EMXC 1st Year fanfic- October 1, 1994 thru October 1, 1995 Archived: 10/01/95 ============================================================== Same disclaimer as in Part I -The X-Files and the characters of Mulder, Scully and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Television - I just borrow them from time to time, but with no intention of infringing copyrights, etc. The plot and the other characters are mine, such as they are. Rated PG-13 for adult themes. My thanks to Jenni10647 for reading, suggesting and listening to me whine, and to SciNut for the voodoo that she does so well. Rave reviews, flames,slings and arrows welcome - e-mail me. Ecksphile. Personal Favor, Part II Suzanne Bickerstaffe Ecksphile@aol.com 3/18/95 "Okay, so what do we have?" They were in Scully's room, sprawled stomach down and side by side on her bed, pouring over the file they had brought from Washington and correlating that information with Rasmussen's itinerary, notes from their interviews, and the papers Sr. Mary Monica had given them. Scully felt mentally sluggish, the result of too many fresh Gulf shrimp at the seafood restaurant where they had gone for dinner. Mulder had eaten next to nothing, as was usual for him in his excitement at the beginning of a case. His brain was on overdrive. "Scully, look at this - the photocopies of the guestbook. Here's Meister's signature on the 6th and here's Elizabeth Willis on the first of the month. I don't see Natalie German, but there is a record of the Ramsgate Gardening Society touring the gardens on January 30th, and I wouldn't be a bit surprised to find that she was part of that group. I don't see Warner's signature, either, but he was, according to our file, a retired merchant gardener, so I don't think it's stretching things too much to assume he was at the convent, too. Rasmussen's itinerary gives the 10th as the date of his visit. So it looks like there is some kind of exposure to someone or something on the convent grounds that takes place, and about four days later, the symptoms appear." "All right, now look at the incidents and their dates. There's a pattern of escalation here, Scully. The earlier incidents were relatively minor, the two latest ones - Rasmussen's rape attempt and Meister's trying to grab the teenager - were serious. Possibly there's a gender link there, but I really don't think so, I think it's more related to the dates. Which is disturbing, Scully - it's like there's a time bomb out there. And maybe there's more than one. Someone out there is going to be the victim of a serious sex crime - maybe even a child - and the poor bastard that does it is going to be no less of a victim. Unless the crimes simply stop - we have no idea what's causing them, so I guess they could just stop, but again, I don't think so." Mulder pushed himself off the bed and started pacing around the room. "And there's something else. Look at these people and what kind of a pattern do you see - a nun, a widow, two widowers, a spinster school teacher.... What do you see?" "I don't ..." "Well, true, some of this is speculation, but - these are all people who, if I may put it crudely, aren't getting any on a regular basis, if at all." "Any wha- ... oh. Mulder, that's ridiculous. For God's sake, Mulder, if lack of a sex life is the only criterion for being affected by whatever this is, the two of us are in mortal danger of becoming sex offenders." "Tell me about it." His hazel eyes looked at her with amusement, affection, and - something else. "Maybe it's just the excuse we - " He broke off as he had a new thought. "I wonder - Scully, if I were a betting man, I'd wager that the local working girls are seeing more clients lately who have an interest in gardening." He strode over to the phone, dialled a number - it must be nice, thought Scully, to have a Rolodex in your brain - and spoke for several minutes to someone named Freddy. "Freddy's a vice cop in St. Petersburg. It's totally unscientific, of course, but Freddy said he's been picking up a lot more European johns that are part of tour groups lately. He's going to try to get some names together so we can cross reference them to the guest book and tour records. But we still come back to the same question - why are only some people affected, and the majority are not? I refuse to believe it's simply a matter of who's deprived of sex. That may be one factor, but not the only one. None of the other nuns in the convent was affected, at least to our knowledge, and I think it's safe to assume they're celibate. And I refuse to believe that everyone else on those tours and everyone else who lives in the neighborhood is having sex on a regular basis - God, that would be so depressing." He put on a comically sad expression. Scully laughed at his clown face of depression and ruffled his hair. "Mulder, I can't think. I'm too full from dinner. I know there's something in the file, something significant, but I just can't focus on it. I'm going for a walk on the beach to clear my head." She slipped out of her slacks, pulled on some shorts and sneakers and buckled on her fanny pack. "Want company?" "No. No offence, Mulder, but I'll be able to concentrate better without you." "No offence taken. Have a good time. I want to call Skinner anyway, let him know that we don't think his aunt