin, and would definitely leave a mark, she decided. Drawing her nails over his shoulders, she savored the moment, the pure dark pleasure of his mouth on her skin. She wanted more. She wanted to taste him, smell him, see his body again. She wanted to shred his jacket and claw at his naked back. "You know, Mulder, paradigm shifts usually happen swiftly," she insisted in a low, velvet whisper. "I thought you were inquisitive when you were aroused," he laughed. "We passed arousal before you gave me the hickey." "Hickey? What hickey?" He squeaked, standing to take off his jacket. He then loosened and flung the tie, and it succumbed to gravity, landing on the floor. He turned his attention to the buttons of his white dress shirt, working the top ones out of their holes as Scully unfastened the bottom ones. They met in the middle. As he tugged it off, she knelt on the bed and began to kiss his bare stomach, roaming up to his chest. Her tongue teased his nipples and then she kissed her way up to his neck. Groaning, he wound his arms around her and kissed her hard. "You know, we probably shouldn't do this. We've been drinking," he chided. "We've been drinking so that we would do this," she corrected him. "I can't argue with logic like that." He kissed her again, his hands working the buttons of her pajamas loose with agility. As soon as it was open, he pulled her to his chest and moaned softly as their skin touched. He could feel her breasts flatten against his pectoral muscles, and the sensation made him shudder. "You're overdressed," he observed impatiently, whispering into her ear. "So are you." She slipped a finger under his belt and tugged. He moved his hands slowly down her back to her derrière, touching and learning her curves. When he felt reasonably acquainted with her hips and bottom, he lifted his hands to her waist and started to pull the pajamas down her body with his thumbs. He took her panties down along with the pajamas. He wanted her immediately—there would be another time for savoring her with his eyes. Tonight was about rapid and desperate consumption. He pushed the cloth down over her hips and instantly squeezed her exposed flesh with his fingers as they kissed deeply. She sat back on the bed and removed the rest of her clothes, sitting naked in front of Mulder with her legs out in front of her. Leaning in to kiss him, Scully inhaled through her mouth and sucked his breath into her lungs, then broke the kiss. "Scully," he breathed. He had no idea she would know about things like that, little tricks and sensual subtleties. He looked at her as she sat there smiling enigmatically, her nipples hard and her palms flat on the bed. She didn't move. He stared at her, and then looked into her eyes, realizing she was observing his reaction intently. "Where did you pick up that trick?" "I made it up, just then, spontaneously. I can be spontaneous, you know," she said, tilting her head to the side and beaming. "Prove it," he challenged, crawling across the bed over her body. He paused over her breasts and licked one teasingly. He started on the other and then sucked her nipple into his mouth after she moaned in protest of his taunting. She wound a hand into his hair and pulled him closer. His suckling made her internal muscles contract, and she reached out to unfasten his belt buckle. As she pulled, his hand covered hers, helping her free him. Looming over her supported on one arm, he pushed the slacks down his body while Scully parted her legs below him, her toes working the fabric down to his ankles. He kicked them off the rest of the way, letting them fall over the side of the bed. He started to reach down to take his socks off, but she wrapped her legs around his hips and drew him down onto her. Smiling satisfactorily, she kissed his clavicle and neck. Then she began to move her body under him, arching her back into the bed to bring their groins together. He moaned, and she felt like she'd been launched upward into space, exhilarated and out of control. Feeling his desire for her, the power she had to make him cry out, she didn't care where she landed, as long as the moment continued. He felt her writhe under him, felt her wetness against his achingly hard erection. His mind seemed to be filled with fog, he noticed, as he passively allowed her to move. Collecting his thoughts, he decided to at least try to get her off before she made him explode from the simple tactile contact. Imagine my Scully, a sexpot, he mused. She was good at what she did, and in a matter of minutes she'd obliterate his self-control. He lowered his head and covered her lips with his own, sucking her lower lip into his mouth. He ran his tongue over the sensitive skin. He moved lower, to her breasts again, finally feeling confident enough to cup one in his hand and fondle it roughly as he licked and sucked the other. She smelled like that bath soap she had been using and her perfume, and he paused to sniff her skin as he kissed his way down to her clitoris. He pushed her legs apart and lowered his head, then touched her with his fingers, opening her and looking for his target. He hoped she remembered their conversation in the car days ago, about men not being able to find the clitoris. Mulder suspected the men she'd had before never really tried to find it, merely seeking their own pleasure. As he sucked and massaged her clit, he wondered how any man could use a woman as a vessel, a thing to grind into to reach a solitary climax. What a waste of experience, he thought. With pleasure and exertion, he worked her clit and entered her with two fingers, curling them up toward her pelvic bone. He tried not to let his smug smile interfere with his ministrations. Scully resisted the urge to grab him by the hair and scream out loud. He hadn't been bluffing—he knew his way around. As he kissed his way down minutes earlier, she briefly wondered if this new step in their relationship would yield a good sexual encounter. Sure, he seemed to know a lot about sex, but theory and practice were two different things. Mulder had endless theories, but little practice. As his tongue and lips raced circles around her clit and lower, she knew beyond a doubt that he was a quick study. As she felt her orgasm building, he started to hum, creating vibrations that reverberated through her sensitive flesh. Holding her breath, she came hard as he continued to lick, slowing the tempo after her contractions subsided so as not to over stimulate her. Listening to her, he waited to stop until he heard her release the breath she'd been holding. