TITLE: Cycle of Tears (Part One)
AUTHOR: Mary A. Turner
E-MAIL: matturnerx@aol.com
RATING: R
CLASSIFICATION: SA
SPOILERS: None
SUMMARY: Mulder disappears and Scully goes on the hunt.

******************************************************************************


CYCLE OF TEARS 
Mary A. Turner

Georgetown Medical Center
January 23, 1996
9:13 a.m.

     Light snow was beginning to fall again across the city, the small, perfect 
     flakes floating down to settle on everything like a fine dusting of sweet 
     powdered sugar. It gave the town a soft, dream- like quality, making the 
     oldest statues and structures seem shiny and new. Light bounced and 
     reflected over the frozen surfaces, sparkling and glittering like a 
     scattering of tiny diamonds on a blanket of pure white.

     From her vantage point, at a waiting room window high on the hospital's 
     fourth floor, Dana Scully pressed a hand against thecold, clear glass and 
     gazed at the scene below, marvelling at the remarkable beauty of nature in 
     this, sometimes, disturbingly ugly world. She loved this time of the year 
     and was always in thrall of the scenes she encountered from winter day to 
     winter night. Even as a child growing up and travelling the country with 
     her family, she cherished the times they were stationed in areas where it 
     snowed in the winter. The cold, clean mornings that took her breath away 
     and the blindingly bright, sun-filled afternoons filled her mind with 
     wonderful memories. In her opinion, those were some of the happiest times 
     in her life. Amazingly, as much as she loved the winter, she was 
     continually baffled by her mother's loathing of the season. Margaret Scully 
     was steadfast in her dislike, comparing winter to dusk, and dusk to death. 
     To her, it was a time of closure, the ending of life, the completion of 
     God's Eternal Cycle. Their last mother- daughter discussion on the topic of 
     winter and snow had left them both shaking their heads in frustration at 
     the other's inability to be swayed from her stubborn stance. At the time, 
     they'd both ended up laughing at their joint foolishness. Now, with death 
     hovering so close, Scully wondered if her mother really did have a bit more 
     insight into the greater scheme of life. The signs were all as she said: 
     things wre coming to an end, a life was ebbing away, the circle was 
     closing.

     Catching a familiar reflection on the window's surface, Scully turned 
     slowly away from her musings to face the tall man just entering the waiting 
     room area. Seemingly always cool and collected, she quickly noted the 
     darkening circles under his eyes and the worry lines creasing his high 
     forehead. His usually cool facade was looking terribly ragged right now and 
     Scully knew she looked the same in his eyes. She moved rapidly to meet him 
     half way, finally stopping so close she had to tilt her head back 
     uncomfortably to look up into his troubled face. She didn't care...she had 
     to be as close as she could now. With uncharacteristic gentleness, 
     Assistant Director Walter Skinner reached out and softly touched her 
     shoulder, his large hand trembling slightly at the contact.

     The circle was all but closed now.

     "Oh, God...no," Scully whispered, seeing the truth reflected in his eyes.

     It was ending.


J. Edgar Hoover Building
Office of the Assistant Director
Two Weeks Earlier
10:14 a.m.

     Fox Mulder tried to will his body into a more relaxed position as he sat on 
     the hard, straight- backed chair he'd come to refer to as 'the hot seat'. 
     He hated this chair and he hated being here. With a passion. With the 
     photographs of President Clinton and Attorney General Reno staring down 
     from their lofty positions on the wall and the undeniable feeling of being 
     covertly observed, he found this office to be disturbingly unsettling. But, 
     above all that, he hated the fact he always seemed to be sitting in this 
     chair when the proverbial axe began to fall. He could almost feel the blade 
     at his throat now as Skinner continued to stare at him with those piercing, 
     dark eyes, one large hand resting atop Mulder's latest field report. 
     Controlling the urge to squirm under the silent scrutiny, Mulder kept his 
     eyes locked with Skinner's and tried to display more confidence than he 
     truly felt. His field report was full of unsubstaniated theories and was 
     only half-heartedly written. He knew it and now, unfortunately, so did 
     Skinner. A small trickle of sweat took the opportunity to begin creeping 
     slowly down his forehead, easily destroying the cool, confident exterior he 
     was hoping to exhibit.

     This was not good.

     Skinner pushed away from his large, polished-wood desk and stood, slowly 
     removing his glasses to carefully wipe the lenses with a clean, white 
     handkerchief. Mulder watched, slightly hypnotized, as the cloth slid 
     smoothly over the transparent surfaces in small, concise circles. This was 
     nothing but a ritual. Mulder'd seen this ceremony dozens of times in his 
     career and knew he was about to be reamed...thoroughly. He saw Skinner 
     carefully replace his glasses and fold the handkerchief before making it 
     disappear into a back pocket. The dark eyes were once again focused on his 
     face and he resisted the urge to swallow.

     *Here it comes.* Mulder tensed, feeling the imaginary blade of the axe 
     press into his skin.

     "Agent Mulder," Skinner's voice was almost deadly in its quietness and 
     control, "you've been given time by this office and by the Director's 
     office to investigate certain cases because of the personal nature of your 
     involvement with unexplainable incidents but..."

     The blade began to cut.

     "...it's been decided that your time with the X-Files has not been as 
     beneficial to the Bureau as expected and it's time to make a change."

     Mulder went cold. This was not what he'd expected to hear.

     "Sir..."

     Skinner halted him from speaking further with a steely look and an 
     up-raised hand, which suddenly turned into a pointing finger. There was 
     definate accusation in the gesture and Mulder immediately took offense, 
     wondering fleetingly what Skinner would do if the finger was, somehow, 
     suddenly bitten off. He eyed the offending digit and kept his mouth firmly 
     shut.

     "Your reports," he gestured specifically to the one now resting on the 
     desk, "are continually filled with wild speculation that, quite frankly, 
     sometimes border on pure insanity. I don't know what you expect to 
     accomplish when you submit work like this. And what really astounds me is 
     the fact that Agent Scully's reports are usually contradictory to yours, 
     offering rational, logical explanations which are much more understandable 
     and acceptable."

     "Acceptable?" Mulder scoffed at the word and tried to voice his opinion, 
     his temper on the rise. His momentary shock was quickly being replaced with 
     anger. "Sir..."

     "Be quiet, Agent Mulder," Skinner hissed as his own anger rose, easily 
     detecting the defiant glint in the seated man's eyes. "I've given you 
     fairly free-rein and allowed you to reopen cases and follow leads that 
     have, honestly, made you the laughing stock of this establishment. That 
     laughter is beginning to filter my way, Mulder, and I will have nothing to 
     do with it!"

     Skinner forced himself into a calmer mode, knowing this was not how he had 
     intended this meeting to progress. Director Freeh had sent a memo early 
     this morning and Skinner had had no trouble reading between the lines of 
     the message. Agent Fox Mulder was to be reined in. Agent Mulder had to stop 
     stepping on toes. And, since Agent Mulder was under direct super- vision of 
     Walter Skinner, something had to done immediately. The tone had come across 
     loud and clear.

     "Mulder," he took a deep breath before continuing, moving around his desk 
     so he was now towering over the seated, glaring agent, "you were once a 
     highly respected member of the Bureau. Your first years, as I can clearly 
     see from your records, were extremely profitable . Especially those years 
     spent in Violent Crimes. Hell, you even recieved several commenda- tions 
     while you were there. You have a God-given ability to find details most 
     other agents overlook and are able to put together pieces that seemingly 
     don't fit. I've also been told your talents as a profiler are second to 
     none. It's a gift, Mulder, and it's not being put to use." He hardened his 
     resolve and spoke the words he knew might push the agent from the Bureau 
     completely. "It's been decided: you will return to Violent Crimes for 
     awhile and..."

     "NO!" Mulder couldn't hold his temper in check any longer, his once 
     simmering anger now rolling at the boiling stage. "You can't do this! After 
     all Scully and I have been through, after all we've seen, you just can't 
     shut us down and expect..."

     "I never said anything about shutting down the X-Files," Skinner 
     interrupted softly.

     That knocked the wind from Mulder's sails and he was baffled into silence, 
     his confusion apparent on his face. *What the hell is going on?*

     "I...I don't understand," he admitted honestly, his eyes begging for 
     clarification.

     "Agent Mulder," Skinner's movements were very controlled as he eased back 
     to rest his bulk against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his 
     broad chest, "you are needed in Violent Crimes right now. Rob Holleran 
     specifically requested your assistance. I don't know how long you'll be 
     assigned there but the X-Files will remain open under Agent Scully's 
     supervision. She is, after all, more than capable to head the department. 
     Think of this as a means of merely re- establishing your importance in the 
     Bureau machinery and give Scully a chance to enhance her position at the 
     same time. You know there are those who belief her talents as a pathologist 
     and a teacher are being wasted by her association with you and your 
     section." He paused for effect and saw a spark of fear appear briefly in 
     Mulder's eyes. "You've both made some powerful enemies in your time with 
     the X-Files and, unfortunately, some of those detractors happen to be 
     high-ranking officials in the government and the military. And do I need to 
     mention those organ- izations we can't even put names to? It's time to step 
     back and take a little breather, check your positions, and regain some of 
     the respect you've lost."

     "I don't care about that..." Mulder sounded a bit childish.

     "Well, I do," Skinner was quick to counter, his ire reflaring briefly, 
     "and, maybe, Agent Scully does too. Have you even thought once about her?"

     He saw the flush of guilt on Mulder's cheeks and rose quickly to move 
     toward the window behind his desk. He stood quietly and looked out at the 
     morning traffic on the street below, his hands shoved deeply into his pants 
     pockets. Skinner didn't want or need to see Mulder, not with that terrible 
     expression of guilt that had become so commonplace on the younger man's 
     face recently. This agent took blame seriously and Skinner almost hated 
     himself for throwing it back into his face now. Almost. But he had done and 
     said what was necessary and had easily defused Mulder's anger. Now, he 
     could only wait to see if there would be an agreement or a resignation.

     "This is a test, right?" Mulder asked calmly.

     Skinner turned to face his agent and, if possible, stood even straighter. 
     Brute power eminated from his stance.

     "Agent Mulder, every task you undertake for the Bureau is a test for me and 
     my superiors. Every report you write, every lead you follow, every 
     interview you take is part of that test. Your whole professional life is a 
     test and, maybe, we need to take a close look at how you've been scoring on 
     these tests recently to see if you need to think about changing some of 
     your study skills." He arched a knowing eyebrow. "What I see isn't very 
     promising. Mulder, you had to have known a day like this would come, that 
     your continual insistance at following that reckless path would lead you to 
     this confrontation. You ought to be glad it happened while you were under 
     my command. I'm not permanently stopping you...I'm merely controlling the 
     direction right now. You can either go with the flow or," a small muscle 
     twitched on the side of his face, "you can make your own way without the 
     benefits and resources the Bureau offers its agents. Am I making myself 
     clear?"

     Mulder didn't move but continued to stare at Skinner, his mind quickly 
     digesting the words just spoken. He hated being put in this position. He 
     hated being given an ultimatum. He hated this feeling of betrayal that 
     crept into his body. Someone, obviously, had put the screws to Skinner and, 
     now, Skinner was screwing him without a second thought. 

     "Things would be much easier for you if I wasn't around, wouldn't they?" He 
     asked in an unemotional whisper.

     Skinner's eyes widened fractionally at the unexpected question. This was 
     not what he wanted to hear. He recovered quickly and moved to his chair, 
     sinking into the comfortable, familiar confines of the padded seat. He 
     could hear a bit of defeat in Mulder's voice and did not want to risk 
     pushing this agent too far away. He did not want Mulder to resign.

     "My job has never been easy. I don't expect anything to ever be easy around 
     here." He tried to refocus the direction of the conversation. "But we were 
     speaking of you, not me. I'm not seeking your resignation, Mulder. You know 
     my feelings concerning that subject."

     Mulder remembered. Clearly. The image of Walter Skinner standing in the 
     basement office, relating his unusual out-of-body experience while serving 
     in Viet Nam, was forever imprinted in Mulder's memory.