is crazy, and what we think might be going on." Mulder flopped on Scully's bed and dialed Skinner's home number. Quickly, he brought the Assistant Director up to speed with the results of the interviews and the status of the investigation. He closed, promising another status report the following day. What the hell, thought Mulder. I wouldn't mind a run on the beach before bed - get rid of some of this tension. He changed into soccer shorts, T-shirt and running shoes, then made his way through the overly air-conditioned hallways to the lobby and out the back door to the beach. He set off north at a moderate pace, unused to the high humidity in the air, and ran in the powdery sand for about a mile before turning back. As he ran past the hotel, he noticed in the gloom about one hundred yards ahead a knot of people milling around and the sound of sirens in the background. He increased his pace, reaching the crowd. Seeing a short, red haired figure in the center, he pushed his way throught the crowd towards her. His heart and stomach did a simultaneous flip. Scully's left eye was almost closed and an ugly purple bruise was developing on her cheekbone. Her blouse was torn open, all the buttons missing, and she was hugging herself to hold it closed.. "Scully, what happened? Are you all right?" "Yeah, I'm okay. I may have just defused our time bomb. He came out of nowhere, Mulder, hit me and started ripping at my clothes. I don't think he was expecting his victim to have martial arts knowledge and handcuffs, though. It was just like Nadine said - he was hitting and trying to tear my clothes off, but the expression on his face was so distant, so uninvolved. As soon as I got him down with the cuffs on, he started to cry." She broke off as the local police arrived. Concisely, she gave her statement to them and they took the still-sobbing man away. "Let's go, Scully." He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. "Wait. Just a minute." She couldn't go back into the hotel with only the tatters of her blouse around her. He broke away from her, and slipped his T-shirt off and gently eased it over her head, avoiding contact with the bruised and swollen flesh. She pulled it on, he replaced his arm and they started back to the hotel. "It's all sweaty; sorry." "I don't mind." He could feel her start to tremble slightly as the inevitable reaction set in, and he moved his hand up and down, caressing her shoulder. They left the beach and retraced their steps back up to his room. "Sit down, Scully." She sat on the corner of his bed while Mulder took some cubes from the ice bucket, wrapped them in a hand towel and gently held the compress to the side of her face with unsteady fingers. He sat next to her, his other arm around her shoulders, holding her close. "It's okay, Mulder...*I'm* okay. It's not like with Duane Barry and Pfaster. I wasn't helpless - I handled it." "And very well, too. Much better than I'm handling it at the moment." She looked up and caught the fear and pain in his eyes. "Poor Mulder. I'm so sorry," she whispered. He smiled a little at her. "Comes with the territory. It's okay. You're worth it." He drew her onto his lap and wrapped her in his arms, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against her hair. His closeness to her was like food, and drink, and air - all the sustenance he would ever need or want. Scully relaxed against his chest, his rapid heartbeat loud in her ear, his warmth and strength soothing and comforting. They were still for several minutes. "Mulder?" "Mmm?" "Thanks." "For?" "For having faith in me. For not going crazy and getting all overprotective on me." "Oh...you're welcome." For several minutes they were again quiet and motionless. "But you'd like to be." "Mmm?" "Your natural inclination is to be protective of me." He smiled against her hair. "Guilty as charged." "So you're always fighting against your natural instincts. Why?" "That's the way you want it, isn't it?" "Well, yes." "All right, then. Besides, Dana, where you're concerned, those are *not* the *only* natural instincts I'm fighting." A long moment passed. "Oh." With a sigh, he nuzzled her hair, then he reluctantly released her and gently moved her off his lap. "Keep that compress on your face, Scully. I need to take a shower." He plucked some clean clothes out of a drawer and went into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind him. Scully held the compress to her face, rose and crossed back into her room. Dana, you are an idiot, she thought. "Oh." A dozen wonderful replies to his admission came to her mind now - *now* - when it was too late. The moment had passed. And all she could come up with was "Oh". Idiot. *Idiot*. Disgusted, she threw the compress into the sink, stripped and stepped under the shower. That night, sleep did not come easily to either partner. - - - - - Scully had just finished doing what she could with her makeup to disguise the bruises and swelling to her face when there was a knock at the door. The waiter rolled the cart containing breakfast into the room, and made it a point not to stare at the guest's shiner - it was better for tips that way. Scully signed the check and he departed. "Scully, is that coffee I smell over there?" Mulder's head followed his voice around the corner. "Breakfast is