BODY OF EVIDENCE Classification: M/O, S/O, MSR, UST/RST, XA, NC17 (There is sex and naughty words folks) Spoilers: Set s6 before Two Fathers. Special reference to ep Gender Bender Season 1. Bonus points for identifying specific episodes sprinkled throughout the story. Summary: An increasingly estranged Mulder and Scully are assigned to solve the death of an American tour guide on a South Pacific island where sexual tension is off the Richter scale. Author's Notes: I am not an FBI agent, Australian Federal Police agent, travel agent, lawyer, doctor, scientist or porn star. Neither is Body of Evidence written for personal gain (only satisfaction). Full acknowledgement to 1013 Productions, Fox and all other appropriate copyright holders. This story was inspired by a 2001 holiday to Norfolk Island, the 2002 murder on the island of Janelle Patton, the 2003 news from acquaintances in the know about the sexual proclivity of young Islanders, the 2004 sex crimes prosecution of Pitcairn Islanders, the 2006 arrest of a suspect in the Janelle Patton case and 1993-2002 the TV series, The X-Files. The stories and characters are pure fiction and reside only in the head of 2302 and in a bunch of zeroes and ones on the Internet. Special thanks to: My own one in five billion, my touchstone, my perfect opposite. My protector and endangerer. Also to other fanfic writers whom I've long admired. PART 1 Cock Pit Falls Norfolk Island Australian Dependent Territory South West Pacific September 15, 9.45am Australian Federal Police agent Jack Porter looked at his cell phone and cursed. It was second nature to reach for the device and after three days he had still get used to the fact that he wasn't on the mainland. Things are done differently here. Norkfolk Island was charming. It drew newlyweds for the pristine coastline, romantic, isolated picnic spots and the duty free shopping. And attracted the 'nearly-deads' for encounters with friendly islanders - all descendants of the Bounty Mutineers - and the early convict ruins that rose starkly on the southern side of the island. Norfolk Island was deadly. At least it was for Wendy Millard, an attractive 32 year- old tour guide, late of San Diego, California, USA, late of the land of the living. Her naked and brutalised body had been found 200 metres down the trickling waterfall called Cock Pit Falls on the northern side of the island. Elderly sightseers found her and it appeared for a day or two that the locals might have to bury two instead of one as the 79-year-old New Zealand man who found her was hospitalised with heart palpitations and shock. Porter took a final drag of his cigarette while he watched one more set of waves crash on the rocks where the bottom of the falls met the sea, before turning to start back up the rise. With long athletic strides, he picked his way around the dark brown basalt boulders at the edge of the drop before with following the cattle-trampled path back to the road. Wendy was 10 days dead and they were still no closer to identifying the killer. He chuffed. It should have been straight forward, even for the mainland cops permanently stationed on Norfolk. How hard could it be to find a killer on an island three miles by five miles in size with a population of 2500, half of whom were frail and elderly tourists? 'Well, you're the hotshot profiler, you went to Oxford, you work it out,' inferred his superiors. If only it were that simple. FBI Headquarters Washington DC September 15, 9.45am "You're the hotshot profiler, you work it out." For Special Agent Fox William Mulder the day, which had already started badly, really turned to shit. It started at 8.35am when he arrived at work to find on his desk, along with his pay cheque, a form detailing his immediate transfer out of domestic terrorism and back to the Violent Crimes Unit and a summons to see the Assistant Director. The day worsened when he looked across the desk at his partner, Special Agent Dana Scully, MD to see she had received a similar inter-office envelope. He watched her as she examined the contents. Her blue eyes widened and her mouth parted slightly before her customary cool, in control mask returned. It took seconds. No one else noticed. But Mulder did. He waved his matching yellow envelope at her. "Snap. VCU." "Quantico." "Hell of way to start the day, Scully." Thirty minutes later, he and his partner were standing in front of the desk of their supervisor AD Kersch. The imposing black man stared back implacably. "It is not your place *Agent* Mulder to question personnel decisions," he intoned. "VCU wants a profiler, Quantico wants a forensic scientist and your respective talents are not being used to maximum efficiency in domestic terrorism. Your objections are noted and will be taken under advisement." "But