Date: Fri, 12 Dec 1997 17:12:31 -0700 From: "Beloved" Subject: Inamorata II: Ashes (1/3) Title: Inamorata II - Ashes Author: Beloved E-mail: marzipan@mailexcite.com Rating: PG Classification: XR Spoilers: None Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance, Pendrell/other romance Summary: Sun, sand and spontaneous human combustion... That's what brings Mulder and Scully to LA, with Pendrell along for the ride. The only witness is a ten-year-old girl with a secret that will strain Mulder and Scully's new-found relationship to the limits... Disclaimer: The X Files and all associated characters are the property of Chris Carter and Ten-Thirteen Productions, not to mention the Fox Network. No profit is being made from this story, and no infringement is intended. Claimer: Everyone else is mine, though. Acknowledgement: To Cass and Algie, my two favourite doofaholics. Thanks for all the advice. "Ashes" by Beloved - Los Angeles, 10:27pm, 11th October - Gretchen Wade climbed the stairs to the front porch, feeling exhausted. She'd had a long day at the office where she worked as an underpaid and overqualified secretary, and she'd had to stop at the store for groceries before she could go home. When she opened the door, her babysitter was waiting in the hall, her face tight with anger. She was only a teenager and she obviously hadn't expected to be kept out this late. Apologising pathetically, Gretchen gave her ten dollars more than she was owed to make up for the inconvenience, then carried the bags into the kitchen. She was unpacking them when she heard a noise and looked around to see her daughter standing in her nightshirt in the kitchen doorway. "What are you doing out of bed, Sammy?" she scolded, hearing the petulant tone in her voice and hating it. She was *so* tired... If just for once she could get home on time, it would make all the difference. "You're late," Sammy said accusingly, her dark eyes cold under the long white-gold curls. For a ten-year-old girl, she certainly had the hang of emotional blackmail, Gretchen thought. "I know, baby, and I'm sorry," she said, reaching out for her daughter. But Sammy eluded her embrace, darting back into the hallway. "You're always late!" she shouted, her round, childish face screwed up in anger. "You're not my mommy! Mommies are supposed to take care of their kids! I hate you! I hate you!" "I do take care of you!" Tired and upset, Gretchen was quick to anger and Sammy was still screaming, "I hate you! I hate you!" at her over and over again. "I'm out working myself into the ground to make sure there's food on the table! Who buys you those dolls you love? Me! I have to work to get that money!" She was out of control, a small, rational part of herself could feel it, but she couldn't seem to stop shouting at her daughter. She was so angry she was burning with fury... And then she realised she really was getting hot. Sweat was pouring down her forehead. She pulled at her collar, panting for breath. Sammy had fallen silent and was gazing at her with her mouth open. "Sammy... help me..." she gasped. Then her vision seemed to explode into fire, and as she twisted in agonising pain she saw Sammy looking at her, the leaping flames reflected in her dark eyes, her expression perfectly calm. Then everything went black and she knew no more. - Washington, 6:06am, 13th October - Dana Scully sat on the couch, her legs drawn up underneath her, and looked out of the window. The sky was flushed with the first signs of dawn. She had seen the sun come up four times already this week. Fox was still asleep where she'd left him, curled up like a child. It was better to let him sleep, she'd discovered, because of the nightmares that often seemed to awaken him in the early hours. The first night he'd stayed with her, he'd woken with a jolt at four a.m., sitting bolt upright and gasping with fear. He said he often dreamed of Samantha's abduction, but sometimes it would be his father's death. The dreams were always vivid, always of some traumatic event in his past. They were learning a lot about each other, Dana reflected. She'd thought she knew him pretty well, but there were still plenty of things to discover. Would there be even more when they finally made love? She guessed there would, but she didn't think it would be a problem for a while yet. Neither of them wanted to rush into anything. Right now, they were content simply to sleep in each other's arms. They had plenty of space, at least, she thought. Mulder only stayed with her two or three times a week, and they'd agreed not to make their relationship public at work. It would only complicate things, and they were both aware that they were already considered to be unnaturally, even unprofessionally, close for partners. All the same, Dana thought that some people were beginning to suspect. Skinner had asked several times if everything was all right between her and Agent Mulder, each time with a look that suggested he could see some change in them. One of the forensic pathologists had come unexpectedly into the basement office and had looked askance at Mulder's hand on her arm. She was surprised by how much she wanted to keep their relationship a secret. It was as though it was only safe to keep it private, just between the two of them. She wondered if she was being paranoid, then dismissed the thought with a grin. Fox would approve. "What are you thinking?" She turned with a smile. "Not much. Just how beautiful it is when the sun's coming up." Fox Mulder was leaning against the bedroom door, his hair still ruffled from sleep. She thought again how attractive he was, how glad she was that she'd given their relationship a chance to be more than just friendship. He came over and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "You looked so far away." He yawned and stretched, rubbing a hand across his face. "I'm making a coffee. Would you like one?" She nodded. "Days like this I really don't want to go to work." He busied himself with the coffee-machine. "We have to. There are government conspiracies to uncover, strange happenings to investigate..." "Paperwork to file?" she said with a grin. "Or paperwork to file. It's all glamour in the FBI." They had breakfast together, then Mulder picked up his car keys. "I'd better get to work." She started to answer, but the phone rang. "I'll get it," she said, picking up the receiver. "Scully." The Assistant Director's deep voice greeted her. "Agent Scully, I know it's early but could you come in to the office? An agent sent a file over last night, and I think you should take a look." "Yes, sir. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." He cleared his throat. "Do you know where Agent Mulder is? I've tried his apartment, but there's no answer." She felt herself panic slightly, then got control of herself. "No, sir. He could be jogging." Fox was looking enquiringly at her, and she mouthed "Skinner". He grinned. "I'll try his mobile. If he gets in contact with you, tell him I want to see him too." She hung up just as Mulder's mobile rang, then gathered her briefcase and car keys as Mulder went through the same conversation with Skinner. When he hung up, he was grinning broadly. "Skinner is definitely worried about you," he said. "He asked me if I'd noticed any change in you." She raised an eyebrow. "What did you say?" "That I hadn't." He shrugged on his jacket. "I'd better go." He pulled her close to him, kissing her deeply. "Someday I'm going to do that in front of Skinner," he said softly, brushing his lips against hers again. "See you at the office, Dana." She waited for a good ten minutes after he'd gone, feeling warm with happiness. Fox's comments about what Skinner had said worried her slightly, but she put the thought out of her mind. Even if Skinner *had* found out, there was no rule against their relationship. They'd just have to weather the storm of gossip, that was all, and it wasn't as if they weren't used to being talked about. When Dana was shown into Assistant Director Skinner's office some twenty minutes later, she was surprised to see not just Mulder and the Assistant Director, but Agent Pendrell as well. The young agent met her gaze as she walked in, then immediately looked down at his feet. She could have sworn he was blushing. Poor Pendrell, Skinner must have dragged him in to give him a dressing-down. No wonder he was