===

CHAPTER THREE

And the river was overflowing
And the sky was fiery red
You gotta play the hand that's dealt ya
Thats what the old man always said

===

Jane waits for Fox at his apartment in her usual spot.  His hours tend to
vary so much that she's used to long intervals in her car waiting for him to
come home.  Sometimes she would even fall asleep and wake up to see his
living room lights on and realize she'd missed his arrival.  Tonight she's
lucky; he arrives at just a little past 5:00, hurrying up the sidewalk from
the alley behind the building where he parked.  He looks distracted but
happy.  She know's he's gotten her gift by now, and he doesn't look
especially angry or upset; that must mean he's pleased with her package.
He's lonely; he needs someone to love him.

The days are getting shorter in D.C., and it's dark when she notices him
exiting the building.  She's not surprised, he hardly ever goes out at
night, but it's his birthday.  He wouldn't want to spend it alone in his
apartment.  He has his long overcoat on and sets off on foot.  She knows
where he's going - he's going to their special place.  Jane quickly gets out
of her car, careful to grab her backpack which contains her camera and trots
off after him into the night.

He doesn't seem in a hurry, window shopping as he walks. He stops in front
of a travel agency and stands awhile before its display poster for some
tropical island getaway.  A man and a woman wearing next to nothing stand
smiling out to anyone passing by.

[click]  ---She takes his picture.

Finally he arrives at their restaurant.  She watches as he gives the waiter
his coat.  He looks nice tonight; he isn't wearing the usual jeans and a
t-shirt.  They seat him at his usual table. He looks restless sitting all
alone by the window.  He's a loner just like her, desperate to find someone
to love, for someone to be with...like she is.  People move by on the
street, but she can see only him.  His face, looking out the window into the
darkness, waiting for love.  Waiting for her.

She moves closer.

She should go to him, tell him she's here.  Ask him if he likes his gift.
Just do it.  Just like the commercial says, Jane, JUST DO IT, she yells to
herself.  She feels her feet moving towards the window.   She's breaking out
in a cold sweat.  Don't think, Jane.  For once in your miserable piece of
shit excuse for a life do something right.  This is right -- he's right.
Half way across the street, she stops dead in her tracks.  Someone has just
walked up to his table and is sitting down.

Red hair.

It's her, his partner.  What's she doing here?  Jane turns around quickly,
stumbling back to her spot in the shadows.  She's confused.  They never have
dinner together.  Not in a restaurant, anyway.   Sometimes they eat takeout
and work at his apartment.  But never in a restaurant.  She looks through
her camera's telephoto lens at the two of them.  They're both dressed
casually, but nice.  His partner is in a too tight shirt that shows off her
perky little tits.  I can't believe this, she thinks to herself.  What does
he think he's doing?  I tell him how much I love him, and he goes out on a
date with his slut partner!  She stands and watches them, feeling stunned.
Unable to comprehend what she's seeing, what he's doing to her. Doesn't Fox
know she's watching?  She sent him pictures so he would know that she was
near, that he wasn't alone any more.  She watches as they order wine;  the
red head does that.  Doesn't she know anything about men? She's not supposed
to order -- she's  supposed to let him do that.  She's too pushy for Fox.
She watches as he orders their food and then as they settle down to eat.
She watches in horror as he gives her a bite of his food from his own fork,
using his thumb to wipe sauce off her chin.

She feels sick.

They're almost done with their meal; the dinner plates have been taken away
before she comes out of her stupor.  His face is lit up with the telling of
a story, his eyes bright with the details of it.  He's so beautiful.
[click] ...She takes a picture.

His partners leaning forward in her chair laughing, her face turned upwards
to Fox like a cat to the sun.  She starts taking photos furiously now.   How
could she have been so stupid as to think he isn't like all the rest of
them? [click]
He's nothing but a lying, filthy, disgusting son of a bitch. [click]
Jane's crying now, tears streaming down her face as she takes picture after
picture of them and their laughter.  Eventually the red head leans down and
takes a present out of the bag at her feet.  His face looks soft now, he
smiles at her. [click]  The look on his face when he opens his gift almost
breaks Jane's heart...almost.  It takes the woman sitting across from him to
actually shatter it entirely.  Jane watches in disbelief as the woman
reaches across the table and takes Fox's hand.  They're just looking at each
other, and she can see through her lens as the woman rubs his knuckles with
her thumb. [click]