served, Mulder." "What's Skinner going to say about a $25.00 breakfast?" He began peeking under the stainless steel dish covers. "Somehow, I don't think he'll care. I finally figured it out, Mulder - what was bothering me about the file. It's really tenuous and will need to be checked out, but I think it makes sense. Here's your coffee - sit and eat while I talk." It was Scully's turn to pace. "Okay. You noticed Sister Mary Monica's hands." He nodded, in the middle of chewing. His appetite had obviously improved since last night. "She's had rheumatoid arthritis for a number of years. Do you remember Gerhardt Meister's photograph? How strange his eyes were? Mulder, that's called exophthalmos, and it's symptomatic of a severe hyperactive thyroid condition, very probably Graves' Disease. Elizabeth Willis was diagnosed with systemic lupus erythematosus several years ago." Scully stopped and sipped some fresh orange juice. "What all these have in common, Mulder, is that they belong to a class of diseases called autoimmune disorders. Very simplistically put, the body kind of has an allergic reaction to itself, which can be manifested by any of a wide variety of disease processes. These diseases are not all that common. I think it's statistically significant that two out of the seven people accused of these acts have diagnosed cases of these diseases; and I'm almost certain that Meister will also be positive for an autoimmune disorder. I might even be willing to speculate, if pushed, that Natalie German also belongs in this group. From her photograph, the neck enlargement is unmistakeable, and that is a classic sign of Hashimoto's syndrome, another automimmune disease. So that would make four out of the seven." Scully finally sat and started nibbling absently on a croissant. "Well, the Hashimoto's syndrome might be reaching a bit, but I really think that there's something here. It doesn't explain what's causing the problem, but it might help to explain why only certain people are affected. That, and your sex abstinence theory." "Sounds good. What's your next step?" Mulder drained the last of his coffee and pushed himself back from the table. "I need to stay close to the phone and try to get in touch with Natalie German, Gerhardt Meister, and Herbert Warner, see if we can get any confirmation of autoimmune disease either from them or from their physicians. I'd rather stay in today - I'm not exactly comfortable about going out looking like this." Mulder grinned, his eyes warm. "You're always beautiful to me, Dana." He continued smoothly, as if he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary, "I have to go over to the jail again to interview the guy from last night - the police already called to ask when I'd be there. If you'd like, I can ask Rasmussen for anything relevant from his medical history while I'm there. Then, I want to go back to the convent. Something said yesterday gave me an idea and I want to follow it up." "Hmm-oh, okay, Mulder." Scully was looking at him uncertainly. "See you, Scully." He grinned again and then was gone. Well, what exactly did *that* mean, Scully wondered, sitting down unsteadily on the bed. Shaking her head, she reached for the file. She checked her watch, added on for European time, and started dialing Germany. - - - - - The man who sat in front of Mulder reminded him very much of Rasmussen. Roderick Reynolds of Toronto was calm for the moment, but tears were not far away - again. "I would never do anything like this, you've got to believe me. I don't know what I was thinking. For days now I've felt this kind of pressure building up and building up, and something telling me to go out and take what I want. I couldn't fight it. My God, how everyone must hate me. You must think I'm a pervert or something!" Reynolds' voice was becoming louder and higher pitched, obviously working himself up into another hysterical episode. "Roderick - settle down," Mulder said sharply. The man's head whipped up, his eyes meeting Mulder's. He drew a shaky breath and nodded. "When did you start feeling these urges?" inquired Mulder, more gently. "About two days ago is when I first noticed it." "And when did you visit the convent?" "The convent?" "Yes, when did you visit the convent of Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows here in town?" "I've never been there. I just got into town yesterday morning." Mulder sat back, stunned. That theory had looked so good. Now, just when everything seemed to be coming together, something to blow them out of the water. Was it possible that they had been wrong? "Where *have* you been?" "I've been doing some primitive camping in a couple of the parks - Myakka River and Everglades. I just decided that after roughing it for the past two weeks, I could treat myself to clean sheets and showers and restaurants for a couple of days before I have to return to Canada." "What made you decide to go primitive camping?" "I'm a wildlife artist by profession. I've recently gotten a commission to illustrate a book about Florida wildflowers. I prefer to see them in their natural habitats when I sketch - I feel it improves the accuracy of the work. And some of these species are located in pretty remote areas - primitive camping is the only way to go." Yes! Mulder thought. Yes. Maybe they weren't blown