DISCLAIMER JAZZ: "The X-Files" and its characters are the 
creations and property of the fabled Chris Carter, Ten 
Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I am, of course, 
using them without permission. No copyright infringement is 
intended. All other concepts or ideas herein are mine.
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: Through US season 7
ARCHIVE: ONLY ON THE AUTHOR'S OWN WEBSITE 
(http://rowan_d.tripod.com/elizabethr.html) UNTIL STORY IS 
COMPLETED. This way I can mess with the early parts as later 
parts develop...
TIMELINE: Though this takes place sometime after "all things", in 
this universe "Requiem" did NOT happen...


Special thanks to Carol and Nancy for loyalty in feedback above
and beyond the call of duty.:)  And further thanks to Carol for 
joining my beta squad!


WATER'S EDGE
by
Elizabeth Rowandale (aka Elizabeth Boyd-Tran) 
<bstrbabs@earthlink.net>
Copyright (c) 2002


Chapter 11a


**You kissed me once, Mulder.  Once.  It was New Year's Eve; that 
could have been all it was about.  Friends on New Year's Eve.  
But the kiss lasted too long for that.  You know it did.  I know 
it did.  And for years before, you had touched me as though we 
were kissing.  Mulder...**


Michaels had been pacing back and forth between the elevators and 
the drinking fountain for a good twenty minutes before he saw her 
emerge from the stairwell doors.  He was certain five more 
minutes and the nurse at the corner station would have had him 
bodily evicted, despite having viewed his badge twice.

He was waiting in the fifth floor psychiatric ward of Vernon 
Memorial Hospital.  Hospitals alone made his skin crawl, but the 
psych ward was the bane of his existence.  Maybe it was like the 
curse of death...if you talked about it, it seemed more likely to 
happen.  Working the kind of job he did, they all rode close to 
the edges of sanity sometimes.  It wasn't good to be reminded 
just how close close could be.

Michaels stopped near the drinking fountain to watch his partner 
as she let her trench coat fall from her shoulders, shrugged her 
suit coat back into place.  A few more brisk steps in those 
killer heels and she spotted him at the end of the hall, flinched 
with something like guilt, and averted her gaze as she kept on 
walking.

"The Prodigal Agent appears," he offered as she approached.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said, folding her trench coat over her 
arm.  "I had...some things I had to do early this morning.  Are 
we set to go in?"

Michaels nodded.  "We can talk to her.  Ground rules are, we have 
to take a nurse in with us, and at any point that the nurse deems 
us to be 'upsetting the patient', we're out on our asses."

"More likely she should be protecting us against the patient," 
Scully said under her breath.

He cracked a dry smile.

"Do they have a name for her yet?" Scully asked.

"Jane Doe."

"She's not talking?"

"Talking, yes, but she won't give a name.  Too paranoid.  Thinks 
whoever is out to get her will find her here and kill her as it 
is, if they don't let her go.  Says having her name on the 
records would just make it that much faster."

"The nurse told you this?"

He nodded.  "Ms. Charming over there at the desk."

Scully gave a brief, discrete glance toward the nurse who was now 
eyeing them both suspiciously.  "Well, this should be productive.  
Let's do it."

The room was more depressing than the hallway.  Michaels couldn't 
see how anyone in the world could work themselves into a 
*healthier* state of mind in a place like this.  But this was a 
state facility.  Money wasn't in the picture.  It wasn't The 
Snake Pit these days, but it was nowhere you ever wanted your 
kids to be.

The woman they had come to see sat beside the lone narrow window.  
The view was nothing better than the interior of the room, 
looking out over the back parking lot of the hospital to the 
utility shed.  No trees.  No warmth of any kind.

She looked a lot less threatening in this environment; dressed 
only in a hospital gown and an ill-fitting, tattered robe.  Her 
hair was flat and stringy, her feet bare on the cold floor.