     "I am asking," Skinner continued as Mulder remained silent, "for your 
     cooperation and your willingness to do what's right. I know how you feel 
     about the X-Files and I know this is very personal for you but both you and 
     Scully are under the microscope right now and need some time apart. Spend 
     that time in Violent Crimes, make Rob Holleran happy, flaunt that uncanny 
     skill that made others give you that inappropriate nickname, and regain a 
     measure of respect."

     "How long?" He asked, finally speaking. "How long would I be assigned to 
     Violent Crimes?"

     Skinner kept his relief well hidden. "I can't give you a definate answer to 
     that just now. Could be just a few weeks, could be several months."

     "Months."

     Skinner didn't hear the word but saw Mulder's lips form the syllable as his 
     eyes dropped in something akin to terror. The Assistant Director was well 
     aware of the problems Mulder had when Bill Patterson headed Violent Crimes 
     but, with Rob Holleran now at the helm, things would most certainly be 
     different. He hoped.

     "All right," Mulder agreed softly, not looking back up. "When?"

     "Immediately tomorrow morning," Skinner watched the eyes flash back up. 
     Mulder had not expected it to be so soon, that much was obvious. He waited 
     a few heartbeats to see if the agent wanted to respond. Ironically, Skinner 
     was slightly disappointed when nothing was forthcoming and frowned at the 
     resigned figure in the chair in front of his desk. He wanted to see that 
     famous Mulder sneer or smirk, he wanted to hear the usual conspiracy 
     rantings, he wanted to see that this agent was still full of his noted 
     spunk and spirit. What he saw almost made him change his mind. Almost. 
     "Have Agent Scully report to me later today so I can go over a few things 
     with her concerning your absence."

     "Yes, sir."

     "That will be all." Skinner had to get him out as quickly as possible. He 
     tore his eyes from the agent and opened the folder resting there with one 
     finger, successfully signaling the end of the meeting through the words and 
     gesture. He felt Mulder's departure, hearing the soft, retreating footsteps 
     and the clicking of the door as it was opened and closed. With Mulder gone, 
     Skinner lifted his eyes to stare at the now-vacated chair and swore 
     silently at the emptiness that greeted him. He knew with a certainty Mulder 
     would be miserable in this new assignment and, ironically, the knowledge 
     made him feel sick to his stomach. There didn't seem to be much joy in 
     Mulder's life...except for Scully. Now, even she was being taken away from 
     him. Skinner ran a hand over his head and sighed, swiveling in the chair to 
     gaze out the window once again. Such a beautiful day... clean, bright, and 
     so full of promise.

     *So,* Skinner mused as he closed his eyes in sudden fatigue, *why do I feel 
     like such a damn sonofabitch?*

J. Edgar Hoover Building
January 22, 1996
1:53 p.m.

     Dana Scully entered the basement office that housed the Bureau's X-Files 
     section and shut the door quietly behind. As always, out nothing but sheer 
     habit affected during the past two weeks, her eyes drifted to the 
     unoccupied desk to one side of the room. She leaned against the closed door 
     and sighed, noting how empty the room seemed despite the volumes of books 
     and files that adorned the walls and lined the shelves. The office was 
     basically neat and as orderly as it could be made, considering the massive 
     amounts of information stored within its small confines. But, what made it 
     so empty, was the single, unoccupied chair that was pushed neatly under the 
     leg area of the desk. That lonely piece of furniture made Scully sigh.

     Pushing away from the door and moving to the desk, she dropped her 
     belongings to the flat surface. It had been two long weeks since Mulder's 
     unexpected announcement of his reassign- ment to Violent Crimes and her 
     uncomfortable conference with AD Skinner. Two weeks of open- ing the door 
     to this strangely lonely office, and two weeks of wondering how her partner 
     was holding up in what he had called his 'hellish banishment'. 

     Plopping down into the empty chair and glancing at her watch, she reached 
     for the phone and punched in the numbers that would connect her to Mulder. 
     They'd kept in sporadic contact since his departure but, lately, the 
     conversations had grown strained. She knew he was working on something 
     important but also recognized how much it was bothering him. He didn't 
     offer information and she didn't pry. That just wasn't their way. She'd 
     heard from others that Rob Holleran was ecstatic at Mulder's arrival and, 
     together, the were making huge leaps in a case that had hounded the VC 
     staff for months. Scully couldn't help the smug smile she felt tugging at 
     the corners of her mouth. Some may consider her partner strange and 'out 
     there' but they certainly valued his opinions when it came to profiling. 
     She heard the phone tone four times before it was finally answered.

     "Farrell."

     The strong, feminine voice was unexpected and Scully was momentarily caught 
     off guard. Momentarily.

     "Maddie? This is Dana Scully. Is Mulder available?"

     "Hi, Dana," Madeline Farrell's voice became instantly friendly and Scully 
     could almost picture the leggy blonde's wide smile. "No, we sent him home 
     several hours ago. He came in this morning with a righteous cold and 
     proceeded to try and spread it around the office. We had enough of his 
     coughing and sneezing by eleven and decided it was either him or us."

     Scully smiled into the reciever. "I bet he went bitching and moaning."

     "Actually, no," Maddie's voice lost some of its humor. "He really is pretty 
     sick, Dana. He's worked awfully hard with Rob on this new wacko's profile 
     and just hasn't been taking care of himself."

     "Sounds familiar," Scully quipped, her mind already working.

     "Yeah, well, we all know how much he wants to get back to you...to his 
     precious X-Files. Seems to me, he's been trying to prove something to 
     someone somewhere so he can get back to that tiny, little office he loves 
     so much. He's here in the morning before any of us gets in and he's always 
     the last to leave. Rob even caught him here last saturday afternoon. Chewed 
     his butt out over that but didn't really do any good. Is he always like 
     that?"

     "Pretty much so."

     "Well, listen, is there anything I can do for you?"

     "No, I was just checking up on him, that's all."

     "Good," Maddie sounded oddly relieved. "I was afraid there for a moment you 
     were calling to take him away from us already."

     "No, nothing like that." Scully could only wish it could be that simple.

     "Well, if you speak to him later, tell him to keep his cute little ass at 
     home and get some rest. I know this might sound a bit cold, Dana, but we 
     really don't want to catch what he's got. See if you can convince him to 
     stay away until he's well."

     "I'll try, Maddie," Dana assured, knowing there was nothing mean or 
     disrespectful in the honest request. If the truth was known, Scully 
     suspected Farrell had a serious soft spot for Mulder. "Bye."

     She hung up, thinking about her ill partner, knowing he was, more than 
     likely, spread out on his couch with nothing but an over-the-counter 
     medication and his beloved VCR as a remedy for his illness. She shook her 
     head to banish the image and decided to look in on him later instead of 
     bothering him now. No need to interrupt if he was sleeping. She'd stop by 
     on her way home this evening to check on him. A new thought buzzed into her 
     mind and she smiled. Maybe a pot of homemade soup would make him feel 
     better. Her smile slipped a bit as she realized how late she'd be arriving 
     at his apartment if she went home first to make the soup.

     *What difference does it make how late I am? If he's as sick as Maddie 
     says, he won't be going anywhere.*

     Picking up a file from the top of a neat stack Mulder had left for her 
     study, Scully let all thoughts of her partner slowly fade away and 
     concentrated on the work at hand.


Apartment of Fox Mulder
January 22, 1996
6:46 p.m.

     Flat on his back with a miserable cold, not even interested in watching the 
     videotape he'd inserted in the machine earlier, Mulder groaned at the sound 
     of someone knocking softly on his door. He thought about not responding but 
     the rapping was persistent, tinged with a bit of urgency, and Mulder was 
     feeling just bad enough to want a confrontation. Pushing off the couch, his 
     sock-covered feet silently moving him the short distance quickly, he turned 
     the handle and yanked the door roughly open.

     "What?!" He asked rudely, without waiting to see who was there, his 
     features set in a very impressive scowl...and came face to face with one of 
     the most beautiful women he'd seen in a very long time. His scowl melted 
     instantly into an equally rude open-mouthed stare.

     "I'm sorry," the tall, young woman offered quickly, taking a small, 
     cautious step away. Her large, brown eyes blinked rapidly against Mulder's 
     anger. "I didn't mean to bother you. I'll just go to a different 
     apartment."

     Mulder watched as she began to turn away and felt a strange need to make 
     her stay, to find out what she wanted and, most of all, to eliminate the 
     small spark of fear he'd seen in her eyes. It bothered him to think he'd 
     scared her with his rudeness.

     "Wait," he spoke, extending a hand in her direction. He sneezed then, 
     violently, and just managed to snatch his hand back to cover his mouth in 
     time. The woman hesitated uncertainly as he leaned back against the open 
     doorframe and watched as he wiped his nose with the sleeve of his green 
     sweatshirt. He looked sheepishly at her. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to 
     snap at you like I did."

     She turned to face him squarely, her eyes sweeping his tired stance and his 
     pale complexion. "No, I'm the one who should be apologizing. You're sick, 
     aren't you?"

     Mulder wondered just how bad he really looked if a total stranger could 
     make an assessment that easily. Self-consciously, he ran a hand through his 
     hair, unknowingly making it standup even worse. He cleared his throat, 
     wincing at the rawness, and tried not to sound as stopped up and miserable 
     as he did.

     "Just a cold."

     He sneezed again, right on cue, and this time his head felt like it was 
     going to explode. He wearily closed his watering eyes and wiped at his nose 
     once more.

     "A very bad cold," the woman said compassionately and stepped so she could 
     lightly touch his arm, all her initial fear evaporating as she recognized 
     his illness. His eyes fluttered open at the soft contact and he was amazed 
     by the concern he could see in her expression. "Please, let me help you 
     back inside. You're beginning to look very pale."

     "No," he tried to muster his strength. This was ridiculous: a perfect 
     stranger did not need to help him. "I'm okay...really."

     "You are *not* okay."

     Her hand tightened and she was suddenly turning him back toward his entry 
     before he could speak again. The movement made him slightly dizzy, so 
     Mulder found himself grasping his coat- rack for balance. She hesitated in 
     the foyer and looked around, obviously trying to figure out what needed to 
     be done next. He could see her uncertainty at where he should be taken, so 
     he stood still and waited for her to decide, giving him the chance to 
     covertly examine her. Nice...very nice. Unfortunately, he sneezed again and 
     that seemed to spur her into action. She started towards a doorway that 
     could be mistaken as a bedroom but Mulder redirected them toward the living 
     room and the couch. He eased back into the familiar cushions and watched as 
     she perched on the edge of his coffee table, her face still overflowing 
     with concern. Her hand still rested on his arm.

     "Are you taking any medication? Is there anything I can get for you?"

     "How about a new head?" He asked, trying to lift the mood. He coughed 
     slightly and gently pulled his arm from her reach. "No, I'm okay. I took a 
     couple of Tylenol when I got home from work. I'll just take a couple more 
     later."

     He watched her frown and knew she didn't care much for his method of cure. 
     She brought a hand up to lightly touch his cheek and forehead, her cool 
     fingers brushing his brow. It was an innocent enough gesture but Mulder 
     found it uncomfortably arousing. He watched through half- closed eyes, 
     enjoying the feel of her hand on his face, carefully noting the way her 
     tongue touched her upper lip as she concentrated. Too soon, she sighed and 
     pulled back, her dark hair spilling over one shoulder in a rich cascade of 
     chocolate brown, the ends brushing against her right breast. Mulder forced 
     his eyes away before she caught him staring...and found his gaze drawn to 
     the television screen just as a buxom blonde was being penetrated by a 
     penis as round as a baseball bat.

     Reaching past the woman quickly, his fingers fumbling for the remote 
     control, he literally punched the stop button and prayed she hadn't looked 
     in that direction. At least the sound had been muted. Yeah, right. He 
     chanced a glance at her and found, to his relief, that she seemed unaware 
     of what had just happened. He offered a weak smile and eased back, quickly 
     deciding, in this instance, to act as if he always slammed the remote 
     around. She cleared her throat and sat up straight.

     "I just moved in across the hall, in Mr. Sanchez's old apartment, and am 
     having trouble with the heat," she was attempting to explain her presence 
     at his door. "I've tried calling the manager but he's not answering, so I 
     decided my best chance at getting some warmth in my place was to talk to 
     the neighbors." She looked at him contritely. "I really didn't mean to 
     disturb you but you are the closest."

