Fox the Fugitive IV: 1-900-FMULDER Author: karoshi Feedback: karoshi12@ameritech.net Disclaimer: All X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox Network. The creation of this fiction is a result of my having way too much time on my hands on a Saturday night. So, David or Chris, feel free to give me a call. No profit will be earned as a result of this work. Classification: Vignette/Angst Warnings: Sexual references and situations throughout (translation: Your mom won't want you to read this.) Summary Highlights: - Mulder, a 900 operator! - Marty has sex! - Scully & Mulder sleep together (karoshi style) - CSM gets the boot! - A sexual psychopath serial killer Rating: R for sexual content & language Ode to a Beta Reader: 1. Thank you Laura for listening to all my ideas for this story long before they made sense. 2. Thanks for wading through the errors and gently providing feedback that only made the story better. 3. Thanks for content suggestions and assistance in locating someone who actually was a 900 operator. That research was invaluable in setting just the right mindset for my Mulder. 4. Thanks for demanding the story & for telling me to shut up while you read it. >>>>>>>>>>>> MULDER'S APARTMENT: "Oh yeah, I'm almost there baby," he moaned loudly into the phone. Double- clicking on a site documenting recent abductions, he scrolled through the lengthy text. GLOBAL ELECTRONICS, OFFICE OF VP: "Marty, not yet," the sultry voice panted, "you promised you'd wait for me." She looked up in alarm as she heard footsteps outside her office door. MULDER'S APARTMENT: He held his thumb over the mouthpiece of the headset and took another bite of pizza. The hot cheese burned his lower lip. Startled, he released the mouthpiece, moaning in pain, "ahhh." Then, remembering his caller, he continued the groan passionately, "oh- oh- (name, what's her name Mulder?) Ja---Jackie." GLOBAL ELECTRONICS, OFFICE OF VP: My God, she had just driven a complete stranger to the edge of sexual release with only her voice. The power was incredibly satisfying. Hidden behind her large cherry wood desk, she continued to rub herself through her silk panties. Anyone walking by her office window would assume she was involved in a passionate business negotiation. "Oh God, Marty, you are so incredible," she panted. He was amazing, this was only the third time she'd called and he'd actually remembered her fantasy. He may be a stranger on the phone, but he was more thoughtful than any of her other lovers. MULDER'S APARTMENT: His lip really hurt! Stretching the phone cord to its limit, he attempted to reach the sink. She was close, he knew she was close, "tell me what you need, Jackie," he urged breathlessly. GLOBAL ELECTRONICS, OFFICE OF VP: "Oh----- oh---- Marty! Say it Marty, tell me what you'd do to me." MULDER'S APARTMENT: He sighed heavily, knowing exactly what she wanted. The same thing she wanted on the two preceding calls. In his best naughty boy voice (as he was constantly told by Sally, the operator who transferred in his calls), he proceeded to tell her how he'd throw her over her cherry wood desk and fuck her from behind until -- GLOBAL ELECTRONICS, OFFICE OF VP: Her panties were soaked, "until what Marty?" she begged. A soft knock and her door began to open slowly. "Ms. Mathias, I'm sorry but we need you to approve this vendor contract, " squeaked a timid young intern. She wiped her hand on the inside of her thigh and waved the nervous young man over to her desk. Speaking normally into the phone, she stated professionally, "thank you, Mr. Martin, for calling our agency. We really appreciate your business." MULDER'S APARTMENT: Mulder pulled his attention away from an on-line picture of a mutilated cow and smirked, she had obviously been interrupted again at work. It happened a lot with Jackie, this woman was a workaholic! He decided to tease her a bit. Panting heavily, he begged, "I need to finish, Jackie, please let me finish." GLOBAL ELECTRONICS, OFFICE OF VP: Her tongue flicked over her lips quickly. She answered weakly, "of course, Mr. Martin, you know I would never leave you in an uncomfortable position." She pretended to scan the document in front of her. She should hang up but he sounded so, well, so tortured. MULDER'S APARTMENT: He grinned widely, thoroughly enjoying this game. His groan was a mix between incredible ecstasy and excruciating pain. It should be, he'd worked really hard to get it just right. He finished dramatically by calling out her name and cursing her for not 'cum-ing' with him. GLOBAL ELECTRONICS, OFFICE OF VP: She squeezed her legs tightly together. Her voice wavered as she apologized, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Martin." She took a deep breath before continuing, "perhaps we can remedy that situation when next we speak." Waving the intern out of her office, she whispered, "I have to go, Marty. I'll call you soon." MULDER'S APARTMENT: "You promise?" he asked, rubbing a cool cloth over his lip. He had finally managed to reach the sink. GLOBAL ELECTRONICS, OFFICE OF VP: She smiled, he was pouting, she was sure of it. "I promise, Marty. Talk to you soon lover." She hit the disconnect button. Her fingers lingered a moment longer on the smooth instrument. Yes, her Marty was an amazing man. For the first time ever, she wished she could meet one of her telephone lovers. MULDER'S APARTMENT: Mulder hit the disconnect button and announced to no one in particular, "another satisfied customer." He continued to scan the document which appeared to link cow mutilations to the recent abductions of three local union officials. It was fascinating. Pulling himself away from the report, he reached again for the phone and dialed the main office. "This is Marty," he croaked, "I'm done for tonight," and hung up. His throat was sore from faking no less than six orgasms in the last three hours. "If I'd known phone sex could be so draining," he chuckled, "I'd have been more understanding during my own late night calls." He stood and stretched lazily, shivering slightly as the cool air hit his bare chest. He'd become a bit more relaxed about his hygiene since taking this job. Working from home had a way of making one feel extremely lazy. He barely remembered to dress. Scooping up his pizza plate, he tossed it in the nearby trash bin and then surveyed his new home. The apartment was small and dark, its only art work shadows that spoke to him in the night. Sometimes they'd take on the shape of Scully, chastising him for once again leaving her behind. Other times it was his mother, he couldn't help but wonder how she was. Did she even know he was gone? Krycek had visited last night, still angry over the mall incident, he smiled at the memory. Walking to the window, he leaned against the sill and considered his current situation. His money was still frozen. Skinner had released the funds but, he didn't feel safe drawing upon them yet. Any withdrawal on his part would advertise his current location. Scully and Skinner were not the problem, not even Krycek. As much as he hated to admit it, he was frightened of CSM. He wasn't ready to face the man and his stories. He wasn't ready to entertain the possibility that the man he knew as his father might not have been. And the man he knew as his worst nightmare, could be. Via e-mail, the Lone Gunmen had provided him with an update as to the redistribution of his assets. It looked like it would take another day or so and, until then, he was on a budget. In a way it was funny, he'd never really thought about money before, always having what he needed. Except for his suits he'd never flaunted his wealth. A trained psychologist, well known in his field (strange as it may be), he'd published on a regular basis and was paid well for it. Even now, in between calls, he was working on a new article, potentially titled, 'Telephone Sex: Fantasy vs. Reality'. The article would examine the driver that caused individuals to pursue sexual release anonymously via technology. He wasn't sure whether he'd submit it to Cosmopolitan or Psychology Today. Then there were family funds which Mulder, prior to leaving, had hesitated to tap. Upon his arrival in Minneapolis, the little cash he did have was used up on rent, a deposit and telephone lines. Three to be exact. The first for his 'business' calls. The second for his modem and the third acted as an auxiliary line allowing him to order a pizza, or whatever, while taking calls. It was interesting how eating a really cheesy pizza could make his voice sound thick with passion. This was just one of the tricks he'd learned over the last week. Realistically, there was no way he could express any real desire during these calls. Wincing, he remembered his caller from the night before. The man had insisted on being spanked and Mulder's arm was still feeling the strain of beating the back of his kitchen chair with his only leather belt. Scratching his unshaven chin, he mumbled, "who are you kidding, Mulder, at first, you liked it." He'd always wondered what it would be like on this end of the phone. But, now, he found it difficult to stay focused on what they were saying, instead surfing the internet and moaning occasionally. If he were honest, he'd admit to himself it was all just a little too pathetic. He didn't think he'd ever make another 900 call. "Hmmm," he mused, "maybe if I star in a porno movie, I could break my other bad habit." He walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door. Standing