it's The X-Files that *needs* us." Mulder hoped to God that sounded impassioned and not whiny. "You are well aware that is an option no longer open to you," said Kersch firmly as he leaned back in his leather chair to take in both agents. Mulder's face bore the indignation he felt, Scully was more difficult to read. Either she took the news with quiet resignation or she was ready to stubbornly dig in with her partner... make that former partner. "You have a choice. Accept the reassignments or resign. I trust you will make the *wise* decision." Mulder turned to stalk towards the door. "I'll take it under advisement," he muttered turning on his heel. Sensing Scully following behind, Mulder stepped back from the door to let his partner exit before him. Kersch called. "Agent Scully, you are not dismissed. There is another matter to discuss." Scully glanced at Mulder who raised his eyebrows in question. A slight shake of her head told him that she had no idea what was next either. "You may close the door Agent." Without breaking eye contact Scully reached for the handle and gave an almost imperceptibly nod. Message received and understood. Mulder walked into Kersch's reception and watched the office door close. Cock Pit Falls Norfolk Island Porter watched a car door close up ahead of him as the first load of sightseers for the day descended to the picturesque spot. While taking long strides to ascend the last 50 or so metres back to his car he reviewed the facts he did have. Wendy, world traveller, one time travel agent was popular, well liked, had a boyfriend, even if the guy's teenage daughter didn't like her much. She was tall, a brunette, slim, quite pretty in that exaggerated American way. She had an extremely active love life. Tracing her sexual history since she arrived on the island three years ago required a detailed spreadsheet - possibly even a genealogist, he mused. That wasn't unusual admitted the island's senior sergeant, a former lover. As a resident, if you were healthy, could get it up and were thrilled numb by the arrival of the twice weekly flight from either Australia or New Zealand, partner- swapping was one hell of a nice way to pass the time... But Wendy's murder was savage and uncontrolled, judging by the variety and depth of the stab marks that left little of her well-toned stomach unmarked, thought Porter. It spoke of betrayal and revenge, something quite different to the picture that had been painted for him of an easygoing society where locals never locked their doors, cars, wives or daughters and worst criminal offence was occasional shoplifting. It was clear Wendy had been killed somewhere else on the island. There was not enough blood at the scene, although an overnight rainstorm had washed evidence of footprints and drag marks away. While they waited for results of tox screens and other blood work to come back from the nearest forensic testing centre in Brisbane, 2000km and two hours away by jet, Porter and his partner Murray Birch had reinterviewed everyone who knew Wendy. All expressed the appropriate amount of shock at her death, articulated their desire to assist in any way possible and agreed to supply DNA samples. Porter ran a hand wearily across his handsome, tanned face. Surely he was missing obvious connections and it irritated him. He was certain the killer was male but there may be more than one according to the confused samples obtained by the preliminary rape kit. The motive was revenge he posited, based on the savagery of stabbing and evidence of torture but now... now he wasn't so sure. He had been so clear on his profile when he left headquarters in Sydney three days ago. Now nothing made much sense. Perhaps he was distracted by the beauty and isolation of this place or haunted by the violence of Norfolk Island's convict past. Porter shook his head clear. The spring morning air had warmed somewhat by the time Porter reached the island-issue mini 4WD. He wound down the driver's window before reaching for the two-way radio. "Mobile 1 to base, have you seen Murray today? He was supposed to meet me at Cock Pit, over." "That's a negative Jack. He's not been in the station this morning," answered Sen Sgt Steve Thompson. "There's the flight from Brisbane due at 010.00, perhaps he's at the airport. Over." Porter sighed. "Okay Thommo, I'll check." Despite a speed limit of 30mph on the island's narrow and occasionally unpaved roads, Porter arrived at the airport just as Flight 142 from Brisbane disgorged its complement of holidaymakers. He watched faces as they were processed through customs. The elderly were part of package holidays and they flocked together in groups like pigeons, the young were more like doves, cooing at each other at every opportunity. While the story had