Jane feels that caress like a slap in the face.  She thinks she might fall
down.  The earth is spinning under her feet, and she can hear the blood
rushing in her ears like a hurricane.  He lied to her.  Every day he lied to
her with his eyes, with that beautiful mouth.  The way he touched her hand,
smiled into her eyes.  It is all a lie.  She is so furious she can't stop
shaking.  What to do?  Where to go?  She wants to scream like a wounded
animal.  That's what she is, road kill.  That's all she ever meant to him -
she is nothing - she has nothing.  Jane's seen enough, and starts to run
back to her car.  It's a good half mile back to his building, and the cold
night air burns in her lungs long before she arrives back to where she's
parked.  Her sobs echo off the buildings, crashing back on her like a
hammer. She wishes she were dead; she wishes he was dead.  Walking around
behind the building, she spots his car in its usual spot.  Unexceptional,
just like all the rest of the cars in the alley.  Different, but all looking
the same.  Just like him -- nothing special.  Pretending to be new and
different but really just the same pieces of crap as the year before.  She
slowly walks up to it, laying her gloved hand on the hood.  No longer
sobbing, just crying softly.

She see's the pipe lying by the side of his building, partially buried in
the mud.  Desperately wanting to hurt him, she supposes the car will do for
now.  Picking up the metal tube, she stands like a statue in the alley, the
pipe resting in her hands like a baseball bat.  She feels she's observing
herself from a great distance, the street light making everything an odd
combination of light and dark.  The mud puddle shimmers at her feet; light
bounces off of the metal in her hands, glinting off of the zipper on her
backpack.  She hears a car horn far off in the distance.

The pipe comes down with such force her hands and arms are shocked numb from
the violence of the vibration.  With a dull thud his windshield shatters
into a million tiny puzzle pieces .  She's surprised that's all the sound it
makes. She brings it down again - the side window.  Again - the back window.
Again - the trunk, over and over again on the trunk.  In a frenzy now,
swinging the pipe like an executioner, again and again and again.  She
funnels all her rage at him into the chore in front of her.  Her wrath
mixing with her tears, making everything swim before her with blurred
vision.

"Hey!  What the hell's going on down there?"

Throwing herself into the shadow of the building, she realizes she doesn't
know how long she's been attacking Fox's car.  She looks at her watch and is
stunned to see that it has only been 15 minutes.  It feels like a lifetime.
Dropping the pipe, she grabs her backpack and races around the building to
her car.  She has to get away before someone sees her.  She can barely hold
her keys steady as she tries to unlock her door.  Once inside, she jams the
keys in the ignition and heads the car towards home.  Her hands hurt; they
feel broken.  She can barely hold onto the steering wheel.   She has stopped
any crying now.   She feels as if she is in a daze, empty thoughts echoing
around inside her head like a pinball machine.  She's not even aware of the
car; she is just driving on autopilot, letting it lead her home.

===

"Hop in, Mulder.  I'll give you a lift back to your place."

"Thanks.  We finished off that bottle; you okay to drive?"

"Yeah, I'm fine.  You had more than I did."

"Did not."

"Did so."

"Did not."

"Get in the car, Mulder."

Mulder was feeling a pleasant little buzz while he and Scully walked
together through the chilly night to where she had parked her car.  Scully
opened his door first and then scurried around to her own side.  Reaching
across the seat, Mulder unlocked her door for her, and she hopped in.  "Turn
on the heater, Scully.  I'm freezing," Mulder said, rubbing his hands
together briskly.  They sat in the car waiting for it to get warm, their
breath showing in little puffs between them.

"That better?"  Scully asked while adjusting the heater button on the dash.

"Uh huh..."  Mulder replied, starting to feel a little sleepy from the good
food and warm air.

Scully pulled away from the curb and they were on their way.  He only lived
a short distance from the restaurant.  After a couple of minutes he could
already see his building up the street.  "Scully, I left a file I need in my
car.  Can you drop me off in the alley?"

"Mulder, you should get to bed; you're exhausted."

"Is that an offer?"  Mulder turned to smile at her and wait for the eyebrow,
her usual response to his typical off color remarks.  Her face seemed more
appalled than usual.  He'd said stuff worse than that before; she must be
getting thin skinned.  "Hey Scully, I'm sorry; I was only kid"

"Oh my God....Mulder, is that your car?"  Scully's voice was breathy and
directed over his right shoulder.  Mulder turned around in his seat to look
out his passenger side window.

"Wooww."  Mulder dragged out the word until it was several syllables longer
than intended.  It was all he could manage at that moment.  His car was
trashed.  Yeah, trashed was definitely the word he would choose to describe
it.  Slowly he exited the vehicle to circle around the wreck before him.
Scully quickly got out to stand next to him.  "Look...." He reached down to
grab the pipe lying at his feet in a pile of window glass.

