REPOST: Trace Evidence 3: Say Goodnight (01/10), Saundra Mitchell

[Vampyres Incorporeal]

Title: Trace Evidence III: Say Goodnight (01/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: v...@netdirect.net
Feedback: Please!
Archive: Yes
Category: X/CRA
Rating: R (Adult situations, language,
and I mean it this time)
Summary: This story is not about what it
appears to be about. Just read it.
Spoilers: Current Seasons
Original Posting:
alt.tv.x-files.creative, X-Files Fanfic
List, 11 Cents
Keywords: Mulder, Scully, Pembleton,
Bayliss, Munch, x file, romance, slash,
Homicide, control, conspiracy,
government, death, angst
Disclaimer: Scully, Mulder and "The
X-Files" are copyrighted by 1013
Productions. The cast of "Homicide: Life
on the Street" including Bayliss,
Pembleton, et al, are copyrighted by
Baltimore Pictures. "Trace Evidence" and
"Inadmissible" are copyright 1998,
Saundra Mitchell. All rights reserved by
the respective companies and author.
Notes: This story is the last in Trace
Evidence. It is not the last Slash
Evidence story I plan to write. HOWEVER.
. in the last two months, I have
written the equivalent of two full
length commercial novels in writing
Forward Slash and Trace Evidence. I
truly enjoy writing these stories, and
will write another trilogy following TE,
but I'm not going to do it right now.
This series has been wonderful, and it's
been a joy to meet so many people
because of it, but for the integrity of
the work, I have to take a break. I
don't want to pump out stories because I
feel obligated, and I don't think you
all want me to either. So. . . my
gracious and wholehearted thanks to
everyone who has been so kind through
the first seven, and when I return with
the next four, I hope you'll still enjoy
them.
More Notes: I made up almost all the
locations in Virginia and Washington;
please forgive any logistic oddities.

Washington, D.C.

Mulder loosened his tie as he
unlocked his mailbox. Pulling the bundle
of mail out of the box, he locked it
back up as he leafed through the
contents. He stopped at a postcard,
stuffing his keys in his pockets.
Flipping the card over, he smiled as he
recognized the handwriting.
'Despite your warning to the
contrary, Maine is lovely. Hope all is
well, give Tim a kiss for me. Love,
Dana'
He tucked the postcard in his
jacket pocket, ensuring it wouldn't
follow the same path most of his mail
did- couch arm, floor, under couch,
forgotten. His happiness that she was
out and having a good time was tempered
by how betrayed he still felt. He knew
she had a good reason for leaving, but
it still stuck in his craw. Had he been
four years old, he would have thrown a
tantrum.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he
headed for his apartment. Lost in
thought, he wondered how his partner was
filling her hours in scenic Maine.
Boating? Long walks on rocky beaches? He
just hoped she wasn't anywhere near
Derry.
The red light on his answering
machine greeted him, flashing a morse
code promise of awaiting comments.
Dropping his mail on the arm of the
couch, he crossed the room and pressed
the play button. Heading into the
kitchenette for a beer, a smile rose to
his face when he recognized Tim's voice
on the first message.
"Hey hon, it's me. I had to work
over last night on the Guttenberg case.
For some reason, this Marian Kiedrowicz
feels a desperate need to lie to me
about her sister's whereabouts, so I sat
out half the night with Frank in front
of what is presumably a swinger's club
and. . . oh hell, I'll tell you later,
it's a good story. Anyway, I was just
calling to say hi, and to see if it was
still okay for me to come up tonight. We
can order Chinese and rent a movie or
something, okay? I hate answering
machines. I love you. Bye."
"Love you, too," Mulder told the
machine, peeling off his jacket.
"This is the last time I'm going to
call Fox. I'm your mother. I want to
speak to you. You know my number."
"Hey, it's me again," Tim said
cheerily. "I got my results back today.
I hope you're not off in Siberia or
something. Call me."
Picking up the phone, Mulder dialed
the Baltimore area code with great
relish.

"Lower," Mulder moaned, squeezing
his eyes closed. The cherry candles Tim
had brought along flickered in the semi-
darkness, casting long and twisted
shadows. Ginger from Chinese take-out
and fruit from the candle mingled to
create an exotic perfume, accenting the
ambience created by Miles Davis playing
softly in the background.
"If I get any lower. . ." Tim
murmured, rubbing another dollop of baby
oil in his hands to warm it. Straddling
Mulder's back, he pressed his hands into
his lover's knotted muscles. Kneading
away the tension, he leaned forward to
kiss the nape of Mulder's neck, then sat
back up to continue. "It won't be a
massage anymore."
"Okay," Mulder grinned, crossing
his arms under his chin.
Tim laughed softly. "Repeat after
me. . . Tim is not a machine."
"Mmmm, no, Tim tastes much better
than a machine."
"You have no idea how stupid that
sounds, do you?"
"Uh huh," Mulder laughed.
When the cell phone rang, he jerked
in surprise. Since Scully had gone away
on vacation, it hadn't rung once. Now he
was torn. He wanted to answer it, but he
was unwilling to interrupt the full body
contact he was so thoroughly enjoying.
"Is that your cell," Tim asked,
stopping.
"Yeah."
"You want to answer it?"
Wriggling out from underneath Tim,
Mulder sighed. "No."
Padding across the apartment,
Mulder found the phone in a pile of
clothing by the ring- an adult game of
Marco Polo. Flipping it open, he greeted
the caller with his name.
"Agent Mulder, You need to come
over to Agent Scully's apartment. Now."
Skinner's voice was even and
emotionless, but by this fact alone, it
chilled Mulder to the core.
"What's wrong, sir?"
"There isn't time," Skinner said
abruptly. "Now."
Left hanging with an empty line, it
took only a moment for Mulder to move
into action. Quickly grabbing his pants,
he dispensed with the underwear layer in
his haste.
"Get dressed," Mulder said, pulling
on a shirt.
Seeing the sharply determined look
of dread on Mulder's face, Bayliss was
almost afraid to ask.