received mainland coverage - after all, the first murder in over 100 years is news - the arriving passengers didn't care that someone's daughter, someone's lover had been murdered. But Porter did and it was beginning to bother him. First rule of profiling - concentrate on the perp not the victim. But that was becoming more and more difficult as he thought about her lifestyle. Two live-in lovers, four short term relationships and casual encounters in various forms with at least another seven men - that they knew of - in three years is pretty good going for an island of 1800 permanent residents. In a typical community, Wendy would be ostracised as a slut, but here it didn't raise an eyebrow, although none of the women who knew her were as candid about their own sex lives in the police interviews. They just shrugged and remarked 'It happens'. Porter glanced at his watch, at 10.30am Murray, a slightly built man in his 20s, a few inches shorter than Porter exited the customs room with a large package. "Where the hell were you?" Porter grumped. The younger agent shrugged. "We've been to the Cockpit every day this week Jack, I didn't see any point in going over old ground, so I decided to get a headstart on reading some of the preliminary forensics." He waved the open package in front of him. They ignored the throng of visitors waiting for buses and cabs and walked to the car. "Anything interesting?" asked Porter after a minute. "Nothing out of the ordinary. I don't think the labs are going to be of any help." Porter shook his head in disgust. Could this day get any better? The Reflecting Pool Washington DC 1.10pm Could this day get any better? Mulder mused the same the same thing cynically as he stared out at the welling numbers of visitors and office workers enjoying the last gasp of autumn warmth before winter blew in. He hadn't bothered to go back to the bullpen after he left Kersch's office. He'd sat on this park bench for the past two and a half hours radiating enough anger and hostility within a three-foot radius to repel all-comers. A petite female figure caught his eye, 5"4', red hair, burgundy skirt suit and heels, striding purposefully forwards him. He turned his attention away from her to watch a gaggle of Germans consult a tourist map. "I'm thinking of taking a lease here," Mulder deadpanned as Scully sat beside him. She shifted his discarded coat and placed it on his lap. "So, which was it? The 'ditch the loser, you're risking your career' or the 'play the game and you're back on the fast track' speech?" When she didn't answer he turned to look at her. Scully stared straight ahead at the lake. "Neither. It was neither." Another pause. "Scully?" "Kersch expressed great concern for my mental health. He says he's seen this with agents before, particularly male-female partners." "What?" Irritation flared. Mulder already knew he wasn't going to like the answer. Scully turned to look at him, her blue eyes sparkled with anger as well as unshed tears. "It is," she sighed, "his considered opinion that I am the victim of a form of emotional and psychological abuse at your hands." Mulder nearly burst out laughing until he saw she was in deadly earnest. Nausea pooled in his gut instead. "That your forceful and dominant personality has turned me a mindless acolyte unable to express or act upon my own will and desires. "The worst part was he called in Dr Karen Kossoff who spent an hour talking about breaking the cycle of abuse. "I didn't know whether to express my desire for them to shut-the-fuck-up or act on my will to commit grievous bodily harm. "Nevertheless, I've been ordered to limit unnecessary contact with you." Mulder slumped further down the bench. "Shit." "Double shit." There seemed little else to say. #end part I PART II Norfolk Island Australian Federal Police compound September 17, 5.30pm. "I don't know what else to say Jack," said Senior Sergeant Steve Thompson, laying a sympathetic hand on Porter's shoulder. "We appreciate the time that you've spent out here looking for new evidence, but this was not going to be the easy investigation Canberra thought it was going to be. "I don't think whoever killed Wendy is still on the island. I honestly believe they took that Brisbane flight out the next day. There's still 25 people we haven't accounted for amongst the locals, not to mention the tourists and the crew from the last flight in. "The best chance is to begin the investigation back on the mainland." "I still don't along with that Thommo. The murder was too brutal, too specific, you don't exhibit that level of violence without a trigger. Whoever killed Wendy knew her well." Thompson blinked. Porter was becoming angry and tapped the faded laminate counter with his lighter. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," the cop interrupted. "Jack, I've been stationed here for 10 years. I know these people. These are not mass murdering serial killers, they're decent, hardworking people. You're reaching...." Thompson shook his head in genuine sympathy. "I've phoned the mainland, spoken to the AFP and we'll keep searching for more clues. We promise mate, as soon as we find anything..." Empty platitudes, but that's all anyone was offering on this godforsaken rock. "Let us look after you on your last night here," said Thompson as he switched off his computer and headed towards the door. "Becky and I are going to the sports club for a few drinks. Join us. Porter returned the smile he was offered. He found himself wavering between spending his last night wallowing in self-recrimination and taking up the invitation. Thompson sensed the indecision. He played his card. "We'll make sure you get to the plane on time. Police escort if necessary." Porter agreed and followed him out of the police station. Getting obscenely drunk sounds like fun, he thought. Because tomorrow all the same crap will still be waiting. Violent Crimes Unit FBI Headquarters Washington DC September 17, 5.30pm. All the same crap was waiting for Mulder from the moment he stepped back into the VCU. A brutal sadist in Baltimore was taking teenage girls but he was breaking accepted offender habits thus rendering all accepted profiling theory useless. All girls were from different ethnic backgrounds and different socio-economic groups. Although investigators discovered that all the girls came from a five-mile radius, when it came to Baltimore, that was a hell of a population density. The perp was maliciously raping and in some cases disfiguring the girls but the wounds were done in such a way that with timely discovery and medical intervention, three of the five victims were still alive. Two of the girls had been awoken from medically induced comas and given a description. Each completely contradictory. Yet the MO was exactly the same. The squad were on a high when the latest victim, Stephanie Shaw was found alive too. They were convinced they were close to a breakthrough; the doer was getting sloppy, it was just a matter of time before they caught him. Mulder had not been convinced at the briefing and he certainly hadn't changed his opinion now. The first two days had been spent interviewing the victims. He played nice with fellow agents, ignoring whispered asides in meeting and the useful advice that aliens, zombies and vampires are words that should not pass his lips during this investigation. He buried his inclination to tell them that they should open their minds to extreme possibilities if they really wanted to bring justice to these girls and if they didn't, they could all go to hell. And he would have done it too if Scully were partnered with him. She would have restrained the worst of his fury and smoothed over the ruffled feathers of his colleagues and supervisors. But he didn't, so he hadn't, focussing instead on the certain knowledge that he could help bring impartiality. A theory was beginning to formulate and he needed the co- operation of the unit to make it happen. The only brightness in the three days of misery since he and Scully had been permanently separated was the forensic report he had requested from Quantico. It was a report analysing the blood work of all of the victims. Its official typewritten report was accompanied by a woman's handwritten note. He smiled sadly. 'I'm impressed. An obscure but effective drug was used to subdue the victims. You'll see findings of significance on pages 5,6 and 12 - DKS'. Mulder had always been of the belief that nothing could be worse than imagining the victim's terror at the hands a violent serial offender. He was wrong as the victims recounted the days they had been held captive. Perhaps it would have been a greater mercy if the sonofabitch had killed them. Maybe the suffering would end. He rubbed his eyes and yawned so loudly it echoed in the office space. It may have only been 5.30pm but in the absence of new leads, these men and women were still public servants and they were happy to clock off. Slipping on his reading glasses and reaching for the switch on the adjustable desk lamp, Mulder pulled across the text, A Psycho-Sexual Analysis of Anglo-Celtic and European Fairytales and began reading. He was sure he could discover something else about this case. Island Warriors Sports and Leisure Club Norfolk Island September 17, 11.47pm Porter discovered something else about Norfolk Island. Not only was partner swapping a much beloved activity by the locals, so was drinking. While the staples, which had to be brought in by sea or air were more expensive, duty- free delights including alcohol were cheaper