     He nodded in ubderstanding. "It's all right. I remember Mr. Sanchez 
     commenting about how his theromstat kept sticking. I can look at it for 
     you."

     "You most certainly will not!" She took offense as he started to push up, 
     her hands easily restraining his motion with pressure to each shoulder. 
     Their faces were very close and he liked the way her eyes flashed at his 
     suggestion. He let her push him further until he was resting fully back 
     against the cushions, their knees touching slightly. He smiled at the 
     contact and imagined how nice she probably smelled. With his nose stopped 
     up like it was, he doubted he'd be able to detect a skunk under the couch 
     right now. But it was so nice to let his imagination run when it came to 
     this attractive stranger. Suddenly, she was rising gracefully and bending 
     to touch his legs, just behind the knees.

     "Lie back and let me get you covered," she instructed, watching until he 
     eased down and stretched his long legs out the length of the couch. She 
     deftly snatched the folded blanket from the back of the sofa, flicked it 
     open with a flip of her wrists, and covered his body. He lay still as her 
     hands tucked the warm blanket securely in place around his legs and torso 
     and couldn't help but smile at her determined expression. She caught his 
     amused look and stopped, pulling her hands away and starightening.

     "What?" She asked defensively, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear and 
     shifting from foot to foot.

     "Do you always treat total strangers like this?" He inquired, his voice 
     tinged with gentle humor. He was oddly pleased to see a slight blush color 
     her cheeks.

     She relaxed a bit and offered a small, shy smile in return. Sighing, she 
     moved to resit on the table so they were more at the same eye level. 
     "Sorry. Force of habit, I guess. I'm a RN at Georgetown Medical and I 
     sometimes have a bad time seperating work from my personal life."

     Mulder nodded once in sudden comprehension, unable to keep his smile from 
     growing. A string of possibilities ran quickly through his mind. He'd never 
     dated an RN before but had heard some very interesting stories while 
     assigned to Violent Crimes years ago. He pulled his right arm from the 
     confines of the blanket and offered his hand.

     "I'm Mulder."

     "Jenny. Jenny Sullivan," she took his hand and squeezed it in a firm 
     handshake. "Mulder? Is that your first or last name?"

     "Last. I don't use my first name."

     "Which is?" She prompted, still holding his hand.

     Surprisingly, he didn't hesitate like he usually did. "Fox."

     She smiled in delight and gave his hand one more gentle squeeze before 
     letting go. He was inexplicably pleased with her reaction and, somehow, 
     didn't think he'd ever mind if she decided to call him Fox. Might be kind 
     of nice for a change...

     Abruptly, she was touching his face again and frowning. The smile left his 
     lips.

     "What?" He asked, concerned by her expression. He wanted to see her smile 
     and blush again...not frown like this.

     "Well," she said, meeting his eyes steadily, "you've got a fever, Fox, and 
     I really don't like your color."

     "I just don't get out much."

     She rose and put his arm back under the blanket, ignoring his glib response 
     and retucking the                              edges firmly into place. 
     When finished, she stood, hands on hips, and gazed down at him.

     "Look, I know you don't know me but I'm going to tell you exactly what I 
     see here: I see a man who very likely has some strain of the flu," she 
     looked sternly at him in what he was sure was her best 'nurse' expression, 
     "and who probably won't do much to help himself get better. Someone who 
     will probably take a couple of Tylenol, lay on his couch watching 
     questionable videos..."

     Mulder cringed but Jenny kept going without missing a beat.

     "...and will not go and get some real medical attention. I may be wrong but 
     that's how I see things here.So, if you don't mind, I'd like to fix you 
     something to help that terrible congestion and will let you rest easier. 
     What do you say?"

     A warning light activated itself in Mulder's head. He couldn't help it and 
     was usually grateful for his assorted paranoias. She was asking for his 
     trust and had no way of knowing how impossible it was for him to comply. 
     Masking his true feelings, so he wouldn't upset her again, he smiled and 
     nodded.

     "Sure."

     "Great." Turning away and moving toward the still opened door, Jenny 
     stopped in mid-stride and whirled back to face him, her hair swinging in a 
     gentle arc with the movement. There was a small worry line creasing her 
     otherwise smooth brow. "You aren't adverse to a little alcohol in your 
     cure, are you?"

     Mulder's lips twitched in relief. "Alcohol? What have you got in mind?"

     Jenny lowered her eyes for a moment and, when she met his gaze again, he 
     detected a gleam of mischief. She tilted her head to one side.

     "I may be a RN but I'm certainly not licensed to prescribe or distribute 
     medication. I just want to fix you an old-fashioned hot toddy, like my 
     grandmother taught me to make years ago." She crossed her arms under her 
     breasts and regarded the sick man. "Look, Fox, you really need to see a 
     physician but, I suspect, you won't."

     "You'd be surprised at how often I see a doctor."

     "At any rate," she clearly didn't believe him, "my grandmother's mixture 
     will probably make you sleep and, I think, that's what your body really 
     needs right now. Maybe I can talk you into going to see this doctor of 
     yours later. What do you say?"

     It was so easy to agree with her. "Okay."

     "Good." Her smile returned fully and she pointed a finger at him. Unlike 
     Skinner's gesture several weeks ago, he saw no accusation. "Just stay put 
     and I'll be back as soon as I can."

     Mulder did as he was told and watched her leave, admiring the graceful sway 
     of her jean- clad hips. He kept his eyes on her until she was gone and then 
     quickly threw the blanket off, moving to the partially-closed door. Quietly 
     and with great care, he eased the door open further until he could                            
     peak out enough to see the hallway. Sure enough, there she was, slipping a 
     key into the lock of Mr. Sanchez's old apartment and moving to enter. She 
     hesitated and glanced back toward Mulder's door but he had already moved 
     away before she could catch him spying.

     Sighing, he slowly made his way back to the couch and wearily plopped down, 
     reaching for a paper towel he'd used earlier to blow his nose in and 
     absently wiped it across his upper lip. Frowning, he rubbed his eyes as he 
     felt the pressure build in his sinus cavities, bringing the beginnings of a 
     throbbing headache. Groaning against the sensation and his obvious bad 
     timing, he eased down flat and pulled the recently-discarded blanket over 
     his chilling body, not caring if it was tucked in or not. He draped an arm 
     over his eyes, to block out the soft light filtering his way from the lamp 
     on his desk, and cursed his fate. He was sick, he was feeling really 
     miserable, and he was definately intrigued with this new, beautiful 
     neighbor.

     "I've got to have the world's worse timing," he mumbled against his arm 
     and, then, sneezed loudly twice. He used his sleeve again to control his 
     runny nose, stopping only as he thought of Jenny and how crude the gesture 
     would seem to her. He winced as he saw the mess he had left on the sleeve 
     and wiped half-heartedly at the fabric with the old paper towel before 
     finally giving up. In a rare attack of self-pity, he tossed the wad of 
     paper to the table and mentally began to list all the reasons why Jenny 
     would find him unattractive. 

     During his listing, he must of dozed off. His next coherent sensation was 
     of Jenny, once again at his side, her cool fingers back on his brow.

     "Hey," she whispered, smiling sweetly into his glassy eyes, "I guess you 
     don't need this to help you rest after all."

     She placed a steaming mug on his table, carefully putting it atop a 
     magazine to protect the wood surface. She took his nearest hand and tucked 
     two tablets into his palm.

     "Fox, I still think you need to see a doctor, and I know we didn't really 
     discuss medication, but I remembered I had some tablets left over from when 
     I had the flu a couple of months ago. The expiration date is still good and 
     they should really help your congestion and start working on that fever 
     before it gets out of hand. I'll go get you some water."

     She was up and heading toward the kitchen before he could even think about 
     stopping her. Bringing his hand up, he opened his fingers and gathered the 
     two pills to take a closer look. Yellow in color and fairly small, Mulder 
     couldn't detect any lettering or distinguishing logos to assist in his 
     identifcation. Again, that old warning light began to flash but, this time, 
     it was rather weak and located off to one side. His eyes drifted to the 
     coffee table and watched the coiling wisps of steam rise from the mouth of 
     the mug.

     "Here you go."

     Jenny was back with a small glass of water. She reached out and grasped his 
     shoulder, pulling slightly until his cold-clogged brain realized she wanted 
     him to sit up. With that accom- plished, she extended the glass and smiled.

     "Thanks," Mulder mumbled, accepting the glass of water but lowering it 
     until it rested on one of his thighs. He raised his fingers and held the 
     two pills so she could see them. "What are these?"

     Jenny took her usual spot on the table and pursed her lips slightly, a 
     small frown of concentration appearing. "It's an antibiotic. I can go get 
     the container if you want to see it."

     He shook his head and sighed. "It's not that I don't trust you...it's 
     always been hard for me to trust anyone. Would you be terribly offended if 
     I didn't take them?"

     "Of course not," she assured quickly, "and it was stupid of me to even 
     offer them to you. I know I wouldn't take other people's medicines...why 
     would you?"

     "Exactly."

     She turned and reached for the mug. "Well, how about a few sips of Granny 
     Sullivan's famous hot toddy blend? It's no substitute for real medicine but 
     it soothes the throat and eases coughs. Plus, it has just the right amount 
     of liquor to lull you to sleep!"

     Mulder started to chuckle at her description but ended up choking and 
     coughing. It took him awhile to get his breathing back to normal, all 
     thoughts of the warming drink gone. He wanted to feel better immediately so 
     he could get on with his life. Instead, here he was, acting like a helpless 
     infant in front of a beautiful stranger. He didn't think his life could 
     suck anymore than it did at this particular moment. Finally, he was able to 
     look back at Jenny and was, once again, struck by the compassion he could 
     see. It made him feel minutely human.

     "I'd better go so you can rest," she soothed. "If you need anything, don't 
     hesitate to come get me."

     "You come to me for help," he managed to whisper, "and I seem to be the one 
     needing aid. I'm really sorry."

     "Oh, don't be silly," she waved his words off with a flick of a hand, 
     dismissing the thought. "Where I come from, neighbors always help each 
     other out."

     "I don't seem to be much of a good neighbor right now."

     "Well, maybe not right now," she agreed, her eyes twinkling with mischief, 
     "but you are planning on getting better, aren't you?"

     The look he sent her way left no room for misinterpretation. "Absolutely."

     She rose slowly, returning his gaze steadily, letting him know she'd 
     recieved the message loud and clear. It was a priceless moment...or would 
     have been if he hadn't erupted in a series of hard, wet sneezes. He barely 
     got his hands in place and, somehow, managed not to splatter her with his 
     germs. Moaning hoarsely, he could only gaze miserably at the woman as he 
     used the ragged paper towel to wipe his hands and his reddened nose. The 
     thought of just curling up somewhere and dying was looking awfully good to 
     him right now.

     Jenny reached for the mug and offered it to him. "See if you can get some 
     of this down. A little doctored-up tea isn't going to hurt you."

     "At this stage, getting hurt doesn't really seem to matter to me."

     Levering forward, Mulder reached for the mug and brought it slowly to his 
     lips, taking a small sip. His eyebrows rose in surprise almost immediately.

     "Good?" Jenny asked, already knowing the answer.

     Mulder only nodded as he continued to take sip after sip of the hot drink, 
     savoring the sweet, honey-laced mixture as it slid over his tongue and down 
     his sore throat. The warming bite of the alcohol spread rapidly through his 
     chest, immediately relieving the tight, uncom- fortable pressure housed 
     there. It was amazing what a simple drink could do...even if it was only a 
     temporary fix to his problem. When he'd consumed about half, he stopped and 
     leaned back into the cushions, letting the mug rest atop a thigh. He sighed 
     contentedly and, through heavy-lidded eyes, watched as Jenny moved close 
     and gingerly took her cup from his fingers.

     "You'd better let me have this before you end up spilling the rest all over 
     yourself."

     "Okay," he agreed drowsily.

     "Fox, are you sleepy? Do you want to lay down?" She started to help him 
     settle back but suddenly stopped, a new thought crossing her mind. "Would 
     you rather be in bed?"

     Mulder was able to quirk a grin at the irony. Any other time, he would have 
     readily agreed to a change of venue. Now, all he wanted to do was sleep.

     "Here's good," he mumbled.

     "You sure?"

     "Uh-huh."

