Johnny Lee by Brandon D. Ray BEGUN: July 11, 2001 FINISHED: August 19, 2001 ========== DISTRIBUTION: Do not archive at gossamer. I'll send them a copy directly. Anywhere else is fine, as long as these headers remain intact and no money changes hands. ========== SUMMARY: A meditation on love and dragons. CATEGORIES: X-File (MOTW), Romance KEYWORDS: MSR. Is Vacationfic a category? If it isn't, it should be. SPOILER STATEMENT: FTF & The Beginning TIMELINE: No particular time, although the events of "Requiem" and "Existence" seem not to have happened. M&S are together, and they're pretty content -- at least for the moment. Place it where you will. RATING: PG-13. I know. I can hardly believe it, either. CONTENT STATEMENT: Nothing really alarming that I can think of. If you're bothered by baseball, or by 17th Century English literature, you may want to exercise some caution. ;) ========== THANKS AND CREDITS: To Cin, mimic, Jeylan and Sharon, for the cool and bodacious beta reading. ========== DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never will be. I had a really witty, biting disclaimer written, and then CC went and gave us "Existence", and bought me off again. I am *such* a sucker. =========== Wednesday =========== It is huge and dark and powerful. It is also very, very beautiful. It breaks the surface of the water just as the moon is rising above the river bank. The night is cloudless, and the air is clear as crystal, warm and soft and vibrant. A light wind brushes the trees, as a lover's hand might caress a lock of hair. The firmament is velvety black; the stars an infinite, disorderly array of gems, winking down at the sleeping countryside. The creature hovers over the river for a moment, surveying its surroundings. There is no one here, of course. No humans. It knew that before it emerged. But still there is much to see, much to consider. The water flowing quietly between its banks. The small nocturnal animals creeping through the tall grass. The scattering of trees, and the undergrowth, vying with glacial slowness for a niche. Even the soil, the simple earth, rich and brown and fecund, calls out with a song of its very own. It spins about, more quickly than a human eye could follow, and launches itself up with a creak of leathery wings -- up, up, up into the sky. Its motions are free and easy, and the wind whistles past and around it, making way before the irresistible bulk. Five hundred feet ... a thousand ... two thousand ... in a matter of seconds it has gained more than a mile in altitude. And then it levels off. Not because it has to; not because there is any plan or because it is compelled. But simply because it chooses to do so. Just as it chooses everything it does. The land below is familiar, and yet always new. The creature watches avidly as it flies, admiring the hardiness of the corn and soybeans, wrinkling its nostrils in appreciation of the pungency of the hogs and horses and cattle. A small spark of light reveals the location of a home, and then another, and another. Moving lights signal the presence of cars and trucks, and high, high overhead a jet plane passes, oblivious to the presence of the strange, powerful flyer. And then the creature soars over a cluster of lights that marks a town. Everywhere there are familiar landmarks, and everywhere there are changes. Here a farmer has dug a pond; there the land has been cleared to make way for new construction. In yet a third place a stand of trees remains untouched, with only the slow, steady growth of wood and leaf to indicate the passage of time. The creature sees everything, cataloguing and storing the smallest detail. And it flies on. After a time, neither short nor long, it comes to another river, wide and flat and flowing steadily towards the sea, more than a thousand miles away. The flow is interrupted at regular intervals by the tinkerings of men -- dams and bridges and flood walls, and countless other creations of those who deem themselves the rulers of the planet. But in the end, it makes no difference. In the end, the river goes where it will go. The creature pauses in its flight to admire the water, as it ripples and sparkles in the pale moonlight. For a moment it considers plunging downwards, into the water, there to plumb its depths and explore the mysteries to be found in the dark and quiet of the river bottom. It is poised and ready. The barest wingbeat will turn the vision into reality -- And on the far side of the river, something draws its attention. The creature's eyes glitter, its nostrils twitch, and its ears quiver with excitement. It rolls onto its back, twisting and frolicking in the air and once more gaining speed. The water flashes by underneath, now forgotten, a casualty of this new obsession. It's here, it's here, on the far side of the river, somewhere, somewhere .... Yes! One of the moving lights, far, far below. An automobile, maneuvering along one of the many roads that crisscross this land. The creature's mighty tail whips in excitement as it swoops downwards, seeking, searching, pursuing, approaching the ground at reckless speed and then leveling off and shooting across the land, skimming over fences, evading haystacks and houses and outbuildings. It detects a pair of startled humans, but then they're gone, fading into the distance before they have time to realize what they've seen. And there's the car, just ahead, its headlights washing across the scenery as it travels along the highway. The creature pops back up into the air, arching up a couple of hundred feet, then changing course so that once more it parallels the ground. The car, a dark green Taurus, is right below it. It beats its wings languidly, almost lazily, as it matches speed with the vehicle below, its neck craning and dipping as it examines the two occupants. Not just with its hard, obsidian eyes, of course; that is one of the creature's least important senses. It can also feel their presence, it can detect the disturbance their existence creates in the rest of the universe. It feels out their shapes, explores their beings, examines their souls. And yes, yes, they are everything they seemed to be, and everything it hoped they were. These two humans, this man and this woman, will require closer examination. The conclusion is immediate and matter-of-fact. Opportunities like this do not arise very often, and when they do, the creature always takes full advantage. And so, with casual indifference to the privacy of the people in the car, it reaches out and samples their thoughts, examining their intentions and then planting the barest trace of a suggestion in the woman's mind. The tiniest nudge is all it takes. More than that would taint the outcome, spoil the game. Of course, it would be best if no intervention were required at all, but the world is not a perfect place, and the creature has known that for millennia. A quick reexamination of the people in the car, a careful measuring of their resonance, and it is satisfied. The plan has been set in motion, and soon they will come -- the better to be studied and evaluated. Soon they will come. Soon. =========== Thursday =========== "Seventeen," Mulder said at last, taking a quick glance at his partner before turning his attention back to the highway. Morning sunlight glinted off the dark green hood of their Taurus, and he had to squint a little to see where he was going. He repeated, "Seventeen. And a half." Scully snorted. "You're not serious," she said. "Yes I am!" he insisted. She rolled her eyes, and he went on, "Really, Scully. That's my guess. High or low?" "I think I'm insulted," she replied, an amused tone in her voice. "And if that really is your guess, then it's high. *Very* high. So high I think you owe me another Dove bar." "No way," he said. Scully remained silent, while a quarter of a mile sped by beneath the tires. At last, Mulder decided to come clean. "Okay," he added. "That wasn't really my guess. I mean, it was ... but it wasn't. You know what I mean?" "Mulder, you have a real gift for twisting things up, you know that? Would you care to repeat what you just said -- in English, this time?" "Actually," he said, "seventeen was *me*. I just ... uh ... didn't want you to be lower than me." "What?" Scully whooped with laughter. Mulder couldn't help but laugh along with her, albeit his was a little rueful. "Mulder, you're *not* serious. You're not. You can't be. You were *seventeen* when you had your first French kiss?" "Yeah," he replied. "Is there something wrong with that?" "No," she said, stifling the remnants of her mirth. "No, there's not. It's really ... it's really very sweet, Mulder. I'm touched." Her shoulders shook, and another little cluster of giggles escaped. "Oh, Mulder ... seventeen?" "Yeah," Mulder repeated. He shifted in his seat, and hoped he didn't sound as defensive as he felt. He shot another look at Scully. Despite his own minor embarrassment, he was enchanted all over again at how free and open she'd been ever since they began this trip. Six days they'd been on the road now. Six days since they loaded up his car and left D.C. Not in pursuit of a poltergeist or a vampire or reports of alien abduction, but just ... driving. Going nowhere in particular. Because they wanted to. A vacation, he thought. That's what people call this. A vacation. "It could have been a real disaster," he continued. "Fortunately, Amber was more, uh, experienced than I was. She was only sixteen, but I wasn't her first boyfriend, or even her second. She showed me the ropes." "I'll just bet she did," Scully replied, amusement still evident in her voice. "Lucky girl." She reached out and gave his hand a squeeze where it gripped the steering wheel. "And lucky me. I've got the benefit of the training she gave you." "Well, I did work *some* of it out on my own," Mulder said, trying not to sound defensive. "That swizzle stick maneuver, for example -- she didn't teach me that." "Whoever did is a saint," Scully said, giving another little snort. "And an idiot, for letting such a talented pupil get away." Mulder felt himself blushing at her frank compliment, but he didn't demur. He liked hearing things like that from Scully. The idea that he could make her happy was something he was still getting used to, even after several months of being together. Fortunately, she never seemed to tire of reminding him. "Anyway," he said, "we've drifted away from the subject. We weren't talking about *my* first kiss -- we were talking about *yours*. So fess up. When was it?" "Well, there was my father, of course," she replied, and now there was a teasing note in her voice. "And my mother. And Missy and Bill --" "*French* kiss, Scully," he interrupted. "You know -- tongue, tonsils, hands under your shirt. The whole ball of wax." "You make it sound so romantic," she said, laughing once again. "And okay, okay. If you must know, I was fourteen. And before you ask, it was pretty good. Very good, in fact." "Fourteen, huh?" Mulder thought about that for a moment, and tried to imagine a fourteen year old Scully, her breasts still swelling, her hips only beginning to take shape. She was wearing one of those Catholic school uniforms, he decided, with the skirt falling just below her knee -- "Mulder, look!" Mulder pulled himself out of his fantasy, to see that his partner was staring out the window, pointing at something in the distance. Ahead and to the right, poking up over a small stand of trees, was some sort of tower or steeple. "Yeah?" he said. "What about it?" "It looks interesting," she replied. "It looks old. I want to stop and take a closer look." "Scully, this is Iowa. How old can it be?" "I don't care," she said. "I'm the passenger, and that means it's my day to decide when we stop and look at things. That's in the rules." "Rules," he said, shaking his head with mock solemnity. "Only you could make up rules for a vacation." But he was already slowing the car, because up ahead he could see an intersection. A few seconds later they were there, and he turned right, towards the steeple. They drove in silence for a short while. The road they'd been on was a state highway -- another of Scully's rules was 'No Interstates, unless absolutely necessary' -- and the one they'd turned off on was a two lane blacktop that twisted and turned as it made its way through the trees. It was in good repair, and the ride was very smooth. At last they broke out into more open terrain, and they saw the town. "Wanmei, Iowa," Mulder said, reading the sign as it flashed by. "Population 1,638. Doesn't exactly sound like a thriving metropolis, Scully. I don't think we're going to find any Dove bars here." "I don't care," she replied. "I just want to see that steeple." She pointed again, off to the right. "There it is. I bet that's the center of town." They were now driving through the streets of the village. The homes looked sturdy and were in good condition; the yards were neat and well cared for. A couple of times they saw children playing, and once they passed an elderly man, sitting on a rocking chair on his front porch. "Norman Rockwell would love this," Mulder commented, as they approached a bridge that crossed a small river. The sides of the bridge were about three feet high, made of fitted fieldstone, and it was floored with wooden planks. It looked like it had been there forever. In his mind's eye Mulder could see men driving wagons and riding horses across it. Like everything else they'd seen in the town, it was well maintained. A few blocks later they found the steeple. As Scully had guessed, it was at the center of town, rising up out of a building that looked to be at least a hundred years old. It stood on one corner of the town square, with a park in the middle, perhaps a hundred feet on each side. A few trees were scattered strategically about the green space, with benches beneath them. There was a bandstand in one corner of the park, and a fountain in the center. There was a sculpture of some sort in the middle of the fountain, but Mulder couldn't make out what it was, due to the intervening trees. The square was surrounded by storefronts and offices. Most of the buildings were older, and the architecture varied from one structure to the next, but the overall effect was pleasing to the eye. A few pedestrians wandered in and out of various doorways. None of them seemed to be in much of a hurry. The building with the steeple was on the corner of the square opposite the bandstand. It was three stories high and, like the bridge, it was made of fitted fieldstone. The steeple rose another fifty feet or so above the third story, and