Unlike himself, Dana seemed utterly unaffected by their 
surroundings.  She was as cool and professional as ever, taking 
in the room with a sweeping glance, soaking up every detail like 
a sponge.  He had learned that about her quickly enough.  She 
didn't need to look like she was paying close attention to be 
cataloguing everything in her view.  He had had things quoted 
back to him enough times in the first few weeks of their 
partnership to teach him never to doubt her focus.  She was 
zeroing in on the woman now, taking the opportunity to study her 
fully while her back was turned.  But he saw Scully catch the 
reflection in the window, knew she knew she could be seen.

The nurse was the first to speak.  "Jane?" she said gently as she 
pushed between Michaels and Scully to approach the patient.  "You 
have some visitors.  This is Agent Michaels and Agent..." she 
hesitated and glanced over her shoulder.

"Scully," Dana said.  Michaels didn't like her tone.  She was 
still pissed off about the warehouse incident.  And if they were 
going to get any real information out of this skittish lady, they 
were going to have to do it with velvet gloves.  He tried to 
catch Dana's gaze with a warning glance, but she either didn't 
feel the pull or chose to ignore him.

"Agent Scully," the nurse finished.  "They're from the FBI, and 
they would just like to talk to you for a few minutes.  Is that 
all right?"

For a long moment, it seemed the woman wasn't going to respond, 
and Michaels started to think maybe their whole trip out here had 
been a waste.  But, then Jane Doe said, "I know who they are.  
I'm the one who called them the first time.  I also tried to kill 
them."

Scully's eyes narrowed, and Michaels flinched.  The nurse looked 
at them appraisingly for a moment, then drew back into the 
corner, handing over the interview.  Scully took a step closer 
and Michaels opened his mouth to speak, wanting to set the tone 
himself.

"We're not here to accuse you of anything," Scully said gently, 
catching Michaels by surprise, and leaving him duly impressed.  
"We just want you to help us understand.  Why did you feel you 
had to protect yourself?  What are you running from?"

The young/old woman cocked her head as though in thought.  At 
long last, she turned from the window, raising her penetrating 
gaze to challenge Scully's.  Dana didn't flinch.  Again, Michaels 
was impressed.  His own gut reaction to the woman's world worn 
skin had no doubt washed across his face.  Scully should play 
cards more.  He'd tried on more than one occasion to suck her 
into his Saturday night game with the guys from the 
fingerprinting lab.  That hadn't gone any better than the dinner 
invitations.

The woman looked up through her stringy hair, eyeing Scully hard 
with her one clearly visible eye.  "You should get out of this.  
Get away."  Her voice was scratchy, hoarse as though from disuse 
or too many cigarettes.

"Why?" Scully asked evenly.  "I'm here to help, as is my partner.  
To find this man and stop the killings.  Isn't that what you 
want?  Isn't that why you contacted us in the first place?"

"It's not that," the woman said.  "It's you.  You'll be in 
danger.  If you're not already."

"Why?  Why me more than anyone else?"

The woman cracked a dry smile, her lips seeming stretched at the 
effort.  "Don't be stupid.  They all talk about you.  You're one 
of the most high profile ones."

"'Ones'?" Scully repeated.  "What ones?"

The woman just closed her eyes and lowered her head, her eerie 
smile lingering.  "Don't say I didn't warn you," she said 
quietly.

"Miss," Michaels said, stepping forward, hoping to shift the 
track of the conversation with his presence.  "Do you know who's 
been killing these women?  Is there anything you can tell us 
about these murders that might help us stop the killer?  'Cause 
despite what happened the other day, I don't think you would have 
called us in the first place if you really wanted more people to 
die.  I think you want this to stop as much as we do.  And the 
only way you can help us to make that happen is by telling us 
anything you might know."

The woman didn't move.  Didn't seem to care he had spoken at all.  
Scully was waiting her out, giving not the slightest restless 
gesture.  Michaels himself was turning, about to walk away with a 
cursory "thank you", when the scratchy voice again rose behind 
him. 