     Mulder could feel Jenny's presence still close, her gentle hands pulling 
     the warm blanket back up to tuck him in again. He wanted to keep looking at 
     her but he felt the pull of sleep dragging him away. So, he settled for 
     smiling in her general direction, glad she'd happened upon his apartment 
     and his sorry self. It would be nice to get to know her better, to have a 
     relationship with someone outside of work, and to, maybe, have a bit more 
     normalacy in his life. It'd been too long since he'd had the closeness and 
     intimacy he desired. Maybe, now, things were changing for the better. The 
     image of Scully flashed behind his closed lids and he had to force all 
     thoughts of her away, knowing that somethings would be forever out of his 
     reach.

     Jenny's soft hand brushed the hair from his forehead and, unexpectedly, she 
     pressed her lips to his cheek. Surprised by the gesture and enormously 
     pleased, Mulder forced his eyes open, needing to see her face. She was 
     leaning close, her image blurring as he battled to stay awake. A warm 
     lethargy spread through his body, making his arms and legs feel boneless, 
     useless. He was so tired...

     "Jenny..." he managed to whisper her name but his voice sounded strange and 
     distant, even in his own ears.

     "Sh-h-h," she soothed, watching his eyes unfocus and, finally, close again. 
     Reaching into a back pocket, she carefully withdrew a small, stoppered 
     vile. Removing the rubber lid from the slender container she poured the 
     contents onto the discarded paper towel, mindful in keeping her face 
     averted. She smiled coldly down into the man's unsuspecting face. "Just a 
     little more insurance, Fox."

     Bringing the towelling up, she placed it firmly over Mulder's mouth and 
     nose, holding it securely in place. His eyes flew open at the strange 
     sensation and she could see the con- fusion in their glassy depths. He 
     started to struggle weakly under the blanket but was unable to get even one 
     arm free of the confining material. As he continued to breathe the vapors, 
     his energy failed and fled, leaving him helpless in her grasp. Surrendering 
     to the sensations, he gave himself over to the beckoning darkness, feeling 
     the couch, the apartment, the whole world spinning away. His last coherent 
     impression was of Jenny, laughing quietly and coldly into his ear, her 
     voice no longer sweet or soothing.

     "Pleasant dreams, you bastard."


Location Unknown
Same Evening
11:11 p.m.

     Regaining consciousness after being chloroformed into oblivion is not a 
     pleasant experience: the mouth is dry and tends to taste like rusting 
     metal, sounds seem too loud and distorted in overly sensitive ears and, 
     worse of all, the world keeps spinning wildly in eyes that burn and throb 
     with the pounding of each seperate heartbeat. They are excruciating 
     sensations to awaken to under any circumstance but not half as horrifying 
     as realizing someone had purposely done it as a means of subduing and 
     abducting another human being. As the truth of his situation finally 
     cleared the foggy barrier of his mind, Mulder knew a moment of such supreme 
     panic he almost cried out loud and only kept the sound from escaping by 
     clamping his lips tightly together. Adrenelin surged through his body and 
     it was several minutes before he realized his desperate tugging and 
     twisting was not going to loosen the bonds holding his ankles and wrists. 
     Gathering his willpower, he tried to remain calm, knowing his survival 
     depended solely on his ability in keeping a level head.

     Blinking to clear the residual fuzziness, Mulder took stock of the 
     situation. Flat on his back, with the cold dampness of a concrete floor 
     seeping through the fabric of his clothing, he found it relatively hard to 
     see anything beyond the small arc of light spilling from the lone bulb 
     dangling from a short cord somewhere above him. There was a solid wall to 
     his left, moist with condensation and slimey with a shine that spoke of 
     something growing. He swallowed hard and looked away, his stomach suddenly 
     queasy. Beyond the light, he just couldn't tell for sure but it felt like 
     he was in a very large structure. Large, empty and extremely cold. He 
     shivered on the cold floor, wondering what this was going to do to his 
     cold. With a start, he realized that having a cold was the least of his 
     worries now. 

     Lifting his chin to check how he was secured, he noted the metal cuffs and 
     the strong-looking pipe they were attched to. He tugged once, just to make 
     sure, and knew he wasn't going any- where soon. Not unless he could get 
     ahold of a key.

     Shivering again, he raised his head to look down his body and a new finger 
     of fear poked at his brain. His green sweatshirt was completely torn open 
     from neck to waist, the edges spread wide to expose his chest. He swallowed 
     dryly. No wonder he was so cold. As a draft played across his abdomen, he 
     saw that his jeans had been unzipped and opened as well, the pale skin 
     reminding him quickly of just how vulnerable he was right now. He was 
     shoeless but dimly remembered being in that condition when at home, his 
     favorite sneakers in their usual spot next to one end of his couch. 
     Squinting against the nausea that suddenly rolled over him, Mulder could 
     only press his lips together and ride the sensation out. Gently, he lowered 
     his head back to the cold floor and took several steadying breaths. For 
     once in his life, he wished that this was nothing more than one of his 
     usually vivid nightmares. As a bitter acid taste rose to the back of his 
     throat and a nasty cough began to rack his body, he knew he was in some 
     very deep shit.

     Deeper still, if he was correct about what was happening to him.

     "Good. You're awake."

     Mulder quickly shifted his eyes toward the sound of the voice and watched 
     as a shadowy figure moved in his direction. He thought he recognized the 
     voice but it was, somehow, slightly different from what he remembered. 
     Colder. Harder. Evil. Instinctively, he pulled against the bindings holding 
     him down, hoping for some miracle to set him free. It took only a few 
     seconds for him to relearn the futility of his actions. Miracles were meant 
     for others. Steadying himself and trying to display more calm than he felt, 
     he met the eyes of this stranger with unwavering directness. 

     "I don't suppose your real name is Jenny Sullivan, is it?" He shivered 
     against the cold, his words no more than a harsh whisper.

     "No," she responded, not bothering to offer her real name. It wouldn't make 
     any difference anyway. A dead man didn't need to know much and, Mulder 
     realized, he was a dead man. Stepping closer, she bent to kneel next to him 
     on the concrete, reaching with latex glove-covered hands to check the 
     bindings at his wrists. In the dim light, he could see major changes in her 
     appearance and was shocked. Gone was the sweet, beautiful woman from hours 
     ago: the hair was nothing but a cap of blond thatch, the short spikes no 
     more than a fourth of an inch long; the eyes were a cold, pale color, 
     reminding Mulder of a frozen winter pond; and the body was encased in 
     tight, black leather, zippers and snaps crisscrossing the the body like 
     scars and tumors. This was like looking at an evil twin sister. No, more 
     than evil. This woman was totally corrupt with no humaneness left in her 
     personality.

     "I...I don't know why you're doing this," Mulder tried to get her to speak. 
     As long as she looked at him as a human being, he would have a chance.

     She seemed amused. "You really have no idea who I am, do you?"

     He shook his head slightly, watching her eyes closely. "No."

    "Well, I know all about you, Agent Mulder, and I'm very disappointed in you. 
    You're suppose to be one of the F.B.I.'s best and, yet, you have no idea 
    what you've stumbled into here."

     That she knew who he was and what he did was disconcerting. That he was 
     suppose to know her was even more confusing.

     "Let me give you a little hint," she purred. A hand came out of nowhere and 
     grabbed his crotch, the suddeness of the action taking him totally by 
     surprise. The pressure was intense and he moaned loudly as he felt his 
     stomach begin to cramp. "You've been following me for awhile now but have 
     always been one step behind. You know my methods but not my reasons. You 
     think you can stop me but don't have a single clue as to how to begin."

     Mulder's eyes opened wide. The pain was receeding now that she had released 
     her grip but all he could do was stare. Finally, he managed one word. 
     "You."

     "Yes. Me." 

     "I didn't realize you were a woman," he confessed quietly.

     "I know. Did you think that only men are the ones with needs, desires?"

     "No, I..."

     Her hands moved swiftly to his neck and slowly, methodically, began to 
     apply pressure. Mulder's eyes widened in renewed surprise and he twisted 
     his body, trying to do anything to escape. Her hands were strong...too 
     strong to be shaken off. The pressure increased as she used her body weight 
     as leverage, her eyes starting to gleem eerily as Mulder struggled to draw 
     a simple breath. Mouth open, eyes locking with hers, he began to see tiny, 
     bright sparks appearing in his vision. He struggled harder and, as he 
     fought, her grip seemed to tighten even more. The metal cuffs ripped his 
     wrists and the ropes around his ankles burned his skin as he fought for his 
     life. Slowly, his strength began to fail. The pressure continued at his 
     throat, even as his movements slowed, and there was nothing he could do to 
     stop her assault. Mulder became aware of a distant roar, growing in 
     intensity as his vision began to fail, and he realized it was the sound of 
     death rushing toward him. The noise became intense, overwhelming. A gray 
     haze settled over his eyes and the woman's image blurred, the soft contours 
     of her face melting into nothingness. Now, even the                             
     roaring noise was beginning to recede. This, he knew, was death. And, as he 
     felt his body releasing it's earthly hold, he thought only of Scully.



     This, he knew, was death. And, as he felt his body releasing it's earthly 
     hold, he thought only of Scully.



     Suddenly, the hands were gone from around his neck and he was dragging 
     rasping lungfulls of oxygen into his deprived body, the abrupt sensation 
     causing him to feel light-headed and weak. He choked on the rough, rawness 
     in his throat and fleetingly wondered if this was what Duane Barry felt 
     before he, too, was murdered. Coughing only aggravated the abrated tissue, 
     so he tried to control the spasms and was immediately sick to his stomach. 
     There was nothing in his system to come up but a half a mug of tea, so he 
     gagged weakly until the convulsions subsided and looked back up into the 
     face of his tormentor.

     Still kneeling serenely by his side and carefully adjusting her latex 
     gloves, Mulder was struck by the look in her eyes: the cool blueness was 
     void of humanity. She may as well have been doing her laundry for all the 
     emotion she showed. She gazed blankly at him as he continued to cough.

     "That wasn't in that little profile you wrote about me, was it?" She 
     murmured.

     Wisely, he didn't respond. In all honesty, he wasn't sure he was even 
     capable of speaking now, so he remained mute and let her lead. It was her 
     show anyway. But she was absolutely correct: what had just happened was not 
     in the profile. None of her other victims showed any indications of 
     strangulation or asphyxiation, so, maybe, his death would be different and 
     not reflect the gruesome aspects of the other murders. Looking at her face 
     and seeing the calm, unemotional facade, Mulder knew he was only deluding 
     himself. She was going to make him suffer like all the ones before him. It 
     was, simply, part of her nature. And, unfortunately, her nature was to hurt 
     others terribly.

     "You know," she said almost conversationally, "I really had no intention of 
     taking you as my next...toy. I didn't even know of your existence until 
     last week. Isn't it strange how things work out?"

     Silence.

     She laughed, if it could be called a laugh. It sounded brittle and 
     contrived in Mulder's ears, like she wasn't use to that aspect of her 
     humanity. Looking at the insanity in her eyes and knowing what he did about 
     her crimes, he seriously doubted she could be classified as a member of the 
     human race.

     "I had to wait for the right moment to get to you," she confessed, placing 
     a hand unexpectedly on his chest. She was pleased to feel him flinch at the 
     contact and her eyes became slightly unfocused as her fingers traced slow, 
     small circles on the exposed skin. He shivered again, but not from the 
     cold. "When Dennis told me you'd gotten sick and had to leave work early, I 
     knew I could take you easily. And I did, didn't I?"

     *Dennis?*

      Mulder's brain went into overdrive and then froze. The only Dennis he knew 
      was Dennis                             McBride, one of Rob Holleran's VC 
      teammembers. His chest tightened as a feeling of betrayal surged through 
      his body. Mulder had worked side-by-side with McBride and the others for 
      the past two weeks, helping them construct several profiles, including the 
      one he was now going to become a part of. How could this have happened? 
      How had this woman gotten so close to them without anyone realizing what 
      was happening? And what about Dennis? What was his part in all of this? 
      Why hadn't Dennis seen this woman for who she really was? Mulder frowned 
      at his own questions.