before it in gray sweats and socks, he stared at the empty shelves. He zoned out for a moment then started, expecting to hear to hear his mother scold him for leaving the door open. She'd often forgotten to buy food, leaving him to bear the brunt of his father's anger when dinner wasn't prepared. Pushing the memory aside, he cursed and slammed the door. Damn, looks like a trip to pick up the check and, worst of all, the grocery store were going to be required. Grumbling, he turned and stumbled towards the bathroom already kicking off his sweat pants. Minutes later the only sounds heard was running water and an extremely loud, "SHIT!" The hot water had run out again. OFFICE OF WALTER SKINNER, A.D. "Are you sure you want to do this, Agent Scully?" asked Walter Skinner. Scully pretended to smooth out an invisible wrinkle on her skirt as she considered her answer. "Sir," she began, "I care about the X-Files. I believe it is important work and needs to continue." She hesitated and took a moment to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. "But, Mulder and I balanced each other. I just don't think I can do them justice without him." Her head remained down, unable to meet Skinner's concerned gaze. In reality, just being in the basement office they shared reminded her of dark comments and seemingly innocent exchanges between them. She thought she knew him but his words in Chicago kept coming back to haunt her... "...everything Scully, everything is you! You have friends, you have family, you have your faith and you have a career you love. People care about you..." She sighed deeply and frowned, why hadn't she seen how much pain he was in? Did he really think people didn't care about him? "Scully, are you listening?" Skinner interrupted. She forced herself to look up at Skinner. He was standing closer now having moved around to the front of his desk. His eyes worried, he waited for her response. He was a good man, she thought, a man to be trusted. If she hadn't known it before, she and Mulder knew it now. The man had proven himself to be more than their boss during Mulder's departure from the FBI. He was their friend. She still found herself smiling at odd moments when she thought back on the two of them in the shower in Kalamazoo. She cleared her throat, "I'm fine, sir." "Maybe, instead of permanently moving you into another position, you could just take a leave from the X-Files," he suggested. "There are many other teams that would welcome your expertise." "I don't know," she replied uncertainly, "I think I need a fresh start." Skinner crossed his arms over his chest and began to pace. He was torn between doing what Scully asked or what he knew in his gut was the only way to save the X-Files. Her eyes followed his nervous movements. She knew him well enough to know he had more to say. "What is it, sir. Why don't you want me to leave the X-Files?" He stopped and turned to face her. "I can't get another agent to take the X- Files, Scully. No one will approach the cases with the same combination of creativity, passion and science that you and Mulder did." He smiled as he recalled the vampire incident in Texas. "It would feel wrong to give them to someone else." She nodded, "I understand." She stood, "but sir, do you really expect me to work there forever on my own?" "No, Scully, just until Mulder comes back," he stated confidently. She stared at him in disbelief, "he's not coming back! That's why it's so hard working there." She waved her hands angrily and repeated, "he's not coming back and every time I'm in that office I think of him." She hung her head, spent, "and I think of how inadequate he must have felt considering how fucking perfect he seems to think I am!" "Scully," Skinner answered, shocked. She stared at the floor for a moment, then straightened her shoulders and met his gaze head on. "I'm sorry, sir. This whole thing just makes me so angry." He gestured for her to sit and returned to his own chair behind the desk. "Scully, I'd like to assign you to a special task force in VCS." She could not believe her ears, "VCS, sir!" He held up his hand, "before you say anything, you need to know they requested you. They need help tracking down a killer, a serial killer." She frowned slightly, "and the X-Files, sir?" "With your permission, I'd like to leave you assigned on paper to the X-Files but loaned temporarily to VCS." He waited for her nod of agreement. Skinner removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead wearily, "if, after you close this case, you still want to be removed permanently from the X-Files, I'll arrange it." "Whose team will I be working with?" Scully asked coldly, not sure if this assignment was a positive. "Mickelson, Kevin Mickelson," he informed. Scully groaned inwardly, she had never met the man herself but she knew Mulder thought he was incompetent. Outwardly, she nodded, took the file Skinner handed her and left the office. Mumbling her good bye to Kimberley, she hastily left. EROTIC FANTASIES, MAIN OFFICE: Mulder, dressed in clean jeans, a gray knit pullover and his leather jacket entered the office of Erotic Fantasies. Most of the other employees had their checks mailed or directly deposited. Since he never knew exactly where he might be, he preferred to pick it up. He nodded a silent greeting to the two women behind the switchboard. Millie, the operator closest to him, returned his smile and waved him over. She was in her early sixties and had taken on the role of office mom, always fussing over those around her. He approached cautiously, wondering what he might have done to disturb her. She reached into her cabinet and pulled down a bag of homemade chocolate chip cookies. Pushing them into his hands with a smile, she hit the mute button and coaxed, "we need to fatten you up, Marty." His eyes widened in surprise, she had made cookies for him! He looked down into the bag then back up into her kindly gray eyes. His expression changed from sad and wary to a beaming grin. An honest to God, head turning, heart breaking smile. The results were devastating. Millie's jaw dropped and she accidentally leaned on the disconnect button of her console. Sally, the other operator, muffled a "please hold", into her mouthpiece and stood to stare in appreciation at her beloved Marty. She'd only seen this man twice before, but each time he appeared, she found a new body part to admire. Today, it was his smile. It completely overwhelmed his face and she found herself smiling flirtatiously in return. Mulder, unaware of the damage he'd caused, reached in the bag and pulled out a cookie. He bit into it hungrily. "Thanks," he mumbled, "they're delicious!" Millie smiled sadly, this boy definitely needed taking care of. "I'm glad you like them, Marty. I'll have more waiting for you next pay day, okay?" she promised. He nodded and began to back away, "thanks again, Millie." Mr. Karnosk came rushing out of his office. "Why are no calls getting through?" he demanded loudly. Millie and Sally sat down guiltily and returned to their callers. Mulder made his way down a long hallway to the clerk's office. The checks were held here. Jonathan, a young Asian student, greeted him as he entered the office. "Hey, Marty, how they hanging?" he asked jokingly. Mulder looked down and replied seriously, "if you were to ask any of my callers, they would say it," his eyes wandered once again to his own crotch, "never hangs." Jonathan smirked, "don't believe your own press Marty." He reached in to the lower desk drawer and pulled out his check. "Looks like it was a good week for you, huh?" Mulder examined the check carefully, "yes, I had a lot of repeat callers. They seem to like it if I remember their names and," he paused searching for the polite word, "stuff." Jonathan nodded knowingly, "stuff, huh, never heard it called that before." Mulder shrugged, "whatever makes them happy. Talk to you next week," he called over his shoulder, check and cookies gripped tightly in each hand. Sally had been waiting patiently just outside the door. She'd hoped he'd be in today which was why she wore her tightest black jeans and a too short baby T-shirt. She was actually freezing but knew the shirt looked good as it pulled snugly over her 34C breasts. She was 28, attractive and single, and, she wanted this man. Marty was the kind of guy her mother told her never to get involved with. Here today, gone tomorrow. Lucky for Sally (and Marty) she never listened to her mother. As he turned the corner, she intentionally bumped into him. Stumbling, she lost her footing and fell hard upon his chest. "Oh, Marty, thank goodness you were here. I could've fallen." She looked up at him with large blue eyes and glistening lips. Mulder's arms had pulled away from her in order to avoid the cookies being smashed. She clung tightly to him, pressing her body firmly against his own. He shifted uncomfortably, "uh, Sally, are you all right?" He shoved his check in his pocket and steadied her with his free hand. Sally was entranced. A sprinkling of cookie crumbs decorated his lower lip. She reached up and brushed them away, caressing his lower lip with her thumb. His mouth opened automatically and she wondered what he would do if her tongue followed the same path. "Marty," she tempted, "I'm just getting off and a few of us are going over to the Road House. Why don't you come along?" He hesitated, he should really go shopping. Sensing his indecision, the