"He's killing them to stop the tests."  She wasn't looking up 
this time.  Just a massive lump of tattered robe and dirty hair 
and rough sounds.  "The date is set.  They told him he couldn't 
stop it.  So...he intends to prove them wrong."  Then she fell 
silent.

Scully was watching the woman with unnerving intensity, eyes 
narrowed, deep lines pulling her brow.  The woman had withdrawn 
into her own quiet world.  Michaels shifted his gaze between the 
two, knowing he was missing threads in this conversation.  Hating 
it, as usual.  "Date of what?" he ventured.

No one spoke.

Jane Doe turned back to the window.

"Who told him?" Scully said, her tone far less gentle now.  She 
was met with silence.  "Miss?"

The woman at the window just hugged her knees and began rocking 
back and forth.  At this, the nurse stepped forward from the 
sidelines.  "I believe she's had enough for today," she said, her 
tone a practiced blend of kindness and command.

Michaels took a step back, ready to give in and come back another 
day if necessary.  But Scully took three brisk steps forward, 
closing the gap between herself and Jane Doe, and reached out and 
pushed the clump of stringy hair from the woman's neck.  The 
woman barely flinched, though Scully's hold on her hair was less 
than delicate.  Michaels could just make out the flash of white 
scar tissue on the weather darkened skin of the woman's neck.

"If what you say is true, how did you get close to this man and 
make it out alive?"  She let go of the woman's hair, but didn't 
give up her threatening position above her.

"Because I was useful to him," Jane Doe said softly, her voice 
almost human for a moment.  Somehow that was worse.  "I told him 
who to follow.  From memory."

Scully let a soft breath pass over her lips, then she turned on 
her heel and walked out of the hospital room.  Michaels exchanged 
an uncertain glance with the attending nurse, then spoke to the 
woman's hunched back.  "Thank you for your help, Miss.  We'll do 
what we can to keep you safe while you're here.  We may be back 
with further questions."

The woman didn't respond, and the nurse was approaching her, 
saying something about a rest and some water as Michaels turned 
and followed Scully's path into the hall.

*****

Scully was already hovering outside the main elevator when 
Michaels emerged from the room.  She was watching for him, 
restless, wanting to move, shoe tilted back onto the heel.

The doors slid open as he approached, and Scully led the way 
across the threshold.  The elevator was empty except for the two 
agents.  Scully punched the Lobby button insistently; Michaels 
watched.

"Date of what?" he asked into the silence.

For a moment she didn't move.  Then, Scully turned and met his 
gaze for a long moment, deliberating, appraising.  He found 
himself oddly aware that there was nowhere to back up to in their 
confined quarters.  There was something significant in this 
moment.  Months of working together, of playing a game of backing 
in and out of topics, skipping over facts and testing trust.  One 
day Scully was going to have to make the final choice, the real 
choice--whether or not she was going to allow him to work the X-
Files with her.  The real X-Files.  Not the edge of the norm 
quirky cases they were thrown everyday to keep them pounding the 
pavement.  The work she and Mulder had devoted their careers and 
reputations to.  The work Mulder had died for.

"Colonization, I would guess," Scully said slowly.

Michaels quietly took this in.  "You believe that?" he asked 
warily.

"It doesn't matter what I believe.  What matters is what that 
woman and the killer believe."

*Queen of Evasion.  That was Dana Scully.*  "So, what do you 
think is happening here?"

Scully drew a long breath through her nose, lifted an eyebrow in 
thought.  "If this woman is to be believed...which is still a big 
'if' in my book--"  she glanced briefly up at him for his nod of 
assent, "--then I'd say a possible motive would be that this man 
believes these women are being abducted and experimented on with 
the end intent of preparing the human race for alien 
colonization, and that he has taken it upon himself as a one man 
army to kill off all the people the aliens have affected before 
they can make use of their work."

Michaels nodded.  "What about the victim profile?  The similar 
hair color, build."