embarrassed. "Agent Scully, Agent Mulder." The Assistant Director's voice was grave. Scully wondered what could cause him to look so stern. Her heart sank. Maybe he *had* found out about the change in their relationship. Skinner almost certainly would not approve, even if he could do nothing about it. "Sir?" Mulder said, his voice steady. She wondered if he was as anxious as she was, but she didn't dare steal a sideways glance at him. "I wouldn't have called you in so early, but Agent Pendrell and I are of the opinion that this is an X file." He nodded to Pendrell, who gulped, blushed again and said, "Two days ago a Bureau agent was called to a homicide in California. She found evidence which she believes suggests the involvement of something supernatural in the death." He had been clutching a file as he spoke, and he now spread the contents out on the table. They both leaned forward to see. There were a series of photographs of the crime scene, most of which seemed to be burn-marks. Mulder picked one up and studied it closely. "What makes you think this might be an X file, sir?" Dana said. She could see no such evidence from the prints. "Agent Pendrell?" Skinner said. Pendrell pointed to the scorch-marks. "These marks are consistent with extremely high temperatures, yet nothing was found at the scene which could have caused the body to burn at such a heat." Scully looked across at Mulder. He shrugged, and said, "You thought this might be spontaneous human combustion?" "Yes," Pendrell said. Mulder shook his head. "That can't be right. The burn patterns are all wrong." He traced the scorching on the blackened remains. "The body is burned all over, not a single part of it left untouched. In spontaneous combustion, some part of the body is nearly always left unburned - often an extremity of some sort. In rare cases the body is entirely vapourised by the high temperatures, but I've never seen a victim of spontaneous human combustion with burns like these." "Scully, what do you think?" Skinner asked, turning to her. She studied the pictures again. "I'm not familiar with spontaneous combustion, sir, but I would like to do the autopsy." "May I assist Agent Scully, sir?" Pendrell said. His light blue eyes were eager, and she smiled at his enthusiasm. "I would have no objection to that, sir," she said. Skinner nodded. "Fine. Just find us some answers. The agent who investigated the case out in Los Angeles is severely shaken." Mulder had been flicking through the documents on the table. He looked up. "What was the name of the victim?" "Gretchen Wade. She was a secretary, aged thirty-nine." Skinner picked up another photograph from the pile on the table. "This is her." Dana looked at the picture. It was an official-looking shot, head-and-shoulders only, of an attractive blonde with friendly blue eyes. It was hard to equate the smiling, professional-looking woman of the photograph with the blackened and charred remains of the crime-scene shots. "Were there any witnesses?" Mulder asked. Attuned to her partner's moods, Scully heard the expectation in his voice. , she thought. "One," Agent Pendrell said. "Her daughter, a ten-year-old girl. She's staying with her relatives." Her partner nodded as though that was what he'd expected to hear. "We'll fly down to LA as soon as possible, sir." They were turning to leave, when the assistant director called them back. "One more thing, Agent Mulder, Agent Scully. Gretchen Wade was an employee of the FBI. She worked in the LA office. That's why the local agent was so shaken." He gazed from one to the other, and Scully felt the weight of responsibility descending on them. "Make sure you do a good job out there." - Los Angeles, 1:27pm, 13th October - Apart from the black and yellow gaudiness of the crime-scene ribbons, there was nothing unusual about the house in which Gretchen Wade had died. It was a long, low building with a big veranda at the front, set back from the suburban street in a garden of sun-scorched grass. The road was peaceful in the sunny afternoon, but it was the quietness of shock. Fox Mulder noticed that paint was peeling from the front door and the windows were opaque with dirt. Either Gretchen Wade had been less than keen on housework, or she hadn't been able to afford the time or the money to keep her house looking nice. He looked back at his partner. Scully was standing at the bottom of the path, gazing up at the house, a slight frown furrowing her brow. She saw that he was waiting and with an apologetic smile, hurried up to the door. Mulder knocked, but there was no reply. "I thought the local agent was supposed to be meeting us here," Scully said. She looked slightly edgy, Mulder thought, wondering if anything was wrong. He was about to ask, when a car pulled up outside the house and a young woman got out. She was in her late twenties, he guessed, and severely dressed in a dark grey suit, brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. However, the impression she gave of unemotional professionalism was undermined by the way she paused and visibly tried to pull herself together before walking up the path. "You must be from Washington," she said in a cool voice which couldn't quite hide the shakiness. "I'm Agent Cathy Richards with the Los Angeles office." "Agent Mulder, and this is Agent Scully," Mulder said, and they all shook hands. "We were told you suspected spontaneous combustion." She looked sharply at him as though expecting him to be mocking her, but seeing nothing there but interest, she suddenly relaxed. Ducking under the tape, she opened the door, and they followed her inside. The hallway was beautifully decorated and superbly neat. Scully looked around, surprise evident in her expression. "It's very well-kept in here." Agent Richards smiled. "I know it looks pretty faded from outside, but Gretchen always tried to keep things tidy." She swallowed and suddenly looked as if she was about to cry. Mulder exchanged glances with his partner. Agent Richards had obviously known Gretchen Wade pretty well. She was the one who had asked for assistance from Bureau headquarters. They would have to bear in mind the shock that the death could have had on her before they accepted her theory too readily. "Where did it happen?" Scully asked. "The kitchen. This way." Richards showed them through and Mulder caught his breath. For the first time he could see the extent of the damage. Although the body had been removed, it was obvious where it had happened because of the melting plastic of surrounding surfaces and the charred mess that had been the carpet. "What does the daughter say happened?" he asked, looking up at the ceiling, where the plaster had been cracked and twisted by the heat. A black rose of smoke damage bloomed above the place where Gretchen Wade had died. "Sammy's in shock," Richards said apologetically. "She's acting like nothing happened, but she says she can't remember anything. I don't think she even believes her mother's dead." Scully was scraping samples into bags for analysis later. She straightened up and cast a glance at Mulder. "This doesn't look like anything out of the ordinary to me," she said sceptically. "I see nothing here that would be inconsistent with a homicide. Someone could have doused the woman in gasoline and set her alight, which would have resulted in the same burn patterns." She pulled off her latex gloves and went on, "If Mrs. Wade was murdered by someone the child knew, say a boyfriend or even the girl's father, that might explain why she's blanked out any memory of it occurring." "What about these surfaces?" Mulder said. He touched the melted worktop. She reached over and touched it too, then looked up at him in shock. "Could dousing someone in gasoline have caused stone to melt?" Scully shook her head slightly, and then looked across at Richards. "When can I do the autopsy?" Richards was looking at the surfaces in equal horror. With an effort, she dragged her attention back to them. "Any time you like. As soon as possible." "Good." Scully turned to look at Mulder. "Pendrell and I should get started as soon as we can." "Okay," he said, looking once more at the ashes of the room. He tried to imagine what it must have been like for the little girl, watching her mother burn to death, and then just as quickly tried to forget. "I'll talk to the daughter." Agent Pendrell watched as Dana