paper she carried slipped from her fingers. "Shoot," she cursed lightly. She bent low to retrieve it. Mulder, cookies forgotten, watched hungrily as she twitched her ass his way. He felt his pants tighten and only just managed to stop the groan that threatened. It had definitely been way too long. She stood and asked huskily, "well, Marty, are you coming?" Oh hell, he hated grocery stores. "Well," he replied, remembering the feel of her thumb on his lower lip, "maybe just one beer." She smiled sweetly, "let me just grab my coat and I'll meet you out front." She rushed off to her locker, anxious to begin her evening. ROAD HOUSE BAR & GRILL: "He's dancing, sir," the man, Todd Frankston, informed. Wearing a dark trench coat, shouting into his cell phone, he was somewhat conspicuous. He stood just outside the side entrance of the bar, his location allowed him a wide view of the restaurant and dance floor area. The location successfully hid him from those inside. After all, he didn't really fit in here. There were people of all ages, but their backgrounds were obviously blue- collar. Low to middle-class at best, their clothes purchased at K-Mart and local department stores. He, in his Burberry trench and D.C. haircut, looked decidedly out of place. "You are sure it's Mulder?" asked a smooth voice on the other end of the receiver. Frankston confirmed, "it's him, sir. His hair is a bit longer and, he looks a bit more relaxed, but it is Mulder." On the other side of the line, smoke curled around the man's mouth as he asked simply, "is he having a good time?" "Sir," Frankston replied, unsure he'd heard the question correctly. CSM sighed and repeated his question, "is he having a good time?" Frankston glanced inside. Mulder was out on the dance floor with some pretty blond in a really tight shirt. Every time she raised her arms any observer could see the base of her full, young breasts. Mulder, for his part, was definitely taking advantage of the view. The man spoke into his phone, "I'd say he's definitely having a good time. Although, if he's lucky, he'll be having an even better time in a few hours." CSM chuckled into the phone, let the boy have some fun. "Just keep an eye on him and make sure he's safe," he ordered. Then, more firmly, "don't approach him, and don't allow him to see you." "No, sir!" he agreed. The connection was terminated. Frankston huddled deeper into his coat, wondering again what he was really doing here. >>>>>>>>>>>>>> Mulder could not remember the last time he'd danced in public. The music was loud with a strong beat. Rock & roll, four beers and Sally had accomplished the impossible. Mulder was relaxed, and more importantly, Mulder knew how to rock! Sally, praise God, was just as clumsy on the dance floor as she was in the hallway. She kept stumbling into him and he, only trying to be helpful, was always there to catch her. As the music ended, she threw herself into his arms laughing. He looked down into her animated face and froze. She'd wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, molding her body to his. There was no way she could miss his reaction to her. He began to pull away, sure the next step would be rejection. Surprising him, she dropped her arms to his lower back and pulled him more firmly against her. Wide, delighted hazel eyes met hers. She leaned in and whispered, "I'm not letting you go that easy, Marty." She led him back to their table and shoved him playfully into a chair. "Jeez Sally, can that T-shirt get any tighter?" teased Robert, a law student during the day, an operator at night. Sally leaned over the table allowing Mulder the lovely view of her well rounded ass. "You're just jealous because I look better in it than you do!" Mulder sputtered, "what!" She winked at Robert before turning back to Marty. "You didn't know, Robert is a cross dresser. We share clothes all the time." Robert shrugged leaving Mulder to wonder if they were joking or not. "Hey," Robert insisted, "it helps me relate to my callers." Nancy, a fifty-something, 7-year veteran as an operator taunted, not unkindly, "how about you Sally, when are you going to be ready to try it again?" Sally pushed herself back into her chair, crossed her arms over her chest and reluctantly admitted, "you know I'm not good at it." Confused, Mulder asked, "what aren't you good at?" She shot an annoyed look at her friends before confessing, "I tried to be a sex operator once, but I wasn't very good." Bewildered, Mulder responded, "what's not to be good at, you just listen, then pant and moan at key points in the conversation." Sally blushed, "it was the moaning part," she admitted. Robert cracked up, "tell him, Sally." The corner of her full lips lifted, "hey, I can't help it. They kept telling me their dick was 12 inches long!" Mulder colored, feeling completely lost in this conversation. Nancy laughed so hard, tears rolled down her cheeks. She swiped them away before scolding, "but Sally, you're not supposed to argue with them. You're there to help them with their fantasy." Sally leaned forward on the table, completely frustrated. "Hey, my imagination just isn't good enough. Okay, there's those guys in the porn movies but, I saw Boogie Nights, it can't be real!" Mulder eyed his own crotch thoughtfully, mentally calculating the length. Sally continued, "I mean, I couldn't even fake it. They'd want me to talk them through my sucking their foot long and, well..." "Well, Sally," Robert offered, "mine isn't 12 inches but if you'd like to practice?" "Sorry, Robert, I said 12, not 2 inches," she slammed. He grabbed his chest dramatically, "ouch, Sally, that hurt." "Well," Nancy added, "at least that fantasy is pretty normal. I had a real whacko last night." She grabbed her drink and took a long swallow, clearly upset by the memory. Mulder was curious, "how so, Nancy?" She shook her head in disgust, "he was with a man and he wanted me to listen while they had sex. That was okay but, when they climaxed, they played out a sick scene where it sounded like the one guy killed the other. Now that's a depraved couple!" Shocked, Mulder asked, "are you sure it was just a fantasy?" Robert interrupted, "I think I had him about a month ago although, that time, he was with a woman. Does he have kind of a nasal tone to his voice?" Nancy nodded, "yeah, that was him, sick fuck. I told Karnosk I wouldn't take any more calls from the guy." She shuddered, "fantasy or not, it's just too warped for me." Robert nodded agreement. Sally shrugged, "well someone's going to have to take the call because I'm not talking to him." Mulder offered, "send him my way next time, sounds," he paused several seconds, "interesting." Robert, Nancy and Sally exchanged surprised glances. Checking his watch, Robert announced, "it's almost midnight, I told them I'd take calls tonight." Nancy nodded, "me too." They both stood to go. Robert turned and held his hand out to Mulder, "nice to meet you, Marty." Mulder rose unsteadily to his feet, unused to drinking. He shook Robert's hand, "you too, Robert, have a good night." Nancy waved good-bye leaving Mulder standing next to Sally's chair. He looked down expectantly, it appeared the evening was coming to an end. She held out her hand and he pulled her to her feet. Together, they stumbled out the side exit never noticing the tall man in the long trench coat huddled in the corner. Sally turned to Mulder and giggled. "Marty," she informed teasingly, "you don't think badly of me because I can't fake it, do you?" She slid her hands under his jacket and ran them lightly over his chest. He grinned and pulled her into his arms. This woman felt wonderful, so soft and warm, untouched by government conspiracies. She wasn't beautiful but she was very pretty. Shiny, shoulder-length blonde hair, fair complexion and a mouth that demanded his attention. He bent and kissed her softly, almost reverently. He'd had fun tonight, she'd made him forget everything and simply enjoy the evening. She sighed, enjoying the feel of his lush lips on hers. Sensing his hesitancy, she assertively pushed him back against her car and deepened the kiss. Instinctively, he cupped her ass and pulled her firmly against him. Moaning into his mouth, she nipped at his lower lip hungrily. He arched his eyebrow and teased huskily, "who says you don't know how to moan?" She snorted in a most unfeminine way. He was instantly charmed. She informed wryly, "now Marty, if you had a 12-inch cock in those pants of yours, we could write this evening off as an Erotic Fantasies training session." Eyes, wide and innocent, he replied, "well, I am on a budget." "Pretty big talker, aren't you, Marty." Then determined, she demanded, "prove it!" "Prove what?" he returned laughing. She opened the car door and shoved him roughly into the back seat. He allowed it, a willing victim. The door slammed shut behind her as she crawled in to join him. Sally was a woman who didn't play games, she knew what she wanted and, tonight, she wanted Marty. He half sat, half lay across the seat, Sally, playing the part of a soft warm blanket. She kissed him passionately before beginning her downward trail. He lay passive, logically knowing he shouldn't let this go any further, but her lips and hands were so damned persuasive. He moaned, his skin sensitive to her every touch. Still, he argued inwardly, this wasn't right. After all, he might have to leave tomorrow and that wouldn't be fair to her. Unfortunately, what was fair was becoming