was topped by a carving of ... Mulder shaded his eyes and craned his neck as he stepped out of the car. A dragon? "Mulder, come on!" Scully was already on the sidewalk, striding briskly towards the building, and Mulder had to run a few steps to catch up. He fell in step with his partner and grabbed her hand, just as she reached the front steps. She looked up at him in surprise -- they were both still getting used to this whole 'couple' concept -- then smiled, gave his hand a return squeeze, and looked back to the building. Mulder allowed his own gaze to follow hers. The building was impressive; there was no denying that. They stood at the foot of wide, stone steps, leading up to an equally wide set of heavy oaken doors. Above the doors was a motto, carved into the stone of the building. "'My mouth shall speak of wisdom,'" Scully said, reading aloud. "'and the meditation of my heart shall be of understanding.'" She shook her head. "That's from Psalms, I think, but I don't remember which one." She continued looking up at the building, and began to mount the stairs, letting go of his hand as she moved upwards. Mulder followed, a step or two behind. But just as she reached the top, one of the doors started to open -- Suddenly everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, and there was absolutely nothing Mulder could do but watch. He was three of those broad stone steps below her, several feet off to the left, well out of reach. He saw the door begin to move, and he saw Scully react, jumping back to avoid being hit. She took two steps, and a little hop, then her heel slipped off the edge and she was falling, windmilling her arms frantically to regain her balance, even as Mulder prepared to launch himself forward, in a desperate attempt to catch her, or at least break her fall, but it was too late, too late, she was falling -- And all in an instant she was standing upright, one step below the top, breathing hard. Her arms were stretched out on either side, a stunned look on her face. Mulder blinked. What the hell just happened? "I'm terribly sorry! Are you all right, my dear?" Mulder looked up at the open doorway, to see a middle aged man hurrying forward. He was wearing a three piece suit and wire rimmed glasses, and had thinning, jet black hair. He was of average height, or perhaps a little less, and an expression of concern painted his features. When he spoke, there was an odd lilt to his voice, an accent that Mulder couldn't quite place. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" the stranger said. He was now standing in front of Scully, who had lowered her arms, looking her over anxiously. She looked dazed -- and come to think of it, Mulder felt a little foggy, himself. He shook himself, moving on up the steps to stand next to her. "Scully? You okay?" "Y-yeah." She glanced at Mulder, and gave a rueful smile. "Just slipped, I guess." She turned back to the other man, who still stood in front of her, clucking worriedly. "I'm fine. I ... I was just admiring this lovely building, and I guess I wasn't watching where I was going." "It is beautiful, isn't it?" The man in the three piece suit nodded, his features relaxing as it became clear that Scully was okay. "It was built in 1871, using only hand tools. A remarkable achievement." He beamed with a pride that seemed almost paternal. "It was the original county courthouse. Of course, that was before they moved the county seat. Now it's the library and community center." "It seems a bit big for that, for a town this size," Mulder commented. "Oh, yes." The reply was cheerful, and accompanied by a friendly smile. "But we have an active community life, and a lot of avid readers." He ducked his head to Mulder, then bowed slightly to Scully. "But here I am taking up your time, when all I wanted to do was make sure that my clumsiness had not caused the lady any discomfort. Since everything seems to be fine, I'll be on my way. A good day to you both." With a final nod, he moved past them, trotting down the steps at a brisk pace. Mulder watched as he paused to check for traffic, then jaywalked across the street and disappeared into the park. Mulder kept looking in the direction the man had gone for another few seconds; at last, Scully touched his elbow, and he turned, following her into the building. # # # An hour or so later, Scully found herself up to her ears in books. She and Mulder had skipped the signs directing them to the community center on the upper floors, and gone straight to the library. Scully had started out just browsing the stacks, and had quickly become impressed by the size and depth of the collection. Even more noteworthy was the apparent fact that many of the books had been checked out fairly recently, and all were in very good condition. There didn't seem to be any that were languishing on the shelves collecting dust. Scully had seen private libraries belonging to self-proclaimed bibliophiles that were less well cared for. Nor were the books all recent best sellers and movie novelizations, although such volumes certainly were represented. But there was also a wide selection of literature, ranging from Homer and Sophocles, to Bacon, Shakespeare, and even classic scientific treatises by the likes of Isaac Newton and William Harvey, in expensive -- and sometimes antique -- leather bound editions. Scully eventually settled down in a big, comfortable easy chair in one of the many reading nooks, and started to work her way through Darwin's 'Voyage of the Beagle'. A couple of times Mulder wandered by, once to tell her that he'd found a complete, unexpurgated edition of Richard Burton's translation of 'A Thousand Nights and a Night', and the second time to report that the library had an unbelievably comprehensive collection of early 20th Century jazz, almost all of which was on vinyl rather than CD. Then he disappeared again, and Scully let herself get lost in her book. It had been years since she'd had a chance like this -- not since before med school, really. The Falkland Islands. The Straits of Magellan and Tierra del Fuego. Galapagos. Giant tortoises. Other patrons occasionally passed by, and once someone stopped to ask her the time, but she barely noticed. At last she sighed, put the book down and checked her watch. More than two hours had passed since the last time she'd seen Mulder. It was probably about time she checked on him. Not that she actually thought he could be in any real trouble, not in a small town library on a lazy summer afternoon in Iowa. But this *was* Mulder, after all, and all those years of watching his back had instilled some habits in her that were hard to break. Besides, it was pushing two o'clock, and she was getting pretty hungry. She found him in the A-V department, wearing headphones and listening to some old vinyl records. It took surprisingly little effort to pry him loose -- he was hungry, too, as it turned out -- and a moment or two later they were heading for the exit. "Hey, lookie here, Scully!" Mulder swerved away from her, grabbing her hand and dragging her after him. They came to a stop in front of a bookcase situated directly across from the checkout desk. A sign above the bookcase read, 'Friends of Wanmei Library -- Book Sale -- $1 each'. "C'mon, Scully. Let's see if we can find something to buy." He glanced at her, a hopeful expression on his face, and she remembered that she was the passenger today, and therefore in charge of the itinerary. She was also *very* hungry, but he looked so happy and childlike that she couldn't say no. Besides, it wouldn't take very long, and it would help out this wonderful library. Much to Scully's surprise, the books being offered for sale were every bit as interesting and well cared for as the ones in the stacks. Usually sales like this were books that had fallen from favor with a library's borrowers, or that had been donated. All of which meant that the quality was uneven, although the sale committee would presumably cull out any that were in really bad condition. But these books -- she picked one up at random and examined it. These were all of high quality, and the ones that had been damaged had been painstakingly repaired. And the titles were just as eclectic as what they'd found in the main stacks: Toynbee, Jung ... dear God, was that a *first edition* of Mahan? It was. 'The Influence of Sea Power Upon History.' Her father would have killed someone for that book. She took it off the shelf and leafed through it, verifying that it really was what it seemed to be, and that the pages were all intact, then she tucked it under her arm. She wasn't sure what she was going to do with it, but she'd figure something out. Maybe her mother would want it, as a tribute. Or maybe Bill or Charlie would be interested. "Ready?" Mulder asked. She turned her attention to her partner, and saw that he'd also made a selection. She nodded, and they stepped over to the checkout desk to make their purchases. The attractive young woman at the desk was warm and friendly, and Scully couldn't resist the urge to ask a few questions. "Are these books really only a dollar each?" she inquired, opening her purse. "They're so nice, it seems like you could get more for them than that." "Well, most people actually pay more than that," the woman said with a smile and a nod. "Mr. Lee insists that we offer them for that price. But somehow, we always take in enough money." "Mr. Lee?" Scully asked. She dug in her wallet and hesitated, then pulled out a twenty and handed it over. The clerk's smile broadened. "Mr. Lee is the one who donates the books," she replied. "Most of them, anyway. They come from his personal collection. He also loaned us a lot of the books you see in the stacks." She picked up the book by Mahan and riffled through the pages. "I think this one was in the box he brought over last week. I hadn't gotten around to reading it, but I believe we've got another copy in the stacks." She handed the book back to Scully. "He must be very generous," Scully commented. Mulder shifted his weight, and she knew he was getting impatient. "Still, it's hard to see how this entire library can be supported just on the sale of books. The town isn't that big." "Well, no," the other woman agreed, nodding. "But everyone in town loves to read, and we also get customers from all over the area. Sometimes from as far away as Des Moines. The real book lovers all know about the Wanmei Library, and when they're looking for something in particular, if they can't find it through their regular dealers, or on Bookfinder or eBay, they come here." Another broad smile. "They almost always find what they're looking for. Did you want any change, ma'am?" Scully smiled and shook her head, then stepped aside and waited while Mulder paid for his book. Peeking over his shoulder, she saw that he'd picked up something called 'The Country Wife', by William Wycherly. "So what did you get, Mulder?" Scully asked, as they made their way down the front steps and headed for the car. "It's a 17th Century play," he answered. He gave her an odd smile. "And actually, I got it for you." He stopped and turned to face her, holding out the book. "For me?" "Yeah. It's kind of special to me, and I was hoping I could get you to read it." "What's special about it?" She smirked. "Is it a ghost story?" She turned it over in her hands. Like most of the books at the Wanmei Library, it was old, but in excellent condition. It was bound in brown leather, with the title and author's name inscribed in gold leaf. Opening it to a random page, she saw that the binding had been sewn by hand. "I don't want to tell you," her partner replied, the odd smile still on his face. "Not yet. Just read it, okay? I'll tell you why it's special when you're done." "Okay," she said. It wasn't really much to ask, considering everything they'd done for each other over the years of their partnership. Just then, her stomach rumbled. "But right now, I need something to eat." "I think I see just the place." Mulder led her down the block to a diner named 'Winga's', where Scully allowed herself to be talked into chili dogs and cheese fries. Which was fine; she hadn't expected to stay on her diet on this trip, anyway. The man behind the counter, middle aged and very overweight, was friendly and talkative. He kept up a running commentary on sports, the weather and various bits of trivia from the news. Just the sort of thing that normally had her grinding her teeth inside of thirty seconds -- but today, in this place, it seemed just right. After lunch, they went for a walk. Scully wasn't sure who suggested it, but again, it was the perfect choice. They strolled slowly up one street and down the next, admiring the houses and making idle conversation. Mulder had taken her hand as they set out, and he never let go of it the entire time. It gave her a warm, comfortable feeling, to be doing something so simple and normal with him. She no longer wanted to 'get out of the car'; she wasn't sure she ever really had. But the occasional rest stop wasn't a bad thing. Not at all. Eventually they wound up back at the town square, crossed the street, and stood at the edge of the park. Mulder was still full of energy, but Scully was feeling languid after the heavy lunch and the long, soothing walk. "Why don't you go ahead and explore a little more," she suggested. "I think I'm going to find a bench and just sit down." Let the world come to *her* for a change. What a heavenly idea. "You sure that's okay?" "Yes." Scully almost laughed, and she couldn't keep herself from smiling, at the expression on her partner's face. He looked just like a little boy who wasn't sure his mother really meant it when she said that he could play a while longer on the swing set. "I'm just going to sit and relax. You come back when you're ready." But because this was Mulder she was talking to, she added, "Within reason." Mulder chuckled, gave her a quick kiss, then released her hand and wandered off into the park. Scully smiled at his retreating form, sinking down on the bench with a happy sigh. This really was a lovely town. Somehow she'd known, as soon as she saw the steeple, that it would be. It would never do to tell that to Mulder, of course. He'd be talking about premonitions and telepathy and God knows what inside of thirty seconds. But to herself, at least, she could admit it. She'd had a hunch. A feeling. She picked up the shopping bag that the librarian had given her and opened it, looking at the two books residing within. For a moment her hand hesitated, as she tried to decide which one to take out. This was a perfect