Scully walked around the body on the table. She hadn't said a word yet. He couldn't blame her, looking at the thing that lay on the stainless steel. It hardly looked human any more, so burned was it by the incredible heat. Scully looked up and gave him a wry smile. "I guess we'd better make a start. Subject is a white female, name of Gretchen Rachel Wade, thirty-nine years of age..." Pendrell listened to the litany of Gretchen Wade's life and felt a sudden swell of sadness. What of the person she had been, the things she had done, the people she had loved? Yet here she was, reduced to a careful collection of facts and figures that, when all was said and done, told you nothing about the real Gretchen Wade. He became aware that Scully had stopped and was looking at him. "S-sorry," he said. Yet again, he felt like the worst kind of doof in front of her. But there was only sympathy in the big blue eyes. "It's okay. This kind of thing...It never gets easier." Then the professional Scully was back, the forensic pathologist. "Let's get it over with," she said. Fox Mulder knocked on the door of a small stucco house. The house might not be as big, but the neighbourhood was certainly better, he thought. Up here in the hills, it was cooler and the streets felt safer. After a few moments the door was opened by a tall, thin man wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. "Yes?" he said. "My name's Fox Mulder, I'm a federal agent." He flashed his badge. "I need to speak to your daughter, Sammy Wade." The man looked surprised, and then light seemed to dawn. "Come in, Mr Mulder." He ushered him into the sitting-room. Mulder couldn't help noticing that Gretchen Wade's husband didn't keep his house as neat as she had hers. "I'll just go and get her - she's upstairs playing with her dolls." He gave Mulder a quick, timid smile. "I should tell you, I'm not her father. Sammy gets upset if you call me her dad. I guess she misses Paul. G-Gretchen and I got married five years back. We've been separated for two years now." Something seemed to be ringing a bell at the back of Mulder's head, trying to draw attention to itself, but he couldn't quite work out what it was. "Where's Sammy's father now?" Mr. Wade shrugged. "Missing. He claimed he loved Sammy so much, but he abandoned her just like that. He wasn't a good man - used to beat Gretchen up, sometimes even Sammy." For a moment a look of anger passed across his face, then he gave a brief, helpless smile. "What can I do? It's been five years since he even called her. I love her more than anything in the world, but how can I make up for her father not even wanting to know her?" Mulder nodded. "I think I'd better speak to Sammy," he said. While Mr Wade was upstairs collecting his stepdaughter, Mulder ran the conversation back through his head. He'd been surprised to learn that Sammy wasn't Wade's natural daughter. No one had suggested otherwise, not even Agent Richards who might reasonably have been expected to know the family background. And there was something else... Something was trying to call itself to his attention, but it was as shadowy as smoke and he couldn't seem to see it clearly. He almost had it when his train of thought was abruptly derailed by shouting from upstairs. "No! No! I hate you!" Standing up and walking into the hallway, Mulder could see Mr Wade arguing with a little girl. She was wearing a dark-blue dungarees and her white-blonde curls were whipped around her face as she shook her head violently. "Samantha Jane Wade, you go downstairs *this minute*!" Wade looked down and, seeing Mulder standing there, cast him an apologetic glance. "Don't call me that!" The little girl's voice was now a piercing screech. "That's not my name!" "What *is* your name?" The girl seemed to subside suddenly. She looked down to see who had spoken, and seemed surprised to see Mulder. For a moment she regarded him in silence with grave, dark brown eyes. Mulder thought he'd rarely seen such a pretty child. He wasn't sure if it was the unusual combination of pale hair and dark eyes, or maybe that she was called Samantha and reminded him slightly of his sister, but he found himself smiling at her. "Samantha Jane Morrow," the little girl said politely. "May I speak to you, Miss Morrow?" Mulder asked. She nodded. "You can call me Sammy." Leaving her stepfather standing on the landing, she came down as regally as a queen. Watching her walk down the stairs, Mulder felt a fizz of recognition and suddenly his brain made the connection it had been searching for since he'd arrived at the house. Samantha Jane Morrow. An image from a black and white photograph came to him. This was the information he'd traded his proof for. This, according to the file, was Melissa Scully's child. Dana Scully stepped back from the autopsy table and took off her gloves. "It's over," she said to Pendrell, who was sitting by the door, his head slumped forward. He looked up and gave her a shaky smile. "Sorry." His face was still dead white. "Don't be." She took another look at the green sheet concealing the body and felt a shudder of nausea. "I haven't dealt with anything as bad as that in a long time. Sometimes it just gets to you." "It shouldn't, though." Pendrell looked miserable. She put a hand on his shoulder and he raised his head to meet her gaze. "The day something like that *doesn't* get to you is the day you should give up, Agent Pendrell." He managed another smile and she felt sure he would be okay. Despite his scientific brilliance, Agent Pendrell had very little confidence in his abilities. She wondered if she should tell him that, boost his ego a little more, but decided against it. There would be plenty of time later for him to learn how highly she thought of him, but right now she should get the results of the autopsy to Mulder. She was sure he'd want to know as soon as possible - especially with results like these. The door opened and Agent Richards came in. She carefully averted her eyes from the cadaver. "Did you find anything useful, Agent Scully?" Scully nodded. "I've got to call Mulder, let him know what I got." She looked across at Pendrell, still slightly green, and decided it would be a good idea to get him out of the autopsy room. "Agent Pendrell can show you what we found. I think he could probably use a coffee right now." Pendrell gave her a weak smile and took the autopsy results from her, obviously glad to get out. Dana watched them go, then reached for her mobile. She still wasn't sure what she'd found, and she hated not to be sure. But maybe Fox had found out something more from the girl. Sammy Morrow was sitting bolt upright on the worn couch in the living-room, clutching a rag-doll. It was inexpertly made, but nevertheless had a certain charm to it, with long dark hair of brown wool and bright button eyes that reminded Mulder of the child's own. "Have you come to ask about Mommy?" she said. Taken by surprise, Mulder said nothing. He'd understood from Agent Richards that Sammy was in denial about her mother's death. "Yes," he said slowly, playing for time. He didn't want to ask her anything that might make her trauma worse. The girl clutched the doll even tighter, but apart from that instinctive movement she was extraordinarily calm. He guessed it could be part of the shock she was suffering, but he'd never seen anything like this in a post-traumatic stress reaction. "What happened, Sammy?" he asked gently. "Mommy was late home. She was tired. We had a row." The flat, childish voice seemed at odds with what she had seen, but he thought of the trauma she must have experienced. Perhaps she was trying to manage it in the only way she knew how, by denying her emotional responses. "Then what?" "She shouted at me. Then she asked me to help her. Then- Then she was on fire." Mulder saw that the child's knuckles were white as she held the rag-doll. For some reason he felt better seeing some kind of reaction, rather than that strange calm. "How did it happen?" "Look, Agent Mulder, do you have to ask Sammy all these questions? She's had a tough time-" Mulder waved Wade into silence. Sammy's dark eyes hadn't left his. He gazed into them and felt himself slipping away... He sat up with a gasp and looked at Sammy. She was staring at him, open-mouthed. He was still sitting, stunned with horror, when the insistent tone of his mobile phone broke the