extremely difficult to distinguish as each button on his button-fly jeans was freed. With great effort, he stopped her and pulled her face up to his. "Sally, as much as I'm really," he squirmed uncomfortably, "enjoying this, I need to tell you something." "Now!" she asked incredulously. The right side of his mouth quirked upwards, this woman had a way of making him feel extremely wanton. He cleared his throat and forced her to look into his eyes. "Sally, I may not be around here very long. I can't prom -- " She stopped him there, her fingers pressed against his lips. "I don't know what century you've been living in, Marty but, I'm a big girl and," her eyes lowered, "I was just on the verge of discovering that you're a very big boy." Her eyes widened suddenly and she stretched to reach her purse on the floor. Her fingers dug blindly into the deep bag and instinctively curled around the small foil package. She pulled it out and waved in victoriously in front of his nose before continuing, "So, Marty," she grinned wickedly, "let's stop worrying about tomorrow and enjoy today." He was grateful the darkened car did not allow her to see his blush. He knew he was well endowed but never really spoke of it and, certainly, no woman had expressed the blunt appreciation Sally did. His hips pushed forward as her expert hands continued their exploration. Another few minutes passed and he found himself with more to be grateful for than a darkened car. Frankston sat quietly in his own vehicle which allowed a convenient view of the blonde's blue Cutlass. He yawned widely, feeling more like a voyeur than a government agent. Well, based on the movement of the car, he'd be able to positively report that yes, Mulder, was having a good time. >>>>>>>>>>>>> HOME OF WALTER SKINNER: 3:45am Skinner awoke abruptly to the sound of a ringing phone. He hadn't arrived home from work until almost midnight and this interruption was definitely not a welcome one. Reaching for the phone, he announced roughly, "Skinner." He was met with loud static and was instantly awake. He sensed the call was important and rather than cut it off, waited for the line to clear. "Walter," a cheerful voice queried. Skinner reached for his glasses and checked the time, "Mulder, Mulder is that you?" "I can't find Scully, is she there?" Mulder asked innocently. Skinner stared at the phone in disbelief! "Mulder, do you know what time it is here?" he demanded. "Oh, um...," sounds of a chair scraping and some items falling before a bewildered voice admitted, "uh, no, sir." Skinner asked in his sternest voice, "have you been drinking, Mulder?" His question was met with a long pause, Mulder was obviously considering his answer carefully. Skinner heard a nervous cough before Mulder admitted, "yes, sir, I have been drinking." His voice was very serious, understanding he'd been caught doing something very wrong. "Mulder," Skinner asked, "are you okay? We haven't heard from you for a while." Mulder's tone perked up a bit, "oh yes, sir, I'm doing fine, really fine." Skinner moved out of bed cradling the cordless on his shoulder. He wandered towards the kitchen "That's good, Mulder. Are you working?" "Uh, yes, sir," Mulder admitted reluctantly Skinner was curious, what was Mulder doing now. "So, what's more interesting than being a FBI agent?" "Well, I'm kind of like a -- therapist, yeah, that's it," he answered evasively. Skinner reached into his refrigerator for the carton of orange juice. "You know, Mulder," he observed casually, "I can't remember hearing you sound so relaxed." "A few beers, a little dancing," he joked. Skinner looked at the phone in disbelief, was he joking? Was it possible Mulder was interacting with people and, heaven forbid, enjoying himself? And, who would Mulder have been dancing with? "So, sir, is Scully there?" he asked again. Skinner spoke in the voice reserved for very stupid agents, "Mulder, it is almost 4:00am. Why would you think Scully would be here?" "Oh." "Oh, what, Mulder?" Skinner asked. "Oh, I didn't realize it was so late -- I mean, early." His voice softened, unsure, "could you tell her I tried to call tonight, she wasn't home." Skinner smiled, Mulder had definitely been with a woman tonight. Odds are he's feeling a little guilty about his actions and was calling Scully for some absolution. "She's out on a case, Mulder," Skinner informed kindly. "Alone, you didn't send her alone, did you?" he asked anxiously. "No, Mulder, she's working with a team from VCS. I'd tell you more," he teased good- naturedly, "but you no longer have the proper clearance." When it became clear Mulder was not going to respond, he added, "unless, of course, you're calling me to ask for your job back?" "I gotta go," Mulder's strained voice replied. "Mulder, don't hang up," Skinner ordered. "Yes, sir," the small voice replied respectfully. "Mulder, seriously, you know you can call me anytime, anywhere, right?" "Yeah," he mumbled. "And you know you can talk to me about anything you need to, correct?" Skinner asked. Mulder's voice was clearly confused as he answered, "yes, sir, I know." Grinning widely, Skinner asked, "what did she look like, Mulder?" A low chuckle, "she was a tall, leggy blonde and -- and she made me laugh." "Sounds like she made you do a few other things, Mulder," Skinner probed. "Hey," Mulder objected, "a gentleman never tells." "So, you're doing okay," Skinner replied, relieved. "Any chance I'll be seeing you soon?" "I'm trying, Sir, I'm really trying," Mulder admitted, his voice cracking slightly. "I know you are, Mulder, I just wish you could 'try' closer to home," Skinner responded worriedly. He promised, "I'll tell Scully you called." "Thanks, sir." Mulder hung up. Skinner hit the disconnect button a bit harder than necessary. Regardless of Mulder's night out, it was obvious the man was now alone. Skinner had a picture of him sitting in a dingy one room apartment in the dark and he didn't like how it made him feel. Mulder was a man, yes, but a very vulnerable man. He shouldn't be so far away and so alone. He looked at the time and realized there would be no more sleep this morning. Heading for the shower, he prepared for another long day at work full of reports and politics. Not one would compare to an average X-File. He hadn't realized until they stopped how much he looked forward to reading Mulder and Scully's reports. MULDER'S APARTMENT - MINNEAPOLIS, MN: His eyelids flickered as the sunlight demanded his attention, "no-o-o-o," he grumbled. He scrunched them together tightly in an attempt to steal just a few more minutes of sleep, five more minutes, please. Twisting and turning, he soon found his legs tangled in the sheets on his bed. Eyes still closed, he shoved his face into the pillow and attempted to dislodge the cotton creature using only his toes. "Oh, God," he moaned painfully. "What the hell was I thinking?" Bravely, he opened his left eye and scanned the room. He almost hoped he'd find Scully or Skinner, at least they could get him some aspirin. Finding no one, he opened the other eye and immediately shut them both. His stomach turned and he wondered if he could possibly get to the bathroom in time. Quickly calculating the odds, he knew he'd lose and so, unwilling to clean it up, swallowed hard. Squinting at the clock, he noted 1:00pm. "1:00pm," he shouted as he leapt from the bed, "no way!" He logged onto his computer and confirmed the time, 1:02pm exactly. Running his fingers through his bed head hair, he stopped to take stock of his situation. "Okay, Mulder, so you slept in." He began to pace, how was it that he'd slept so long? Thinking back over the previous evening, he could only conclude that the culprit was either the beer or, he smiled provocatively, the sex. "Yeah, must be the sex," he announced to no one in particular. He grinned as he reached for the tea kettle. All those years of either insomnia or nightmares and what he'd really needed was a good blow -- He stopped, ashamed of his own thoughts. The kettle whistled. He spooned a few scoops of instant coffee into yesterday's cup and poured the hot water. "Voila, instant energy!" Sipping the hot liquid carefully, he thought back over last night. Chocolate chip cookies, fun co-workers, a blond hanging on his every move, Skinner -- He stopped and eyed the phone warily. "Oh shit," he cursed. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He smacked himself on top of his forehead and muttered, "why the hell did I call him from here?" It would be so easy to trace! Not by Skinner but by anyone who might be listening, waiting for him to call. Someone like the Cancer Man! Vaguely he remembered trying Scully's line first, what were you going to do Mulder? Tell her you got laid for the first time in, mentally he calculated the years, well, in a long time. Thinking back through the fog, Scully had not been home and, he'd been worried. Without thinking he called Skinner's where, for some unknown reason, he expected her to be. Where did Skinner say she was? A case, a case involving VCS. Well, he reasoned, at least she won't be alone there. He sat down and began to read the morning news. Without thought, he reached over and dialed into the switchboard. "Good afternoon, this is Millicent," a cheerful voice informed. His voice still raspy from too much sleep, he answered, "Afternoon, Millie, this is Mu -- I mean Marty. I'm available for calls." "Well, good afternoon to you, Marty sounds like you just rolled out of bed?" she teased. "Yeah, well, I was out late last night," he explained lamely. "Yes, Marty, Sally told me all about it," she advised in her most grandmotherly tone. Mulder was momentarily speechless. "Uh -- she did?" he asked cautiously. "Sorry, Marty, no secrets around here. You better start eating better because, based on Sally's description, there are women lining up in here to give you a go." Her comments were met with silence. Mulder, an ex-Federal agent, an Oxford psychologist, a man who wore a red Speedo at work, was horribly embarrassed. He'd rather face the flukeman or Tooms again than walk into that building for another check! "Marty, Marty," an alarmed voice called, "are you all right?" "I'm fine, Millie," he answered unconvincingly, his voice cracking. "Marty, women always tell other women these things. Don't be embarrassed, they're all pissed off at Sally because she got to you first." Then she added, to put him a little more at ease, "don't worry though, I told them all Sally lied and anyone as pretty as you must be gay." He choked in an attempt to maintain control. The room began to spin as he clutched his stomach in agony. Millicent, hearing his laughter, knew he was going to be just fine. As she suspected, this boy just needed to lighten up a bit. He hiccuped into the phone, "give me about five minutes before you put any calls through, okay?" "Yes, dear." Five minutes and thirty seconds later, the phone rang. >>>>>>>>>>>>>> TEMPORARY OFFICE OF KEVIN MICKELSON- DES MOINES, IA: Scully sat quietly as Mickelson scanned her report. He hadn't turned out to be the asshole Mulder insinuated. When she'd first arrived, she'd heard the whispers, the Mrs. Spooky comments but, to Mickelson's credit, he had quickly squelched this behavior. Since then she had been treated with nothing but respect from this man and her team members. Mickelson listened when she spoke, never made snide comments and showed concern when she worked into the night and still arrived early the following day. They'd actually gone out for dinner the evening before and, Scully had to admit, it had not been unpleasant. His warm brown eyes met hers and, as one, they smiled. "This is good work, Dana, very thorough." She shrugged, "thank you, sir." "I thought we decided last night you would call me Kevin," he corrected gently. She looked up into the square-jawed attractiveness of his face and felt herself color self-consciously. My God, she was acting like a school girl! Covering quickly, she commented, "I don't think that would be appropriate at work." He sighed, disappointed. "Okay, Agent Scully, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. We need you around here." She stood, "if you don't mind, I'm going to familiarize myself with the previous autopsy reports?" "What do you hope to find?" She hesitated, "I don't really know, sir, I just thought I could look at the information with a fresh eye." "Excellent, Agent Scully, excellent! I'm so glad you were able to leave your previous assignment and assist us on this case." He leaned towards her and added, "if you don't mind my saying so, Dana, your talents were wasted on the X-Files." He'd meant it as a compliment, she knew that. Yet she couldn't stop the wave of anger that began in her stomach, climbed up her throat and was physically forcing her to scream at this man. Taking a deep calming breath, she answered, "it is only from my experiences on the X-Files and, having had the opportunity to work with the very best," she stressed, "that I learned to be so thorough." "I didn't mean to offend, Agent Scully," he defended. "I meant it as a compliment." She calmed, "I understand, sir, and I and I apologize. My unwillingness to accept the obvious is a talent learned while working the X-Files." That said, she stood and excused herself. As she walked down to the morgue she imagined how this assignment would have gone if she and Mulder had been assigned to assist. In choosing to stay with the X-Files she had been the victim of some callous remarks. She hadn't realized how much it bothered her until she found herself working in an environment where it didn't exist. In the past, Mulder had always taken the brunt of the comments, the verbal blows and, she again wondered how she could have missed his discomfort. Okay, so he prided himself on his cool indifference, pretending it didn't matter. But how could it have not mattered to him? And how could she have missed it? No wonder he left, she reasoned, you can only go so long with someone telling you everything you do is useless crap. If she thought about it, the fact that he'd made it through all those years without telling them all to take a flying leap was a bit of a miracle. She bit the inside of her cheek, stopping the smile before it started, my poor Mulder. She had checked her machine this morning and heard his message. "Scully," his voice slurred, obviously drunk, "Scully, you home?" Then silence for a good thirty seconds followed by a loud sigh before he disconnected. You better call again, Mulder, she warned silently as she continued her journey to her desk. >>>>>>>>>>> MULDER'S APARTMENT - MINNEAPOLIS, MN: The article was going well, in another few days, he'd be done. As to who the article would be offered to, he'd leave that decision to his agent, Sam. Sam, his virtual agent, was good at knowing exactly where a story would sell. Amazingly, Mulder only knew him through an e-mail address. The Lone Gunmen vouching for his integrity. He checked his e-mail and found four messages. The first message was from Byers. It provided information, heavily coded, as to how he could access his money. It would take him a while to decode the document, but he appreciated Byer's security measures. It would be good to have the extra cash. After last night he wanted to treat Sally to a night out on the town, no expense spared. The second was from Frohike. He provided Mulder with the latest info on Scully, even adding some case information about the investigation she was working. Hmmm, he'd have to dig a little deeper on this one, maybe give her a hand. The third was a blatant attempt to collect marketing data. He quickly filled in all of Agent Spender's personal information including his unusual attraction to farm animals and sent it off. His eyebrows rose as he read the fourth message title, 'I can get you OFF!' Game for just about anything, he opened the message. As it turned out, the note was from a legal firm advertising their unique ability to make speeding/parking tickets disappear -- legally, of course. He stroked his jaw thoughtfully, then moved his fingers down the keyboard to send a note to Byers. Any chance you can get me CSM's license plate number? A few minutes later, he received a reply... Already on file - XHF 6366 Mulder smiled wickedly and began making his plans. >>>>>>>>>>> OFFICE OF WALTER SKINNER A.D.: Skinner opened the brown envelope carefully, it contained no return address and was addressed by hand. Three letters fell onto his desk. They were not sealed in individual envelopes, simply folded. Curious, he opened the first and began to read. Dear Mr. Waters, Congratulate me, I'm going to college! The story you submitted won FIRST PRIZE, go figure. Oh, I know the money won't be enough to pay for all of it, but if I have to I can take out student loans. I just wanted you to know. Everyone misses you around here, none of the other teachers believe in us the way you did. How are you? Everyone here is okay. I saw Chante's mom the other day and she's still very upset. Every time she sees one of us, she starts to cry. Guess it's normal to miss people. Write soon, Jackson Skinner read the other two letters knowing he should not. It fascinated him that Mulder, AKA Henry Waters, had managed to touch his students so deeply in such a short time. And yet, knowing Mulder, it was not really surprising at all. When the man showed an interest in you, you knew he was sincere. You could see he was a someone you could count on to follow you to the end of the world if that's what you needed. Mulder would give and give yet always seemed so surprised when people attempted to return the favor. It was only after Skinner, having read some of the physical clues Mulder displayed, took time to investigate his past that he finally understood. Mulder's history of child abuse and neglect had helped him become less frustrated with his young agent. Clenching his fists tightly, he fought the anger he felt -- especially towards Mulder's father. If the man were still alive, he'd kill him himself. Pushing himself back in his chair, he fought against his furious emotions. There was nothing to be done about that now. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a hand written note. One of Mulder's odd friends had stopped him this morning coming in the building and handed him Mulder's e-mail instructions. He buzzed Kimberly and a moment later she entered the room. "Kimberly," he asked, handing off the three letters, "could you please scan these and place them on disk? I'll need them when I leave today." "Of course, sir," she said quietly and left as quickly as she appeared. >>>>>>>>>>>> UNKNOWN STREET, WASHINGTON D.C.: 4:17pm Cancer Man flicked his cigarette to the sidewalk and walked towards his car. His eyes scanned the area carefully, always watching, always ready. Just a few feet from the door he noticed something on the front tire. "What the hell," he muttered. Crouching down, he took a moment to examine the device secured to his tire. He stared at the 'boot' and felt the first threads of anger. Who would dare do this? His license plates clearly identified him as a diplomat, immune from such activities. Frustrated, but unwilling to continue kneeling in the street, he waved down a passing cab and, once settled, dialed a local contact. >>>>>>>>>>>> MULDER'S APARTMENT: 8:47pm The phone was quiet tonight, Mulder had talked to only a few callers. Sally had called about a half hour ago, she wanted him to come to her apartment later this evening and, yes, he was seriously tempted. She was a woman of many talents and, though unused for quite a while, he had a few talents of his own he'd like to reveal. If only he didn't feel so guilty, he didn't want her to think his only reason for being with her was the sex. "Damn, it was good sex though," mumbled Mulder. He'd decide later if he'd go, in the meantime, he wanted to do a little digging on the case Scully was working. His e-mail account indicated one new unread message. He opened it, hungry for news from home. Home, he tasted the word for a moment. When had he begun to think of D.C. as home? Since Samantha disappeared, he'd never again known the meaning of the word. Now, he found himself remembering, with some fondness, the little coffee shop near the Hoover building or the park he liked to cut through when he jogged. He hadn't realized that his daily routine was a luxury, seeing the same people, Scully especially, every day. When had he begun to miss it? The e-mail contained a photograph. He watched it paint slowly on the screen. It was about half-way done when he began to giggle, yes giggle. He looked around the room self consciously hoping no surveillance cameras recorded Fox Mulder's high pitched laughter. After all, he had an image to maintain. The picture, fully displayed now, was his undoing. CSM was crouched down on one knee staring at the device on his car as though it were alien DNA. Scratch that, he was probably more familiar with alien DNA then the trials and tribulations of mere traffic offenders. Tears ran down his face as he attempted to control the spasms that racked his body. He read the message. As instructed, CSM traffic record modified to show 1013 parking tickets received in the last 7 years. The location of his car was reported by an anonymous citizen. P.S. He doesn't look happy, does he? Laughter completely out of control now, he fell to the floor, his headset ripping painfully from his head. He lay there, rubbing his ear, imagining the thoughts that went through the bastard's head when he figured out who doctored his records. Mulder, with the help of his friends, had even stripped him of his government immunity. He was getting really good at this hacking stuff! Energized, he decided a run was in order. He pushed himself into an upright position and reached for the headset. He needed to call Sally and tell her to hold the calls for awhile. Now that his money was accessible, the idea of work seemed boring. Before he could reach the phone to dial out, it rang. "Shit," he groaned hitting the button. "Yeah," he answered unenthusiastically. "Hey, Marty, I've got that whacko Robert and Nancy were talking about. Do you still want to take it?" she asked hesitantly. He pulled himself up straight in the chair, intrigued by this sexual fantasy. "Did he give you any other information?" "Sorry, Marty, he wants someone he hasn't spoken to before, someone who doesn't know him." She lured, "if you like, I'll hang up on him. You can close your line and be here by the time I get off." Lowering her voice into a husky whisper, she added, "come on, Marty, you know I'll make it worth your while." He smiled into the mouthpiece, "Sally, if you're going to talk dirty over the phone, I'll have to charge you." "Asshole," she scolded fondly. "Remember, I get off in an hour." He heard the call being transferred in. "Hello, this is Marty," he announced, his voice low. At first all he heard was a woman giggling in the background. After a moment, a man spoke. "Marky, your name is Marky? Mulder corrected, annoyed, "no, my name is Marty." "Marty, huh, what do you look like, Marty?" Mulder rolled his eyes, tomorrow, tomorrow he was going to get a new job. People weren't even original in their perversions anymore! "What do you want me to look like?" he teased. The man's voice reflected his annoyance as he scolded quietly, "don't fuck with me, Marty, tell me what you really look like." Mulder, sensing his anger was real answered, "I'm tall, 6 foot. Brown hair, green eyes, just average." "Doesn't sound all that average to me, Marty." The man shouted into the background, "come here, honey, talk to the green-eyed man." A sweet, childish voice came on the line, "hi, Marty, you know I l-o-v-e green eyes." Mulder couldn't be sure but he sensed she wasn't talking to him. He had no idea where this was going. Okay he knew where these two were going but he wasn't sure what they wanted with him. "Well, thank you," he paused waiting for her to fill in her name. "Just call me Honey," she flirted. Mulder shifted uncomfortably in his chair, this was his first experience with multiple people on the phone. He was not completely comfortable in his role as a voyeur. He answered huskily, "okay, Honey, sounds like you and your partner are having a fascinating evening. Why don't you tell me about it?" If he could get them talking, he wouldn't have to worry about saying the wrong thing and upsetting the man. He obviously had a short temper and Mulder, although he didn't believe any real harm would come to the woman, did not want to do anything to anger him. Even if she was into that kind of thing, he didn't want to hear it. "Well, uh, we just met and," she whispered secretively into the phone, "he likes it when people listen." Mulder, looking for confirmation, asked, "listen to what?" She giggled again and her voice moved away from the phone. There was a pause and then Mulder heard the echo as the call was placed on speaker. "I want you to listen to me fuck her, Marty. I want you to tell me how you 'feel' when you hear us." He paused, breathing heavily, Mulder could hear the woman start to moan in the background, "oh, Craig." "No names, Honey, no names," he ordered firmly. The man continued, "and I want you to think about what it would feel like if I were fucking you, Marty." Mulder physically pushed the chair back from the desk. This was getting too strange, too real. This guy definitely liked to play head games. "Have you ever been fucked by a man, Marty?" he asked with menace. Mulder refused to give this man the personal knowledge he craved. "Depends on how you define fucked, Craig," Mulder responded dryly. "C'mon, Marty, tell me," the voice oozed, "maybe when you were a boy, somebody touched you -- " "Well," he cracked, ignoring the insinuation, "I did used to have a boss who liked to ream my ass." The man chuckled, "you're avoiding the subject, Marty. Maybe you're a virgin, I'd like to be your first, Marty!" The woman's moaning became louder, the man continued to speak as he thrust into her. "You'd fight me, wouldn't you, Marty? I'd probably have to tie you up. Would you like that, Marty?" he asked seductively. Mulder, unsure, answered, "no." "It's you I'm inside, Marty, can you feel me hard against your ass? Tell me what you need." Mulder was completely repulsed, the sound of this man fucking the woman combined with his offensive words nauseated him. He fought unsuccessfully to stay in control, choking back the bile that threatened. The caller could not help but hear his disgust. "Oh yeah, Marty. I'd have to force you because you'd pretend you didn't want it. But you'd want it, Marty, just like Honey here wants it!" Mulder closed his eyes as he heard the woman moan, begging for him to finish. "Now," she demanded, "now!" "Marty," the nasal-toned voice whispered, "Marty, are you still there? I don't want you to miss the best part." "The best part?" Mulder croaked, confused. The woman suddenly screamed, not in ecstasy but in agony. Mulder could hear a gurgling sound. The man groaned, Mulder could tell by his breathing that he was still inside her. My God, his mind screamed, he killed her! He killed her and he's still fucking her. Mulder shouted into the phone, "you filthy pervert, don't hurt her!" In a rage, he threatened, "I'll kill you, you bastard! I'll track you down and rip your heart out!" A full minute passed before the man spoke again, this time, his voice strong and clear, "now, now, Marty, calm down. This is just a game we play." Allegedly to the woman with him, he instructed, "go on without me, Honey, I'll join you in the shower in just a minute." Returning his attention to an angry Mulder, he added, "just a game, Marty, just a game...." Humming softly, he added dangerously, "I wish you could be here to play this game, Marty. You were the best yet." It sounded as though the man was ready to hang up the phone and Mulder wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or not. He pleaded into the phone, "let me talk to her then, let me make sure she's all right." "Oh, Marty," he answered wistfully, "if only you could listen all the time. This one was special, Marty, this one was for you. Tell me, did you get off?" "Jesus Christ, no -- no, I did not get off," he stuttered his denial. His disappointment obvious, the man vowed, "maybe next time, Marty. Maybe next time you should be here to watch." The phone went