"Mulder!" Scully grabbed his arm.  "Don't pick that up!  There could be
fingerprints on it."

"Fingerprints?"  He stared dumbly at her for a moment, then at the pipe at
his feet.  Of course, Scully was right.  She was always right about this
type of thing.  He shouldn't touch anything.  He satisfied himself by just
staring at his car.  All of the windows were bashed out, there were numerous
dents in his hood, and the trunk had popped open it was hit so many times.
The roof was less damaged; only a couple of dents in that.  The person must
not have been very tall, he thought absent-mindedly.  Scully spoke first.

"Mulder, this could be your admirer from this morning."  Her voice was low,
as if she was reminding him of something she'd prefer not to mention.  She
pulled out her cell.  "I'm calling the DCPD."

"I guess this means I'm not getting lucky tonight, huh?"  Mulder's tone was
less than jovial as he turned to watch for it --  finally, the eyebrow.

===
 
Several hours later, the exhausted federal agents came through the front
door of Scully's apartment, Mulder with his travel bag over his shoulder.
"Scully, I don't think this is neccesary.  We checked out my apartment; it
wasn't touched.  I could have stayed at my place."

"Mulder, we've gone over this already.  It will make me feel better if you
don't stay there tonight.  Just until you get a chance to have your locks
changed tomorrow.  It's not like you're not used to sleeping on a couch."

"Scully, there's no evidence that my car being trashed has anything to do
with that delivery I got this morning.  Why would someone tell me they loved
me in the morning and that night trash my car?  Besides, wouldn't they have
left a note saying they did it or something?  Isn't that the stalkers modus
operandi, letting their victims know what havoc they are raising so the
victim can be impressed?"  Mulder's voice was tired; they had been arguing
this point since she had called the police and then tried to tell them it
might be a stalker.

"Neither one of us is up on the latest stalker psychology, Mulder; you know
that.  I'll start researching it tomorrow and maybe we can learn more.  But
for tonight, I just want you here. Not in your apartment.  Besides, you
would just end up calling me in the middle of the night when you couldn't
get to sleep anyway.  Why not just stay here so at least I can sleep?"

Scully was more concerned for Mulder than she let on.  The damage to his car
was extreme; the amount of effort it would have taken to accomplish it was
no small matter.  Someone that angry was best to avoid at all costs.  So far
not much had been discovered regarding the identity of the vandal.  The only
lead they had was a neighbor who had heard noises in the alley and yelled at
someone whom he didn't see.  They were checking for fingerprints on the car
and the pipe.  So far they had found nothing.

"I'm exhausted," Mulder sighed as he fell back onto her couch.  "The evening
started great but sort of petered out in the end."

"Yeah - happy birthday, Mulder."  Scully grinned at him as she brought out
some sheets and a pillow for him to use.  "Feel free to use the guest
bathroom.  You know the drill.  I'm going to bed; I'm beat,"  she said while
trying to stifle a yawn but failing.

"Uh huh, I know.  I'll see you in the morning.....where's the remote?"
Mulder was looking under the couch cushions with no luck.

Scully listened from her room as Mulder got ready for bed.  He must have
found the remote because she could hear him switching channels trying to
find something to help him sleep.  Brushing her teeth, she let her mind
wander over the day's events.  She was going to start doing some research on
stalking tomorrow whether Mulder liked it or not.

===
 
Jane is trying to take off her gloves without crying out in pain.  She
doesn't think she's broken anything, but both of her hands have swelled up
so much she can't move her fingers very well.  Finally she gets the gloves
off and is soaking her entire body in a hot bath.  It's so late now, and
she's exhausted.  Closing her eyes, she lets her mind wander.  Her rage at
Fox feels a long way away now -- days even.  She's been thinking a lot about
what happened earlier, at the restaurant, and she's certain she must have
misunderstood his intentions, although she doubts she misunderstood his
partner's intention.  Obviously, the partner is in love with him.  Why
didn't she see it before?  How could she not be?  So, the redhead's decided
no one else can have him.  That's why she's throwing herself at him,
laughing too loud at his stories, reaching over to *him* and taking his
hand.  Fox hadn't reached out to her, hadn't stroked her hands, hadn't given
her the gift.  Jane's original assumption had been right.  He isn't in love
with the redhead; it was the redhead that's in love with him.  With this
realization, a new wave of emotions floods over her.  Guilt.  Oh my God,
what have I done?  I've wrecked his car, caused him pain, maybe even
frightened him!  She starts crying again, not in anger this time but with
remorse.  She'll make it up to him.  He has to understand that she only did
this because she loves him.  Because she was afraid she was losing him.
He'll understand.  He'll admire her for her persistence and the depth of her
love; that's what he'll do.  Of course, that's what he'll think.
It only makes sense -- it's the truth.  Why would she hurt him when she
loves him so much?  That's the only thing that makes sense.  She loves him.
They were meant for each other; he'll understand.  First he has to see that
he loves her.  Then, when they're together, she'll tell him about the car.
He'll admire her; the depth of her devotion to him will inspire him.
They'll laugh at how jealous she was, how silly she was to think he could
ever love that redhead.