out of the water after all. "And there was another reason for doing this now." The man was hesitant. "I don't want you to think I'm trying to get your sympathy or anything. But the fact is that I've recently been diagnosed with scleroderma. It's progressive, it's eventually fatal, and I don't know how long I'll be able to get out into the wild." " I'm very sorry," Mulder said softly, honestly regretful. "As a matter of fact, I don't think you are responsible. There have been several other cases like yours. It would be helpful if you could list all the plants you remember sketching, plus any that might have been near where you were sketching. Would you do that for me?" Mulder passed pen and paper to him. "Sure." Reynolds uncapped them pen and started to write. "Uh - can you tell me - how's that girl I - I attacked last night, do you know?" "I know quite well. She's my partner. She's all right, a little battered looking right now, but she's okay. I'll tell her you were asking about her." "Oh, God, I picked an FBI agent to jump on? I'm surprised you didn't come in here and beat the shit out of me." "As I said, Roderick, neither of us believes you were ultimately responsible." Reynolds passed back the pen and paper. He had listed about forty plants by both commonly known names and by their genus and species. "What happens to me now?" "It will depend on the outcome of our investigation. Hopefully, we'll know more in the next day or so. If everything goes the way I think it will, charges will be dropped and you can get out of here. Anything you need in the meantime?" "No, just knowing that helps." "Anybody you'd like us to contact for you?" "No. My wife died of cancer about eight months ago. I have a sister in Detroit, but I'd just as soon get out of here and get back home before I talk to her." "Okay. Here's my card if you need anything." Mulder shook hands with Reynolds and left the interrogation room. On his way out, Mulder stopped by the recreation area where he spotted Rasmussen. He waved and walked over to the older gentleman. "Lars, I needed to ask you a question about your medical history. Do have any acute or chronic diseases, especially anything like an autoimmune disease?" "No, nothing, just my allergies." "Allergies?" "Yes, I have many allergies to foods and drugs. I always keep a list with me, just in case." "Do me a favor - write them down on this paper?" Retrieving the list from Ramussen, Mulder left for the convent. - - - - - The latest tour group was just leaving the convent as Mulder arrived. He gave his name at the gate and requested to see the Mother Superior. He was beginning to regret his decison not to call ahead for an appointment when the door finally popped open and the voice from the speaker instructed him to proceed to the building. By the time his interview with the Mother Superior had ended, Mulder had much more respect for Scully's misgivings about nuns. His access to convent disciplinary records was a hard-fought victory. For two hours he poured over the records. What he found was so completely supportive of his theory that, perversely, he was suspicious and rechecked his findings twice. The only years in which disciplinary action for sexual offfences by nuns had occurred were 1983, against three nuns, and in 1972, against two. All the offences had occurred in the same two week period in late winter in each of those two years. Next, Mulder sought out Sister Anne. "You mentioned yesterday that the Order had acquired this property 35 years ago." "Yes, June of 1960. Sadly, we benefitted from another's misfortune. The owner just had been convicted of raping a young girl, and was in jail. His daughter was anxious to sell out and start over somewhere else." "Sister, could you look at this list? The plant you mentioned yesterday - the one that blooms every ten to twelve years. Is that on the list?" "Sure, right here. It's sometimes called a Venus orchid, which is a misnomer, because it's not in the orchid family at all. Actually, it's a bulb, like tulips or daffodils. Very rare for Florida. There are some Seminole Indian legends about it." "What do the legends say?" "I don't know the specifics. I know the blossoms were used in fertility rites. And something about the flowers causing madness, which of course is just superstition." Mulder gave her an enigmatic look. "Maybe not. Thanks for your help." - - - - - "Okay, Scully, what have you got?" "It must be my lucky day - I was able to get in touch with everyone. Meister does indeed have a diagnosed case of Graves Disease. Unlike the others, he is married, but his wife has advanced Alzheimers and has been in an institution for eighteen months. Natalie German takes thyroid medication but doesn't know why. That would be a treatment consistent with Hashimoto's syndrome, but it's not conclusive. Herbert Warner has Goodpasture's syndrome, an autoimmune disease. He did visit the convent, on the last day of January." "What's scleroderma? Reynolds, the guy who attacked you, has just been diagnosed with it." "It's another autoimmune disorder. Mulder, that has to be it." "Rasmussen seems to be the only one who doesn't fit the clinical picture - he says all he has wrong with him is a lot of allergies." "Well, allergies are related to the immune system. Obviously, a lot more research is