since the Norfolk Island parliament deigned to make this a little tax-free haven. Encouraged by Thommo and his girlfriend Becky to drink the Alphabet - anisette to zambucca - washed down by beer, Porter was a little hazy about what happened between Drambuie and Frangelico. Sitting under the stars on a faded blue deck chair, blowing smoke rings and staring across the sports fields, Porter took a deep breath between drags, savouring the way the late evening breeze cooled the sweat caused by too heavy drinking and the too crowded club inside. His mind returned to the lab reports Murray had opened. He was right, they were an absolute mess, nothing made sense. Unidentified residue in the stomach contents, unexpected DNA results all added up to either the lab fucking up big time or sloppy evidence gathering. Neither possibility was appealing. And as for Murray, the little bastard looked at him as if he were certifiable when he suggested taking one more look at Cock Pit Falls and retracing Wendy's last known movements. Again. No wonder he'd disappeared for the rest of the afternoon. About eight others milled under the verandah awning, several were smokers who chatted quietly and indulged their habit, others were an indistinct tangle of arms and legs as lovers coupled in the shadows. Porter watched one couple as they staggered hand in hand down the side of the building, the man murmured something in his companion's ear and she giggled, pulling the strap of her tank top back to her shoulder. They made their way to a tree-lined ridge that marked the beginning of a reserve that slopped gently down to a point overlooking the sea. About 10 minutes later a man wandered in the direction of the darked pine forest. "Murray!" The man had cleared the ridge before he was two-thirds across the football pitch. "Godammit Murray wait up!" Light from the sports club was hidden completely from view forcing Porter to stop as his eyes adjusted to moonlight. "Murray!" At the sound of a snapping twig Porter looked right and saw a narrow worn path. He followed it at speed for several hundred metres, then he spotted her - strikingly pretty, petite, brown eyes and skin, long dark straight hair, about mid-20s. "Where'd he go?" "Who? You mean Murray, the name you called out?" Porter wanted to throttle her but he was still waiting to catch his breath. She made direct eye contact. "Murray isn't here Jack. It's just me," she whispered softly. "I know you're upset but there's nothing to worry about." She took his hand and started rubbing it slowly with her thumb. Although the Fed's presence on Norfolk was no secret, Jack wondered how she knew him and he didn't know her at all. As the girl continued stroking his hand, he started to sense the last surge of adrenalin ebb from him leaving a pleasantly numb feeling before he experienced a tingle across his skin, like static electricity. He swayed slightly as the girl moved towards him, lifting both arms around his neck, drawing him closer to her already parted lips. The first kiss was soft but intense. Instinctively Porter followed, tasting her mouth with his tongue as she stretched herself along his full length. His body automatically responded. One arm brushed the bare skin exposed by her halter neck dress, the other dropped to caress her bottom before pushing her closer to his swelling cock. She purred into his mouth and rubbed her breasts against his chest in approval. The girl broke the kiss and smiled before reaching for his neck with her lips and his shirt with her hands. Laving his neck with her tongue and trailing with tiny nips and kisses down his opening shirt, she sank slowly to her knees. Porter tingled with sensation as he threw his head back and moaned. The pull of his belt drew his attention. He placed his hand on her shoulders and shook them slightly. "What are you doing," he whispered hoarsely. "What does it look like?" she smiled without stopping her task of unbuttoning his jeans and tugging his underwear. He closed his eyes and sighed as her fingernails lightly scored his fully engorged member and followed it with light licks of her tongue. Porter's hands released the button at the neck that held her top. At that she stood and let the material fall to her waist. God she was magnificent, he thought, reaching out to flick her tight budding nipples with his thumb. Urgency surged through him, his fingers weren't enough, his hands weren't enough, his mouth wasn't enough. The girl whispered her encouragement when Jack became aggressive, grinding his pelvis against hers. He pushed her against a tree and hoisted her on top his hips, pushing aside skirt. She wasn't wearing underwear. 