day for sitting on a park bench and doing a little reading. The time they'd spent in the library had whetted her appetite. At last she settled on 'The Country Wife', took it out, and opened it. It took a few minutes for Scully to get into the flow of the language, but once she did, it became apparent that the play was a comedy -- or at least, that it was supposed to be. She wasn't sure how funny she thought some of the jokes were. "'Mistresses are like books,'" she read, murmuring the words aloud. It was a little easier to deal with Elizabethan English that way. "'If you pore upon them too much, they doze you and make you unfit for company, but only for a night and away, to taste the town better when a man returns.'" Whatever. But there must be something worth looking at here, or Mulder wouldn't have given it to her. At least, she didn't *think* he would have -- A shadow fell across the page, and Scully looked up, expecting to see Mulder standing over her. But it was the stranger, the man she had almost collided with on the library steps when they first arrived. He was still in his suit and tie, and there was a whimsical smile on his face. "I see you bought one of my books," he said, in that oddly accented speech of his. "This is yours?" she asked. She looked down at the book, then up again at the man, squinting a bit against the bright sunshine. She remembered what the clerk at the library had said, and added, "So you must be Mr. ... Mr. Lee?" "Yes, I'm Johnny Lee," he replied, nodding. "And I must apologize for disturbing you a second time, but it always pleases me to see someone taking an interest in one of my books. Are you enjoying it? May I ask?" "Uh, yes you may," Scully said, feeling unaccountably flustered. "And, uh, I'm not sure, to be honest. My friend bought it for me and asked me to read it, but I've only just started it." "Ah. Well, I'll not spoil it for you, then." His eyes crinkled, and he added, "I will say that your friend has excellent taste, however." He leaned closer, until his mouth was right next to her ear, as he whispered, "But that was obvious from the moment I met the two of you." Scully blushed, and turning her gaze upwards, she found herself looking into Johnny Lee's eyes from only a few inches away. They were a deep, deep green, with little flecks of gold in them, and they seemed to be laughing -- but they were laughing *with* her, not *at* her. She couldn't keep herself from smiling in response. "Thank you," she murmured. "You're quite welcome," he replied, his words tinged with mirth. His gaze flicked over her shoulder, and he straightened up again. "But I see your friend approaching, so I should take my leave. Are we likely to see each other again?" "I, uh ... I doubt it," Scully said. "We'll probably be going as soon as he gets back. We're on vacation." "I understand," Mr. Lee responded. "Still, it's a pity. I would have enjoyed discussing that book with you, once you were finished with it." He touched the brim of a non-existent hat. "Good day, and fare ye well on your travels." And he turned and walked away, with a bounce in his step. "Hey, Scully, who was that? And what did he want?" Scully looked around, to see that Mulder was standing just a couple of feet away, a small frown on his face. "That was Johnny Lee," she said. "Johnny Lee?" her partner repeated. "As in Mr. Lee, the man who helps the library?" "Yes." She turned and looked in the direction Mr. Lee had taken, but he was already on the far side of the park. A moment later he had crossed the street and disappeared around a corner. "He was also the man I almost bumped into this morning." "Oh, yeah," Mulder said. He was following her gaze with his own. After a moment, he looked back down at her, apparently dismissing the matter. "You'll never guess what I found," he said, a happy glint in his eye. "A dragon!" "A dragon?" Scully braced herself. She didn't suppose that he meant a *real* dragon. Not even Mulder could find an X-file *that* quickly. But still -- "Yeah. It's over in the fountain, carved out of stone. It looks like a match to the one on top of the library steeple." "Apparently somebody around here liked dragons back in the 18th Century," she said. She stretched, slipped her book back in her purse and stood up, then looked at her watch, and saw that it was pushing five o'clock. A sudden thought struck her. Before she had a chance to second guess herself, she went on, "I wonder if we could find someplace to stay here in town? This is about the most peaceful place we've ever seen." "You want to stay here?" Mulder's eyebrows shot up in apparent surprise, but in the next instant he was nodding his agreement. "Sure. I could get into that. Didn't we pass a couple of places that said they had rooms for rent when we were out on our walk?" He nodded again, and Scully barely suppressed a giggle at the air of decisiveness he projected. "Sure we did. Come on." He grabbed her hand, pulling her back towards the edge of the park, and their car. "Your wish is my command." =========== Friday =========== The sun had not yet risen when Mulder stepped out onto Mrs. Ferguson's porch for his morning run. He and Scully had found a room here the day before, in a rambling three story house a few blocks from the town square. The friendly, middle aged woman who lived there had laughed as she took their money -- twenty dollars for the two of them, including breakfast and "scrounging rights". "I just put the sign out this morning," she said. "It's something I'd been meaning to do, and just never got around to it. But last night, I just decided to finish cleaning the room, put some fresh sheets on the bed, and see what happened. So you're my first customers!" The room had turned out to be on the second floor, and was clean and comfortable. Mrs. Ferguson told them that it had been her eldest son's room, before he got married, and a few traces of his occupancy remained: a shelf of well-read science fiction novels; an autographed picture of Mark McGwire resting on the study desk that stood in one corner of the room; a pair of model airplanes, hanging from the ceiling by fishing line. Just enough to tell them that this wasn't another soulless motel room, but not enough to make them feel as if they were intruding. Mulder trotted down the steps to the sidewalk, and began his stretching exercises. Overhead, the sky was no longer black, but a dark, dark blue, the stars beginning to fade. A few wisps of fog drifted through the neighborhood, and in the distance he heard geese honking. Nothing moved. If it weren't for the sound of the geese, it would have been possible to believe that he was the only living thing in the world. Mulder loved this time of day. There was a pleasant tension to everything, as if the world were waiting in breathless anticipation for the start of the new day. Human activity was at its ebb, and the few people he encountered at this hour almost seemed to be part of a conspiracy: an alliance of early risers and night owls, bound together by the hushed solitude of the small hours of the morning. His warm up finished, Mulder set out on his run. His feet slapped the sidewalk in a steady, comforting rhythm, his breathing regular and easy. The muscles of his legs and back, already loosened by the stretching he'd done, became looser still, and he felt warmth and well-being suffusing his body. He passed houses, each one snug and dark, havens against the outside world. His own house -- his parents' house -- had been like that once, decades before, but after Samantha was gone, although he still had a physical roof over his head, he'd felt homeless. The feeling of being lost and adrift had persisted and deepened over the years -- until now. Now, at last, he had a home again. Now he had Scully. Turning the corner onto the main street, he headed in the direction of the town square. The steeple over the old courthouse was just visible above the houses and trees, a black shadow against the dark blue sky. Mulder's stride lengthened as his body continued to adjust to the exercise, and a trickle of sweat made its way down his spine. This morning's run was going very well indeed. Perhaps he could do five miles today, instead of just four. He'd been working towards that goal, ever since he started finding gray hairs on his chest. His body might be aging, but he refused to give in and let himself go, the way so many men seemed to do when they hit their forties. Especially not now, when he finally had something positive to live for. He was approaching the bridge that he and Scully had driven over the day before. Once again, he could see in his mind's eye the wagons loaded with corn and soybeans, pulled by patient, sturdy horses, driven by strong, quiet men wearing homespun shirts and wide-brimmed straw hats. The sound of his footfalls changed as he passed over the wooden planks, making a dull thunking noise as he crossed the bridge. Mulder was so absorbed in his fantasy that he almost missed the footpath on the other side, leading down to the water. He swerved onto it, shortening his stride as he negotiated the steep incline, then broke into a steady run once again as the path leveled out and turned to follow the river. The fog was much thicker down here by the water. It swirled and drifted, enfolding him as he moved, making him feel as if he were running through a cloud. The houses he passed, up at the top of the slope on either side of the river, were nothing but dark shadows, bulky and indistinct in the pre-dawn mist -- and once again he was reminded of his boyhood on the Vineyard, and the way the fog would roll in off the ocean. It had transformed the world into a safe place, a magical place, and now he was getting those feelings again. Before too long the houses thinned out, and then Mulder was running in the open countryside, still following the footpath. It was firm and dry beneath his feet, so that he had no trouble maintaining his pace. Once or twice he saw the headlights of a car, telling him that a road also followed this route. A few minutes later he heard the geese again, still in the distance. He rounded a bend, and came to a sudden halt. The path in front of him dipped down sharply, and there the path had flooded. Through the fog, he could just see the path emerging again on the far side, twenty or thirty feet farther along. There was no way to tell how deep the water got. The slope down from higher ground was so steep as to be almost vertical, so there was no easy way around the obstacle. He supposed he could climb up to the top, then down the other side, but it seemed like more trouble than it was worth. It was about time to head back, in any case. He'd done at least two miles, which meant he'd do two more on the way back, and Scully was probably awake by now. He was about to turn away, when he noticed something ahead of him on the path, right at the water's edge. He moved forward, easing his way down the little incline, and knelt down for a closer look. It was an animal track -- a footprint. But it was no ordinary footprint. It was about three feet across, and had sunk several inches into the soil -- farther than that at the tips of the toes. No, not toes -- claws, Mulder amended in his mind, bending over for a better look. Those were definitely claw marks, and the animal seemed to have only three of them. A vision flashed through his mind, a memory of the large stone dragon he'd seen in the fountain the previous day. That creature's paw would just about fit in this footprint. Could it be? He mentally riffled through the X-files, reviewing all the cases he could remember of inanimate objects coming to life. Usually there was some sort of spell involved, but there'd also been a few cases of possession. It didn't have to be the dragon in the fountain that left this track, he realized, his heart beating a little faster as he considered the possibilities. That dragon might be just what it appeared to be -- a stone rendering -- while the *real* dragon roamed the countryside, leaving occasional signs of its passing, like this one. The stone dragon -- and the one on top of the courthouse steeple -- might be based on sightings of the actual creature. If so, then the dragon had been here for decades, maybe more than a century, since the carvings he'd seen in town were at least that old. Mulder was jerked from his musings by a sudden noise, somewhere between a snort and a hiss. It sounded like the boiler on an old style steam engine. He rose to his feet and turned in the direction of the noise, peering out across the river. There was something there, but he couldn't quite make it out because of the fog. A huge, dark shadow moving across the water, sinewy and serpentine and clearly *alive*. And then there was an odd creaking sound, and another hiss -- And it was gone. Mulder blinked and shook his head. Had there really been something there? Yes, he was sure of it. He inhaled deeply, and detected a sharp, tangy odor ... and then that was gone, too, dissipated into the fog. But it had been real; the footprint proved it. And Mulder knew what that shadow had been, and what he had heard and smelled -- although once again he was going to have a hard time convincing his partner, since for perhaps the thousandth time in their partnership he had no concrete proof to show her. But all that meant was that they would have to dig a little, until they found the evidence. Mulder stood there at the water's edge for a few minutes longer, staring out across the river, waiting to see if the creature would return. But the smell was gone, and the hissing had stopped. Nothing was moving now, except for the slow, erratic swirling of the mist. The creature -- the dragon -- had gone, and somehow he knew that it would not be back. Not this morning, anyway. At last he turned away, and started running back towards the town. # # # Scully had long since adjusted to waking up alone. In fact, except for a few months when she was seeing Jack Willis, occasional stolen nights with Daniel, and with a couple of earlier boyfriends, she had slept by herself her entire life. But she'd never really liked it, and now that she was with Mulder, she liked it even less. She'd had to discipline herself on a number of occasions, drawing on all her internal reserves, or she would've been spending every night at his apartment. As it was, she woke up at his place an average of about one morning a week -- usually, but not always, on weekends. On work days, this resulted in a mad drive across Washington in the early morning to get a change of clothes. Despite the inconvenience, she'd refused to