She starts to plan.

When her fingers finally start to move, she gets out of her bath; wrapping
herself in her fluffy robe and winding the towel around her head, she walks
to her phone.  There's only one way she can find out for sure.  She's going
to have to tell him that she loves him.  He has to know who she is.

She picks up her phone.

It rings three times.  The machine picks up...'This is Fox Mulder.  Please
leave a message." Quickly she hangs up.  Why doesn't he answer?  Where is
he?  Jane's mind is racing.  She looks up at her clock -- oh.   It's
midnight; he's probably in bed .  Shit!  She hung up.
He was probably trying to get to the phone from bed.  Now he's holding a
phone without anyone on the other end.  Good job, Jane.  What an idiot.
Should she call him back?

555-9355.  It's ringing again...."This is Fox Mulder.  Please leave a
message."

"Hello, Fox.  It's me.  It's Jane.  Are you there?  Fox, it's me, Jane from
the coffee shop.  It's okay to pick up.  I know already how you feel about
me.  You don't have to be embarrassed.  I feel the same way, but you already
know that, I'm sure.  Fox?   Fox, are you there?"  Jane was starting to feel
uneasy.  "Fox, it's midnight.  You should be home by now.  Where are you?
Well, okay.  I guess I'll call back later.  Maybe you went out...I...I love
you."

Where is he?  She paces back and forth in her apartment, trying to decide
what to do now.  He couldn't still be out with his partner; it was past
midnight now.  They were almost done when she ran from the restaurant.

"This is Fox Mulder.  Please leave a message."

"Fox, it's me again.  I waited a little while and I'm trying you back again.
But of course you know that, don't you.  I am speaking on your machine
again."  Jane is laughing now at how little sense she's making. "Did you get
my birthday present this morning?  I guess it's yesterday now, isn't it?
Fox, please answer the phone.  I know you're there.  Why won't you pick up?
Don't you want to speak with me?  I know if you just talk to me, you'll
understand why we're meant for each other.  We have so many things in
common.  Please, Fox, please pick up the phone.  Fox, where are you?"

"This is Fox Mulder.  Please leave a message."

"God dammit, Fox!  This is ridiculous.  It's after 1am now.  Where are you?!
If you're there and not picking up the phone, you are really hurting my
feelings.  Fox?  ---- Fox?  I don't want to frighten you; am I frightening
you?  That's not my intention, I promise you.  I would never hurt you; you
have to know that.  I love you, Fox.  Please, Fox."  Jane is starting to cry
now in frustration.  Why won't he answer her?  Maybe he's angry with her
because he's guessed that she trashed his car.  Something in the back of
Jane's head warns her not to mention that just yet.  She's not stupid; she
knows Fox is an FBI agent.  Until she can make him realize how much they are
meant to be together, she doesn't think she should bring that up.

She loses track of the number of times she tries him at home.  She's finally
poured her heart out to him tonight - over his machine.  It's a strange
feeling she has now, almost of relief.  She feels lighter for having told
him.  It was hard not telling him all this time, watching him without
telling him.  Now it will be better.  Now he will have to see how devoted
she is.  He will be powerless against the strength of her love.  Even though
she's angry at him for not being home, she's almost happy she was able to
leave all of her messages.  It will be like an audio tape of her love to
him.  He can carry it around with him, play it in his car....oh, right, she
sort of messed that up.  Well, he can buy a new car.  They can go together
and laugh over things like which color to buy.  Neither of them will ever be
alone any more.

She's so sleepy now --- exhausted with the telling of her secret.  What was
it that man wrote?  To sleep, perchance to dream?  Yes, that's what she's
going to do -- dream about Fox.

Her Fox.

===
 
It was starting.