'Dear Christ what's happening?' wondered the fleeting electrical impulse buried somewhere in his higher order brain, as he plunged into her tight, wet warmth. Porter could feel the girl's own climax growing around his dick, she egged him on in curt syllables and groans before a keening wail left her throat. It sent him bucking harder and harder until he too came. As his heart rate slowed, an odd feeling, akin to panic coursed through him. The girl eased herself off and Jack staggered back from the tree, his knees buckling. His throat constricted forcing him to gasp asthmatically. The girl eased him back onto the grass and stroked his brow. "It's okay, it's okay," she whispered near his ear. "You'll be fine, shh, just relax." The pleasant electrical tingle he felt in the first place intensified. He felt pins and needles along his entire length and he struggled for breath. He could no longer hear the girl as the edges of his vision drew dim. Jack had one last coherent thought before he last consciousness completely. This isn't right. #end part II PART III FBI Headquarters Washington DC October 29, 2.57pm This isn't right, mused Scully as she strummed her fingers impatiently along the armrest of the seat in AD Kersch's reception. She waited alone, the blonde bitch of a receptionist wouldn't tell her anything about the purpose of the summons, but she suspected it had something to do with Mulder. Scully wondered what it could be. The only professional contact they had was a request for blood work. It was an approved application, going through official channels. Even before this enforced separation he started keeping his distance from her - not physically, Dr Kossoff was right when she observed that he was always invading her personal space - but emotional distance, starting months ago when she was unable to back up his theory in front of the FBI's professional conduct panel about the alien origins of Gibson Praise's DNA. What did it say about her that she missed the intimacy with Mulder's mind even more than his physical presence? This was worse than the first time they were separated, when Mulder's paranoia as much as the official orders kept them apart. Had she not taken the drastic step of engineering a clandestine meeting with him Scully might have never uncovered his plans to investigate solo. He could have disappeared forever at Puerto Rico. But it was different now. He trusted her then, he didn't any more. They worked long hours in their new roles. The only time she had seen him in six weeks was a fleeting glance on TV two days ago during a press conference in which Baltimore District Attorney Adam Washington announced they arrested a suspect in what the media had dubbed The Sleeping Beauty rapist. It was Mulder's profile that caught David Eugene Powell. He drugged girls with a powerful but little used narcotic to put them in a coma. He would try to awaken them, with a kiss before raping them. He told police he was Prince Charming. Powell would slap them if they didn't awaken on cue and cut them in the search for their real inner beauty. Scully was shocked by Mulder's appearance on TV. He was thin and under his eyes were as dark as bruises. She was still concerned. As she rose to pace the room, Kersch's inner door opened and Scully was beckoned in. Mulder sat with his back to her but he didn't look around to acknowledge her presence. She unsuccessfully tried to quell a trickling edge of apprehension as she took the seat next to Mulder's. Scully glanced at him quickly but his eyes remained fixed at the back wall over Kersch's shoulder. "I want to commend both for your fine work over the past six weeks," he started. "It is gratifying to see you have obeyed directives and begun to appreciate the importance of discipline. There is hope yet you might be rehabilitated into the bureau mainstream." By now Mulder would have made some smart-ass comment that would have raised Kersch's blood pressure but he remained silent and that alarmed Scully all the more. She spoke: "With all due respect sir, what is the purpose of this meeting?" "The purpose of this meeting is to answer a request from one of our counterparts in Australia requiring the assistance of the FBI to solve the murder of a San Diego woman who was working on Norfolk Island, an independent Australian territor which is located two hours east by air of the state of New South Wales and three hours north by air of New Zealand." Kersch passed Scully the file that had background on the woman, crime scene and autopsy photographs. She glanced at it. It was very thorough. "It's not a major case," he said, then nodded at Mulder. "Nor is it as grand as high profile captures but it is important to me. "I want to see if you can be trusted working together. I am mindful of your solve rate on the X-Files and I want to see if we can replicate that in more... productive areas of Bureau investigation. "I