     *Because, you ass, the profile was wrong and no one was expecting a woman!*

     "It really wasn't too difficult, you know," she continued, as if able to 
     read his thoughts. "Dennis likes to talk about his work, especially in bed. 
     Give a man a little of what he wants and he'll give you anything you ask. 
     Anything. When he started talking about you one night, I was intrigued. I 
     had to see what you looked like and, when I did, I knew you were the one." 
     Her hand moved lower on his body. "I wanted to learn all I could about you, 
     about what made you so special, so spooky. I found out where you lived and 
     managed to get the landlord to show me Mr. Sanchez's apartment." Her hand 
     drifted lower still. "I even managed to get into your apartment. Looked in 
     your closets, laid on your bed, even been between the sheets."

     The hand was making him very nervous. He remained silent but, inside, he 
     was shouting out his protest. This was not how he had imagined his death. 
     He could not begin to imagine this for anyone.

     "I'm disappointed in you," she spoke tightly, her hand now at the elastic 
     band of his briefs. "I expected you to ask all sorts of questions and 
     demand answers. I expected you to be spouting theories of why you think I 
     do these things. I expected you to argue with me in an effort to save your 
     life. Dennis says you get on everyone's nerves with your insistent 
     questioning and outrageous ideas." Her fingers wre creeping under the 
     elastic band. "You are a great disappointment, Fox."

     "Would it make any difference if I did those things?" He managed to rasp.

     The hand stilled on his body and her eyes became intense and focused on his 
     face. Her mouth slanted into a feral smile as she considered his question 
     and Mulder wondered how he could have ever thought her as beautiful. The 
     evilness made her ugly and hard to look at but he continued to stare 
     resolutely into her eyes.

     "No. No difference at all." She suddenly leaned forward over his body, her 
     face mere inches from his. "Can you see what's going to happen to you here? 
     Do you think you know what I'm going to do to you?"

     Mulder had seen all the crime scene photos and had studied every detail in 
     the thick folder. He knew exactly what was going to happen to him. "Yes."

     "Really? maybe I've got a few surprises for you," she removed her hand. 
     "Maybe I'll postpone your death a little longer than the others. Would you 
     like that?"

     "No," he whispered hoarsely. Mustering his remaining courage, he made a 
     request. "Make it quick."

     "Quick?" She arched one perfectly formed eyebrow at the unexpected petetion 
     and folded her slim legs so she could sit comfortably on the concrete next 
     to him. With affected tender- ness, she brushed her fingers through his 
     hair. The gesture made jis skin crawl. "Now, you know I can't be quick. You 
     know what I have to do takes some time and patience. You understand, don't 
     you?"

     "No."

     "Yes, you do," she chided, like a mother correcting a wayward child. Her 
     hand moved back to his throat but, this time, she caressed the rapidly 
     bruising skin. "You've seen what I do. You know when I start, I have 
     certain things I have to take from you." She let her lips hover over his, 
     catching his chin when he tried to turn away. "No! You have to watch me! 
     You have to see everything I do to you. And while you are watching me, I'll 
     be watching you. I'll see your pain, your fear, your blood..." Her voice 
     was beginning to sound strange, dreamy. "Are you ready? Are you ready to 
     sacrifice yourself to me?"

     "Please...don't."

     "Sh-h-h," she soothed, watching him struggle uselessly again in his bonds. 
     "You don't need to fight. It'll be so much better if you don't fight me. 
     Just let it go...let it go."

     Reaching for something just outside his line of vision, she pulled a small, 
     canvas bag close, settling it next to his body. She smiled strangely at him 
     and opened the duffle, pulling her special tools, one by one, from its 
     depths. She watched his face drain of color, his eyes rounding hugely with 
     fear, and felt a familiar warmth flood her being. She took a deep, 
     cleansing breath to calm the growing urges of her body, to control the 
     desire to just rip right into him, and, slowly, began her assault.


Office of the Assistant Director
January 23, 1996
1:23 a.m.

     Sitting in AD Skinner's office, with the information they had concerning 
     Mulder's disappear- ance spread before her across the huge conference 
     table, Scully took a brief moment to rub her tired, burning eyes. All 
     around her, the four members of Rob Holleran's team argued with barely 
     controlled anger, throwing out ideas and fighting for answers to this 
     latest puzzle. The scene was restrained disorder, noting more, nothing 
     less. She tuned them all out and let her eyes slide shut, saying a silent 
     prayer for her missin friend.

     Arriving at Mulder's apartment at eight-thirty yesterday evening, the last 
     thing Scully had expected to see was his door standing unlocked and wide 
     open. She'd approached cautiously, placed the still-warm pot of soup on the 
     floor near the wall and had carefully drawn her weapon from its holster. 
     She'd inched into the darkened foyer, called his name quietly, and felt a 
     dreaded chill when no answering response had come. Something was 
     wrong...she had felt it almost instantly. She'd continued to call his name 
     again and again, had moved further into the living area ,and used nothing 
     but the dim light from the desk lamp as her only illumination. The area had 
     been traversed quickly and she had noted several things out of the ordinary 
     and found subtle details that had nagged at her memory.

     As she had holstered her weapon, her eyes had settled on the couch and, moe 
     specific- ally, the area around the couch. The blanket that was usually 
     kept folded neatly over the back of the sofa had been tossed carelessly to 
     the floor to form a messy mound. Mulder's wallet, weapon, and identication 
     had been in their usual spot, piled together on the edge of his desk near 
     the computer. Her eyes had dropped to the pair of worn sneakers peeking out 
     from their customary place by the side of the couch, and heard them whisper 
     that they'd been left here and forgotten. She'd known how much he'd enjoyed 
     going shoeless while at home but, if his shoes were still there, where was 
     he?

     She'd bent over the coffee table, careful not to touch a single thing. The 
     position of the table itself had immediately caught her attention and had 
     silently warned her to be careful. Pulled slightly away from the couch, it 
     had sat at a strange angle, like someone had moved it but had been careless 
     when putting it back. After dropping to one knee, Scully'd noted strange 
     scratch marks in the wood flooring, indicating something heavy had been 
     pulled across the surface. Her eyes had been drawn back to the sofa and 
     then the table, and then stopped to frown at the items she saw there. A 
     ring impression on one of Mulder's Omni magazines had drawn her total 
     attention. It had been such a simple mark, like a glass or mug had been 
     placed there to protect the table, but it had been the simplicity of the 
     imprint that had concerned her. Mulder would have never defaced one of his 
     treasured Omnis by putting a glass on it. He'd rather, she knew, deface the 
     whole table than mar the cover of the publication. Her gaze had travelled 
     the room once more and resettled on the couch. She'd stood and looked down 
     at the simple piece of furniture, trying to understand what was making her 
     feel so uncomfortable, What? What was it? A feeling, as strong as she had 
     ever had in her life had made her snap into action. She'd reached for the 
     telephone, careful to hold the reciever with the end of her coat and had 
     punched the numbers with one of her keys. She'd only known of one person 
     who would listen to her concerns and believe in her feelings.

     Opening her eyes and refocusing on her surroundings, Scully gazed at her 
     superior as he continued to listen to the small group clustered around the 
     table. Skinner had responded to her call just as she knew he would. With 
     the threat of those dark-suited men and those unnamable black organizations 
     so foremost in their minds, the AD had sent specialists converging 
     immediately on the scene. He'd even arrived within minutes, listening 
     carefully to all Scully said about her observations and her feelings. And, 
     as the hours passed, the investigators had found a calling card that had 
     chilled them all to the marrow. A simple, used paper towel, crushed and 
     jammed between the cushions of the couch, told them all they needed to 
     know. This was a piece of evidence, as uncomplicated as it seemed, that had 
     been used at other crime scenes. The indications pointed to the brutal 
     killer Mulder had recently profiled, the killer who left his victims 
     mutilated and lifeless.

     "Who is this person," Skinner's voice was demanding, quieting the others 
     immediately, "who can so easily get his hands on one of our agents? 
     Especially after that agent just finished compiling a detailed profile of 
     him?"

     "Maybe the profile was wrong," Madeline Farrell responded, all eyes turning 
     in her direction. She shifted under the combined glare she was recieving. 
     "It's a possibility. We all expect Mulder to be one hundred percent 
     accurate all the time and, frankly, that just doesn't seem fair. He's only 
     human. I'm fairly certain that someone fitting the killer's profile came to 
     Mulder's door, he just wouldn't open wide and let him in."

     "You're missing the point, Agent Farrell," Skinner leaned forward, elbows 
     on the table, and regarded each of them in turn. "What I'm asking is: how 
     did the killer even know about Agent Mulder? How was he able to determine 
     that Mulder was his profiler and then track Mulder home?" He took a deep 
     breath to control his obvious anger. "I find it very hard to believe this 
     is all just a coinidence. It's too bizarre to even imagine. There has to be 
     a connection that we're overlooking and, I think, it would be wise to look 
     at ourselves first. I want you each to think about the past two weeks, 
     since Mulder's transfer, and recall anyone you might have talked to 
     concerning Mulder or this case."

     "Sir," Rob Holleran finally spoke, "this case is confidential. It's against 
     regulations to discuss our findings with anyone out of the Bureau."

     "Then," Skinner looked hard at his agent, "I suggest you look for the 
     possiblity that this could be someone we work with."

     Everyone was stunned into silence but, before they could gather their wits 
     and begin comparing ideas, Skinner's phone rang. They waited in respectful 
     silence as he listened and spoke briefly, tersely, into the reciever. He 
     looked changed, somehow, when he finally hung up. Scully could see a 
     growing fury shimmering in the depths of his eyes.

     "Agent Farrell," he actually addressed them all, though he spoke only her 
     name, "it seems you were correct in you initial assumption of Mulder's 
     profile. Two investigators just finished interviewing a young man who lives 
     in an apartment complex across the street from Mulder. This teenager and a 
     buddy helped a woman move a heavy trunk out of Mulder's apartment building 
     last night around seven-thirty. He said the woman had moved it herself to 
     the front steps and then called across the street to where the boys were 
     playing basket- ball, asking for some help. They placed the trunk in the 
     back of a dark blue van, got paid five bucks apiece for their efforts, and 
     went back to shooting hoops." He eyed each of them before settling on 
     Scully's pale face. "It's a woman, not a man."

     Scully sat back hard in her chair. A woman. The others at the table 
     whispered their own disbelief.

     Skinner effectively shut them up by asking his question again. "I want each 
     of you to think very hard about any woman you may have spoken to concerning 
     Agent Mulder or this case."

     Scully knew the directive didn't include her. She'd known practically 
     nothing of this case or of Mulder's profile or of what was going on in 
     Violent Crimes during the past two weeks. Until last night. Now, she was 
     truly sorry she hadn't asked Mulder some questions when they had spoken by 
     phone during his 'banishment' and hated this feeling of being in the dark. 
     Glancing around the table at the others, she froze when she saw the look on 
     Dennis McBride's face.

     Tired, as they all wre, from being called back in during the night, McBride 
     seemed to shrink visibly in his seat, turning inward for protection. His 
     pale face was dotted with fine beads of perspiration and his hands were 
     clenched tightly over a few of the papers spread on the table before him. 
     He raised his eyes, looking directly at Scully, and the anguish he was 
     feeling was reflected clearly in the bloodshot depths.

     "Dennis?" Scully prompted quietly, dimly aware of the others turning to 
     look at her and, then, quickly to McBride. "What is it?"

     "I...I," he stumbled, not really knowing how to start or how to say what he 
     had to. He swallowed and tried again. "Jesus, I didn't...I mean...it can't 
     be her. We just had a few laughs about him, that's all."

     "Who, Dennis? Who are you talking about?" Scully spoke softly as the hairs 
     on the back of her neck rose. She ignored her own anger, hating that Dennis 
     had laughed about her friend, and focused totally on the nervous man.

     "Leslee," he all but choked on the name. "Leslee Robinson. I've been seeing 
     her for almost three weeks now. But, she can't be the one," he looked 
     desperately at Scully, "can she?"

     Before she could respond, Skinner was on his feet, his chair falling back 
     to thud dully to the floor. The rage radiated off his body in waves, making 
     his imposing figure seem almost overpowering. He glared down at McBride, 
     his eyes hard and mean.

     "You actually discussed Agent Mulder, professionally, with someone outside 
     the Bureau?" He asked, barely checking his anger.

     "Yes, sir," McBride whispered, shifting under the glare.