She shrugged.  "It's not strikingly definitive.  Could still be 
coincidence.  And the words--'Watch Me'--they could fit this 
woman's story.  An act of rebellion against a blanket statement 
that there was nothing he could do to stop them."

The elevator doors slid open.  The two agents stepped out into a 
lobby cluttered with bodies and squinted at the lines of morning 
sun filtering in through the main doors.  They walked to the 
parking lot in silence.  Scully slipped back into her trench 
coat.  Michaels scanned the sea of cars for either her car or 
his, knowing neither of them had had time to check in at the 
office and grab something from the motor pool.  So, he was caught 
off guard when Scully slowed her pace halfway across the main 
parking lot.

"This is me," she said, pulling her keys out of her coat pocket.  
She was hovering at the trunk of a blue Jaguar.

Michaels stared past her shoulder.  "Agent Scully?"

"Hmm?"

"Call me crazy, here, but, I just don't remember that being your 
car."

Scully glanced over her shoulder, cleared her throat.  "Ah.  Yes.  
It's um...it's a friend's car.  We...carpooled one way, and then 
I ended up needing a way home..."

Michaels nodded.  "You have a friend who's willing to lend you a 
Jaguar..."

Scully never got a chance to answer.  Her gaze had latched onto 
something on the far side of the lot.  She took a step forward, 
brow furrowing.

Michaels looked over his shoulder, following the path of her 
gaze.  "What is it?"

Scully stepped around him, hand pushing back her coat tail, but 
not quite going for her gun.

"Dana?"

He followed her gaze again, scanning the far edge of the lot.  At 
last he zeroed in on a man beneath a bare oak tree, dressed in 
black from head to foot.  He was too far away to make out a face, 
but it certainly seemed the man was looking specifically their 
way.  The moment Michaels' focus settled on the dark figure, the 
figure was on the move again.  Scully was moving, too, breaking 
into a jog across the crowded parking lot, scanning for cross 
traffic as she moved.  Michaels was following her path, but got 
caught rounding a passing car and fell a few paces behind.

He stretched his legs to catch up.  When he next glanced across 
the lot he had lost visual on the figure.

"Can you still see him?" he called to Scully.

"I'm not sure," she called back, breaking into a full run as she 
dodged the traffic.  Then a moment later, "Where is he?"

She looked back at Michaels, but he shrugged helplessly.  They 
were nearing the oak tree, and Scully had dropped her pace to a 
brisk walk.  Michaels came up along side her.

"The guy in black, right?  That's who we're looking for?"

She nodded, eyes urgently searching the grounds.  "Yeah.  Did you 
see which way he disappeared?"

"No, I'm sorry.  I looked away at a car, and when I looked up he 
was nowhere."

She was breathing hard.  Harder than she should have been after 
such a short run.  She was too much in shape for that.  "I did 
the same.  Dammit."

Michaels finally quit scanning, and turned to face his partner.  
"Who are we chasin'?"

She turned and squinted up at him for a beat, chest rising and 
falling as she sucked in the crisp morning air, blouse pulled out 
of line.  A small corner of paper showed from beneath the lace 
edge of her bra.  "I don't know.  I just...I think someone may 
have been watching me."  She moistened her wind-dried lips, 
swallowed stiffly, then turned to scan the open landscape once 
more.

"Watching you how?  Have you seen this guy before?"

She shook her head.  "Not directly, no.  But I thought...I 
thought there was...there was someone outside my apartment the 
other night.  And there was someone in the Bureau parking lot 
that didn't look...*right*.  It might be nothing.  Or it might be 
someone after Jane Doe.  We should notify hospital security that 
we've seen someone around.  Maybe phone McCall, get an officer on 
it."

Michaels pulled out his phone and started dialing, but his 
attention was still on his partner.  "There was someone outside 
your apartment?  And you didn't mention that?"

"It didn't seem like anything until it started to add up.  I 
don't know.  It still might be nothing."

She was reluctantly giving up her visual search, giving him a 
little more eye contact, turning back toward their cars.