going to have to be done. By the way, your friend Freddy faxed over a list of names - guys who had been picked up with hookers. I cross-referenced them with the convent guestbook - five names were common to both. What did you come up with?" Mulder quickly filled Scully in about his findings from the convent records and his conversation with Sister Anne. "Do you really think that's it, Mulder?" He sat slumped in his chair, eyes closed, massaging his temples. "I don't know. It certainly looks like it. The years in question - 1983, 1972 and 1960 are all years in which the Venus orchid *could* have been blooming, based on its cycle. That's easy enough to check through one of the university botany departments - they would probably have some kind of record. Now it's just a matter of turning the information we've gathered over to the right people for follow-up. We don't want another outbreak the next time this plant blossoms." Mulder sat up. "Well, this has got to be a first, Scully. We agree on all aspects of the case. No demonic possessions; no ghosts, ghouls or giant blood sucking worms; and not an alien in sight. Who would have believed it? Feel up to going out for dinner?" "Not really. How about something light from room service?" "Sounds good to me. Give me about an hour or so - I'd like to go down to the pool and swim some laps." "All right. Look, are you okay, Mulder? You seem tired or depressed or something. I thought you'd be glad that Skinner's aunt isn't a crazy pervert." "I am, I am. Why don't you give him a call now and let him know the results of our investigation?" "You don't want to do it?" "No, go ahead. I need to swim." - - - - - It was late, after two in the morning. Their rooms were illuminated only by their tv sets. Mulder had been pleasant, but quieter than usual at dinner. Scully had been the one to keep the conversation going, keeping it light, turning it to topics she knew would interest him. They had both ended up going to bed early, but so far, Scully hadn't slept, and she doubted that Mulder had either. "Having trouble sleeping, Mulder?" She heard the sounds of his bed creaking, and Mulder appeared in the doorway, clad in navy blue silk boxers and a neon green T-shirt that cut through the gloom. "Yeah - just thinking. I didn't know you were still awake." "Do you need to talk?" Mulder sat at the foot of her bed, looking not at her but at the flickering images on the tv screen and was quiet for a few moments. "Scully, how familiar are you with my medical record?" "Well, from the number of times I've had to accompany you to emergency rooms around the country, and from all those fun times we've shared quarantine facilities, I would say I'm reasonably familiar with it. Where are you going with this, Mulder?" "Do you know how many allergies I have, Scully? At least eight, that I know of - two of them severe enough to cause death. Rasmussen was strongly affected by the Venus orchid, and his allergies were the only medical factor. I've been exposed to that plant twice, Scully. I'm more than a little concerned about what could happen to me in about 48 hours." "Eight allergies? That many? I had given it some thought, Mulder, but I only remembered two, so I wasn't really worried." "Well, two drug allergies, the rest are bee stings, shellfish, stuff like that. So now are you worried?" "Well, I'm concerned, yes." Mulder sighed. "Much as I would have enjoyed a couple of days of sun and fun, Scully, I think the best course is to get someplace where I can vacation on Thorazine or something and be kept under lock and key for a while." It was Scully's turn to be silent for a while. He looked over at her, to see a parade of emotions crossing her face. "There is another way, Mulder." "Which is?" Scully suddenly got out of bed and faced him. There was tension in her voice. "Don't be obtuse, Mulder. You're not making this easy." She paced the length of the room and returned. "You nearly said it yourself yesterday. You said this might give us the excuse we need." "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" "Yes, I am. There's more than one way to defuse this. Maybe by taking away one of the risk factors, we can head this thing off. I can't do anything about your allergies, the medical risk factor, so that leaves the - uh - social one. We can keep it clinical - think of it as a medical treatment, or maybe just a personal favor." Mulder walked away from her, hands on his hips, head shaking. He returned to the side of the bed, gently took Scully's hands in his, and they sat together. He looked directly into her eyes. "Dana - no. I can't believe I'm saying this, but no. I'm touched and flattered and I appreciate your offer and you have no idea how much I want to say yes, but - no." She looked away, a slow flush climbing upwards from her neck. Stiffly, she said, "Never mind, Mulder, it was just a sugges-..." He cupped his hands around her face and forced her to look at him. When he was sure her eyes would stay on his, he released her. "No, please, Dana, just listen. You know I don't have a lot of experience with relationships, not successful ones, anyway. I have no relationship to speak of with my parents. Women - well, Phoebe Green is a good example of how those have ended up. You know how poorly I get along with everyone besides you at