spell. He reached for it. "Mulder." "Mulder, it's me." Scully's voice jolted him again. "Where are you?" "I'm with Mr Wade." "Is the girl there?" "Yes." There was a short pause, and then she said, "Maybe you should take this in another room. What I have to say isn't very pleasant." He got up, excusing himself, and walked out into the hallway. "What is it, Scully?" "I've got the autopsy results." "What happened?" "She was burned all over from outside, as though she was caught in a flash of flame. There wasn't a single patch of exposed skin that escaped. The thing is..." She sighed. "I can't find any evidence of any flammable agent that could have caused the burns. Much as I hate to say it, Gretchen Wade must have died from spontaneous combustion." He could hear the sceptical note in her voice. She had never really believed it possible. And now nor did he. "I've got to go, Scully. I'll meet you back at the hotel in half an hour." He hung up and looked through into the living-room. Sammy Wade was holding her doll, rocking it back and forwards like a baby. She looked immensely fragile and younger than she was. He sighed. All that wouldn't make it any easier to prove what it was he believed she was. How could he break it to Dana that he'd found her sister's child - but now he thought she might have killed her mother? Dana Scully sat on the bed of her hotel room, pouring over her autopsy results. She must have made a mistake, surely. Spontaneous human combustion was nothing more than a myth. When the body was as badly burned as Gretchen Wade's had been it was easy to overlook something, but none of the tests she and Pendrell had run had come up with anything that suggested an outside cause for the burns. What could possibly account for the searingly high temperatures that had enveloped the woman, causing the stone to melt? And why hadn't the body vapourised? Surely if the temperature was high enough to cause that kind of damage to the stone surfaces it should have utterly destroyed the human tissue. Yet she'd found normal tissue under the charred surface. It just wasn't possible. She looked at the results again. In her years of working with Mulder, she'd learned to avoid that kind of conclusion. She'd seen too many things she'd previously considered impossible to dismiss anything too lightly. But she still believed the science she'd learnt was the best way to explain the seemingly inexplicable. Answers didn't come from the supernatural, only from phenomena science had yet to measure and classify with any skill. She had to believe that, or she might as well cast aside everything she held dear and start believing in absolutely anything. Like Fox, she thought, with a wry smile. No, that wasn't fair, she told herself. He just approached things from the opposite angle. While she wouldn't believe until she'd found proof, he tended to believe until things were proved otherwise. There was a knock on the door and she took off her glasses. She'd become slightly vain about letting Fox see her wearing them. It was ridiculous when she'd known him for so long. "Come in!" she called. Mulder opened the door, looking slightly apprehensive and carrying a file. She smiled at him. "I was just going through these again. Double-checking." "You think you made a mistake?" She shrugged. "Not that I can see. But I can't account for those burns any other way. It must be spontaneous human combustion." He picked up the papers and flicked through them. After a long moment, he put them down and said, "No, I don't think it was. I think Gretchen Wade was murdered. By someone she knew very well." Exasperation swept through her. "Fox, the evidence is clear. How could anyone do something like that without leaving one *single* trace of gasoline - or whatever it was? It has to be spontaneous combustion." He sat down on the bed next to her and put a hand on her arm. "Dana, I brought all the files on cases of SHC over with me. I've just been going through them. There's a distinctive pattern. The bodies are burnt, usually vapourised, often leaving a limb untouched. Nothing around them is harmed in any way, including the chairs that people were sitting in when it happened." He looked back at the papers, sorting through them until he found a photograph of the crime scene. "None of which fits what happened to Gretchen Wade. Her body wasn't vapourised, the surrounding area received severe fire damage, and as you said, not a single part of her body was left untouched by the fire." "Except inside," Scully said. As he looked at her, she handed him a photograph of Gretchen Wade's corpse. He glanced at it, then looked away, looking slightly sick. "Underneath the burnt skin we found normal tissue. Even her bones hadn't cracked or twisted. In a fire of that kind of heat, you'd expect bones to calcify." To her surprise, he took her hand. "I think I know what happened to her. I... saw it." "You *saw* it?" She grinned. "Are you sure you haven't been working too hard?" He shook his head. "No. I was talking to Sammy, Gretchen Wade's daughter. She was telling me what she saw. And then... it was as if I was there. I saw what happened to Gretchen, Dana. And I know who did it." "Who?" She didn't know whether he was imagining things. He could take cases very personally, she knew, and ever since she'd found out the little girl was called Samantha she'd had a nagging worry that this might be one of them. He looked down at her, hazel eyes pleading with her to understand. "Sammy. Her daughter." She laughed. "Fox, that's ridiculous. That girl is ten years old." "Yes, she is. But she isn't a normal ten-year-old." "Are you saying Sammy killed her mother? How? We found *no* suggestion of homicide." "That's because you weren't looking in the right places." He sighed. "Dana, I don't think Sammy Wade meant to harm her mother. But I believe she has a powerful psychic ability and she doesn't yet know how to control it. She lost her temper with her mother and her rage caused-" "Caused Mommy to go up in smoke?" Scully raised an eyebrow. "*Mulder*..." She could hear the weariness in her own voice. "There is absolutely no evidence for this." "There's evidence in the X files." He opened the file he'd been carrying and pulled out a set of pictures. Looking at them, Scully was struck by the similarity to the scene of Gretchen Wade's death. "Are you saying Sammy Wade killed these other people?" He shook his head. "No. These are all unsolved cases, and they happened between thirty and five years ago. The only thing that they have in common is the witnesses. Each time the fire was witnessed by a child or a teenager. Investigating officers didn't know what to make of the deaths. Psychic ability tends to manifest itself early, usually during the teen years. It mostly causes poltergeist activity, but in some rare cases there's evidence of telepathic pyromania. What we might call firestarting." "Mulder, even if that were true..." She cast around for something that might get through to him. "We don't know that Sammy Wade has any psychic ability whatsoever." Mulder said nothing for a long moment, but the expression in his eyes suddenly made her feel as though the rug had been pulled out from under her feet. "Yes, we do, Dana," he said softly. "We know because she's not just Sammy Wade." He took a photograph out of his pocket. "That's Sammy." Then he reached into her briefcase and took out another. "That's the photograph we have of Melissa's child. It was five years ago, but they're the same. They're the same girl." She compared the pictures, her mind reeling. "B-But the names are wrong. Melissa's daughter was called Morrow." "Gretchen remarried. Her first husband was named Paul Morrow." He gently took her shaking hand again. In a way, the tenderness in his voice was worse than if he'd just told her without any care for her feelings. "The information we had was five years out of date." "You're wrong," she whispered. "It's the truth." He put down a newspaper-clipping. "That's about Paul Morrow. He died five years ago in a fire at the warehouse where he worked. The local firefighters couldn't do anything about it. They said the blaze was unbelievably hot." He sighed. "The pattern fits, Dana." "No!" She pulled her hand away and stood up. She felt bewildered, sad, confused, and all of it was hardening into white-hot anger. She glared at her partner. "I want to talk to