"You'll tell me if you see something else?'

She nodded.  The gesture was less than reassuring.


*****


Scully shifted a little against the back handrail of the Bureau 
elevator, felt the folded paper tucked into her bra scrape 
lightly against her breast.  She checked that Michaels was 
focused on the lighted floor numbers above the door, and slipped 
her fingers in and straightened the angle of the paper.


"My Dearest Dana--

	Good morning, Love.  I hope the alarm was early enough.  I 
hope you slept well.  Myself, I have not slept so well since the 
last time you lay beside me.
	So, you're wondering where I've gone.  As much as I would 
have loved a lazy morning of crosswords and bagels with you, I 
know how your mind works, Dana.  I know this was a big step for 
you, and I know that in the light of morning, though you may not 
regret your choices, you will want to take a step back.  To 
evaluate and regroup and check-in with yourself.  So, as much as 
I love the scent of your skin in the morning, the way you hold 
your coffee in your mouth when something in the paper catches 
your attention--I will wait.  There will be plenty of breakfasts 
to come.
		                            Love Always,
                                                Daniel

P.S. The keys to my other car are on the table by the front door.  
Space 49C in the downstairs garage.  The blue Jag.  If you have 
to return it, you'll be forced to see me again.  If not, its been 
a very reliable car.
P.P.S. Tasha has already had her breakfast--don't let her 
convince you otherwise."


"So, you really think the *doctor* was 'Jack the Ripper'?" 
Michaels asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"The old one, yeah.  The one who was doctor to--"

"The Royal Family, I know.  But doesn't that just seem a little 
too cliché to you?"

"Cliché how?  I mean, there was no precedent of that kind of 
crime in modern criminal investigation to compare it to at the 
time."

"Well, but the theory wasn't formed until much later.  I just 
think...I mean it's just so cinematically pleasing.  The whole 
'Jekyll and Hyde' thing, right when that was all the rage."

"Well, that doesn't make it less believable."  The doors swished 
open and she and Michaels began the walk down the narrow hallway 
toward their basement office.  "If anything, I think it makes it 
more believable.  Most psychotic delusions mold themselves to the 
popular images and mythologies of the time.  The same way the 
mythical explanations for natural phenomena adapt themselves to 
the current cultures throughout the years."

"But what about the physical aspects.  I mean, you really think 
this old guy was able to overpower all those young, feisty 
hookers?"

"Well, that may not even be a factor.  It depends on whether you 
believe the accomplice theory.  If they were subdued by the 
driver before the doctor took over..."

"Then you think there were two of them?"

"I think it's quite possible."

"I don't know.  It still seems too easy."  Michaels dropped his 
briefcase beside the desk and picked up the mail in his Inbox but 
ignored it.

Scully actually smiled.  "Is that your professional opinion?"

Michaels glanced up, a little surprised perhaps by the ease of 
her humour.  "Yes it is.  Detective work is fifty percent 
intuition and you know it.  The nose knows."

Scully continued to smile softly and dropped her own things onto 
the nearest chair.  She unbuttoned her blazer and pulled Jane 
Doe's file from the outer pouch of her briefcase.  "So, what does 
your nose tell you about our Jane Doe?  Is this a scam for 
attention, or does she really know something?"

Michaels stopped to consider more seriously for a moment, propped 
his arm on the X-file cabinet.  "I think I'm still muddling 
through that one."

Scully turned her back to Michaels and rested her weight against 
the edge of her desk as she paged through the woman's file.

"She seems to have had a rough life, according to her medical 
records.  Enough to make her pretty desperate for money or 
attention or both.  Borderline malnutrition, bruises and scarring 
consistent with physical abuse.  Some track marks.  Evidence of 
possible past sexual abuse.  And obviously her mental state is a 
little less than stable."

"Seems inevitable after that list you just spouted off."

Scully gave a murmured sound of assent, still reading and 
pondering.

"But what about the cop investigating the case?" Michaels asked.