dead. Mulder ripped the headset off and violently threw it to the ground. He backed into the bathroom, afraid to turn his back on the phone. Covered in emotional filth, he reached into the shower and turned the water on full blast, setting it as hot as he could stand. Sweats and T-shirt still on, he stepped in and began to scrub the rough bar soap over his arms. My God, he could smell it everywhere. Frantically ripping off his shirt, he threw it in a heap outside the stall. Then, unable to stand any longer, he slid to the floor, knees gripped tightly to his chest and hot water slamming against his shoulders. He dug his face into his crossed arms, unwilling to face the light, unwilling to confront the truth of what he'd just witnessed. In a small, seemingly helpless voice, heard by no one, he moaned, "Scully, help me." His tears began to flow, the madman had already begun to enter his mind. "Please," he begged aloud, "please don't make me do this alone. I can't do this alone anymore." >>>>>>>>>>>> QUALITY INN, DES MOINES, IA: Scully, exhausted after a long day, returned to her motel room. She turned the television on for company, plopped down on the bed and began flipping through the channels. This case stumped her, the victims clearly showed signs of sexual activity. Forensic evidence indicated they had been killed during the sex act. The interesting thing was, it did not appear any of the victims had been forced. Scully could not help but wonder at the type of man who would have enough charm to both men and women to get them in bed, make them feel safe, and then, in the heat of passion, slash their throats. She'd tried to discuss her thoughts with a few of the other agents but, with Mickelson out of range, they'd recently resorted to Spooky Mulder jokes suggesting, based on the rumors as to Mulder's sexual preference, that he might actually be their man. She'd shot them down quickly enough by letting them know she'd inform Mulder of their sexual attraction to him. She was sure he'd be flattered by their attention. The case had been assigned a profiler who, as of yet, six weeks and seven victims into his killing spree, had come up with nothing useful. She'd always known Mulder was good, but she'd never realized how good until she'd had to work with another. She had not scored any brownie points when she pushed Kelliher, their current profiler for more detailed information at the evening briefing. The others had shifted uncomfortably as she drilled the man for everything from his age, sexual preference and childhood/adult events that might have triggered such a monster. She stopped when she realized the poor man was unable to respond, except to say the suspect was male, 25-35 years old and probably had a strained relationship with a parent. No shit, Sherlock, Scully thought. As she left the station that evening she heard the whispering in the hallway, "who does the Ice Queen think she is?" The comment was followed by laughter that, strangely enough, affected her not at all. "Assholes," she mumbled, "incompetent assholes." She dozed, a small smile on her face as she imagined how amused Mulder would be at this turn of events. Suddenly, she was wide awake, heart beating and covered in a cold sweat. "Mulder!" Something was wrong with Mulder. She pushed herself out of bed and began to pace the room anxiously, an invisible hand clenching her stomach with every step. "Stop it, Dana," she scolded herself, "nothing is wrong with him. You've got to let him go!" She had almost convinced herself that she was being ridiculous when her phone rang. She answered immediately, "Scully." "Get a pencil," Frohike's voice advised seriously. She grabbed a pen and some paper off her desk, "go ahead." A million questions were flying through her head but, from Frohike's tone, she knew now was not the time to ask. "Call 1-900-FAN-TASY, ask for operator 17." Scully wrote down the number and then, exasperated with the man, threw down the pencil. "This is not funny, you pervert," she answered angrily. Frohike chuckled, even he saw the humor in Dana Scully calling a sex line. Unfortunately, these were the instructions just e- mailed from Mulder. "Dana," he struggled not to laugh, "I'm just passing on a message for a friend. You'll receive additional instructions from operator 17." With that he hung up. She listened to the dial tone a moment trying to decide her next steps. Of course it was a joke. Who, among all her acquaintances, would plan such a hoax? The answer was obviously Mulder. She'd seen his phone bill once and was appalled. One month of Mulder usage was equal to one year of Scully's phone bill. Frustrated, she knew there was little she could do but follow instructions. If it was a joke, she would just bite her tongue and walk into it. If it wasn't and this was a way to Mulder, she couldn't chance ignoring it. Digging into her purse for her personal Visa, she dialed the number. A sultry voice answered, "Good evening, this is Mariah, how can we make your fantasy a reality?" Scully swallowed down the embarrassed lump in her throat before answering quietly, "operator 17, please." "Operator 17 would love to...," the voice stumbled, "hey, that's Marty. Millie, didn't you say Marty's line was closed for the night?" Scully's eyebrows reached her hairline, who the hell was Marty? The voice came back on line, adjusted back to it's sultry tone and responded, "I'm sorry, Marty is unavailable." Was it Scully's imagination or did this woman put a little too much emphasis on unavailable? The woman continued professionally, "we would be happy to put your call through to another man of equal talents. First I need your credit card number and some details of your fantasy this evening," she informed. In her most effective FBI voice, Dana Scully ordered, "contact operator 17 now! Inform him immediately that Scully is on the line!" "Shit," Sally moaned over to Millie, "she sounds pissed." Into the phone, she announced, "I'll try, ma'am." In the background Scully could have sworn she heard her mumble, "there goes my night." >>>>>>>>>>>> MULDER'S APARTMENT: Mulder jumped as his business line rang signaling another call. He backed away from the ringing, frightened his previous caller had somehow found a way back to him. Then, realizing it could be Scully, he picked up the line. "This is Marty," he answered, voice husky. Sally's voice, sweeter than usual, informed, "Marty, I've got a woman who just insists on talking to you and you alone. She says to tell you it's Scully, do you remember a Scully?" she asked jealously. He ignored her last question, "put her through, Sally, put her through right away. She, um," he struggled to come up with a plausible excuse for her call, "she's into spanking and if you keep her waiting she'll put me through hell. Hurry, put her through right now!" "Sheesh, Marty, you'd think she was able to reach through the phone and smack that lovely ass of yours the way you're acting," Sally complained. "Well, she is kind of scary when she gets mad," without thought, his hand rubbed up and down on his left cheek lightly. He didn't know how he knew but, if Scully did decide to spank, it would be hard." "Please put her through, Sally." "Fine," she agreed reluctantly. Another minute passed, she must be getting her credit card information. He smiled at that thought, Dana Scully with a 900 charge on her credit card, now that was an X-File. He shouldn't have called her, but after tonight he felt a need to hear her voice. That calm voice of reason, the one he'd come to hate or love, depending on the circumstances. >>>>>>>>>>>> Dana Scully provided her credit card information with little emotion. She could not believe she was going to pay by the minute to talk to Marty, a phone sex operator. Another moment passed before she was transferred through. There was silence on the line. "Hello, Marty, are you there?" she asked in an annoyed tone. His face lit up upon hearing her voice. He cleared his throat loudly, "this is Marty, how can I make your fantasy a reality this evening," he teased. "Mulder," she asked incredulous, "please tell me you're not Marty, the sex operator?" "Well, Scully, I, I kind of like to think of myself as a sex counselor," he answered lightly, his voice tinged with the strain of something undefined. She recognized the tension in his tone -- the need he would not voice. At $2.99 a minute, she wasn't sure she could afford his evasiveness. "And what past experience would you have with sex that qualifies you to be such a counselor, Mulder?" she responded sarcastically. "Well, Scully," he defended lamely, "I look at it as an opportunity to develop my skills, broaden my horizons." "So tell me, Mulder, is it as 'satisfying' on that side of the line as it was when you called?" she asked, genuinely curious. Mulder's attraction to this type of entertainment had always confused her. Why would a man like him need to go to a stranger's voice for sexual excitement? His voice rose slightly, "Scully, don't tease." Another pause, which, Scully estimated, cost her an additional $1.32. "Mulder," she asked gently, "are you okay?" He answered, voice wary, "are you still mad at me?" She could almost see his expression, he would use the little boy one, the one with the pouty lower lip and the puppy dog eyes. "I'm not mad anymore, Mulder, but -- " she stopped unwilling to admit her premonition to him. "But what, Scully," he prodded. "This is going to sound strange, Mulder, but I just