that child. Whatever theories you might have, we should at least attempt to investigate it according to Bureau policy, don't you think?" He looked upset, but not surprised. He couldn't have expected anything else, not coming to her with a theory like that. He must have known she'd be angry and hurt. "Yes, you're right," he said. But there was a distance in his voice that made her suddenly go cold all over. - Los Angeles, 6:27am, 14th October - Agent Pendrell jogged down the pavement, his muscles burning. He wasn't used to this kind of heat, not at this time in the morning anyway. He could feel the sweat dripping off him and he was willing to bet he'd gone bright red. As long as he didn't meet Agent Scully, that was all that mattered. Not that she seemed to notice what he looked like in any case. He stopped, panting with the exertion. Whenever he started thinking about Dana Scully he lost the rhythm that was all-important in running and ended up nearly tripping over his own feet. "Agent Pendrell!" Oh God. A woman's voice was hailing him. For once, couldn't he meet Scully when he wasn't wearing a labcoat, nearly vomiting at the sight of an autopsy or in some other way totally at a disadvantage? Surely that wouldn't be too much to ask? "Agent Pendrell!" He turned around. The voice was wrong, lighter than Scully's. Coming towards him was Agent Cathy Richards, dressed in grey sweat-pants and a white vest-top. She was running faster than he had been, but hadn't even raised a sweat. He guessed she was used to this heat. Out of the severely formal suit, she looked much younger and more approachable. Her hair was still pulled back, but tendrils had escaped and curled like ivy around her face. She was really quite pretty, he was surprised to find himself thinking. She stopped beside him, puffing her breath out, then she grinned. "I must be a glutton for punishment. I don't know why I put myself through this every day." "I know," he said, smiling back. "It's too painful." She jogged on the spot, then stretched her legs. "I wanted to ask you how the investigation's going." He felt himself going red under her scrutiny. "I don't really know much at the moment. You'd better ask Mulder or Scully - I'm just kinda along for the ride." She shook her head. "Don't put yourself down. Anyway, Agent Scully frightens me, and Agent Mulder's kind of weird." She looked at him with bright sea-green eyes. "Are they... you know?" Pendrell felt his stomach flip. Even Agent Richards had noticed it. "I don't think so. There's been gossip about it for ages, but none of it seems to be true." Richards stretched some more. "D'you want to get some coffee later this morning?" she said. "You can fill me in on what's going on with the case." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'd love to, but I've got so much to do." She smiled. "Never mind. I'll just have to find out for myself." Then she started jogging on the spot again. "I'd better get on or I'll be late for work." "See you," he said, watching her run off up the hill. At the top of the hill, Cathy Richards turned and looked back at the distant figure jogging back to the hotel. She groaned and buried her face in her hands. "You are such an idiot!" she told herself, remembering the look in his eyes when she'd suggested Mulder and Scully were an item. He must have a thing for Agent Scully. And she'd just called her frightening. "Great move, Richards," she muttered. "Just let it go. He's obviously not interested." Then she picked up the pace and made it back to her house just in time to avoid being late for work. - Wade house, 9:15am - Dana Scully stood outside the white-painted house, her stomach knotted with apprehension. She wished Mulder was with her, but she was still too angry to swallow her pride and tell him she needed him. She took one last look at the photograph of Melissa's daughter, then put it away. She was going to have to do this sooner or later, she thought. Taking a deep breath, she walked up to the door and knocked sharply. It was at times like this she wished she still smoked. She hadn't done for years, but every now and then the craving could hit her like an express train and she would remember how much easier it was to face the world with a cigarette in your hand. , she told herself dryly. The door opened, and Dana found herself gazing down at a little girl with white-gold hair and eyes as dark as night. For a moment she was speechless. Sammy Wade was Melissa's daughter, there was no doubt about that. She could see the set of Melissa's chin in the small face. It was like looking at a familiar photograph in the negative, all the colours changed. The girl looked her up and down and then grinned. "Hi, Dana." Knocked sideways with shock, Scully didn't know what to say. Then she pulled herself together. "You must be Sammy," she said. "May I come in?" Sammy nodded and led her down the hall to the living-room. "There's no one at home 'cept me," she said conversationally. "Do you normally answer the door to strangers?" Dana said. Her mind was such a whirl, her mouth seemed to be working on automatic pilot. Sammy looked up at her with a wide grin. "No." Then she jumped on to the couch. "But the lady told me I could trust you." "What lady?" Scully was beginning to feel as though she'd wandered into someone else's conversation. The little girl put her head on one side and looked at her consideringly. There was a mischievous look in her eyes. "Melissa." Her grin broadened, delighted at the response she got. "W-Who's Melissa?" Scully said. The girl couldn't mean her sister. How could she know her? "She looks after me. In my dreams." Sammy put her head on one side, examining Dana closely. "You look like her." "We've got the same eyes," Scully found herself saying. She pulled herself together. She was on a damn *investigation*. "I'm a federal agent. My name is Dana Scully..." Her voice trailed off. How could she possibly keep herself together faced with something as huge as this? She thought of her anger with Mulder earlier. She'd told him she wanted to investigate this case properly. She had to do it. "Sammy, I need to ask you some questions." "She said you would. She said you'd always do your job." She could almost hear Melissa's voice saying the words. "Well, she's right," she said. "Sorry." Sammy's face was suddenly grave. "She didn't mean it like it sounded when I said it." "Tell me about what happened to your mother." She knew that Mr Wade, or some other responsible adult, ought to be here while she talked to Sammy, but somehow she didn't think they were going to be taking this case to trial, no matter what they finally proved. Sammy shook her head. "I can show you," she said. "How?" "Look at me." Scully looked into the wide, dark eyes and saw nothing. She blinked, and suddenly she was looking at Gretchen Wade, alive, tired and clearly angry. The images flashed by until the woman's red face was obliterated by a burst of flame. "No!" she gasped, pitching forward as though she'd been drowning, desperate for air. Sammy's small face was tired and tear-streaked. Scully didn't know how long the vision had lasted, but she could see that, however it was generated, it had taken it out of the child. "I didn't hurt her! He didn't believe me!" She rubbed her hands over her eyes, and it was suddenly brought home to Scully that she was still dealing with a child, albeit an extraordinary one. "He thinks I hurt her." She was subsiding into heaving sobs. There was nothing she could do except wait for the girl to calm down. Part of her wanted to hug Sammy, but despite everything, she was still investigating this case. She couldn't allow herself to get caught up in the emotions it awoke in her. "So what happened?" she said quietly. "Who did hurt your mother, Sammy?" "I showed you!" She looked petulant and miserable. "Yes, you showed me." Taking Sammy by the shoulders, Scully looked hard into her eyes. "Now I want you to *tell* me. Everything you know." - County Records Office, 10.04am - "Anything you can find on the Morrows. *Anything*." Agent Mulder was chewing sunflower seeds, a sure sign that he was on edge. "What are we looking for, Agent Mulder?" Pendrell cast a glance over at Agent Richards. She was looking up at Mulder with a rapt expression. She'd left her hair loose this time, falling in smooth light-brown waves over her shoulders. , he