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and crawled up the length of her limp body. Her eyes were still closed, hands full of bedspread. Brushing strands of hair off her forehead, he looked at her face until her eyes opened. A smile spread across her lips, and he sighed, then kissed her deeply. "Damn," she whispered against his lips. Shoving him off her, she rolled them both over and straddled him. With him watching her intently, she steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder as she reached between them and sheathed him with her hand. His muscles went slack, his head tipped back, and he waited. She positioned him and lowered herself until he was penetrating her slightly. Now it was her turn to watch, and she languidly slid down on top of him. He leaned back on his arms and lifted his body, trying to push inside her, and so she took that opportunity to push down hard and swirl her hips. "Ahh," he growled, grimacing and panting. He pushed up again, and she rocked and ground her hips. Leaning back, she tugged at his shoulder. He followed her lead and leaned forward, finding his face between her breasts. She reached down and took his hand, pressed a kiss to his palm before covering her breast with it. He latched on to her hip with the other hand, guiding her movements and clutching, communicating his desire for her to give him more, harder, faster, louder, he wasn't sure. Her internal muscles gripped him, still sensitive and contracting around him in time with her gyrations. He was thick and about an inch longer than necessary, she decided, as each desperate thrust contacted her cervix and caused her to wince with a mixture of pleasure and pain. She made no attempt to buffer the thrusts; the pain was bringing her close to coming again. Her control faded, and she wanted more than anything to know what it felt like to be pinned under his body, to have him pound into her. He groaned in rebellion as she moved off of him, but the look on her face silenced him. He knew what she wanted, and he wanted it, too. Her hand tangled in his hair as she strained to kiss him, and he enfolded her with his arms forcefully. Negotiating what parts aligned where, limbs tangling and rolling on the bed, they kissed shamelessly and without regard for safety. He shoved his hand under her and lifted her slightly, and then slipped inside her, eliciting a hiss. He slammed into her, his hand ensuring that the mattress would absorb none of the shock from his thrusting. They attempted to lock gazes, but they were moving too fast and too hard. She clutched his waist and dug her nails into him, holding on as the pain/pleasure caused her to come. He felt her clenching around him and went rigid, following her. His orgasm rendered him nearly unconscious for a few seconds, as he couldn't think or speak or move from his position. Finally, he lowered himself down to rest, still half covering her body with his own. His arm was cramping, his legs were trembling, and the hand under her ass was asleep. He felt absolutely euphoric. "Funny how making one part of the body happy involves all the other parts suffering," he mumbled into her hair, and then pressed a kiss into the silky mass. "That's what the refractory period is for," she laughed. "Not that I need one apparently. That was a novel experience." "Hmm?" "I never came in that position before," she admitted, hoping to boost his ego. It was a gesture she didn't make nearly enough, she decided. "Guess we're both full of surprises. I wonder how many more secrets we can uncover before the sun comes up," he said, changing positions and gathering her tightly beside him. "I suggest we explore the shower. I read about something recently that I'm dying to try," she taunted him. He smiled and touched her face, pleased to see the blush on her cheeks and the slight smile on her swollen lips. Scully, wet in the shower. Who needs aphrodisiacs, orgasm chips or any of it with an offer like that? "For once, it won't be a cold one," he remarked, and she snuggled closer to him. FBI Headquarters Two days later… Skinner was blushing, and he knew when he blushed, there was no way to mask it. Even the top of his head reddened. Mulder and Scully sat uncomfortably in his office, open-mouthed and wordless. Scully had her hand on the side of her neck. "I think you should testify against Miss Bacchus, but you'll need to be explicit about what obviously happened as a result of being targeted. Think it over. Let me know what you decide. That's all, agents." They practically ran for the door. "You know, Scully, telling Skinner you didn't get that hickey the night we were drugged was a bad idea," he said after they got into an empty elevator. "I thought I had it hidden well enough for him to not notice it. I had no answer planned and I--I just--I blew it. He'll probably think I was nervous and didn't want to admit what happened." She rubbed at her temples, trying to hold off the encroaching migraine. "Little does he know we spent that night in agony," he returned. "All that chivalry wasted." "It wasn't wasted on me," she said, then reached over and pinched him on the rear. For the second time that day, Agent Fox Mulder was rendered speechless. The elevator doors slid open and Agent Scully resumed her usual elegant and professional expression as six other agents waited for her to exit. He watched her walk, a tiny hint of a sway in her step that the others would undoubtedly not notice. He noticed, in spades. He walked behind her, watching with interest as her skirt shifted over her curvaceous form. The case may be over, he mused, but his inquiry into the nature of love, real love, had just begun. He carried his report over his groin strategically, but made no attempt to suppress his thoughts. That era was over. A new one had begun, complete with his installation of a new lock on the basement office door. After all, a little forethought never hurt, right? ~~ The End (of the beginning) ~~ Author's notes: The technology discussed in this story came right out of the headlines, except for the specific drug and fish Miss Bacchus used to liven up the global libido. Everything else is real, including the orgasm chip. I'm not sure whether this is frightening, or inspiring. I got the idea for this story while cruising around with a friend singing along to some old Do-Wop songs. "Love Potion Number Nine" came on, and I thought, "That'd be a kick-ass episode of the X-Files!" I changed it around a bit to better suit the show and characters, but that's inspiration, folks. Like Janis Joplin said about love, get it while ya' can. I finished this story listening to Marvin Gaye and Aretha Franklin CDs. Damn good mood music. Cures smut- writer's block, guaranteed. ;-) All feedback strongly encouraged! Go ahead, "Simon Cowell" me. Heh heh! martimulder@yahoo.com