Outside Scully's Apartment

"What the fuck is going on," Mulder
whispered as he pulled up in front of
Scully's apartment. The small section of
street was lit with halogen news lights,
provided by satellite vans from all the
local outlets. As soon as he and Tim
stepped out of the car, two Washington
PD uniform officers rushed over and
whisked them inside before the reporters
could converge. They met Skinner just
inside the front door.
"Sir," Mulder asked plaintively,
his eyes wide with fear.
Skinner glanced at Tim. "You must
be Detective Bayliss."
"Yes sir," Tim answered, shifting
his cane to shake Skinner's hand.
"Now, Agent Mulder, I'm not going
to sugar coat this for you."
"Sugar coat what," Mulder shouted.
"Why are we here? What is going on?"
"You're. . . you're listed as Agent
Scully's emergency contact," Skinner
explained quickly, pulling Tim and
Mulder away from the door to prevent the
reporters standing just outside from
eavesdropping. "We need you to identify
a body."
Putting an arm around Mulder's
shoulders, Tim felt as though he were
holding the weight of the world. Shock
rippled through his, quivering through
his body, but he couldn't react. For
Mulder's sake, he had to stand up.
"Scully. . . Scully's on vacation.
She's in Maine." Mulder's whole face
contorted as he said the words. He
didn't know where she really was, only
that six days ago, she'd sent him a
postcard claiming to be in Maine. "She's
in Maine."
Skinner glanced over his shoulder,
then leaned forward. "Mulder, if you
cannot do this, I won't force you. I
just thought you had the right to. . ."
"I want to see her," Mulder said,
dazed. "I want to see her."
Later, he didn't remember walking
to Scully's apartment, or even walking
inside, but he would never forget what
he saw next. Forcing Tim to stay in the
living room, Mulder allowed himself to
be led into Scully's bedroom.
Her perfume still hung in the air,
Opium. Struggling to keep his face
impassive, he noticed everything about
Scully's room for the first time- the
cool colors of her bed spread, the book
she'd left half-read on the end table, a
nightgown hanging lazily from the
footboard. He hadn't looked down yet,
but suddenly, he didn't want to. The
Opium was overpowered by something
subtle, but insidious. 'Bet you won't
miss that again.' He could hear her
saying it.
"Agent Mulder," Skinner prodded.
Clenching his teeth together, he
took a breath and looked. Scully. . .
splayed obscenely on the floor, her robe
open around her in folds of silk, the
alabaster skin of her abdomen torn from
sternum to pubis. Fighting back the urge
to collapse, Mulder slowly slid to his
knees, trying not to see the burn marks
(clothesline, his mind informed him
dispassionately) on her wrists, ankles
and throat. He deliberately ignored
procedure and pulled the filmy gown over
her breasts. Then, taking a sharp
breath, he stared down at her face. The
eyes were open, sightlessly returning
his gaze. Pink and white pills were
scattered in a halo around her head.
When he dragged himself to his
feet, a man who might have introduced
himself as Washington homicide walked
over. Eyes cast down, he asked Mulder to
make the identification. Glancing from
the man, to the woman on the floor,
Mulder shook his head.
"That's not my partner."
Skinner turned his head sharply to
stare at his subordinate. "Mulder, I
realize this is. . ."
"No!" Mulder waved a hand at
Skinner. "I don't know who this woman
is! This is not Scully! This is not my
partner!"
Rubbing a hand across his head,
Skinner nodded subtly, a signal for the
uniforms standing around to escort
Mulder out of the room. Trying to jerk
away from them, he reached out for the
older man. "That's not her. That's not
her!"

Unable to speak, Tim sat silently
in the passenger's seat. Mulder had
insisted on driving back to his
apartment. Allowing himself a few,
choked tears, Bayliss began to mourn a
woman he had come to consider a friend.
Snapping his head to stare at his
lover, Mulder scowled. "Why are you
crying?"
"I . . . I liked her," Tim said
weakly.
"I know my partner, Tim. That
wasn't her," he insisted again, his jaw
hard.
Tim reached out, putting a hand on
Mulder's arm. There was no point in
trying to argue through his denial. In
the morning, he would wake up and it
would hit him like a ton of bricks, but
in the meantime, Bayliss chose to allow
him his delusions.
"I know what you're thinking,"
Mulder whispered. "But you're wrong. If
it were you in my place, and that body
had looked like Frank, you'd know. You'd
know your own partner."
"Okay," he replied consolingly.
"You're right. I would know. Okay."

(End Part One)