thought, then stopped, surprised to find that he actually cared. "Fires, Agent Richards." Mulder handed her a plastic folder. "The Morrows have lived in this area for nine years. Paul Morrow died in a fire five years ago. I want to know if there were other unexplained deaths around the family, did they light anyone else's fire, so to speak." Richards' mouth had quirked up in a slight smile, Pendrell noticed. She didn't seem to think Mulder was so weird now, he thought bitterly. "What will you and Agent Scully be doing in the meantime?" he said, hearing the note of irritation that had crept into his voice. "Agent Scully is questioning Sammy Wade again. I have some other files to look at, relating to similar cases. Maybe there's something we've overlooked." Mulder seemed more amused than surprised by his hostility. "Well, I guess we'll get on with the paperwork," Richards said with a grin. "Good idea." Mulder cast him a glance that made Pendrell feel suddenly very uncomfortable. Before he'd in any way recovered, Mulder was gone. "Mulder thinks a lot of himself, doesn't he?" Looking up, he saw that Richards was smiling, inviting him to share the joke. "I mean, you're only a brilliant forensic chemist. Of *course* you'd be happy to spend your day looking through the county records." She dropped her gaze in embarrassment when he said nothing. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." He shook his head. "No, no, you didn't." She tucked a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. "It just makes me mad that you aren't being used to your full potential. Agent Scully told me you're one of the best in the Bureau." "Seriously?" He couldn't help the idiotic grin that spread across his face. At least Scully thought he was more than the klutz he always felt like in front of her. "That's what she said." She opened the file, gazing in horror at page upon page of microfiche records. "Oh my God. We'll be here for months." She looked up at him, her blue-green eyes suddenly bright again. "Oh well. Agent Mulder may not appreciate your talents, but at least this way we've got each other for company while we plough through all this." "It won't take months. It may *seem* like months..." He was pleased to see her grin broadly at his joke. "Anyway, I think I owe you a coffee. Let's get one and then we'll get started." "Sounds good to me." It was strange, Pendrell reflected, but he was almost more pleased by the way Agent Richards had stuck up for him than by Agent Scully's compliment. Fox Mulder lay on the bed of his hotel room, going through old X files and trying to concentrate. It wasn't easy. Every time he stopped concentrating his thoughts would slide to Dana. Handling the change from friendship to a deeper relationship was never going to be simple, but he hadn't expected trouble so soon. It wasn't just that she disagreed with him about Sammy Wade - he was used to their differing opinions by now. It was that she was taking it so personally. That was hardly surprising, given that Sammy was her sister's daughter, but he felt responsible. He'd hurt her, but he knew he couldn't back down. If their relationship was going to have any chance of succeeding, they couldn't afford to take offence whenever they argued about a case. , he told himself. Dana was in a fragile state right now, but he had faith in her. She had always been the strong one, and he didn't think she would break now. Sighing, he turned back to the files. He'd never been good at going through paperwork. He'd always been much better at dealing with people, using his intuition as well as the skills he'd learned through the profiling work he'd done. Paperwork bored and frustrated him, leading him to miss important information, and it was even worse when all he could think about was his argument with Dana. He was beginning to realise why the Bureau tended to frown on relationships between partners. He didn't exactly have his mind on the case today. "I've got to get out," he said suddenly. He wasn't getting anywhere with these old files. The reason he and Scully made such a good partnership was that they balanced each other out, kept each other on the straight and narrow. He could think of a hundred cases when he'd been so caught up in the investigation he hadn't stopped to question his theories. Every time Scully had been there, forcing him to think things through, to do it by the book. , he thought with a rueful smile. Maybe it was time to repay the favour. It was early afternoon and the records office was even hotter and stuffier than it had been that morning. Looking across at Agent Richards, Pendrell saw that she was yawning. "Found anything yet?" he said. "Uh-uh." She stretched. "You?" "Not yet. I've still got a million newspaper clippings to go through, though. My eyesight's beginning to go." "God, what I wouldn't give to go down to the beach right now..." She grinned. "I guess they probably wouldn't let us take the equipment down there, would they?" "Salt water's not the best for machinery like this," he said, returning the smile. She was very pretty, he thought. When she smiled at him like that, he could feel his stomach flip with emotions he didn't want to examine too closely. He was about to turn back to his work, but a sudden impulse seized him. What was he going to do, wait for Agent Scully for the rest of his life? Here he was, about to let this attractive, funny, friendly woman slip away when Scully had never shown the slightest interest in him - in *that* way, at least. What harm could it do to ask her to have dinner with him? If it wasn't meant to be, he liked her enough for them to have a good time just as friends. "Cathy-" he said, screwing up his courage, but she interrupted him. "Eureka!" She was gazing at the screen in front of her. "I think I've found something important." "What is it?" He peered over her shoulder. She was checking out the local sheriff's records. "You see this police report? It's about the fire that supposedly killed Paul Morrow." She turned in the chair, looking up at him with wide green eyes. "The thing is, the fire was so hot that not all the bodies were found. One - Paul Morrow's - was presumed vapourised." She tapped the screen meaningfully. "Gretchen Wade remarried. But what if her husband wasn't really dead? What if it was *Paul* Morrow who was the real firestarter?" "It's hard to think of a better alibi than being dead," he said. "Let's get a print-out. I'll phone Mulder. He'll want to know as soon as possible." "Agent Pendrell?" "Yes?" He paused. "What were you going to say? You know, before I found the article." He could feel himself blushing. "Um... I was wondering... would you have dinner with me tonight?" She looked away, then back at him. Her cheeks had reddened slightly, he noticed. "Um..." "It's okay. I don't mind if you say no," he said hurriedly. "No!" She blushed again, deeply. "I mean, no, I don't want to say no. I'd love to have dinner with you, Agent Pendrell. It's just..." She gave him an embarrassed smile. "I feel like such a doof when I'm around you. Would you believe I... I thought you had feelings for Agent Scully?" He felt a sudden rush of relief and joy sweep through him. He was grinning broadly. "So did I, for a while," he said. "And please call me Danny." She looked up at him from under long, dark lashes, her green eyes glinting wickedly. "Danny... I guess we'd better get back to the case. We can leave the *serious* pyrotechnics till this evening." The mobile-phone rang as Mulder was negotiating the freeway traffic on the way up to the hilly suburbs surrounding the city. Swearing, he managed to pull it out of his jacket pocket and flip it open, driving with one hand. In traffic like this, it wasn't easy, but he was worried it might be important, or Scully, or both. "Mulder," he said. "Agent Mulder, it's Agent Pendrell. We've found something you might be interested in. Can you come down to the record office?" "I'm on the freeway, heading out of the city. Can you give me what you've got over the phone?" Pendrell seemed happy with that. "It's a police report on the fire that supposedly killed Paul Morrow. Apparently he was last seen in the area where the fire burned hottest. The temperatures were so high that everyone just assumed his body had been vapourised." He paused dramatically, which made Mulder grin. "No one ever saw the body, or found any