     "And the killer's profile? You discussed it with this woman, too?"

     "Yes."

     That one, small word ended Dennis McBride's career with the Bureau. With 
     his own admission, he'd severed his connections with everything and 
     everyone he'd known during the past nine years in government service. Only 
     now was the enormity of his action beginning to settle in.

     "God damn it, Dennis!" Rob Holleran exploded, rage suffing his face with a 
     bright red. "How could you do something like this? How could you be so 
     stupid?!"

     "That's enough, Holleran," Skinner quickly cut off the useless 
     condemnation. He refocused totally on McBride, leaning forward to place his 
     hands on the table's surface, bringing his face closer to the sweating man. 
     "You will provide us with every bit of information you have concern- ing 
     this woman, right down to the color of her underwear, if necessary." He 
     watched McBride blush with embarrassment and immediately knew the depth of 
     the relationship. "You've lost your job because of this disaster but Agent 
     Mulder is losing his life. See if you can pull yourself together long 
     enough so we can find him before it's too late...if it's not already."

     "Yes,sir."

     "Sir," Scully cut in quickly, "I'd like to assist in the investigation."

     Skinner met her eyes steadily and something unspoken passed between them. 
     "Of course, Agent Scully. Use any office to get what you need concerning 
     this woman. As soon as you have a photo or anything we can follow, I'll get 
     it out to the other agencies."

     "Sir," Agent Rodriquez spoke up for the first time, "I suggest we don't 
     waste time follow- ing up on a home adress for this woman. It won't help us 
     find Mulder now. If she follows her usual pattern, which I believe she 
     will, she's already taken him to some remote area to start on him." He 
     glanced quickly at Scully but forged on with his thoughts. "She wants her 
     privacy now and she doesn't want any interruptions. I really think it would 
     be wise to alert the police now and have them start looking for that dark, 
     blue van, especially if it's parked in an isolated area. They've got more 
     manpower and cover more of the city than we can."

     "He's right, sir," Holleran agreed.

     "All right," Skinner nodded his approval. "I'll make the call now and get 
     all other available agents out as well."

     He was already lifting the phone as they turned to leave his office, his 
     commanding voice putting things into motion. Fatigue fled as they traversed 
     the halls, their unified purpose energizing their steps. It would be up to 
     them to supply the answers, to direct the search. With God's grace and a 
     little luck, they might be able to get to Mulder before his time ran out.

Location Unknown
2:04 a.m.

     Across town and oblivious to his partner's determination, Mulder moaned 
     weakly as the hands returned, once again, to his sore body. The touch was 
     intimate, sickening. Fingers curled and slid around his genitals in a 
     parody of a lover's caress, trying to stimulate and arouse. He knew what 
     she wanted but couldn't, for the life of him, understand how she expected 
     him to comply. Not now. Weak and shaking, bleeding from numerous cuts and 
     abrasions, he was too dazed to remember how many times she'd already 
     demanded this of him. Too many to recall clearly but he could still feel 
     the humiliation of the first time... vividly. But the other times were now 
     just a blur of pain and embarrassment. It had been a real shock to feel her 
     touching him like this, especially after spending so much of her time and 
     energy taking him to the edge of unconsciousness. When he'd realized her 
     intent and remembered the details from the other crime scenes, he knew what 
     she was planning. This was all part of her signature, her established 
     ritual. She had managed to manipulate him to erection and had forced an 
     orgasm, laughing at his inability to resist her touches, mocking his 
     weakness, and taunting him through his trembling release. The act had 
     sickened him but, as she proceeded to smear his semen across the slimey 
     wall at his left, he'd recognized this part of the ceremony. She was 
     removing all aspects of life from him, taking a bit at a time. When she 
     finished with this part and was satisfied with her handiwork, she would 
     probably start on his skin, stripping it away, piece by piece. Mulder 
     managed to swallow, recalling the gruesome photographs in the case file: 
     the raw, lifeless bodies of her victims looking more like piles of ground 
     round than of human beings. He had to fight to remove those images form his 
     mind now.

     A pain, sharp and white-hot, shot unexpectedly through his groin and up his 
     spine, making him arch uncontrollably against the hard floor. He couldn't 
     hold back the erupting scream, hearing the strange sound bounce off the 
     cold, dank walls that had become his prison. The spasm rolled over him like 
     a wave, growing in intensity, reaching a peak and, finally, levelling off. 
     He fell back, exhausted, and let his head roll to one side, trying to block 
     out the feel of her hands on his body. It was no use. She continued to 
     touch him initmately but had, obviously, changed her tactics to keep his 
     off-balance again. There was no doubt in his mind that she had just 
     inserted something into his body but, right now, he couldn't, wouldn't, 
     think about the possible objects he'd seen earlier in her possession. This, 
     too, was not in her profile.

     "What's the matter, Fox?" She asked, moving from his groin to lean over his 
     body so she could gaze straight down into his face. "Didn't you enjoy my 
     little surprise? I thought you'd appreciate a bit of variety."

     She laughed, cold and mean, and lowered her mouth to lick at a salty tear 
     spilling from the corner of his eye. She pulled back slightly and continued 
     to stare, watching as he fought to control the pain and his ragged 
     emotions. His eyes swam with misery and his bottom lip trembled.

     "You actually caused this, you know," she whispered, looking closely for 
     more escaping tears, for the ultimate sign of despair and surrender. "I 
     would have been perfectly satisfied to treat you exactly like all the 
     others but your little profile showed me how predictable I'd become. 
     Predictable and boring. The others didn't know what was going to happen to 
     them and that's what made it so exhalarating for me. Their surprise...their 
     screams." She licked his face again. "I've got other surprises for you, 
     Fox, and I'm going to make you scream, too. Much, much more."

     Mulder could only watch, horrified, as she pulled back and started to keep 
     her promise. Arching as the pain returned and filling the area with his 
     screams, Mulder wished for his own death.



Dana Scully's Car
In Transit
3:06 a.m.

     "Tell me again why you think he's there, Maddie? Out of all the places in 
     this city, why would she take him there?"

     Scully maneuvered the compact car through the all-but-deserted streets, her 
     mind filled with memories of the past hour: a room full of people seemingly 
     speaking all at the same time, someone continually hovering over her 
     shoulder while she tried to work at a computer, and ideas and opinions 
     flying in all directions at once. After about fifteen minutes of that 
     chaos, Scully'd had all she could take. Storming out of the VC unit office 
     and slamming the door soundly behind, she'd stood shaking in the hallway, 
     trying to control her soaring blood pressure.  She couldn't hear herself 
     think in there, much less try to pinpoint possible abduction locations. 
     After several minutes, Farrell had quietly slipped out to join her, placing 
     a comforting hand on her shoulder.

     "It's okay, Dana," Farrell had whispered, trying to transmit her 
     understanding.

     "How did Mulder ever work in there?" She breathed in frustration.

     Farrell had laughed. "It's not always like this. And, believe me, Mulder 
     had a way of making everyone, including Rob, tread lightly when he was 
     stewing over a problem. Dana, we're all concerned about him and this is 
     just our way of hashing things out. I'm sure you and Mulder have your own 
     way of confronting problems...ours is just a little noisy. Please, come 
     back inside. We've got something to show you."

     And showed her they had. 

     Now, not satisfied with merely sitting in the suffocating confines of the 
     office and waiting to hear if their theory was accurate, the team had split 
     up to check out some possible sites themselves. Scully refocused on the 
     present as Farrell began to speak.

     "This particular wacko likes large, abandoned buildings, away from 
     populated areas. That way, when she starts doing her thing, there's no one 
     around close enough to hear anything or interrupt her fun."

     "But why the waterfront?"

     "Well, hell...look where Mulder lives. He had to be taken someplace fairly 
     close, in a relatively short amount of time. This woman is not stupid 
     enough to risk transporting a federal agent very far. No. I think she 
     already had a place picked out and ready for use. All she had to do was 
     wait for the right time to get to Mulder, bait the hook, and then reel him 
     in."

     They were quiet for a few seconds. Neither wanted to think about what was 
     happening to their collgue but Scully had questions needing answers.

     "You think he's still alive?" She forced the inquiry out, her stomach in 
     one, tight knot.

     "I don't know, Dana," Farrell knew she had to be completely honest. "It was 
     lucky you decided to check on him like you did last night. If you hadn't, 
     and we all just thought he was staying home because of his illness, it 
     might have been days before anyone realized he was missing. But this woman 
     is smart and she knows he'll be missed soon. The thing is, she probably 
     thinks she has more time than she really does. She didn't count you in her 
     original equation. She didn't know about your relationship. Dennis told her 
     that Mulder was a loner and she capitalized on his isolation. Damn the 
     bitch, she almost had a foolproof plan."

     "She's had him for eight hours now..."

     "Dana, don't."

     "Maddie," Scully glanced from the road to look quickly at the other woman, 
     her eyes reflecting something strange, something uncomfortable to gaze at 
     for any length of time, "if she's there...if we find that she's hurt 
     him...I think I'm going to have to kill her."

     "Dana..."

     "No!" Scully stopped Farrell's words, her hands gripping the steering wheel 
     tightly and her eyes turning cold. "I've reviewed the file, I've read 
     Mulder's profile, and I've seen all the photographs. She's had him too 
     long, Maddie. You know what she's doing to him, what he's having to endure. 
     I will not let her get away with this," she levelled at look at Farrell, 
     "and you'd best stay out of my way."

     Farrell sat open-mouth, astounded at Dana's statement of intent. There was 
     no doubt in her mind that Scully was serious and would, very likely, 
     execute this killer. This was a side she'd never seen before, a side that 
     was very dark and dangerous. But there seemed to be more to Scully's 
     determination than just wanting revenge for a partner's torture and death. 
     Much more. Farrell shifted in the passanger seat and looked closely at the 
     woman driving.

     "You love him, don't you?" She asked gently, seeing Dana's small hands 
     convulse, the knuckles turning white from the pressure. Scully refused to 
     look at her.

     "He's my friend and my partner, Maddie. Isn't that enough?"

     "You tell me," she prompted softly, sensing the truth. "You and Mulder have 
     been together for years now, almost in your own little world, isolated from 
     the rest of us by the cases you handle. I saw how his eyes lit up each time 
     you called to talk to him while he was with us, saw how he'd smile into the 
     reciever." Farrell could see that Scully was honestly surprised by this bit 
     of information. "You can't tell me that's all he is to you...just a partner 
     and a friend."

     Scully swallowed, her emotions pulled tightly. "That's what I'm telling 
     you. Please, Maddie, I'd rather not talk about this now."

     Farrell nodded, keeping the rest of her thoughts and questions to herself, 
     but she could see more in Dana's face than the agent was willing to admit. 
     There was a steely determination tinged with tenderness, there was obvious 
     concern tainted with affection, and there was the appearance of a 
     professional partner looking desperately for her soul-mate.

     The sounding of her cell phone broke the uneasy silence in the car, pulling 
     both women back to the present. Farrell snatched the small device from her 
     jacket pocket and tabbed the recieve button.

     "Farrell."

     In the driver's seat, Scully squirmed nervously and chanced several quick 
     glances in Maddie's direction, listening to the bits and pieces of the 
     one-sided conversation. Maddie's hand was suddenly reaching out to touch 
     her arm.

     "Where? Yes, I understand. Do you think that's wise? Yes. We're less than 
     five minutes away from that position."

     "Is he alive?" Scully all but yelled, as Maddie pocketed her phone, tension 
     making her testy and blunt.

     "I don't know, Dana. That was Rob. The local police have found a blue van 
     parked near a deserted warehouse along the waterfront." She was silently 
     indicating for Scully to take the next corner. "We're the closest ones to 
     the scene right now and Skinner wants us to go in and direct the search. 
     The police are waiting for us and..."

     "Waiting for us?!" Scully interrupted, disbelief tainting her voice. "Are 
     you crazy, Maddie? Call it back in...if Mulder's still alive, he could bee 
     hurt badly. He could die before we even get there!"

     "We're almost there now, Dana. Besides, Skinner specifically wants you to 
     lead the search, recovery, and arrest."

     "Me?" Scully was obviously questioning the sense of it all. "Why me?"

     I don't know. Maybe..." Farrell searched for the correct words, "maybe he 
     trusts you to do the right thing."