create even more temptation for herself by moving any of her suits to his closet, although he'd offered to clear space for her. She was a little bemused at her dependency on Mulder. She'd never been a cuddly person; at least, not in any of her previous relationships. But it seemed that when the walls between her and Mulder finally came down, they'd fallen completely, leaving nothing at all to keep the two of them apart. It was a unique experience in Scully's life -- and when she let herself think about it, it was a little frightening. So she tried not to let herself think about it. The only thing that made this unprecedented intimacy bearable was that Mulder was obviously just as dependent on her as she was on him. Of course, she was aware of the purported dangers of codependence, but it didn't seem to her that those warnings applied to this relationship. She and Mulder were both mature people who were quite capable of functioning on their own. They'd done so for years, after all. It was just that now, they no longer had to. Thank God. Scully sighed, and turned over in bed. Mulder had tried to be quiet when he got out of bed, more than an hour earlier, but she'd awakened anyway. She'd lain still, with her eyes slitted open as she watched him dress, hoping that he wouldn't notice. He needed time to himself, and running gave him that opportunity. But if he'd noticed that she was awake he either wouldn't have gone, or he would've felt obligated to invite her to join him. She'd have enjoyed either alternative, but Mulder would've been cheated out of his time alone. She'd lain in bed after he left, trying to get back to sleep, knowing that it wasn't going to work. Once she was awake, she was awake; she'd been that way since she was a girl. If she'd been at home, or at Mulder's place, she would have gotten up and puttered around, maybe tried to find something to fix for breakfast. But she was in a stranger's house, and although Mrs. Ferguson had been very friendly the night before, Scully felt self-conscious about going downstairs alone. So she tried to fight her wakefulness, lying there by herself, staring out the window as the sky faded from black to blue. And failing. At last she heard the front door open and close. A few seconds later there were footsteps on the stairs. Mulder's footsteps. "Scully, you'll never guess what I just saw!" Her partner was flushed, sweaty, and out of breath as he burst into the room. Just the way she liked him best. Unfortunately, from the look in his eyes he had something in mind other than coming back to bed. Well, she'd have to see about that. "I don't know what you just saw, Mulder, but I know what I see now," she said, raising her eyebrows a little, in what she hoped was a suggestive manner. She'd always felt a bit silly in the role of seductress; it wasn't something that came naturally to her. But Mulder seemed to like the attention, and he liked it when she was aggressive. His innocent joy at the thought that a woman he wanted might actually want *him*, without any strings attached or hidden agendas, made it worth the slight embarrassment. "It was a dragon, Scully. A real, live dragon!" He took a couple of steps forward, until he was standing next to the bed. "A dragon, huh?" Scully wasn't paying too much attention to Mulder's words. The specifics didn't matter. There was a principle involved here. She threw back the covers, letting him see that she was wearing only one of his t-shirts, and stretched out one foot to touch his crotch with her toes. "You know what that sounds like to me, Mulder?" She waited, while he looked down at her foot in surprise, then back up at her face. She went on, "That sounds like an X-file. And you remember what we said about X-files on this trip, right?" She gave him another stroke with her toes. "Uh ... I believe that was Scully Rule Number One," he replied, an off-center smile on his face. "'No X-files.' But Scully --" "'No X-files', Mulder," she repeated, pressing her foot against his crotch a little harder. The bulge she found there was starting to grow. Good. "None. This is a vacation, and we are *not* taking a busman's holiday. Got it?" She sat up and reached forward, yanking on the waistband of his running shorts so that he fell forward onto the bed -- and onto her. She settled back into the bedclothes again, wrapping her legs around his hips. "Scully!" he said, looking down at her with a startled expression on his face. "Scully, the dragon --" She reached up, grabbed his head between her hands and kissed him, long and slow and deep. After a moment he began to respond to the kiss, and Scully relaxed her grip, letting her fingers sift through his hair. At last he pulled back a little and looked down at her again, breathing heavily. "Scully," he said again. "The dragon -- there was this track in the mud --" "No way, Mulder," she interrupted, pressing her fingertips against his lips. "No dragons, and no X-files. I spent two days in Memphis with you, touring Graceland. Remember that? Now it's *my* turn. Besides, it was probably just an animal track. Or a hoax by some kids." He started to object, but she pressed on, "If you really want to pursue it, then when we get back to D.C. -- *next week*, Mulder -- you can submit a 302 to Skinner and see what he says." Then she kissed him again. And again. And again. # # # A couple of hours later, having showered and breakfasted, Scully and her partner set out for another walk around town. Scully was unsurprised when, without checking with her first, Mulder told Mrs. Ferguson they'd be staying over another night. She hadn't really expected him to give up on his dragon hunt so easily. "Did you consider running those plans by me before you made them, Mulder?" she said, once they were alone, strolling along the sidewalk. She allowed a smile to trace her lips. No point in pretending she was really annoyed with him. He knew her far too well for that. "Why, Agent Scully," her partner replied, his voice tinged with amusement, "I'm surprised at you. I'm the passenger today; it's my turn to set the itinerary." He bumped her with his shoulder. "That's Scully Rule Number Three." "Passenger, Mulder?" she asked, rolling her eyes and bumping him back. She tucked her copy of 'The Country Wife' a little more securely under her arm. "I believe both of us are pedestrians at the moment." "Whatever, Scully," he replied. "But that's not the position you took in that Baskin-Robbins in Roswell. As I recall, you couldn't get me back to the car fast enough, and my argument that you were not a passenger at the time --" "That was Roswell, *Georgia*," she reminded him. "A nice, safe, plastic suburb of Atlanta. You said you just wanted to count coup, and we'd done that. If it had been the *real* Roswell --" "Scully!" Now there was a tone of genuine delight in his voice. Glancing up, she saw that he was smiling down at her. "Are you finally admitting to the possible existence of extraterrestrial biological entities? Right here in this bucolic paradise of Wanmei, Iowa?" "Mulder, I have *always* admitted to the *possibility*," she said, doing her best to maintain a poker face. Mulder chuckled and slung his arm around her shoulders as they walked. "I love you, Scully," he said. Scully ducked her head, as a warm glow spread through her. This was not the first time a man had spoken those words to her -- not by a long shot. It wasn't even the first time *Mulder* had said them. But it *was* Mulder saying them, and somehow, that made it different. As was so often the case when the two of them talked about things that really mattered, there was a subtext involved, and a month or so ago, Scully had figured out what it was. When Mulder said, 'I love you', he was also saying 'forever'. She'd been examining that thought, off and on, ever since it first came to her. Forever. I love you. Forever. I love you (forever). The words seemed to echo inside her mind, whenever she allowed her thoughts to drift that way. I love you. Forever. Forever. It was scary, just as her dependence on Mulder was scary, but it also seemed right. She could do forever, she'd decided at last. It had been a surprisingly easy decision. Almost as if it had been buried deep inside her, fully formed, just waiting to be recognized. She sighed in contentment, and slipped her arm around her partner's waist. Their walk was long and meandering, like the one the day before, but Scully suspected she knew where they would wind up, and in the end, she was right. The library. They stood at the foot of the steps, looking up at the massive doors, his arm still around her shoulders, her arm still around his waist. "You know, Scully, I was just thinking. It was a lot of fun browsing yesterday, and since we happen to be here anyway --" "Would it make any difference if I said no?" she asked, laughing. She let go of him and gave him a little shove towards the stairs. "Go see what you can find out about dragons. Maybe they've got a guide book on how to identify the fumets of mythical beasts. Something by T.H. White, perhaps?" Mulder was halfway up the steps; he paused and looked back over his shoulder, a broad grin on his face. "Scully -- are you saying I'm full of shit?" "If the shit fits, Mulder." He gave a snort, and started up the steps again. She called after him, "Just don't track any into the house. I don't think Mrs. Ferguson would like it." Chuckling to herself, she turned away, crossed the street and headed into the park. The sun was still low in the east, but already there were other people out and about. Mothers with their children, a trio of teenagers playing with a Frisbee, a young man and woman out for a stroll of their own, hand in hand. She stopped for a moment when she came to the fountain in the middle of the park, and looked up at the large stone dragon in its center. It was long and sinewy, like a snake, and was painted in colors so bright that they were almost garish. Red and green and blue, all flashing in the sunlight, competing for the eye of the passerby. The spray of water added to the scene, the droplets sparkling like tiny, multicolored gems as they ran down the sides of the sculpture. The most remarkable thing about the carving, though, was its face. It was long and narrow, and rather than being ferocious, the expression was solemn and thoughtful -- even wise. Its eyes were large and round, and seemed to follow her when she moved, almost as if it were a living creature. It was a little unnerving. Scully had to remind herself that this was simply an inanimate piece of stone. At last she turned and walked away, further into the park. Finding an unoccupied bench, she sank down on it, opened her book and resumed reading. The play was definitely starting to grow on her. At first she hadn't been sure she was going to like it at all, to the point where she was wondering what had possessed Mulder to ask her to read it. There didn't seem to be any characters she could like or identify with. But that was turning out to be okay, because she was coming to realize that the play was a satire -- and a very well done satire, at that. She recognized *all* the character types: Horner, the conniving womanizer. Pinchwife, the jealous husband. Margery, the naive country wife of the title, who seemed to have more on the ball than any of the men. Yes, Scully had met people like this. Best of all, it was funny. It was full of puns and ironies. Scully was sure she was missing some of them, because of the archaic language, but she picked up on enough to keep her in a constant state of amusement. A couple of hours passed, as Scully worked her way through the book. For once in her life, she was in no particular hurry to be anywhere or do anything, so she took her time, stopping occasionally to get up, stretch her legs and walk around the park. The group of kids with the Frisbee had now grown to a dozen or so, and they'd organized themselves into teams for a game of Ultimate. Rather than being a distraction, their good-natured raucousness was providing the perfect backdrop to her musings. She wondered anew why Mulder had wanted her to read this book. It didn't seem to fit his usual taste in recreational reading. His preferences ran to classic science fiction, plus a scattering of works that her father would have called "hippie books". Carlos Castenada, Timothy Leary, and one massive volume entitled 'Illumatus!', that he reread at least once a year. Scully had sampled it once, and found it disjointed, hard to read, and awash in conspiracy theories that would make the Gunmen blush. But this book -- this play -- didn't fit at all. Could he have performed in it, maybe when he was in high school or college? She tried to imagine Mulder up on a stage, and failed. He'd never mentioned any experience with drama -- but there was so much about his early years that she knew nothing about. He'd told her once, not long before they became lovers, that his life was now divided into three periods, and that the part with her in it was the only one he cared about now. Still, it would be nice to know more about his life before she met him. "Good morning!" Scully looked up from her reading, to see Johnny Lee standing a few feet in front of her, a friendly smile on his face. He was wearing a three piece suit and tie, just as he had been the day before. Automatically, she returned the smile, and he gave a little bow of acknowledgement. "I see you decided to stay over," he continued. "I'm so glad. I trust you found acceptable accommodations?" "Yes," Scully replied. "We're staying with Mrs. Ferguson." "Ah, yes," he said, nodding. "A charming lady. I'm sure she made you feel most welcome." "She did." "Excellent." He nodded again, as if her response were no more than he expected, then went on, "I see you've been reading my book. How are you finding it?" "Uh, quite good, actually. Entertaining. Funny. I like it." Scully had an odd feeling as she tried to answer his question, as if she were being called on to give a book report when she wasn't prepared. "Yes, it does amuse," Mr. Lee replied, his smile broadening. "Wycherly had a real way with words, didn't he? But I imagine -- I hope -- that you'll have more to say once you've finished it." His eyebrows rose, as if he'd just thought of something. "Perhaps you would do me the honor of joining me for dinner tonight? It would give us a better chance to discuss the book." A quick glance past her shoulder, than back to her. "Fox is also invited, of course. I'm sure he has some valuable insights to contribute." Scully looked over her shoulder, and saw Mulder standing behind her, a neutral