NEW: Trace Evidence II: Hobson's Choice (10/10) (X/CRA)

[Vampyres Incorporeal]

Title: Trace Evidence II: Hobson's Choice (10/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: v...@netdirect.net
Feedback: Please!

Baltimore, Maryland
The Waterfront

Chatting it up with Wendi, Bayliss was glad
Lewis had hired her. She was good with the customers,
and she only wanted a few hours on each week. She
would be an ideal addition for when one of the three
owners wanted to take a day off, or just wanted to
slack. Besides, he mused with a grin, she's cute.
"Be right back," she winked. "I need to refill the
ice machine."
He watched her walk away, then turned his
attention back to the bar, filled nearly to capacity. He
couldn't believe he was willing to walk out on all of this
that morning. With a smile, he greeted a plain young
man as he stepped up to the bar.
"What can I get you?"
The young man smiled wanly. "Oh. Nothing
really. You're Tim Bayliss aren't you?"
Bayliss stepped back, wiping his hands on a
towel. "Yeah, yeah, I'm Tim. Can I help you?"
Leaning forward, he looked around to make sure
no one was listening. "I saw you on tv, during the Bettis
trial."
The smile faded from Bayliss' lips. "Yeah?"
"See, I just wanted to. . . well, I found out you
owned this bar, and I wanted to. . ."
"Just spit it out," Tim said gently.
The young man reached across the bar,
extending a hand. "I just wanted to say thank you."
Taking his hand, Bayliss stared at him in
confusion. "For what?"
"Showing the world that we aren't all perverts
and freaks. That Caplan guy, what he did was wrong,
but I'm glad Baltimore knows. Some of us. . . some of
us just need to know that you're out there. On our side."
Releasing Tim's hand, the young man tipped his
head in deference, and walked out of the bar.

State Road Eight

Mulder felt someone pushing his arm, and he
wondered if it was Tim. When he opened his eyes, he
realized he was in their car, his seat reclined to a nearly
horizontal position. The person shaking him was Scully,
staring grimly into the distance as she did so. The radio
hissed in excited voices he couldn't quite make out.
"How'd we get here," he coughed, a foul
chemical aftertaste lingering on his tongue.
"I don't know," she answered quietly. "I just
woke up myself."
He reached up to touch her face gently. "That's a
winning black eye if I ever saw one."
Pointing south, she shook her head. "Look."
A red glow shimmered in the distance, belching
black smoke into the darkening sky. "Is that. . ."
"An alleged natural gas explosion," she said,
fiddling with the radio dial until the station came in a
little more clearly. "Listen."
". . .Cross is on the scene right now, and it is a
scene of total devastation. The quiet little farm
community of New Berlin has been utterly destroyed.
State Police are refusing to allow anyone closer than a
mile from the wreckage left after what is believed to be
a freak explosion of naturally occurring gas underneath
the town. The gas is still burning, and firefighters from
twelve nearby towns, including Five Corners and Galena
are rushing to the scene right now in an attempt to keep
the entire forest from going up in flames. . ."
Cold sweat formed on the back of Mulder's
neck, and he snapped the radio off. The color drained
from his face as he started the car.
"I'm responsible for this," he whispered,
horrified.
Fighting back tears of anger and fear, Scully
shook her head, reaching for his hand "We didn't do
this. _They_ did this."
Pulling out onto State Road Eight, they
remained in agonized, but comfortable silence- together,
but alone with their thoughts. As they headed for Utica,
they didn't bother opening the ashtray. If they had, they
would have found a half-smoked Morley crushed into it.

Later

Washington, D.C.
J. Edgar Hoover Building

Walking out to their cars, they sighed
simultaneously. Skinner had not appreciated their
explanation for the explosion in New Berlin, but he
hadn't argued with them either. They had danced around
the seizures Scully had experienced; it was one of the
many causes for dismissal from the FBI, and they had
discussed it on the way back from New York. Coming
to the conclusion that rare, outside interference had
caused the anomalous behavior, they mutually decided
to ignore it in their official report. Dismissing them to
their own devices, the last Mulder had seen of his
superior was Skinner poring over what little hard
evidence they could provide him.
"Get some sleep," Mulder advised as he
prepared to part ways toward his own car.
"Wait a second," she said, putting her laptop
case on the ground. "I need to talk to you."
He didn't like the tone in his voice. "What?"
She smiled uncomfortably. "I told Skinner, and
now I'm telling you. . . I have quite a bit of vacation
time saved up and. . . well, I've decided to take some of
it."
"I don't understand," he said softly.
Sighing, Scully shook her head. "I need some
time to myself, Mulder. I just need to get away."
"Where will you go?"
"I don't know," she shrugged. "Maybe Maine.
Maine is nice."
"Maine is not nice," he argued, putting a hand on
her shoulder. "I know I don't say it enough. . . ever, but
I need you."
She sighed again. "I'm a liability to you.
Whatever happened to me in that hallway, that makes
me a liability. This whole thing, from the beginning, has
been about finding _your_ truth. I want so much to help
you do that, but if I'm your weak link. . . I just need time
to think, Mulder."
Mulder's next question caught in his throat. "Are
you coming back?"
"I can't answer that," she said. "Not now, not
yet. If you need to get hold of me, call my mother. I'll
keep her advised of my whereabouts, okay?"
Tightening his face, Mulder tried not to let her
know how much this hurt. Her decision made sense,
even if it tore him apart. He took her in his arms,
brushing a kiss on her cheek. Letting go of her, he
squeezed her hand.
"Send me postcards," he said gamely.
"I will," she promised.