     The words hung in the silence. Farrell gave quick directions and, within 
     three minutes, they were pulling up beside a huge, dark warehouse on the 
     east side of the Potomac River. Scully saw two police cruisers and the 
     reported van and brought her car to a halt directly behind the other 
     vehicles. Opening the doors and sliding quickly from the seats, the agents 
     ran to join the officers, showing identification and swiftly formulating a 
     search plan. Between the six of them, they could cover the area fairly 
     rapidly. The officers had already secured the outside of the building and 
     had indicated that the nearby door was now the only means of entry or 
     escape. Scully was grimly pleased to see the determination in the faces 
     looking back at her as they entered the structure.

     It was cold inside. Cold and very dark. The hand-held flashlights were 
     activated and Scully had to take a moment to let her eyes adjust to the 
     dimness. She nodded to Farrell and the officer that joined their small 
     party and motioned with a nod of her head, indicating she was moving on. 
     Her weapon was gripped tightly, barrel down in her free hand, as she swept 
     the light back and forth across the walls and floor. Directly behind, 
     Farrell and the officer kept pace, walking as quietly as possible.

     They came to a hallway, which split in two directions, and paused to decide 
     on their next course of action. Scully pointed to the uniformed officer and 
     indicated to the left. He nodded, pushed past Farrell, and did as directed. 
     Scully then motioned to Farrell and they went to the right. The smaller 
     confines of this hallway made Scully's skin crawl.

     Suddenly, a sound broke the silence and they froze, eyes locking for 
     confirmation, waiting to see if it would come again. Scully realized she 
     was holding her breath and slowly released it, trying to stay calm but 
     alert. The sound came again...and, then, a shout...back in the direction 
     the officer had taken. More sounds, more voices, and Scully was suddenly 
     running the hallway as fast as she could, her coat billowing out behind 
     like a cape. Farrell tried to keep pace but quickly lost ground, not use to 
     the ridors of a chase. When she finally caught up, she froze in shock, the 
     horror of the scene hitting her like a punch to the stomach.

     Both Scully and the officer had their weapons pointed toward a figure 
     kneeling near a wall, about twenty feet away, their eyes locked on the 
     grisly sight. The kneeling person, a woman, was bent over another figure 
     laying flat on the cold concrete but, at this distance and in this dim 
     light, it was hard to tell if the person was Mulder...or if he was even 
     alive. What she could see was blood...everywhere. The dark stains were 
     splattered on the wall, across the floor, and pooled in several places 
     around the prone figure. The woman seemed to be uninjured but she had a 
     small crimson smear across one cheek that might have been her own. Farrell 
     doubted it.

     "Federal agents," Scully announced as she step a pace closer, her face set 
     in a hard expression. She wanted to look at the body on the floor but 
     didn't dare break eye contact with this woman. "Put your hands up and move 
     slowly away."

     There was a brief, chilling smile and the woman shook her head. "I don't 
     think so. I'm really partial to where my hands are right now."

     Scully frowned and took another step closer, her eyes shifting to the body. 
     It *was* Mulder! Looking from his bloodied face and down his length, she 
     froze in horror, not wanting to believe what she was seeing. The woman's 
     right hand wasn't visible...it was...Scully swallowed, sweat breaking out 
     to dot her brow...the hand was inside Mulder's body! Inserted to the wrist, 
     just above his navel, Scully saw the soft, tender skin move as the woman 
     twisted upward, as if seeking something inside. She fought back a surge of 
     bile and almost lost control as Mulder cried out weakly.

     *He's alive!* 

     The woman smiled up at her again, slyly. "You wouldn't happen to be Scully 
     would you?"

     Dana froze at the question, her surprise evident. She nodded at the woman, 
     her eyes drawn repeatedly to the open, bleeding wound and the arm seemingly 
     attached like an obscene umbillical cord. 

     "Yes."

     "Good," she snarled suddenly, twisting her hand inside Mulder again. She 
     darted a look to the man and then back to the agent. "Look, Fox...your 
     Scully is here now. Don't you want to say something to her?" She waited a 
     moment and then grinned evilly at Scully. "I don't know why he won't speak 
     to you. He's been calling your name for some time...ever since I decide it 
     was time to see what kind of man he was on the inside. Of course, after all 
     that screaming, maybe he's damaged his throat. What do you think, Scully?"

     Scully saw the massive bruising around his long neck and felt something 
     snap. She focused on the woman's head and prepared to take her shot. There 
     was no doubt in her mind now of her course of action. Her vision narrowed. 
     She saw only the cruel blue eyes of the woman kneeling by her friend. There 
     was a distant sound and a part of her recognized it as the officer 
     reporting their location in his hand-held transmitter, alerting others to 
     their position and the situation. She could feel Farrell move up to her 
     side but ignored the agent. She had something important to do and no one 
     was going to stop her.

     "Don't do this, Dana," Maddie whispered, keeping her own weapon trained on 
     the suspect. "Please, don't do this."

     "Don't do what?" The woman on the floor asked, watching the two agents 
     carefully. She saw the cold look in Scully's eyes and her smile slipped 
     slightly. "Oh, I see. You want to kill me, don't you, Scully? You want to 
     blow my brains out because of what I've done here. Right? But, Scully, you 
     know you can't do that. You''ve got to realize how dangerous that would be 
     for Fox right now."

     More of the woman's wrist disappeared into the wound and Mulder began to 
     choke, his breathing shallow and quick. As blood appeared on his lips and 
     ran down the side of his mouth, Scully stepped closer, shrugging off 
     Farrell's restraining hand. Her aim never wavered.

     "I have to do this. You can't be allowed to live."

     The woman's eyebrows arched at Scully's words, her gaze a little uncertain 
     now. She shrugged a shoulder in nonchalance and snarled, trying to regain 
     her position.

     "I can pull his heart out or, at least, damage it irreparably even if you 
     do shoot."

     "Not *if* I shoot...*when* I shoot." Scully's voice was so unemotional it 
     scared Farrell. "I'm going to kill you no matter what you do."

     The woman looked toward Farrell, seeking some type of ploy to get her to 
     surrender. What she saw was shocking: she was going to die, here, now, at 
     the hands of this crazed F.B.I. agent. She looked back to Scully and felt 
     her control slip further.

     "You can't do this. You have to arrest me." There was a definate hint of 
     desperation now in the once-cool voice.

     "No," the chilling voice replied, "I have to kill you."

     The woman pulled her hand from Mulder's body, slowly raising her arms to 
     show she was giving up. Blood ran from her right hand to her elbow and 
     dripped to the floor, joining the other splatters and stains.

     "I'm giving up...you can't shoot me..."

     Scully took another step, eyes on her target. There was no trembling of her 
     hands, no fleeting thoughts of the reprocussions of the coming action, no 
     remorse or guilt building in her hardened heart. Her intentions had never 
     been clearer. She had to do this. For Mulder...for all the others... for 
     herself.

     "Agent Scully."

     A strong, masculine voice broke her concentration but her aim remained 
     true. She felt a presence at her side...different from Farrell...large, 
     controlled, demanding.

     "Agent Scully," the voice called to her again. "Lower your weapon and go 
     help your partner."

     *Help my partner?* Her gun wavered slightly and she turned her head just a 
     fraction, her eyes still on the kneeling woman. She recognized this new 
     voice and the authority attached to it.

     "Agent Scully, I want you to lower your weapon."

     Scully turned so she could glance at the speaker, identifying AD Skinner. 
     She narrowed her eyes and frowned at him.

     "No, sir. I have to kill her," she insisted.

     "For whom? Agent Scully...Dana...listen to me. It will be several minutes 
     before the paramedics get here. Isn't there anything you can do to help 
     Mulder until then? He's... he's suffering terribly."

     *Suffering terribly?*

     Her eyes swung toward Mulder and her weapon came down. Moving to her 
     injured partner, she roughly pushed the woman to one side and out of her 
     way, knowing the police and other agents would take her into custody. She 
     knelt next to Mulder, her eyes sweeping his torn and ravaged body, her 
     hands quickly peeling off her coat and draping it over his shivering form. 
     Farrell joined her, offering her own jacket to be used as a pillow, 
     watching Scully tenderly lift the battered man's head and scoot the bundle 
     under.

     "See if you can get those cuffs off him, Maddie," Scully spoke softly, her 
     voice full of purpose and more like Farrell remembered. "Be careful, 
     though...it looks like he's dislocated both wrists trying to pull free."

     Farrell nodded and did as directed, wincing as she touched the swollen and 
     discolored skin. Mulder didn't seem to notice  and she was momentarily 
     afraid that he'd died. She watched Scully lean forward and look down into 
     her partner's face, delicately touching one of his cheeks. His eyes 
     fluttered open, slowly until he was finally able to focus on the person 
     above him.

     "Mulder," Scully whispered, "it's me, Mulder. I'm here now. I'll take care 
     of you."

     Farrell watched Mulder's eyes fill with tears and had to choke back her own 
     sob as they spilled and ran down his face, mingling with his blood. Scully 
     carefully wiped them away with her fingertips.

     "It's okay...it's okay. No one is going to hurt you anymore. No one's going 
     to hurt you," Dana kept repeating assurances, trying to make sure he 
     understood the torture was over. She raised her face to look again at 
     Farrell, ignoring the woman's tears. There was no time for such displays 
     now. "Maddie, get those binding off his ankles so we can elevate his feet. 
     He's going into shock."

     "I've got it," a strong voice stated.

     Scully glanced over her shoulder as Skinner joined them on the floor, a 
     pocket knife making quick work of the cords looped around both legs. That 
     accomplished, he removed his own coat, folded it several times, and placed 
     under Mulder's feet. From somewhere, a wool blanket was produced and used 
     to cover him more thoroughly. Scully was dimly aware of the sound of 
     sirens, distant but drawing steadily nearer. She refocused on her partner.

     "Stay with me, Mulder. The paramedics are almost here," her heart twisted 
     at the pain she could see but do nothing to ease. "I know you're tired but 
     it's important you stay awake. Can you do that for me, Mulder?"

     Somehow, he managed one small nod. It was enough. 

     "Mulder," she looked intently into his glassy eyes, hoping he could still 
     make sense of her words. She had something she needed to say. "Listen to me 
     carefully. I've wanted to tell you how I feel about us for a long, long 
     time. I need to tell you now."

     The paramedics were suddenly there, demanding she move away. She shook off 
     a hand and continued to look into his eyes, seeing them glaze over and 
     become distant. Leaning forward, pressing her cheek to his, she whispered 
     her words into his ear. All too soon, the hands were pulling her away and, 
     as she got to her feet, she saw that Mulder's eyes were closed. She doubted 
     he'd even heard her confession.

     Someone was guiding her to one side, away from the grisly scene as the 
     paramedics removed the blanket and coat covering the injured agent. She 
     tried to concentrate on their words but Skinner was suddenly in front of 
     her, blocking the view and silently asking a question with his eyes. She 
     looked at him defiantly for a moment and, then, her stoic expres- sion 
     crumbled. Turning away, she leaned against a wall and let her anger, her 
     worry, and her fear break loose. She made no sound but her tiny frame shook 
     as she cried, her tears failing to mix with the other moisture on the 
     floor. Skinner remained directly at her back, blocking her body from the 
     prying eyes of others, allowing her the time to purge the rampant emotions 
     with a measure of privacy. He watched the paramedics while they worked on 
     Mulder, the scene reminding him of a time long ago, when he was in Viet 
     Nam. A soldier hardens his resolve to the sights of blood and death, learns 
     to build barriers between his world and his emotions, and survives the 
     reality of human cruelity by constructing his own version of reality in his 
     mind. Skinner flinched as he saw Mulder convulse, a knot of dread forming 
     in his gut. The old feelings were here again...time to harden the heart and 
     build barriers.

     "Agent Scully," he spoke evenly as her focused on her back. "We are going 
     to have a long, serious talk concerning what almost happened here."

     Scully pulled herslf up straight and turned to face him, her eyes bloodshot 
     but alert, her cool facade reappearing. She met his gaze unflinchingly.

     "Yes, sir."

     "They're getting ready to transport Mulder," he acknowledged her 
     professionalism by not mentioning it. "We can follow in my car."