look on his face. She returned her gaze to Mr. Lee. "I don't know," she said, starting to frame a polite refusal. "I'm not sure if we're --" "I think it sounds great." Mulder moved up behind her and rested one hand on her shoulder. "What time?" "Mulder?" "C'mon, Scully," her partner replied, moving around to sit down next to her. Now there was an amused expression on his face. Scully doubted that anyone other than her would be able to detect the glint of determination in his eye. "It's free food. We turn that down, and anyone finds out, they'll throw us out of the Bureau." He turned his attention on Mr. Lee. "So what time?" "Eight o'clock would be fine," the man replied. He gave another bow. "My board may not be as excellent as Mrs. Ferguson's, but I promise you an entertaining evening." He gave them directions to his home, took one more bow, then turned and walked away at a brisk pace, humming under his breath. "Well that was ...." Scully let her voice trail off, unable to find the words to finish her sentence. She looked at her partner. "Mulder? Why did you accept that invitation?" "It was the polite thing to do, Scully," he replied. He was still smiling, but now it was more of a cat-that-ate-the-canary sort of look. "You wouldn't want to snub the most philanthropic citizen of Wanmei, Iowa, would you?" "What do you mean?" Mulder leaned back and put an arm around her shoulders. "I mean that I've been doing some research," he replied. "And Mr. Johnny Lee is beyond doubt the wealthiest man in Wanmei. I grant you, that's not saying much, but he does seem to make good use of his money. In addition to subsidizing the book sale, he also makes large cash contributions on a regular basis, both to the library and to other community needs." "How do you know?" "That same woman was working the checkout desk," he said. "I didn't even have to ask very many questions; once I got her started talking, it was almost impossible to get her to stop. Mr. Lee this, Mr. Lee that. Hell, Scully -- that man *founded* the Wanmei Public Library." "Mulder, that's impossible," she replied, shaking her head. "You heard what she said yesterday. That building's more than a hundred years old. Unless the library is a recent addition?" "Nope," he said. "The library was actually founded in 1868 -- three years *before* the courthouse was built. Paid for by a gift from Johnny Lee." "It can't be the same man," Scully objected. "Maybe it was his great grandfather, or something." "Maybe." He rose from the bench, taking her hand and pulling her up after him. Together, they began to walk in the direction of the diner where they'd had lunch the day before. "But if so," he went on, "I couldn't find any evidence of it in the local newspaper archives. Which are online, by the way, courtesy of contributions from Mr. Lee. The paper was started in the mid 1860s, and there are stories about him right from the start. 'Mr. Lee Dedicates New Baseball Diamond.' 'Mr. Lee Sends Boy to State Music Camp.' But no obituaries. No birth announcements. No marriage announcements. Nothing to indicate that his fortune or his philanthropic habits were being passed down from father to son. Based on reading the local paper, it looks as if Mr. Lee has just always been here." "Maybe his family asked them not to publish their personal information," she suggested. "It sounds like he has a lot of influence." She shook her head. "Why were you looking up things about Mr. Lee? I thought you were going to be researching dragons." "I was." They reached the door to the diner, and Mulder stopped, his hand resting on the knob. "But they don't have much. A few standards books on mythology and the like." He smirked. "They do have a complete set of the 'Dungeons and Dragons' rule books. Looks like they get a lot of use, too. But not much about dragons, per se. So I struck up a conversation with the clerk, and stuff just started pouring out. You know what else I found out?" "What?" "As near as I can determine from the newspaper archives, this town has never had a fire. Never had a flood, even though it's located on a river. Never had a tornado, or a hail storm, or any other natural disaster. They've never even had a bad crop. Record harvests right along, even during the drought in the 1930s." "Really." Scully raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like you've had an awfully busy morning." "I have," he agreed. "So that's why you accepted Mr. Lee's invitation? So you can spy on him?" "Scully, I saw a dragon this morning, and he knows something about it. I'm convinced of that," Mulder said. He leaned down over her, lowering his voice. "Dragons are very powerful creatures. They're also very magical. They're not just the horrible, destructive monsters you see in movies or in European mythology. They have their own motives for the things they do. They may be hard to understand from the human viewpoint, but they do have motives." "Uh huh." Another eyebrow. "And you base these assertions on what, Mulder? Personal experience?" Mulder laughed, then he straightened up and opened the door to the diner. "You'll see, Scully. You'll see." # # # Johnny Lee's home was easy to find. Mulder hadn't really been listening when the man gave directions. Fortunately, Scully had. Which was as it should be, he reflected. After all, it *was* her day to drive. And that left him free to think about dragons. Just as he had been for most of the day. After lunch, they'd spent the afternoon and early evening kicking around town, finally ending up in the town square once again. The game of Ultimate had broken up, but there were still plenty of people around, providing a nice normal ambience to the day. Time had drifted by, as if for once the whole world was in no particular hurry, and the two of them sat in the grass together, leaning against a tree. Occasionally one of them spoke, but for the most part, they were quiet. And Mulder thought about dragons. Specifically, he thought about the dragon he'd seen that morning. For as time went by, his certainty that it had been a dragon solidified. Scully was skeptical, of course, but that was just her way. Mulder wasn't sure what he'd do if she ever began to take his theories at face value. Start looking for evidence that she'd been replaced by a shapeshifter or a clone, maybe. Mr. Lee's house was located just south of town, off an old blacktop that meandered through and around fields of corn and soybeans. The road also followed the river, and it didn't take long for Mulder to realize that this was the same road he'd seen on his morning run. Interesting. Still more circumstantial evidence that the odd little man was somehow involved with the dragon. The sun was just touching the horizon as they turned off onto a narrow dirt road leading down a steep incline towards the river. After a short distance the road leveled off again. Then they went around a bend and came to the house. It was an old rambling farmhouse, two stories high, painted bright yellow, with eggshell-colored trim. Like most older structures in this part of the country, it had a peaked roof, and as far as Mulder could tell it was in good repair. A long, wide porch ran along two sides of the house, one on the side fronting on the river, the other facing downstream, away from the town. An old fashioned red water pump stood in the front yard. A footpath went past the house, a few feet from the river. It looked very much like the one he'd taken on his run. Looking back upstream .... Yes, there it was, only a couple of hundred yards away. The low spot that had been flooded this morning. It was dry now, but obviously the same little depression. He was out of the car and striding towards it before Scully even had time to switch off the engine. "Mulder? Where are you going?" she called after him. He heard the car door slam. "Mulder?" "This is where I saw the track, Scully," he replied, casting the words back over his shoulder. He didn't slow his pace. A moment later, he heard Scully's footsteps hurrying after him. "You're joking," she said as she fell in step, slightly out of breath. "It was *here*?" "Yeah." The ground where the river had flooded was soft and muddy, but there were a couple of large rocks, and he was able to hop across without getting too much of it on his shoes. He came to a stop approximately where the track had been and looked around. There was no sign of it -- although it was getting hard to see in the growing darkness. Clouds were gathering in the west, suggesting the possibility of rain and adding to the general gloom. "Well?" Scully asked. Mulder glanced up at his partner, and saw that she was watching him from the other side of the muddy depression, arms folded across her chest. A slight quirk at the corner of her mouth told him she wasn't really annoyed with him -- but he'd already known that. This was Scully, after all. "I don't see it," he admitted. "But it was here." He knelt down and prodded the turf with his fingertips. It was still soggy from the morning flood -- in fact, it looked as if the water had risen further after he left. Well, that explained what had happened to the track, dammit. "The flood seems to have washed it out," he said at last, straightening up and turning to face his partner. "But the track was here. And the dragon was out there, over the water," he continued, pointing across the river. "I could see it moving, and I could hear it hissing." He frowned as his gaze fell on Johnny Lee's home. "But I don't remember seeing the house," he added. "Well, it was a foggy morning," Scully suggested. "Maybe it was too far away." She hesitated, seemed to think for a moment, then added, "Or maybe the shadow of the house is what you saw --" "No," he interrupted, shaking his head and looking back out over the river. "I know what I saw, and I know where it was. I --" "Good evening!" Mulder looked once more in Scully's direction, to see Johnny Lee striding rapidly towards them, a friendly smile on his face. He'd dispensed with his suit jacket, but he still wore the vest and tie of his three piece suit. He halted in front of Scully and gave one of those funny little bows of his. "So gentle of you to come, my dear," he said. He nodded in Mulder's direction and smiled. "And you, as well, sir. I would have been out to greet you sooner, but I was busy in the kitchen when I saw your car pull up. Won't you come inside?" With some reluctance, Mulder allowed himself to be led away from the site. There was nothing to be gained by staying here, he reminded himself. The track was gone, and nothing he could do would bring it back. His best chance was to go along with Mr. Lee, and hope that more evidence would present itself in the course of the evening. The inside of the house was pretty much what Mulder had expected, based on what the outside looked like. High ceilings with exposed beams; hardwood floors; simple furniture that looked as if it had been made by hand. Heavy rugs -- not wall-to-wall carpet -- covered the floors, and matching drapes framed the windows. The most impressive room in the house -- at least on the ground floor -- was the library. An entire room had been given over to books, with shelves lining the walls, floor to ceiling, all of them full of old, leatherbound volumes. Obviously, this was the motherload from which the collection at the Wanmei Public Library was drawn. An overstuffed armchair sat in the middle of the room, with a small coffee table in front of it. There was a record player and a small collection of vinyl albums in one corner. Thinking back over the tour they'd been given of the house, Mulder realized that this was the first non-utilitarian electronic device he'd seen. No television, no radio, no CD player. Just this one vinyl record player. "This is not my whole collection, of course," Mr. Lee said, as they gazed about the room. "These are just the books I find myself wanting most often. Some are on loan to the library; others are upstairs in the bedrooms. And a few, alas, are stored in boxes in a spare room." He shook his head, smiling. "I keep meaning to build an addition, but between one thing and another ...." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head again. "It's still quite impressive," Scully commented. Mulder nodded his agreement. Seeing an opportunity to do a little investigating, he added, "It must have taken years to build up a collection like this." "Indeed," the man said, giving a nod of his own. His eyes twinkled, giving Mulder the uncomfortable impression that he'd seen right through the ploy. "I've been collecting books ... well, not my entire life, but as you say, for many years. They're a passion of mine." "I'm fond of books, too," Scully said. Mulder didn't have to look at her to know that she'd also spotted his maneuver, and was chastising him. She went on, "We both are. I've been greatly enjoying your book -- the one Mulder bought me at the library sale." "Ah," Mr. Lee replied, cocking his head. He glanced at Mulder, then back at Scully. "He bought it for you? I'd assumed -- well, no matter. The important thing is that you have it. Perhaps we can discuss it over dinner." He looked at his watch, and smiled once again. "Which should be just about ready. Won't you come with me?" The meal was served at a large, round table in the kitchen. Three place settings were already out, confirming what had previously been implied: there was no Mrs. Lee. Or if there was, Mulder corrected in his mind, she wouldn't be joining them for dinner. "I hope you don't mind a bit of informality," their host said, as he set a basket of hot dinner rolls on the table. "I do have a dining room -- you saw it, of course. But I find it too sparse and formal most of the time. Not conducive to good conversation." He opened the oven door, crouched down and withdrew a pan of baked chicken. "This should cool for a few minutes, and that will give us time to eat our salads." They ate at a leisurely pace. The salads were followed by the chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and corn on the cob. Mulder couldn't find fault with any of it, although Mr. Lee seemed to feel the corn wasn't quite right. "A bit early for it," was his comment. "August corn is better. But I thought it was worth a try." The conversation soon turned to the book Mulder had given Scully. Mulder allowed the other two to carry most of the discussion. He still hadn't told his partner why he gave her that particular book, and was curious to know what she thought about it. "Why do people fall in love, do you suppose?" Mr. Lee asked, leaning forward intently and staring at Scully. "It can't