"Who, you mean Detective McCall?"

"No, the Ripper case.  I mean, didn't you always wonder if he'd 
just lost it?  If he was living the ultimate profiler's 
nightmare, slipping over to the dark side?"

"I don't think he was ever a legitimate suspect.  Didn't he have 
a solid alibi for several of the killings?  I think our next step 
is to find out this woman's true identity."

"He had a woman for an alibi?"

"No, our Jane Doe."

"Oh.  They're still looking, but nothing's turning up."

"Well, I'm thinking there's someone I know who might have a 
little more luck..."

Michaels gave a heavy sigh behind her.  She heard the creak of 
the file cabinets as he settled back against them.  Her brain was 
registering all this peripherally as she tried to commit the new 
details in the file to memory, to let them merge with everything 
she already knew, try to form some sort of pattern.  "If we know 
who this woman is," she said, thinking out loud, "we can start 
talking to people who knew her, people around her.  Maybe narrow 
our field of focus a bit."

"I agree.  But you just have to wonder how this guy could 
maintain such an even demeanor during the day if he was that 
bizarre at night.  I mean if we were talking schizophrenia here--
or, no, that's multiple personality disorder now, right?"

"Hmm?  Oh, yes, it is.  For about twelve years."  She was still 
on the file, scanning the details of the blood work.

"So, if we were talking multiple personalities, aren't they 
supposed to have different skills, different attributes?  Would 
the 'Hyde' personality be lacking the medical precision of the 
Doctor when he lost all other social graces?"

"Not necessarily.  The mind is endlessly complex.  Like the way 
you can have selective amnesia, retaining all your general 
knowledge of the world, but nothing of your identity or private 
life."

"All right, I'll buy that.  But I just don't get the motive."

"Why not?  I mean, come on, Mulder, if--"

The room died.

Scully stood, half-turned toward her partner, her gaze frozen on 
the office floor.  She hardly breathed.  Blood rushed her ears 
like ocean waves.  She was crushingly aware of Michaels' quiet 
and solid presence in her peripheral view.

She cleared her throat in the cold silence.

Gannon shifted, started to speak softly, "Dana, it's--"

"*Gannon*," Scully said firmly, forcing the correction over his 
words.  "If we're dealing with certifiable insanity, we can't 
apply sane rules in pinpointing the legitimacy of a motive."  Her 
words were excessively deliberate.  Leaving no room to pull the 
conversation away.

"So, you're still convinced it was the doctor?" Gannon said 
softly.

"I think it could easily have been.  Or possibly someone who 
wasn't even a suspect."

Michaels nodded.  The air was thick.

Scully straightened her stance.  She placed the Jane Doe file on 
the desk and picked up her laptop.  "I need to finish the 
paperwork on the Flaners autopsy by the end of today."

Michaels watched in silence.  He wouldn't openly challenge her on 
this, she knew that.  This was outside the borders she had set on 
their relationship.  He would let them fall back into busywork, 
business as usual.

And Scully tried to let that happen.  She sat at her desk, pulled 
out her glasses.  She filled in some of the rote details in her 
report.  She checked her email.  She walked to the far end of the 
room and picked up the fax she had been waiting for with more 
current addresses for Talia Carson's distant family members.  She 
listened to her voice mail and jotted down return numbers.  Then 
she had to get out of that room before she threw up.

She gathered her things.  Quiet, efficient.  She took her coat 
from the coat rack and spread it over her arm.  She turned to 
Michaels, a million miles from looking him in the eye.  "I, 
uh...I think I'm going to take off for a while.  See if I can get 
that friend of mine to look into Jane Doe's history for us."

Gannon was sitting at his desk, fingers hovering over his 
computer keyboard, watching her as though a gaze could speak.  
"Yeah, okay.  Sure.  Just...give me a call later, okay?"

Scully nodded, and disappeared. 

*****

(End Chapter 11a.  Continued in Chapter 11b...)
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