     She nodded and someone was handing their coats back to them. Scully took 
     hers and held it loosely by her fingertips, the large, wet stain in the 
     middle a reminder of how badly her friend was hurt. Skinner took her coat 
     from her ahnds and draped his own around her shoulders, pulling the 
     too-large garment together at her chest. She stared down at his large hands 
     for a monent and then looked back up.

     "Thank you," she whispered, grateful for the gesture.

     Skinner nodded curtly. Turning, they moved to follow the stretcher bearing 
     Mulder to the ambulance outside. 

Georgetown Medical Center
January 23,1997
9:15 a.m.

     And now, after a little over six hours of waiting for some news, Dana 
     Scully was again looking up into the face of her superior, expecting 
     Skinner to confirm what she was feeling, what she had started feeling 
     almost an hour ago: Mulder was almost gone. She remembered waking on the 
     couch by the wall, trembling from the remnants of a terrible nightmare, 
     unsure of where she was until she recognized the outdated furniture and the 
     antiseptic odor. The dream had shaken her to her very soul, had been filled 
     with screams and blood and anguished tears. And, in the middle had been 
     Mulder, telling her he was tired and just wanted to rest. She had pleaded, 
     had cried, had yelled at him until he had, very simply and sweetly, kissed 
     her on the cheek and turned away. He no longer had the will or the strength 
     to continue.

     "No..." she repeated, feeling Skinner's hands on her shoulders.

     "The doctors..." Skinner's voice was soft, "they say it's just a matter of 
     time now. He's unconscious, comatose, but they will allow you to sit with 
     him...if you want."

     Scully nodded and started to turn away, looking back at the last moment. 
     "It wasn't your fault."

     Skinner's eyes widened, his lips parting slightly, surprised that Scully 
     had felt his guilt. They continued to stare at each other until, finally, 
     Skinner dropped his gaze and nodded once. He slipped his hands into his 
     pockets and sighed.

     "I thought you needed to hear it from me but I'm sorry I have to break it 
     to you here," Skinner looked back up. "Dennis McBride committed suicide 
     several hours ago."

     "Oh, no," she whispered, wondering if the horror of the past day would ever 
     end.

     "He left a note, apologizing for what he'd done. Seems the guilt was too 
     much for him to take," Skinner's eyes locked with hers and she could see 
     the depth of his own culpability. But, unlike Dennis McBride, this man had 
     the strength to play the game out to the very end, to remain and face the 
     consequences.

     Scully broke eye contact first and turned toward the door, hesitating as a 
     new thought entered her mind. She wanted Skinner to know,

     "I called Mulder's mother," she said without turning around. "She won't be 
     coming to the hospital but she wants to be notified if he..."

     She couldn't say the word. Saying it would only bring it closer and she 
     wasn't ready to face that situation. Not yet. The very thought of living in 
     the world without Mulder was incom- prehensible.

     "I'll take care of it," Skinner assured.

     Scully nodded and moved out of the waiting room, needing to be near her 
     friend. Her feet seemed to know their own way to the cubicles of the 
     Critical Care Unit, even if her brain didn't register the path. She'd been 
     here before, as a visitor and as a patient and she felt a sudden stab of 
     fear as she got closer. The doctors in the emergency room had done all they 
     could to stabilize Mulder so he could survive long enough to get into 
     surgery and the surgeons had worked to piece the broken body together the 
     best they could. But something was missing. Medicine could only do so much 
     and, now, Scully felt she had to try her own way.

     Mulder's cubicle was dimly lit, quiet and peaceful. He was there, looking 
     pale and dead already. Scully shook the image from her mind and went to his 
     side, pulling a chair away from the wall so she could sit closer to him. 
     Her eyes scanned his form, seeing the tubing, the wires, the sensors 
     invading his body and keeping him alive. The respirator was breathing for 
     him now, some part of him deciding during surgery that it no longer wanted 
     the job. Scully reached out and carefully touched his nearest hand, making 
     sure she didn't disturb the IV drip or cause more pain. She rubbed her 
     thumb over the slightly discolored skin. This wrist had not been dislocated 
     as she'd originally thought but, instead, badly sprained. The other wrist 
     was broken and damaged terribly but the doctors had decided to hold off 
     doing any repair work on it until he was more stable. His other wounds 
     concerned them more. Scully raised her eyes to look at his face, knowing 
     all about those other wounds. What that insane woman had done to him, what 
     she had forced him to endure, was almost more than Scully could stand to 
     think about. She would understand if his body gave up the fight now 
     because, in the long run, the thought of what he would have to go through 
     during a recovery period was too horrendous. It was pure selfishness on her 
     part that made her want him to stay. Scooting the chair so she was closer 
     to the head of the bed, Scully looked down at the bruised face.

     "Hey," she whispered, the back of her fingers resting lightly against his 
     cheek, '"it's me. The doctors have decided to leave you alone for a little 
     while, so I get to have you all to myself." She tried to force lightness 
     into her words but was failing miserbly. Sighing deeply, she tried again, 
     believing in the power of the sub-conscious mind. "I think I've found a 
     case for us," she lied, " and Skinner has given us the go-ahead. I just 
     wanted to toss the idea around with you a bit to see what you thought. It's 
     got X-File stamped all over it and the kicker is that it's in Hawaii. Can 
     you believe it? We'd get to go to Hawaii in the dead of winter. For once, 
     we can enjoy a little sunshine and warm air while we work. I might even 
     break down and buy a bikini...I haven't had one since I was in college. You 
     know, I had to dress a bit more conservatively once I joined the Bureau but 
     I use to wear some really revealing clothes when I was younger. So, what do 
     you think? Think I can still wear a bikini and not get laughed at too 
     much?" She looked for some response at this point because it was a perfect 
     place for one of Mulder's remarks. Nothing. She kept talking, as much for 
     herself as for Mulder. "I might even get a red one...you know, to match 
     your Speedo. How about that? I haven't had a red swim- suit for years. 
     Think that's too bold for me? "

     Scully didn't know what she was hoping for but she continued to talk, 
     rattlung on about everything and nothing, until she grew tired and hoarse. 
     Closing her mouth and looking at Mulder's unmoving face, she decided to 
     take a break and rest for awhile.

     "Listen, Mulder, I'm going to close my eyes for a little while and then I 
     want to hear something from you. I"m not use to having you so quiet and 
     docile and, honestly, I don't like it one damn bit. Anyway, I'm going to be 
     right here, so wake me if you decide to talk. Okay?"

     She brushed her fingers across his cheek again. Lowering her head until her 
     brow was against his forearm, Scully sighed and closed her eyes, planning 
     to rest for only a few moments.

     A hand on her shoulder roused her from a deep slumber and she was 
     immediately dis- oriented...until her eyes settled on Mulder's still form. 
     Looking up over her shoulder, she saw a nurse hovering by her side, still 
     grasping her shoulder gently.

     "What?" Dana whispered, her voice raspy from sleep. She glanced at her 
     watch and was amazed to see she'd been out for over two hours. Her eyes 
     flew back to Mulder's face .

     *He's still alive!*

     He was more than that.

     "The doctor's been called, Agent Scully," the nurse was saying as she moved 
     to the other side of the hospital bed, glancing down quickly into Mulder's 
     face and then up to the monitors. "The readings picked up a few minutes ago 
     and it looks like he's trying to regain consciousness."

     Scully's whole being was focused on Mulder's eyes, watching as the lids 
     struggled to open. She wanted, somehow, to reach out and help him 
     accomplish this small task but knew he would have to come, at least, this 
     far all by himself.

     "Come on, Mulder," she coaxed quietly, leaning close, so if he succeeded if 
     would be able to see her face. "You can do this. Come on, just open your 
     eyes a little bit for me."

     The eyelids fluttered, his lashes seemingly weighing them down, and then 
     stayed slightly open. It wasn't much but it was a wonderful start.

     "Hi," she greeted the glassy, pain-filled eyes, realizing he wasn't really 
     seeing her just yet. She didn't know what was reflected in those hazel 
     depths but it didn't seem to be anything of this world. She swallowed 
     nervously and failed to supress a shudder. "Mulder, it's Scully...Dana 
     Scully. Can you hear me? If you can, just look at me. I'm right here beside 
     you. Please, Mulder, just look at me."

     She didn't think he could, or wanted, to hear her because his eyes stayed 
     on some distant spot. She didn't want to think about where he was or what 
     he was seeing because it was too scary. She tried to draw him out of his 
     inner vision.

     "Mulder, look at me..."

     And he did.

     Scully almost cried out in joy as the heavy-lidded eyes slanted in her 
     direction, his gaze focusing on her face. She tenderly put her fingers 
     against his cheek and smiled down at him, knowing he needed to hear and see 
     her at her calmest.

     "Everything's going to be all right now. Everything is okay. You're safe 
     here and the doctors are going to get you all fixed up." She swallowed 
     against the flood of emotion . "I'm here, Mulder. I'm here."

     She saw a flicker of understanding register in his eyes but it was so 
     brief. He made a small movement, his lips twitching around the tubing of 
     the respirator, and she quickly reached to still him.

     "Easy...easy," she soothed, serenity dominating her voice. "Just rest and 
     let the respirator do it's job. The doctor is on his way and will remove it 
     when he gets here. Just rest and let your body heal. I'll be here...I won't 
     leave you."

          He gazed at her a few moments longer, as if weighing her words, and 
          then allowed his eyes to close, drifting into a much-needed healing 
          rest. Scully stayed by his side, softly brushing the hair from his 
          forehead, until the doctor arrived and began checking his patient. The 
          nurse, as kind as she'd been earlier, was now ordering her away, 
          demanding privacy for the doctor. Grudgingly, Scully went only as far 
          as the hallway, determined to keep her promise to her partner, her 
          friend, her...

     A hand on her shoulder broke her thoughts and she turned to face this new 
     intruder. Skinner filled her view, his big body seemingly blocking out 
     everything else. He was looking at her solemnly, his lips pressed tightly 
     together.

     "Go home, Agent Scully," he instructed simply.

     "Sir, I can't. I promised Mulder I..."

     "I know what you promised," he said calmly but his voice brooked no 
     argument. "I'm telling you to go home, clean up, and get some rest. You're 
     not going to be of any help to Mulder if you're exhausted when he needs 
     you. I'll stay here and will call if there's another change. As it is, 
     he'll probably sleep for quite awhile...you know that. He won't even know 
     you're not here."

     "Sir..." her resolve was cracking. She *really* did need to get out of 
     these clothes and a good, long soak in a hot bath would certainly feel 
     heavenly. And to sleep...

     But she had promised.

     "If Mulder wakes," Skinner could almost read her thoughts, "I'll tell him I 
     ordered you home. He'll understand...he always follows my orders, too."

     Scully detected a twinkle in the man's eyes and couldn't help the smile 
     curving her lips. She sighed and nodded.

     "I guess I don't have any choice."

     "None."

     She nodded and turned away. She must have gone only five or six steps 
     before Skinner's voice caught her attention again.

     "Besides, don't you have a bikini to buy?"

     Scully whirled to face her superior, disbelief apparent on her face. He 
     wasn't looking in her direction but was calmly gazing into Mulder's 
     cubicle, the easy, relaxed stance a clear indication he was feeling much 
     better about the whole situation. He finally turned his head and looked at 
     her, his own lips twitching into a smile. Scully couldn't help but return 
     his smile, her initial embarrass- ment dissolving.

     "So," she ventured, "what do you think about red?"

     Skinner held her gaze for a moment longer and then looked back into the 
     cubicle. "Why don't we let Mulder make that decision?"

     He glanced back at her and watched as she nodded in agreement. "That's the 
     best idea I've heard all day."

     Scully turned and headed down the long corridor, her steps lighter and more 
     carefree. She couldn't wait to get outside, into the cold, crisp winter 
     air. She laughed at a fleeting thought as the elevator closed to take her 
     down.

     *Maybe I'll stop to see if mom wants to take a long walk in the snow!*

     Stepping through the door and moving outside, she tipped her face to let 
     the soft, white flakes brush her skin and smiled up at the gray sky. It was 
     another memorable winter day: Mulder was still alive and she felt very at 
     peace with the world. Shrugging her coat about her body more closely and 
     taking a deep lungful of clean air, Dana Scully headed home.