evidence that Paul Morrow actually died in that warehouse. Cathy and I were wondering... what if he didn't? What if he's the one who's been setting fires?" , Mulder thought. Aloud, he said, "Did you find any more fires connected with the family?" Pendrell's voice was excited. "Yes, we did. After we found the police report we checked through the local papers. In the last five years, there have been cases of unexplained fires at several of the places where Paul Morrow was known to have worked. The fires, according the firefighters who dealt with them, were all incredibly hot. They surmised they must have been set with chemicals, but no traces were found, so arson had to be ruled out." He cleared his throat. "I've found other information about Morrow. He hospitalised his wife several times. Sammy used to come to school with unexplained bruises, but she always said she fell over. Morrow was arrested for assault a couple of times, but Gretchen never pressed charges. The only thing the police ever got him on was brawling outside a bar he was chucked out of. The bar went up in smoke that night. They suspected arson, but there was no evidence..." A cold shiver went down Mulder's spine. He knew what was going on now, and it wasn't what he'd expected. Sammy was in danger... and so was Scully. He put his foot down, overtaking the cars in front of him. "Good work, Agent Pendrell. You and... Cathy meet me at the Wade house as soon as possible." He could almost *hear* Pendrell blushing. Sammy was sitting quietly in her bedroom, holding her rag-doll. "Mommy made her for me. She's called Melissa." She looked across at Scully and smiled. "Her hair's the wrong colour, but Melissa says she doesn't mind." Holding the doll seemed to calm the girl down, Scully thought. With a sudden rush of sadness, she realised that she envied Sammy. Melissa was real to her, a friend and a protector. Night after night, Dana had tried to open her heart and let her sister in, but she never came. Melissa had once accused her of being closed off to her intuitions and feelings. Perhaps that's why she was drawn to Mulder, who trusted his instincts in a way she'd forgotten how to a long time ago. When she met him, she'd been so different. She wouldn't have believed her sister could talk to this little girl, for one thing. Now she took things as they came. , she thought. "Perhaps." Sammy was looking at her with a smile. In surprise, Dana said nothing. Could Sammy really read what she was thinking? "Sometimes I can." The little girl seemed to be concentrating very hard. "Melissa tells me. She says she only knows when it's someone she loves very much." Tears sprang to Scully's eyes. "Tell her... tell her I love her very much too. There isn't a day that goes by... when I don't wish she was here." She felt the slow, silent tears slide down her cheeks and made no attempt to stop them. "I miss you, Missy." She felt arms around her, Sammy's warm face pressed into her neck, holding her as if she'd never let go. "I miss you too, Dana." The voice was too deep, too adult for a child. With her eyes closed, Dana could have sworn she was holding her sister. She couldn't bear to open them and see that it was Sammy who was embracing her. The voice seemed to be inside her head. There was anger in her sister's tone. "Who?" she said softly. She couldn't stop the tears, but slowly she forced herself to open her eyes. Sammy was curled tightly in her arms, her face buried in her shoulder. Melissa was gone, she knew suddenly. The emptiness almost seemed to overwhelm her, but then she felt the warmth of her sister's child against her. She had to protect Sammy. "Come on," she said softly to the girl. "We have to get out of here." Sammy slid off her lap and slipped her hand into Dana's. She clutched the rag-doll with the other, looking trustingly up at Scully. They walked downstairs towards the door, and Dana dropped Sammy's hand in order to open it. It stuck, rattling slightly when she tried to move it. She cursed under her breath, then pulled hard on the door again. Sammy's breathing was ragged and her eyes wide with fear. She hugged the doll tightly. "Hurry up!" "I'm trying!" Dana abandoned her efforts and kicked at the door. It didn't move. She pulled out her gun. "Stand back!" She pumped three shots into the lock until there was a hole where the bar should have been. Relief flooding through her, she pulled at the handle, then stared in horror as it still refused to move. "What's going on?" she shouted to Sammy. Then the acrid smell of burning swept through the house. Dana turned and saw Sammy gazing at her, her sweet face calm and expressionless. Scully could hear nothing but a growing roaring as a hot wind seemed to blast through the house, whirling everything around like a tornado. She felt it singe her hair, and saw Sammy standing there in perfect calm, the eye of the storm. She just had time to reflect that Gretchen Wade must have felt the same horror at seeing her daughter watching her die, when the wind picked her up and slammed her against the door. The last thing Dana saw was the flames bursting across her vision before everything disappeared into ringing darkness. Mulder dialled his partner's number on the mobile phone and listened to the ringing. "For God's sake, Dana," he muttered, willing her to pick up. He had to warn her. Sammy Wade wasn't the danger, Paul Morrow was. Pendrell had been half right. Mulder didn't believe Morrow had survived the fire at the warehouse. But he didn't believe Morrow was Sammy's adoptive father either. Morrow's name had been on the list of subjects for the Black Pine experiments. They must have chosen to place Sammy with her real father. It probably made it easier to keep track of her. After twenty rings, he snapped the phone shut and flung it on to the passenger seat. A cold fear was gripping his heart. , he thought. Dana Scully awoke, her head aching. She could hear a child's voice, angry and frightened. She felt muzzy and disorientated, but it didn't take long for what had happened to sink in. She sat up sharply and felt the pain burst, white-hot, behind her eyes. Stifling a cry, she pressed her palm to her forehead and felt a warm stickiness. She must be bleeding. There wasn't time to worry about it now. "Sammy?" she said, pulling herself shakily to her feet. She wasn't sure if she could stand up unaided, so she clung to the door-frame. The house was filled with smoke. She took a breath and almost choked. She had to get Sammy out of there before they were both overcome by the fumes. Most people died of smoke-inhalation long before the fire ever reached them. "Sammy?" she shouted, then stumbled forward into the hallway. Through the thick black smoke, she could see the little figure standing by the stairs. The girl turned as she moved towards her. Her eyes were as dark and cold as obsidian, but it was what Scully saw behind those eyes that terrified her. She could have sworn it wasn't Sammy looking out at her. Dana felt a chill of fear, but she didn't stop. She had to save Sammy. She was Melissa's daughter, and she'd promised her sister that she would keep her safe. She would keep that promise. Or die trying. As Sammy stared at her, hot black hatred filling those extraordinary eyes, Dana flung herself forward. She could feel the blood splashing on to her eyelids, the smoke filling her lungs. Her skin was searing with heat, her hair curling and singeing. She closed her eyes, grabbed the child and rolled. "Let him go!" she shouted over the roar of the flames. "You have to let them both go!" Sammy fought her, scratching, biting and kicking out, but she forced herself to hold on. Sobbing, she took a gasping breath, and choked out, "Sammy, let them go. P-Paul *and* Melissa." They were both going to die, she knew. The smoke was making her dizzy and her eyes were smarting. She was finding it hard to breathe and the heat was getting worse. She had done all she could. Then suddenly the roaring of the flames was gone and the world was full of ringing silence. Slowly, Dana opened her eyes. Smoke was still drifting through the house, but as if from a recently-doused fire. She dragged herself into a sitting position and looked up. The stairs were blackened with smoke, and the hallway was charred, but the flames were gone. She coughed once or twice, then became aware of another sound beside her. It was the