consider inter-agency co-operation vital." Kersch stood, picking up papers on his desk and walked to another door to their right. "Your flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. "Don't embarrass me agents." Scully rose slowly. Mulder still hadn't moved. "Who requested our involvement?" Mulder looked at Kersch's retreating back, acknowledging him directly for the first time. "A senior profiler with the Australian Federal Police, Jack Porter," Kersch answered without looking back. Mulder grinned for the first time in months. "What?" whispered Scully, noting the change of disposition. "Sometimes there's a silver lining after all." "Mulderrrr?" she asked, drawing out the last syllable of his name. "I'll tell you on the way back to your place. It's time we got packing." Sydney International Airport arrival lounge Australia November 1, 10.37am. Porter almost missed him in the throng of jet lagged looking passengers that had now cleared customs. Although he'd not kept a close track of the career of his friend and former drinking and skirt-chasing mate, he was surprised to see a more careworn face than he remembered from Oxford. You don't get to smile a lot any more do you, he thought. Porter mentally shook himself and swiftly moved forward with a fixed smile. "Look at ya, you old bastard, you're still as ugly as ever," he called from a few feet away. The agent turned and the smile that broke was genuine. "I see you don't believe in mirrors, I've always been better looking than you." "Mulder, are you sure *this* man is your friend?" Porter noticed that Mulder turned to the redhead beside him who had observed the exchange with surprise. "Ahh, where's your cultural sensitivity Scully? This is how Australian males show affection. It actually means we're blood brothers." She folded her arms and gave him *the* look, a twist of the mouth, a raise of the eyebrows, with which the other man appeared very familiar. He chuckled and raised his hands in mock surrender. "Honest injun." Scully shook her head to conceal a half smile and turned to their host with an outstretched hand. "Excuse the old bastard his lack of manners, I'm his partner Dana Scully." Porter took her hand shook it warmly. He liked the woman already. ****** Scully had to admit she was impressed, not only by the city but also the accommodation Jack had secured for the day and a half before they headed back to the airport for the two hour jump to Norfolk Island. The apartment suite at Darling Harbour boasted two bedrooms separated by a common lounge and dining space. Sliding glass doors onto the balcony accessed an alfresco dining setting for four. Floor to ceiling windows framed the view of Sydney Harbour and its iconic bridge. Peak hour was growing steadily as the last light of the afternoon cast a soft rose glow over the city. As the day turned to night, neon-like red and white streaks from traffic overpowered the spotlights that outlined the bridge's distinctive coat hanger span. Despite the 12-hour leg from Singapore to Sydney, Scully felt surprisingly alert, helped by a four-hour sleep and a soak in her ensuite spa. She pulled her attention from the view as Mulder and Porter entered the suite. Mulder seemed entirely untroubled by the long flight, she noted ruefully. It was no surprise that Mulder and Porter were friends. From the couple of hours Scully witnessed this afternoon, they shared the same incisive wit and offbeat sense of humour. She could also see how they broke hearts across England in the 1980s. Even now, with similar heights and athletic builds they turned heads. In terms of mannerisms and energy, they might even pass as brothers, she mused. But that's where the similarity ended. Jack's blond hair, blue eyes and golden tan contrasted sharply with Mulder's dark hair, hazel eyes and paler skin. The sun god and the dark prince... Scully frowned, where did that thought come from? "Hey Scully, you're up," said Mulder as he bounded over to take a place opposite her on the couch. "Jack says he's taking us to one of the best seafood restaurants in the city. From her vantage point she could see the momentary look of surprise on Porter's face that indicated that he'd said no such thing. "Yeah, but it's Mulder's shout since he was telling me how much more a G-man earns than a poor old Aussie agent," he rejoined quickly. "What kind of host are you? What about inter-agency co- operation?" Mulder shot back, his demeanour showing a lightness that Scully noticed had been missing for many months. Porter laughed. "Okay then my treat, but you're picking up the wine." Later that evening Scully admitted defeat, unable to finish the dessert, a lime cheesecake served with vanilla icecream rolled in pistachio nuts surrounded by a swirl of berry