just be hormones, or we wouldn't see the sort of emotional bonding that's so common in human beings. What do you suppose Wycherly thought? What was he trying to tell us?" "I'm not sure he was addressing that," Scully replied, shaking her head. "I haven't quite finished the book, of course, but it seems to me that he was looking more at how men and women *fail* to get along. How they *fail* to understand each other." "Yes, yes," the man said, nodding vigorously. "Of course. But sometimes we learn best about a subject by studying its converse. Don't you agree?" "Well, sometimes," Scully agreed. She stared down at her plate for a moment, then glanced up at Mulder, before turning her gaze back to their host. "Quite honestly, I have my doubts that we can ever completely understand ourselves. Using the human mind to examine the human mind ... well, you're using an instrument to study itself, and there's a limit to how much you can learn that way." "The act of observation invokes changes in whatever you're observing," Mr. Lee responded. "Certainly from that perspective, you'd be setting yourself up for infinite recursion. Like standing between two mirrors, and seeing one reflected in the other, reflected in the other, reflected in the other, ad infinitum." He raised his eyebrows. "I take it you were trained in the sciences." "Yes," she said. "I have a background in physics and medicine." Another glance at Mulder. "Mulder studied psychology. It lets us strike a balance." "Yin and yang," the man answered, nodding again. "Opposites attract. A truism, but valid nonetheless. You've no doubt discovered the strength to be found in such an alliance." "Yes," Scully repeated. "Although I wasn't always convinced of it." She flashed a smile at Mulder. "I had to be persuaded. And he had to be patient." Mulder was more than a little surprised at how open Scully was being, talking to a man who was essentially a stranger. She was usually much more reserved than this. Still, he reminded himself, she had been relaxing in the months since they'd become lovers. On top of which was the fact that Mr. Lee had a very compelling personality. You *wanted* to talk to him. Even Mulder could feel it, -- and he was starting to get an idea of where that feeling was coming from. "You make me a whole person, Scully," he heard himself saying. He reached out and touched her hand. "That's worth waiting for." "Oh, excellent," Mr. Lee said, clasping his hands together and smiling. "How fine. How perfect." Mulder suddenly felt uncomfortable, and withdrew his hand from Scully's. He'd been drawn into the conversation, despite his intentions, and allowed himself to be lulled by Mr. Lee's friendly, open manner. He'd let his guard down. Time to rectify that. "In fact," he said, "Scully and I were just making use of that 'alliance' when you came out to greet us." Now it was his turn to lean forward in his seat. "Did you know there's a dragon living around here?" "Really?" Their host's eyebrows shot up, giving the appearance of surprise and delight. "A dragon? On my river?" "Yes." Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder saw Scully stirring in her seat, but he chose to ignore her. "I saw it this morning when I was out running." "How wonderful!" He reached out and laid a hand on Mulder's forearm. "You must tell me about it." A glance at Scully. "Did you see it, too, my dear?" "No." Her tone was cool, and the expression on her face told Mulder that he was going to pay for this later. "What a shame," Mr. Lee replied. "Moments of wonder are always better when they're shared, and best of all when shared with a loved one." Mulder felt a stab of pain at the man's words. He had that much right, at any rate. He had a vivid memory of the elation he'd felt in Antarctica, upon seeing the spaceship rising into the air, knowing that Scully was with him and seeing it too -- followed by the crushing disappointment, a few days later, when she made it clear that she had no such recollection. The hurt had been bone deep, and it had taken him a long time to get over it. A spatter of rain hit one of the windows, pulling Mulder's attention away from the conversation. It was followed a few seconds later by another, longer gout, and then by another. In less than a minute, it had developed into a steady downpour. "Well, well," Mr. Lee said, rising from the table and walking to the window. He peered out for a moment into the darkness, then turned to face them, leaning back against the sink and smiling. "Looks like we're in for it," he went on. "As the saying goes, if you don't like the weather in Iowa, just wait a few minutes. It'll change." He frowned. "I'm afraid it may cause you some problems, however." "What do you mean?" Mulder asked. "That access road," the man explained, waving vaguely towards the front of the house. "I keep meaning to have it paved, but there's so little traffic, and I never quite get around to it. But whenever it rains, it turns to a quagmire. I fear you may have difficulty getting back up to the main highway." "Maybe we should go now, then," Scully said. "Before it gets any worse." "It may already be too late," Mr. Lee replied. "The way it's coming down, I think it might be. And I do hate to see the evening draw to a close so soon. May I offer you one of my spare bedrooms for the night? These storms seldom last long." Once more the endearing, compelling smile. "By tomorrow morning, the ground will be dry enough for you to make your escape." "I don't know," she answered, rising from the table. "We hate to impose. We should probably at least take a look outside." "As you wish." They made it as far as the front porch, before realizing the truth of Mr. Lee's words. The rain was now coming down in sheets, with frequent flashes of lightning in the distance. Squinting into the gloom, Mulder could see that the front yard was already starting to flood. "Fortunately, I have a very efficient sump pump," Mr. Lee said, raising his voice so as to be heard over the storm. "Otherwise, it would be impossible to live here, so close to the river." The wind shifted, and suddenly all three of them were drenched. "May I suggest a strategic withdrawal?" he added, with a rueful little laugh. Then he turned, and led the way back inside to the remains of their dinner. After drying themselves off and finishing the meal, they settled in the living room. Scully offered to help clean up, shooting a meaningful look at Mulder, but their host demurred, commenting with a chuckle that the maid would take care of it. Then the power went off, settling the question, and Mr. Lee went in search of candles, his movements surprisingly surefooted despite the near-total darkness. For a few minutes, Mulder and Scully were left alone together in the dark. Neither of them spoke, but a random jumble of memories flashed through Mulder's mind. Sitting in a car together, late at night, during a stakeout. Listening to Scully sing when they were lost in the woods down in Florida. Hell, their very first case, out in Bellefleur, when she came to his room during the power failure, terrified by those bumps on her lower back. God ... they'd come so far since then. They'd changed so much. Darkness, it seemed, wasn't always a bad thing. At last their host returned, bearing not only candles, but a bottle of fine old brandy and some glasses. He poured them each a drink, and the discussion continued. "I believe we were talking about love," he said. The low, flickering light left his face in shadows. He looked strange, alien -- but his voice remained easy and friendly. He continued, "The original question was, what causes people to fall in love? How does it happen? I think we agreed that it's not simply hormones, yes? So what is it?" "Biochemistry obviously does enter into it," Scully replied from her spot on the floor. She'd surprised Mulder by choosing to sit there, but he'd quickly followed suit, and so had Mr. Lee. It made their small gathering feel like a slumber party -- warm and intimate and familiar. Scully continued, "Biochemistry is the basis for sexual arousal, after all, so it must play some role." "'Love ain't nothing but sex misspelled,'" Mulder quoted, making no effort to keep the amusement out of his voice. "You know that's not what I meant," she objected, shaking her head. Mr. Lee's eyes, gleaming in the candlelight, flicked from her, to him, and back to her again. "But it does give us a starting place, doesn't it?" "Perhaps." The conversation continued, drifting from psychology to sociology, from classic literary works such as 'Le Morte d'Arthur' to modern stories like William Goldman's 'The Princess Bride'. No matter where the discussion turned, their host seemed comfortable and at ease, and whenever things started to slow down, he would find a new tack. "Have you ever read 'A Lifelong Passion'?" he asked at one point. Mulder and Scully shook their heads, and he nodded. "The collected love letters of Nicholas and Alexandra," he continued. "The last of the Romanovs. The greatest true life love story of 19th Century Europe. Two beautiful young people, separated by politics, by religion, by countless things. Their biographies seldom do them justice, nor do their photographs." He raised an eyebrow and quirked his lip -- and for the briefest of instants, Mulder had an intimation that the man was speaking not as a scholar, but from personal knowledge. But before he could say anything, Mr. Lee went on, "It should never have worked. But it did! Proof positive that love *does* conquer all." He sighed, adding, "Of course, it is far easier to describe the phenomenon than it is to explain it." He inclined his head towards Scully. "No doubt, as a scientist, you've encountered this problem many times in the past." All the while, the storm continued, wind rattling the shutters, rain drumming ceaselessly against the windowpanes, occasional flashes of lightning casting brief, eerie shadows in the darkened living room. It was a good night to be indoors. The house seemed like a refuge not just from the weather, but from the entire outside world. At long last, the evening drew to a close. Mulder had been struggling with weariness for half an hour or so, and when Scully openly yawned, Johnny Lee was instantly on his feet. "What a host I am!" he exclaimed, moving forward and offering his hand to help her to her feet. "Here I am, chattering away, keeping you from your proper rest. Come along, then. I'll show you to your room." He led them up a narrow flight of stairs to the second floor. The room he offered them was large and homey, and was dominated by an oversized sleigh bed. Like all the other furniture they'd seen, it had been made by hand. The firm horsehair mattress was covered by a heavy comforter. Mr. Lee showed them where the bathroom was, put out some extra towels, gave them a pair of nightshirts, and took his leave. "God, that bed is huge," Scully said, crawling up on it and bouncing a couple of times to check the mattress. She laughed. "You could get lost in it, and no one would miss you!" "Don't worry, Scully," Mulder replied. "I'll send out a search party if I don't hear from you in a couple of days." "A few days?" she asked, leaning back on her elbows and raising her eyebrows. "I was hoping you might come after me sooner than that." Mulder raised his own eyebrows in return, hands on his hips. It was perfectly obvious what she wanted. One thing he'd discovered these past few months was that, much to his delight, Dana Scully was not one of those women who had difficulty articulating her sexual desires. But he did have something else in mind for the rest of the evening, tired as he was -- "Mulder!" she said. "I know exactly what you're thinking, and don't even bother to try." She sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, wrapping her legs around his thighs. "You are *not* going to spy on our host. He's been a perfect gentleman, and we are *not* going to repay his kindness by invading his privacy. Got it?" "But Scully ...." "No, buts, Mulder." She started to say something else, but at that moment a door down the hallway opened and closed. A few seconds later, footsteps could be heard. "Scully!" he whispered. "It's him." "I know it's him, Mulder," she replied, rolling her eyes. "There's no one else in the house. He's probably going downstairs to clean up. You didn't really believe him when he said the maid would take care of it, did you?" Mulder was only half listening; most of his attention was focused on those footsteps -- footsteps that were fading as Mr. Lee went down the stairs. He strained his ears against the noise of the storm -- and then for a moment it was louder, followed by a hollow thunk. "Scully, he just went outside. You still think he's gone to do the dishes?" "I still think it's none of our business," she answered. "And if he wants to get drenched again, that's his problem." She looked up at him and batted her eyes. "Speaking for myself, I don't have to go outside to get wet." Mulder blinked in surprise at the innuendo. Even after all these months, she was still able to catch him off guard. Maybe someday he'd get used to it. But he hoped not. Even as he was considering her words, Scully reached out and began unbuckling his belt. A few seconds later, his pants were on the floor, bunched around his ankles. She started stroking him through the thin material of his boxers, and Mulder felt a surge of desire. It probably wouldn't do any real harm to give her what she wanted, he decided, crawling up onto the bed next to her and taking her into his arms. The dragon had been out there for decades. It could wait a few hours longer. =========== Saturday =========== Scully woke shortly after dawn, feeling remarkably refreshed, despite the late hours she and Mulder had kept the night before. Sunlight filtered in on the dust motes, drifting past the curtains to give the room a comfortable, early morning glow. The house was completely quiet. And of course, Mulder was nowhere to be seen. Scully hadn't expected him to be there when she woke up. She'd known the night before that seducing him would be only a temporary expedient. She was pleased enough that he'd actually fallen asleep afterwards, taking it as the unspoken compliment that it was. She'd never really thought she could completely derail his pursuit of this hypothetical dragon. She flung aside the covers and rolled out of bed, dragging the sheet after her and wrapping it around herself. Her clothes should be around here somewhere. She'd thrown them aside in a bit of a hurry the night before, but -- They were sitting on the dresser -- cleaned, pressed and neatly folded. Scully blinked in surprise. She glanced at the closed door, realizing that their host must have come into the room in the night to retrieve them, and then a second time after they'd been washed. She felt a little uncomfortable at that knowledge, but not as uncomfortable as she might have expected. Well, maybe Mulder had given them to Mr. Lee when he got up. She dressed, made the bed, and went downstairs. A quick tour of the rooms on the first floor confirmed what she'd already guessed: Mulder was not in the house. Unless he was snooping around upstairs, and she doubted even he would be *that* foolhardy. They didn't know which room their host slept in, after all. Plus, she hadn't heard anything when she stepped out into the hall, and the house was old, with enough creaking floor boards and such that she didn't think it likely that Mulder could move around in complete silence. Besides, he would expect to find his "dragon" outside at this time of morning. That's where he'd found it the day before. She stepped out onto the front porch. In contrast to the storm of the night before, the sky was a perfect, cloudless blue. The sun had just cleared the trees on the far side of the river, and the temperature was still a little brisk. It was one of those perfect mornings that you somehow knew was going to develop into a perfect day. And the ground was bone dry. Scully stood at the top of the steps for a moment or two, staring out at the front yard. It was impossible. The yard had been covered with half an inch of standing water the night before, when she and Mulder tried to leave, and the storm had continued for quite a while after that. In the back of her mind, she'd been wondering if they were going to be able to get their car up the access road even now. But this -- "Hey, Scully! Beautiful day, isn't it?" She turned her head, to see Mulder standing a few yards away, apparently just having come around the corner of the house. He had a small smirk on his face. "Having any luck, Sir Pellinor?" she asked, allowing her own lips to quirk. "Pellinor was a king, Scully, not a knight," Mulder responded. "And no. Nary a fumet to be found." He gestured at the front yard. "However, Mr. Lee does indeed have an extremely efficient sump pump." "So I see." She walked down the steps and crossed to stand in front of Mulder. "So what's on the agenda for today? A dragon hunt?" "You tell me, Scully," he replied. "It's your day to be the passenger. I'm just the lowly chauffeur." She looked at him for a moment, then shook her head. "Mulder, I guess I don't see the point. Dragons are mythical beasts, and --" "I *saw* the dragon, Scully," Mulder interrupted. "With my own two eyes. I know you didn't, but when has *that* ever stopped me?" He gave another little smirk, of the sort that left her undecided whether she wanted to kiss him or slug him. "Plus, this town is unbelievably lucky. Remember what I found in the newspaper archives yesterday? Record harvests, no natural disasters, and everyone we meet seems to be completely content with their lot in life. Do you know when the last time a house changed hands in this town, other than by inheritance? 1965!" "What does that have to do with dragons?" "Look, Scully," he said, moving a little closer. "Most people think of dragons, they think of those fire breathing monsters you read about in European fairy tales. St. George, and all that. But that's not the only tradition out there." "Oh?" "Oh," he agreed with a nod. "In the Chinese tradition, dragons aren't always destructive. They're wise and powerful, and they have their own interests, but those interests don't necessarily include causing trouble for human beings. In fact, sometimes they actually *help* people. For example, by keeping bad weather away so the crops will grow better." "But Mulder, by your account, this has been going on for more than a hundred years," she objected. "Chinese dragons are also very long lived," he explained. "Centuries, millennia -- maybe they're even immortal. And did you notice how Mr. Lee was last night, when he was talking about Nicholas and Alexandra? He didn't sound as if he was talking about people he'd read about in a history book. He sounded like he was talking about people he'd *known*, personally." "Are you saying that Mr. Lee --" "I think Mr. Lee knows about the dragon, and that it's been keeping him alive. I think that's why there's no record of births, deaths or marriages for him or any of his ancestors. I think it's even possible that he *is* the dragon -- dragons are also shapeshifters, you know." "But what would a Chinese dragon be doing in Iowa?" Scully asked. Despite herself, she was getting caught up in the discussion. Now Mulder nodded, as he considered his reply. "That's an excellent question," he said. "There are a number of possible explanations. Maybe it came over on the land bridge between Alaska and Siberia, twenty thousand years ago. Or, you notice this town was founded right around the time there were a lot of new Chinese immigrants coming over to build rail lines across the west. Maybe it came with them. Hell, maybe it *flew* over. That's not beyond the realm of possibility." "Mulder, this whole discussion is beyond the realm of possibility!" She shook her head, and tried to regain control of the conversation. "And even if you're right -- even granting that this mythical creature actually exists -- so what? By your own account, it's done nothing but good for the people who live here. Why not leave it in peace?" Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, Scully caught a glimpse of Mr. Lee, striding along the river bank. As always, he was wearing an impeccable three piece suit. He raised his hand and waved, once he realized that he had their attention. "Good morning!" he called. "I was just out for my morning constitutional. I trust I didn't disturb you. I'm afraid I've always been an early riser." "No, that's okay," Scully said, as their host came to a stop a few feet away. "Mulder gets up early, too -- and so does anyone who sleeps with him." The man chuckled and nodded. "I understand. Well, I find you both outside. I hope that doesn't mean you'll be leaving before I have a chance to give you breakfast." "No, that would be very nice," Scully answered. "Thank you." To her partner: "Mulder?" "Works for me," he replied, a bland look on his face. "Excellent." He stepped past them, and led the way back up the front steps and into the house. "By the way, last night I neglected to mention that today is the annual Wanmei Summer Baseball Tournament." He glanced at Mulder. "You look like you'd make quite a good right fielder. Do you suppose you might be interested in playing?" "Me?" Mulder looked surprised. "I would think they'd already have the teams chosen long ago." But there was a wistful look on his face, and Scully felt a sudden surge of interest on her own part. She'd never cared for baseball very much, but an opportunity to watch Mulder actually having a good time -- "Oh, there's always room for one more," Mr. Lee said, with casual assurance. Then his face broke into another of those funny little smiles. # # # The crack of the bat drew Scully out of her book, and she looked up just in time to see Mulder -- playing right field, as Mr. Lee had suggested -- backpedaling frantically. The ball kept sailing, sailing, on and on, a soft, looping fly ball that didn't seem to want to stop. There was action on the base paths, but Scully didn't give it a second glance; all of her attention was focused on Mulder. At the last second, just as it seemed the ball was going to pass over his head, he sprang into the air, stabbing out with his gloved hand. An instant later he hit the ground and went into a backwards roll, popping back to his feet and giving a ululation of victory, waving his glove high overhead so that all could see the ball wedged in the pocket. Scully clapped her hands and whistled, as Mulder and his teammates trotted in from the field to take their turn at bat. Watching Mulder play was even better than she'd hoped it would be. He was having a wonderful time -- the most fun she could ever remember. He was bubbling over with innocent joy, and that in turn was making *Scully* feel happy and carefree. It reminded her of high school, of watching Marcus compete at track meets. Her cheeks colored as she realized she was acting like a teenager, but she was enjoying the situation so much that she couldn't make herself care. Of course, Mulder hadn't let up about his dragon, but that was okay, too. She would have been worried about him if he had. He'd talked about it off and on ever since leaving Mr. Lee's home, and hadn't really stopped until they reached the fairgrounds, where the baseball tournament was to be played. Baseball seemed to have taken his mind off it, however -- at least for the moment. Even between games, when the two of them had stood in line waiting for their share of the roast pig, he'd been completely focused on the game he'd just finished. Now his team was well into their second game, and Scully was sitting nearby on the grass, dividing her attention between her book and watching Mulder at play. "I see you're almost finished." Mr. Lee's voice, close at hand, made Scully tear her eyes away from the baseball diamond, to see the odd little man standing a few feet away. She glanced down at the book in her lap, then back up at him. "Yes," she agreed, smiling. "Only a few pages to go." "Excellent." He nodded, returning her smile. "And I take it from your expression that you found it enjoyable?" "Yes," Scully repeated. "At first, I didn't think I would. But I did. It grows on you." "Yes, yes," Mr. Lee replied, rocking on the balls of his feet. "Amusing, yes. Entertaining, yes. But does it say anything to us about human love?" "I think perhaps it does," Scully answered. "As you said last night, it illuminates the subject by examining its opposite. Mr. Horner, for example -- all he cared about was the pleasure of the moment, and he didn't care how that affected other people. He didn't even care about his own reputation. And Mr. Pinchwife -- well, the tighter he tried to hang on to Margery, the more he pushed her away." "'The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin,'" Mr. Lee intoned, a twinkle in his eyes, "'the more star systems will slip through your fingers.'" "Right," Scully said with a laugh. "Why doesn't it surprise me that you've seen that movie, too? Are there any books or movies that you're *not* familiar with?" "Oh, a great many, my dear," he replied, suddenly very solemn. "A very great many. It's a deficiency that causes me no small regret -- and one that I've dedicated my life to correcting." Scully waited to see if he was going to add anything. She felt a sudden prickling on the back of her neck, as she remembered Mulder's flat certainty that this man was hundreds of years old -- maybe thousands. What would it mean to dedicate one's life to something, if the span of that life was measured in centuries? The idea was more than a little frightening. She remembered Alfred Fellig, who had wearied of life after only a century and a half. She shivered, then forced the thought away and nodded towards the baseball diamond. "My ... my friend said once that death only looks for you once you seek its opposite," she commented, relieved at the steadiness of her own voice. "Do you think the same may be true of love?" Mr. Lee asked, fascination evident in his voice. He squatted down next to her. "Do you think love finds you only when you've given up, and gone looking for something else? Or stopped looking entirely?" "I don't know if that's universally true," Scully replied. "But it was true in my case." She thought about all those years of emotional drought, about how her feelings for Mulder and his for her had crept up on them, almost like thieves in the night. In retrospect, Mulder had seemed to be a little bit more aware of what was happening than she had, but he'd admitted to her once that he'd still been taken by surprise. And she added, "I think the same was true of my friend, as well." "He is your lover, is he not?" Mr. Lee asked. "Not merely your friend." "Of course." Her gaze had drifted back to the baseball diamond, where Mulder now stood in the on deck circle. She looked back to the man next to her. "But he's also my friend, and that's the more important of the two. I would give up everything else, if it were necessary to keep his friendship." "And he would do the same for you." A statement, not a question. "Yes," Scully agreed. "Fortunately, we haven't been forced to make that choice." "Very fortunate indeed," Mr. Lee said, nodding again. "And something tells me ...." He smiled that funny little smile of his. "Something tells me that you will not be faced with those alternatives in the future, either." "I hope you're right." "I'm right," he said, with easy confidence. "I've observed the two of you quite closely these past few days, and I have faith in you." The two of them fell silent, as Mulder stepped up to the plate. The outfielders backed away as he took his warm up swings; they'd already seen what his bat could do. Once again, Scully felt a surge of adolescent pride at this public acknowledgement of Mulder's ability. The first two pitches went by with Mulder never lifting the bat from his shoulder, the first a called strike, the second a ball. He swung on the third pitch, but it dribbled away into foul territory. Two strikes, Scully thought. As so often seemed to happen in his life, Mulder had two strikes against him. She couldn't quite decide whether she was amused or saddened by the thought. Well, they were here to have fun, she reminded herself with determination. And by God, they were going to have fun. No sadness today. They'd had plenty of that in the past, and no doubt would have more in the future. Amusement it was, then. Mulder caught her eye, and from the expression of happy exhilaration on his face, she knew she'd made the right choice. He smiled at her and winked, and she smiled back and raised an eyebrow. The pitcher said something, drawing Mulder's attention back to the game. Mulder laughed, then wiggled his hips, fiddled with the brim of his cap ... and finally, as Scully had somehow known he would, he pointed with his bat to dead center field. CRACK! This time, there was no doubting the contact between bat and ball, nothing tentative at all. The ball rocketed away from the plate, rising into the sky and arrowing outwards. The center fielder -- of course it was the center fielder -- turned and ran, stealing