Mulder could feel it in his gut.  Weeks from now he would remember this
moment.  Hell, who was he kidding?  Years from now he would remember this
moment.  Sitting in Scully's apartment in the early morning, the dawn
drifting through her curtains, across the floor towards his bare feet.  He
held the phone cradle in his hands, the voice still rambling in his ears.
He'd been listening for about 10 minutes now.  When he'd first called and
his machine had told him he had 22 messages, he'd thought it must be broken.
He had expected a few, maybe from the DCPD regarding fingerprints, something
like that.  Not this.  This, he had not been expecting.  It was the girl
from the coffee shop!  He couldn't believe it; it was insane.  If he hadn't
heard her pouring her heart out to him on his own phone, he would never have
believed it.  He was up to message 17 now.....he hung up.  He needed to
think.  She hadn't mentioned the car yet, whether she was the
vandal....could it have been her?  He didn't know whether to wish for it or
not.  If it was, she might be dangerous.  Well, she's a stalker.  That rules
out sane from the get go, really.  If it wasn't her, then he had extremely
bad karma, that's for sure. Hey... how did she get his phone number, anyway?

Mulder was still sitting on the couch, his hands folded in his lap, staring
out into space, when Scully shuffled into the living room.  "Morning,
Mulder.  I'm going to make some oatmeal; you want some?"  She stopped.  He
was just sitting there.  Something was wrong.  "Mulder?" she whispered.

"I think we're in trouble." Mulder was looking at the hands in his lap now.
He felt odd, almost disconnected.  Surreal, that's the word he was looking
for.  "Scully, I *know* I'm in trouble, but I think you might be in for some
trouble too."  Did he say that aloud?  He looked up at Scully to gauge her
reaction.  As always, whenever he had the good luck to sleep nearby, he was
thrilled at how she looked in the mornings.  Sort of rumpled, but in a nice
way. She slowly walked over to the couch and sat beside him.

"Mulder, you're frightening me.  What are you talking about?"  Scully was
sitting on the edge of the couch.  "Did you have a nightmare or something?
I didn't hear anything.  Did you not sleep?"

"My secret admirer called my house.  I have 22 highly lovelorn -- and by the
time I got to 17 very agitated -- answering machine messages.  It's the girl
who gets my coffee in the morning!  Can you believe that?  I can't believe
this, Scully!  She thinks I love her.  She thinks she loves me!  Actually,
she sounds pretty sure of the 'her loving me' part.  She's the one who sent
me the birthday card and the pictures!  She's been watching me.  For months
now, she said.  She somehow has my phone number; I'm not sure how.  She must
have gone through my trash.  I knew I should have bought that shredder.  For
someone who's paranoid, I'm a total idiot."  He said seemingly in one
breath.

"Mulder, slow down.  I can't understand you.  What are you talking about?
What girl at your coffee shop?  How are we in trouble?"  Scully had his hand
now and was jerking his arm up and down, trying to get him to focus on her.
He reached over to the phone and hit redial, then handed it to her.

"Just listen."

She did.  Unlike her partner she listened to all 22 messages.  She tried
forcing her mind not to wander, but it was hard.  Mulder was staring at her
now, at her face, studying her reactions.

Mulder was watching his partner for any sign of fear.  Had she gotten to the
part about her yet?  He couldn't remember which message started mentioning
her....He hated his answering machine.  He had the worst luck with that
fucking machine.  He'd heard Scully being taken from him on that machine.
The messages varied but had one similarity, they sucked.  Screaming for help
messages.  Please come to say goodbye before it's too late messages.
Countless hushed conversations from hospital waiting rooms while she waited
for test results, refusing to let him wait with her.  More countless
messages from anonymous assholes, black lunged bastards, one-armed bastards.
Now this.  It never ended for him. This was the last straw Mulder thought.
I'm getting rid of that damned machine.

There it is; she's heard her own name now....."Scully?"  She was still
holding his hand, and he felt the involuntary twitch at the sound of her own
name.

"...I know that bitch partner of yours won't leave you alone.  I watched you
at dinner tonight, the way she was throwing herself at you.  That tight
white shirt left nothing to the imagination.  Just tell her you don't love
her.  Tell her to leave you the fuck alone.  I'll do it for you if you are
afraid of hurting her feelings.  We can have a woman to woman talk..."

Scully felt herself turning pink at the mention of her shirt from last
night.  It was cashmere.  She had stood in the dressing room staring at her
image a full ten minutes before deciding to buy it.  It was nice looking on
her, but she had worried that it was too obvious.  In her secret heart, she
bought it because she knew Mulder would like it.  Mulder's right; they are
in trouble.  But Scully knows something else as well, something she won't
share with Mulder.

Jane's in more trouble.

-end ch 3-