coulis. Content to sit on the sidelines and watch Mulder and Jack to catch up on the years, she mentally congratulated herself that she had packed at least one thing more suitable than work wear. Her soft green summer dress was a last minute decision - and a perfect one for the balmy spring evening. She sipped her glass of Hunter Valley chardonnay and listened. They discussed Phoebe Green, now a Scotland Yard Inspector, whom they both seemed to know rather intimately. She noticed Mulder glance at her as he deftly skirted answering detailed questions about his former partner Diana Fowley before steering Porter's direction to how he and Scully first met. Fowley is a deceitful cow, Scully mused bitterly. Claiming to be on Mulder's side in preserving The X- Files. Lying slut. All it takes to reel Mulder in is an open mind and open legs. Then Porter's next question focussed her attention to the present. "So, what are The X-Files again? Some kind of cold case squad?" Mulder dropped his eyes for a moment as he recalled reactions of other law enforcement when he told them. He looked up and pinned Jack with a stare. "No, the X-Files specialised cases involving unexplained or paranormal phenomena that everyone else had either given up on or deemed unworthy of investigation." There was none of the incredulous reaction or derisive laughter Mulder encountered with past colleagues, just as slight narrowing of his eyes and Porter turned investigator. "Past tense. Does the X-Files no longer exist?" "No, they're there," answered Mulder softly. "We're just not investigating them any more." "I still investigate monsters but the ones I profile are of the very human variety." He knew with the acute awareness of a psychologist that the other man was leaving a lot more unsaid but Porter nodded in sympathy. Monsters were in his job description too, although nowhere near the same scale. Not that it made it more palatable. It wasn't his place to ask for details and he knew his mate wouldn't tell. He was Mulder's friend, not his psychoanalyst and besides, for this investigation he needed an investigator, not a basket case. "You are now I guess... investigating an X-File that is." That got Mulder and Dana's attention, Porter observed with satisfaction. "Because what's been happening on Norfolk Island is not covered in any investigator's handbook. "And before we fly out, I need to tell you... something happened to me when I was there." ***** Later that night, Mulder ran through Porter's story in his head again. Especially intrigued by the girl and her ability to render unconscious a man a good six inches taller and 50 pounds heavier with a good fuck. He was reminded of the cult that he and Scully had encountered about five years ago, an Amish-type colony who largely kept to themselves until one of their order went on a murderous sex spree. He would select one victim, have sex, which would kill them, before somehow changing genders and striking again. Scully would have been a victim too had he not burst through the doors as she and one of the cultists were about to do the horizontal mamba. The way Jack described the way the girl rubbed his hand was familiar, but the rest of the encounter was all wrong. Perhaps these people had adapted - what better place to settle than an island that they could control? What of the murdered girl? Had she discovered who they were? He turned to discuss the idea with Scully and remembered that she had gone to bed hours ago. Mulder rolled over and settled on the bed. He missed her and not just since their partnership had been dissolved. Their professional and personal relationship had been on tenuous ground ever since that bombing in Dallas. He had been scared to death that he had lost her in Antarctica when Scully had been infected with the virus. After their rescue he was ready for more from this relationship, but then Diana had set him straight. "Ask yourself why Agent Scully won't back you up when you most need it Fox," she had told him. He knew the reason. Scully had been at pains to explain that the data didn't support his conclusion. But he *was* right - an alien virus, an alien conspiracy and colonisation like a ticking time bomb. It still galled him that she refused to back him up at the OPR hearing. "I don't doubt what you saw, Mulder. I don't doubt you," she had told him afterwards. "I'm willing to believe, but not in a lie and not in the opposite of what I can prove. "It comes down to a matter of trust. I guess it always has." Unfortunately it wasn't enough. Mulder licked his wounds by keeping his emotional distance from Scully and drew comfort from Diana, even though her proprietorial claims on him bridled. He knew Scully was hurt but he wasn't quite finished being a prick enough to forgive her. End of part III