glances over his shoulder as he tried to outrace the projectile .... There were no fences here, nothing but green, green grass, with the refreshment tent visible a few hundred yards in the distance. Scully found herself scrambling to her feet and holding her breath, as the fielder jumped and twisted, stretching out his glove in desperation .... And the ball passed him by, striking the ground and bounding further into the outfield. Scully turned her gaze to the base paths, where Mulder was running as if his life -- or hers -- depended on it, rounding second and digging for third. There were 90 feet between the bases -- she remembered that number from somewhere. Mulder had less than 180 feet to go .... She glanced to the outfield, to see that the fielder had finally chased down the ball. He skidded to a stop, and made a mighty throw back towards the plate, just as Mulder was making the final turn. God, it was going to be close, he was going into a slide .... "Safe!" Once again, Scully heard herself clapping, hooting and hollering at the umpire's call. Mulder sprang to his feet; instantly, he was rushed by his teammates, and even some of the opposing players crowded around to congratulate him and slap him on the back. Despite the fact that he was being mobbed, she was able to catch his eye. On an impulse she blew him a kiss. Mulder's grin broadened, so wide and bright and full of joy that it almost hurt to look at him. He winked again, then turned his attention to the other players. "Amazing," Mr. Lee said. "Simply amazing." She forced her eyes away from Mulder and looked at her companion. He was gazing not at the mob on the baseball diamond, but at her -- and his smile was very nearly as broad and happy as Mulder's was. "He's quite a good ball player," the odd little man continued, nodding towards Mulder. "Of course, I knew he would be. You both are quite remarkable. What's truly amazing, though, is how the two of you together are even better than either of you separately. Love has a way of doing that, you know. I may not understand love the way I wish to, but I've learned a little, down through the years." "Are you talking about the home run?" Scully asked. He didn't say anything, but continued to smile. She shook her head. "That was just ... that was just ... Mulder," she said. "I had nothing to do with it." "Yes," Mr. Lee agreed. "It was him. And you had *everything* to do with it -- you have everything to do with him. Just as he has everything to do with you." He brushed his hands together, dismissing the subject. "Well. I wish to offer you my gratitude for the pleasure of your company these past few days. It has been a very rewarding and informative experience -- and of course, it always pleases me when someone enjoys one of my books." "Thank you," Scully replied. "I ... I've enjoyed it, as well. I think Mulder has, too." "He has," the little man said, again with easy confidence. "But I would like to offer you something more, something concrete, as a token of my esteem. The two of you are no doubt eager to resume your journey. But would it be possible for you to stop by my home one more time? I have something I would like to give you." "That ... that would be fine, I'm sure," Scully said. She glanced at Mulder, who was finally making his way free of the mob of players and heading in their direction. Then she looked back to Mr. Lee. "What time?" "Shall we say shortly after sundown?" the man replied. "So as to allow you to stay until the end of the tournament?" He nodded, and smiled one more time. "Yes, shortly after sundown would be the perfect time. Everything will surely be in readiness by then!" # # # This time, it was Mulder who maneuvered the car down the narrow, rutted dirt access road that led to Johnny Lee's home. The sun had set a few minutes earlier, and the stars were starting to appear. The full moon was just becoming visible through the trees to the east. "So he wants to give us something?" Mulder asked, glancing over at Scully, where she sat in the passenger seat. "That's what he said," she replied. Her expression was one of serene contentment. Mulder couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her so happy. Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't going to ask questions. "What sort of a something?" "As I told you the first six times you asked, I don't know," she answered, her voice tinged with amusement. Mulder turned his eyes back to the road. It seemed narrower and rougher than he remembered it being, and thus required most of his attention. "Say, Mulder," Scully said after another moment. "I finished that book." "Yeah?" A smile touched his lips. He was pretty sure what she was leading up to, but he couldn't resist the chance to tease her a bit. "Did you like it okay?" "Yes, actually. It was funny. But what I --" "It was more than just funny, Scully!" he interrupted, his smile broadening. "I mean, look at that poor Mr. Horner. All he wanted was a little action, and --" "'Poor' is hardly the first word that comes to mind when I think about that character," Scully said. He could hear her eyebrow raising in disapproval. "Seriously, Mulder -- that man destroyed his own reputation by spreading those rumors that he had venereal disease. Just so the other men would be more likely to leave him alone with their wives!" "And how smart were the wives?" Mulder asked, still smiling. "You think they didn't hear the rumors? But they still slept with him." "How smart were their husbands?" Scully shot back. "If they'd given those women what they really needed, they'd never have even looked at another man. Stop laughing!" But her objection rang a little hollow, as she was obviously having trouble keeping the chuckles from her own voice. "I'm not talking about sex." "Uh huh. Sure you aren't." "I'm not!" He heard her take a deep breath. Finally: "Anyway. That's not why I brought it up. What I *wanted* to do was ask you, now that I've finished the book, why you were so eager to have me read it." Hesitantly: "Did you act in it?" "No." Mulder paused. All of a sudden, he felt a little embarrassed, but it was a bit late to be backing out now. "Uh, actually, I directed it." "You *directed* it?" "Yeah. One summer at Oxford. A, uh, a group of students formed an amateur theatrical group, and they invited me to direct." He shrugged, hoping he didn't sound too awkward. "Probably because they were self-financed, and they knew that my dad had money." "I doubt that," she replied. He glanced at her, to see a fond smile on her face. "I'm sure you did a wonderful job." Mulder was about to reply, but then the car rounded the final turn, and the words died on his lips. He'd been more than half-expecting something like this, but the reality was a bit overwhelming. He maneuvered the Taurus the last few feet to the end of the road, and braked to a halt. For a moment or two he sat in silence, hands still on the wheel, staring straight ahead through the windshield. He was aware of Scully sitting next to him, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him. The house -- Johnny Lee's house -- was gone. There was nothing there. No long, wrap-around porch, no well-tended yard, no old-fashioned water pump. There wasn't even a foundation. It was as if the structure had never existed at all. Maybe it hadn't. Mulder switched off the engine and headlights, and he and Scully climbed from the car, still maintaining their silence. They walked to the front of the car, joined hands, and moved forward over the rough ground, until they stood in the spot where Mulder remembered the front steps as being. "Scully?" he said at last. "We took the right road, didn't we? This *is* the place, isn't it?" "Yes." With her free hand, she pointed at a tree some fifty feet downstream. "I recognize that weeping willow. And there's the trail where you saw ... where you said you saw the track." "Right," Mulder nodded. "So the house should be pretty much exactly where we're standing." "Yes, it should. And before you ask -- no, I can't explain it. But that doesn't mean --" "Right on time, I see!" Mulder swiveled, to see Johnny Lee standing a few yards away, in the direction of the river. As always, he was wearing a three piece suit and a friendly smile. He bowed, then moved forward until he was standing directly in front of them. "Thank you so much for coming," he said. "I've learned so much from the two of you. I'm delighted to have this opportunity to give you something in return." "That's ... uh, that's okay," Scully replied. Mulder glanced at her, trying to interpret the expression on her face, but it was unreadable. "We're happy to be here again." She looked over her shoulder, then back at Mr. Lee. "We were wondering, though, about your house --" "Yes, yes," he answered, nodding. "I hope you weren't too alarmed to find it ... ah ... missing." Once again, that odd, endearing little smile graced his features. "My home actually is here," he went on, gesturing towards the river. "Last night, I presented it to you in a way I hoped would make you comfortable. And I believe I succeeded?" "Yes, you did," Scully said. Her words sounded heartfelt, without even the slightest trace of uncertainty. "I was right," Mulder breathed. He caught the other man's eye. "You *are* the dragon. Aren't you?" Mr. Lee didn't answer, keeping his attention on Scully, instead. "My dear," he said, "you may recall my remarks from last night? Concerning moments of wonder?" "You said ...." Her voice trailed off. She licked her lips. "You said they're better when you share them with someone you love." Mulder felt her grip tighten on his hand. Jesus. Was this really happening? "Yes, yes, excellent." Once again the man's head bobbed. "I would venture to guess that you've seen more wonders already than you'd care to admit. Not, however, under the best of circumstances, I would imagine?" "I ... I've seen ... *we've* seen things that we can't explain," Scully replied. "A good working definition," Mr. Lee agreed. He glanced up at the sky. It was now fully dark, and the stars blazed down like thousands of tiny gems, seemingly so close that Mulder imagined that he could reach out and touch them. The little man added, "And there's no time like the present." He moved forward a couple of steps more, took Scully's free hand, and drew it briefly to his lips. "My dear, it has been a distinct pleasure to make your acquaintance." He hesitated, as if he wanted to add something, but then he smiled and shook his head. He dropped her hand and turned his attention to Mulder, giving him a brief, warm handshake. "And you, sir. It has been an honor." Then he let go of Mulder's hand and backed away, smiling at them and watching them with warm, friendly eyes. At last, he gave one more of those odd little bows of his, turned and started walking towards the river. He came to the water's edge, but he did not pause. If anything, his stride lengthened as he stepped out away from the land. The water rippled under his shoes as he walked, glinting silver in the moonlight -- and of course, he did not sink down into it. Mulder hadn't expected him to. He reached the middle of the river and turned to face them, one last time. Then, without any fanfare or ceremony, he descended, the river seeming to reach up to greet him as he slipped willingly into its embrace. In the next instant, he was gone. Mulder and Scully stood in silence for a minute or two, watching the place where Mr. Lee had been. The water was calm and quiet, making just the slightest gurgling noise as it flowed along between the banks. A faint breeze danced across the surface, leaving tiny ripples to mark its passage, and then they were gone, too. At last, Scully stirred. "Mulder? What's --" "Shh," he whispered. "Just wait a minute." Even as he spoke the words, bubbles appeared on the surface of the river. At first there were only a few, as if a child were blowing through a straw, but they rapidly increased in both size and frequency. In a matter of seconds it had come to a full boil, roiling and churning and seething -- and Mulder realized he was holding his breath. Any second now ... any second .... The creature broke the surface in a tremendous gout of water, sending spray and foam in every direction as it rose into the air. It was huge and dark and serpentine, and obviously very, very alive. Water poured off its sides and its wings unfurled, moving in slow, mighty strokes to support its massive body. Scales glinted and gleamed in the moonlight, every color of the rainbow -- red and blue and yellow and purple, and many, many more. It reached a height of about twenty feet, then slowly turned to face them, its eyes a glowing, luminous yellow, shot through with sparks of red. It was glorious -- "Mulder! My God!" "Tell me you see it, Scully," he said. Please, please Scully, he added in his mind. This time, tell me you see it. He wanted to turn to look at her; he wanted to see her face. But he couldn't take his eyes off the vision in front of him. "I ... I see it, Mulder," she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph ... I see it." He could actually hear her swallow. "I see it," she repeated. "Mulder, it's beautiful." "It's beautiful," he breathed. Still keeping his eyes on the creature, Mulder drew her closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She cuddled into his embrace, her own arm going around his waist. The dragon nodded in seeming approval. Then it actually smiled, and for an instant Mulder thought he saw Johnny Lee hovering there in the air before them. The mighty wings began to beat more strongly, driving the creature higher into the sky. Thirty feet ... forty ... fifty .... It tilted back and rotated again, until it was facing upriver. Its tail lashed back and forth, sounding a whipcrack in the warm summer air. Then the tempo of the wings increased again, and it began moving forward, slowly at first, but with ever-increasing speed. It rose up above the treetops, higher and higher, its velocity building rapidly as it began to shrink into the distance. Smaller, smaller, smaller ... moving faster and faster .... And it was gone. Once more, silence fell along the banks of the river. The water gurgled along its timeworn path, wending its way slowly but inexorably towards the sea. Night breezes sighed between the branches of the trees. Tiny rustlings could be heard, as the creatures of the night moved through the tall grass, hunting and being hunted. And Mulder and Scully, friends and lovers, stood together in the darkness, silent and unmoving, for a very long time. ==========THE END OF THE WHOLE STORY==========