sound of a child crying. Sammy was slumped on the floor beside her, tears making streaks down her smoke-begrimed face. "Sammy?" Dana said, touching her gently on the shoulder. The girl looked up, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. "W-What happened?" she sobbed. "Who are you?" Looking down at the childish face, Dana saw that her eyes were a deep brown, no longer the strange blue-black they had once been. "Melissa?" she said softly, knowing it was useless. Sammy smeared a hand across her eyes. "Who's Melissa?" "Never mind. You're safe now." Dana gathered the little girl into her arms. "You're safe." Sammy gave another hiccupping sob, and buried her face in Dana's shoulder. Mulder parked the hire-car outside the Wade house and hurried up the path. Everything looked normal... Then he saw the blackened windows and the smoke curling from under the door. A sick feeling went through him. He hated fires. He was almost phobic about it, but fear for Scully overrode his anxiety. Desperately worried, he ran up to the door and hammered on it. "Scully! Scully!" The door didn't open, so he tried to see in through a window, but the glass was so grimy he couldn't see through it. "Dana!" he shouted again. He ran back to the door, noticing that the lock had apparently been shot off. Maybe they'd got out. He put his shoulder to the door and pushed as hard as he could, feeling it yield slightly. One more shove, and it burst open. He stumbled into the hall, blinded by the darkness of the house after the bright sunlight outside. He could smell smoke and the charred scent of burnt wood. Then as his eyes became used to the dark, he made out two shapes by the stairs. There, holding Sammy Wade tightly against her, was Dana, her face smeared with ash, dark blood running down from a cut just above the hairline. She coughed and then held out a hand. "Fox." He reached her in two steps, taking her face in his hands, wiping away the blood and tears that were mixed with the grime, checking to see that she was okay. "We have to get you out of here," he said in a low voice, not wanting to alarm Sammy more than was necessary. She coughed again, and raised her gaze to meet his. "It's okay. It's over," she said, sounding exhausted. "He's gone." The sunlight from the door was blocked for a moment, and Mulder looked back over his shoulder. Agent Pendrell and Agent Richards were standing there, looking horrified. "It's all right," he said. "No one's hurt." Agent Richards pulled out her phone. "I think you should all get checked over. I'll call the paramedics." Mulder looked at Pendrell. "Take Sammy, will you? I think she needs to get out of the house." Pendrell gently detached the child from Scully, carrying her with great tenderness out of the door, and Mulder put his arm around his partner, helping her to her feet. She clung to him, clearly unsteady on her feet, as he half-carried her across the threshold and out into the fresh air. "An ambulance is on its way," Richards said, her deep green eyes concerned. "It shouldn't be too long." Still holding his partner up, Mulder looked across at Sammy. There was something different about her. For the first time she looked like a child. She was clinging to Pendrell, who had dropped to his knees to hug her properly. He and Mulder exchanged glances over Sammy's head. Pendrell was going to make a great father someday, Mulder thought. "What happened?" he said gently to his partner, looking down at her tired and dirty face. Her eyes filled with tears. "She's gone. Melissa's gone." Suddenly she was crying, great racking sobs that seemed to be wrenched from her body. He took her in his arms, holding her close to him. "I can't bear it, Fox, I can't bear it!" She was choking out the words. "Please hold me, please... Don't let go." He kissed her hair gently. It smelled of smoke. "It's okay, Dana. I'm here. I'll always be here." He could see Pendrell and Richards staring at them in open-mouthed amazement, but he didn't care. It didn't matter who knew. He loved her, that was all that mattered, and as long as she needed him he would be there. Dana Scully sat up in bed, eating grapes and wondering why everyone thought they were such a good thing to bring patients. Her throat burned every time she tried to swallow, but the doctors assured her it would go soon. She was just wincing with pain after swallowing a particularly large grape, when the door opened to reveal Mulder, grinning and holding a large bunch of flowers. "I didn't know what to bring, but the nurse told me you'd have a sore throat so I didn't get grapes. She says you're doing well." She smiled. It was still an effort to speak and her voice was still hoarse, but at least it was getting easier. "Thank you, Fox." He put the flowers down on the table and sat down on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?" "Like I never want to go to a barbecue again as long as I live." She was pleased by the way he grinned at the feeble joke. "How's Sammy?" "In good shape," he said. "She didn't inhale much smoke." He looked grave. "I guess when Paul Morrow was controlling her he didn't want her getting hurt." She reached out and took his hand. "Do you think that's what happened?" He nodded. "She doesn't remember anything about what happened when she's conscious, but last night she woke up screaming about fires and Paul and Melissa." A wave of pain that sluiced over her. "Melissa's... gone. She had to let them both go, or neither. I know it was the right thing to do, but... I miss her so much." He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "I know," he said softly. "It's so hard... losing her again." She felt her eyes fill with tears. He fished in his pocket and brought something out. "Your mother asked me to give you this. She and Mr Wade are looking after Sammy. I don't think he believed me when I told him about Melissa being Sammy's biological mother, but he's coming around to the idea." He grinned. "Your mother charmed him into submission." She smiled despite herself. She could easily imagine it. "What was it she wanted to give me?" she said. He opened his hand. On his palm was a crystal, shimmering in the light, on a dark ribbon. "It was Melissa's," she said after a long moment. Hesitantly, she reached out and took it from him. "Can you tie it for me?" She lifted her hair out of the way and he reached round behind her, his fingers warm against her skin, and tied the ribbon. She could feel the crystal against her collarbone, just above the gold cross she always wore. It was though it was picking up the heat from her skin and sending it back into her body. She would dream of Melissa tonight, she knew it. Her sister wasn't lost to her any more. She looked at Mulder, gazing into those intelligent, sexy, hazel eyes, and then moved forward to kiss him. "Melissa used to tell me I closed myself off from my feelings," she said, breaking off the kiss for a moment. "I can't close myself off from how I feel about you, Fox. I love you." His mouth curved up into a grin. "I know. And I love you too." She laughed, and then kissed him again. Danny Pendrell splashed his feet in the surf of a little beach some miles up the coast from Los Angeles. It was getting dark and he could just see the lights of the city glittering in the distance. Cathy Richards slid her arm around his waist, and he stopped and turned to hold her. She was looking at him with laughter in her eyes, her light brown hair whipping around her face in the breeze. He'd never seen anyone quite as beautiful as this woman, right here, right now. They kissed for a long time. Her lips were slightly salty with the sea air, but they were warm and soft against his. He felt his knees go weak with longing. He'd never felt anything so *right* in all his life. Eventually they broke apart. Cathy was looking at him with the same kind of stunned amazement he was sure was in his own eyes. "I could get a transfer to Washington," she said breathlessly. "Or I could move out here." Her sea-green eyes were as bright as emeralds in the dusk. "Either way, promise me we'll be together." He grinned. "I promise." They walked on into the dusk, listening to the surf crashing on the beach. THE END Author's Note: I'd love to hear from readers with comments on "Ashes" (or "Inamorata" for that matter). Please e-mail me on: marzipan@mailexcite.com if you have something to say.