Friday

Baltimore, Maryland
Home of Sarah Bayliss

Dinner had been an unexpectedly pleasurable
experience. Tim's family had kept their curiosity to a
minimum, sticking to comfortable topics of
conversation. After the meal, as Tim helped his mother
wash the dishes, Mulder amused himself by telling Kelly
disgusting tales from college until her mother stepped in.
Eventually, everyone filtered out toward home,
whispering encouragement to Tim, and taking one last
assessment of Mulder, leaving the two of them alone
with Sarah.
"I'm going to show him my old room," Tim
announced after a long discussion of what was wrong
with baseball in the nineties.
"Just remember your floor creaks," Sarah said
with a wicked smile.
"Mom," he laughed, his face pinking at the
edges. Leading Mulder up the stairs, he pointed out how
old he was in the various pictures, giving a brief history
if a photograph required it.
Down the hall, he opened the last door on the
left. Littered with quilt frames and sewing equipment, it
was apparent that Sarah Bayliss never expected her
children to return home for any length of time. Closing
the door softly, Tim leaned against it.
"My bed used to be under the window," he said.
"And that entire wall had the covers from pulp detective
magazines on it. . ."
"I haven't been in my old room since I left for
college," Mulder offered. "Must be a lot of memories in
here."
Refusing to acknowledge the nights he had lain
awake, crying in his bed after a visit from his uncle, Tim
nodded, and smiled wistfully. "Jodee Duff taught me
how to kiss on the floor right in front of that closet."
"Oh really," Mulder grinned. "The little vixen."
Tim laughed. "Yeah, that seventh grade vamp."
Reaching out, Bayliss pulled Mulder to him, just
to hold him close. Mulder looked into his eyes, and
smiled. "She was a good teacher."
Tim leaned forward and kissed Mulder gently.
Pulling away, he disentangled his arms from the
crutches, and slid down to sit on the floor, motioning for
Mulder to join him. Taking his hand, Bayliss leaned his
head on the other man's shoulder.
"Let's talk," he murmured.
Mulder nodded. "Okay. About what?"
"We haven't discussed this, and. . . well, I was
just wondering. . ."
"What, already?"
Looking up at Mulder, Bayliss half smiled. "I
just want to know. . . are we. . . I mean, do you want to
be exclusively with me? I mean, it's okay if you don't, I
understand, I just want to know where we stand."
Mulder grinned. "Are you asking me to be your
boyfriend, Tim Bayliss?"
Rolling his eyes, he pushed an elbow gently into
Mulder's side. "I love you. I love only you."
With a gentle kiss on the forehead, Mulder
nodded. "Only you."
"I want to get tested, both of us," Tim said
seriously. "I'm tired of making love to you and not being
able to really touch you. . . taste you."
"We can do that," Mulder whispered. Another
jump in their relationship, and for the first time since it
had all begun, it was a perfectly comfortable transition.

John Munch's Apartment

Awakened by the sound of someone pounding at
the door, Munch forced himself off the couch. Grabbing
the remote, he turned the television off, and walked over
to find out who would be so crass as to go knocking at
midnight. Peering through the peephole, he shook his
head in disbelief, then pulled the door open. Scully
handed him a bottle of wine and a brown paper bag,
looking at him expectantly.
"Dana," he said, unable to think of an
appropriate greeting.
Clicking her tongue against her teeth, she
nodded. "Are you going to invite me in?"
He didn't respond immediately, so she stuffed
her hands in her pockets, and stepped inside the
doorway.
"Actually," she said, before he could answer.
"You _are_ going to invite me in. We're going to sit on
your couch, and drink my cheap wine out of paper cups.
I'll admire you, you'll admire me, and later, we'll make
love on whatever ugly sheets you happen to have on
your bed at the moment. I'll even let you talk about
Sartre instead of having a cigarette afterward, and in the
morning, I'm going to make you breakfast, kiss you
because I want to and as long as you don't have me
arrested, I'm going to be here when you get home from
work. I don't know about you, but I'm grown. I know
what I want, and I have more class than to be
embarrassed when confronted with it later on."
Shutting the door behind her with a slam, she
grabbed the sleeve of his robe, and pulled him down to
kiss her. Pulling back, John stared at her. "Lewis put
you up to this, didn't he?"
Taking off her jacket, she tossed it on the floor
and locked the door. "Open the wine."
Shaking the paper bag, he glanced inside, then
up at her. "A box of twenty-four?"
With a smile, she loosened the top button of her
shirt. "Why sell yourself short?"

(End Part Ten)
(The End)