the Bureau. The only healthy relationship I've had was with Samantha, and that was gone while I was still a child." "I've never had a relationship with anyone like the one we share. In a way, it transcends labels like partnership, friendship; hell, maybe even marriage. It's a whole greater than the sum of its parts. I won't say I haven't thought about it - redefining that relationship, taking it to a different, a more ... intense level. But if we ever decided to risk what we have now, it would have to be for something special, something perfect. Not to get some toxin out of my system. I don't want it to be a medical treatment, or a personal favor. And I *certainly* wouldn't want it to be *clinical*." Mulder paused, searching her face for reaction to his words. "I don't want to do anything that will risk what we have now. Maybe I'm a coward, but it's too important to me." His voice grew softer, more hesitant. "That's one of the things I kept thinking about when...you were in the coma...on all the machines. How would I survive, if you didn't? How would I go on, without you, without whatever it is that we share? The conclusion I came to scared the hell out of me." Mulder smiled at Scully and shrugged. "Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe the allergies don't have anything to do with the effects of the plant after all. Anyway, don't worry about it. I'll deal with it." Mulder caressed her cheek lightly, smiled, and stood up. "Now scoot under the covers and try to get some sleep." He leaned over, straightening the bedclothes as she settled down. For a second or two, she felt the warmth of his lips on her forehead, then he walked through the door into his own room. "G'night,Scully". "G'night, Mulder". For a second night, sleep was elusive. - - - - - Washington, D.C. February 23, 1995 Scully sat at her keyboard, putting the finishing touches on her report to Skinner: "...and copies of these findings will be sent to the Department of the Interior, the Agriculture Department, The Food and Drug Administration, the Environmental Protection Agency, and the Governor of Florida. The law enforcement authorities in Florida have been requested to report to the FBI any cases in which intoxication by the Venus orchid appears to be the precipitating cause. Due to the plant's normal growth cycle, further incidents are unlikely to occur for another ten to twelve years. Criminal charges against Rasmussen and Reynolds have been dropped and they have returned to their respective countries. A copy of these findings has also been sent to each of those people accused of sexual misconduct. To date, over twenty such crimes were reported that can be traced back to an exposure to the plant...." For those that had been affected by the plant, the consequences had been devastating. Skinner himself had insisted that each of those affected should have a copy of the report, as they had been victims as much as anyone. The Bureau was working with Florida law enforcement to clear the arrest records as much as possible. Skinner knew first hand what the ramifications had been in his own family. Although Sister Mary Monica's life at the convent had returned to normal, there had been continuing recriminations among family members. Perhaps the cold hard scientific facts of the report could assist the healing process of the affected families. "...Because of Agent Mulder's exposure to the Venus orchid and his risk factor status, he entered the National Institutes of Health for observation and monitoring. He required moderate sedation for two days to alleviate symptoms caused by the exposure. He has required none for the past 72 hours, and will be discharged tomorrow...." Scully had been purposely vague in this part of her report. Mulder had gone through hell, plain and simple. He had refused all contact with her when the symptoms had been at their worst, but the reports she received from the medical team caring for him had been - graphic. When he had finally consented to take her phone call yesterday, he sounded exhausted. He avoided most of her direct questions about what had happened, how he felt. His conversation had been stilted, unnatural, as if he were holding himself in check with all the determination and strength he possessed. Still protecting me, she thought; natural instincts were obviously hard to ignore. And so much for the hope that the Florida trip would mean a little R&R, a chance to heal. Instead, there would be more healing that would have to be done. Scully sighed. When he realized the affects of the plant were gone and he could trust himself again, when he wanted her at his side, she would be there for him. "...The above named agencies and departments will continue to research the bizarre properties of the Venus plant. This case is considered closed by this investigator." - - - - - Florida February 23, 1995 Ten inches deep in the warm sandy soil, the being readied itself for its long sleep. Its active time, ephemeral on its home planet, was more prolonged in this place of moisture and heat. And the power - the power and the control were so much greater here, so much more satisfying. Every time it awakened, it grew stronger, had more influence, touched the lives of more of the Terrans. The future here looked promising. But now it was time to sleep. end.