felt, well," she stumbled, slightly embarrassed, "I felt as though you might be in some trouble tonight. I was in bed -- " "Ohhhh, Scully, what were you wearing?" he growled into the phone. She smiled, shaking her head. The man was incorrigible. "I just thought maybe you might need me," then, realizing how that might sound, she added, "I mean need someone to talk to or something." "Or something, Scully, or something," he whispered in his most seductive operator voice. She actually blushed, she could feel the heat radiating off his voice. It had always been one of his sexiest qualities, but it was obvious that he'd picked up a few additional skills in his new job. Suddenly serious and concerned for her friend, she urged, "come on, Mulder, tell me what's going on. How are you really?" "I'm f-fine, Scully, I just really wanted to talk to you tonight." "Be careful, Mulder, anyone listening might think you actually need me." "I'll always need you, Scully," he said simply. Then quietly, "I was feeling a little alone," he admitted, "and wanted to see how you were doing." "I'm fine, Mulder," she threw his words back at him, "and you, Mulder, are a lousy liar!" "What do you mean?" "Mulder, I know you well enough to know when you're upset. Can you tell me about it?" "I think I'm going to quit this job tomorrow, Scully," he answered, attempting to distract her, "these calls are not exactly what I expected. What about you, your case, how's it going?" "How did you know I was on a case?" she asked, not really surprised. "Ah well, I have a friend who works for the Psychic Connection hotline, she told me all about it," he joked. "Yeah, well, I wish you were here, it's pretty strange." "Yeah, well I wish you were here too," he answered sadly. "Mulder, are you all -- " suddenly her cell phone rang. "Mulder, hold on," she ordered. After a moment she returned, "Mulder, I have to go, there's been another murder and it looks like I'm going to have to catch a late flight. Can I call you here again?" His face had turned white and he began to shake, he knew the body would be Honey. He heard Scully's voice calling from very far away... "Mulder, Mulder, are you still there?" she shouted. He refocused and spoke into the phone, "no, Scully, I may not be here long. I'll get a cell phone tomorrow and call you with the number, okay." "You promise?" "I promise." The connection broken, he was left with dial tone. Scully, on the other hand, was left with a Visa charge of $45.86. As she dressed, she wondered if Skinner would approve the voucher. Grabbing her bag, she rushed to the airport. >>>>>>>>>>>> Mulder, unsure how to proceed, accessed his e-mail. He shot off a message to Byers asking if there were anyway he could hack into the records of Erotic Fantasies and get him the location of his last caller. If he was lucky, the man charged it to the victim's telephone account instead of providing a credit card number. At least if he knew that, he could check to see if the woman was still alive. Instinctively, he knew she was not. He could simply ask Scully but, in truth, he did not want to involve her without some real evidence. She hated it when he ran on gut only. Byers responded immediately, instructing Mulder to get the server address and, if possible, a user ID, save it to a disk and ship it off via e-mail. He'd have an answer within a few hours. Unfortunately, the only way to get to the needed information was through Jonathan's office at work. He'd have to make a late night trip to the office. He made note of the time, he'd go in after he knew Sally was off duty. His eye caught on an e-mail from Skinner, he opened it. --- Mulder, Attached are three letters from some of your former students. It's obvious you touched them deeply in the short time you were there. Let's schedule a meeting. You name time and place. I want you to think about what it will take to make you return to D.C. and the X-Files. Then I will do whatever it takes to make it happen. Skinner --- Mulder smiled, momentarily distracted by the notes. His mind wandered back to his classroom days, for a short time, an island in the middle of chaos. He really enjoyed those kids and it was a relief to hear they were doing well. Yet even in Maywood, violence had found him. Maybe, Mulder silently lectured himself, it's time to stop running from your fate. Standing, he began to pace the room feeling caged. Yes, maybe it was time to stop fighting and accept who he was, a fucked up, almost forty ex-FBI agent who had a talent for understanding a killer's mind. It didn't matter if the killer was an individual or a consortium, if he put his mind to it, he could eventually discover the reasons behind the crimes. He was a man custom made for his job, molded by abuse, abandonment and torture. And maybe, rather than running from who he was, from what he had to do, it was time to embrace it. He closed his eyes and pictured his classroom, his kids. They fought unimaginable emotional and physical stress every day and kept going, kept trying. It was time to accept he would never be normal, no matter how hard he tried. More importantly, it was time to realize there was no such thing as normal. C'mon, Mulder, he scolded, take a lesson from those kids and move forward towards your destiny instead of running away from it. He again checked the time and decided it was late enough to make his visit to the office. Millie and Sally would be off duty and the evening operators could be easily bypassed. Before strapping on both weapons, he confirmed they were loaded with the safety on. Next, he shoved a tool kit inside his coat pocket. Now he had everything he needed at his fingertips. >>>>>>>>>>>> RESIDENCE OF HELEN BAXTER, APPLETON,WI Scully stepped slowly up the steps of the small, suburban home. What was the victim thinking as she invited her killer into her home? The house was small but well kept, evergreens and lawn perfectly groomed. The door, a shiny green with a brass doorknocker contained a small plaque announcing the Baxter name proudly. Helen Baxter was, no doubt, a perfect neighbor. It was obvious by the meticulous appearance of her home and property that the opinion of her neighbors must have been important to her. What kind of man would a woman like this bring into her perfect home? Was she discreet as they entered? Scully stopped at the top of the steps and scanned the neighborhood. Houses widely spaced, it might be difficult to hear a woman's scream. Assuming, of course, there was a scream. Mickelson came up behind her and eyed her curiously, "surely you're not squeamish, Agent Scully?" When had she begun to dislike this man? He had seemed so nice when she started the case, quite considerate in fact. She returned his gaze coldly, favoring him with her most severe arched eyebrow, "hardly, sir. Just taking a moment to consider the victim's view." Sensing her disdain, he ordered, "you are here as a result of your forensics expertise, Agent Scully. Leave the victim analysis to the profiler." Her jaw tightened as she stated snidely, "we have a profiler on this case?" "That will be all, Agent Scully," he said firmly. "Yes, sir," she answered in mock respect. Turning, she slowly entered the house. The first room appeared to be a small living room, decorated in soft peach with overstuffed furniture. The overall personality of the room was feminine. The kitchen and hallway continued the soft peach tones of the main room. Everything was in it's place, no sign of a struggle, nothing that indicated a clumsy or violent encounter. If the woman was killed in the bedroom, they had walked there together. She snapped on her rubber gloves as she entered the bedroom, ready to begin her examination. Stepping into the room, her feet sank into the plush carpet, obviously selected with barefeet in mind. Helen Baxter was a woman who appreciated luxurious things. She may not have been wealthy but the items she selected for her home were chosen for their harmony, beauty and texture. Was the man she brought home selected with the same characteristics in mind? Stepping further into the room, Scully was faced with the nude body of Helen Baxter. She had been a beautiful woman with honey- colored hair and creamy white skin. She lay sprawled upon the bed on her stomach, her body left in obvious disrespect. Her head, tilted to the side allowed Scully a clear view of the woman's final expression. Her surprise and horror were obvious, mouth frozen in a terrified grimace. The neck appeared to be the cause of death, but Scully had learned to never assume the obvious. She immediately went to work cataloging all observable data. An hour and a half later, she completed her examination and called for the body to be transported for autopsy. Nothing unusual found, wound similar to the other victims. She stepped back as the body was removed, using the time to once again view the room. Mulder had taught her this technique. Although Scully would never have admitted it to him, she'd spent as much time watching Mulder as she did on the casework, eager to understand how his mind worked. In retrospect, she probably should have shared that with him, he would have appreciated the compliment. Unfortunately watching the mysterious Mulder had often frustrated the hell out of her. There were so many things he did for no apparent reason. How was she supposed to learn, to understand when he did things based on feelings? Her eye caught on the cordless phone placed casually on the nightstand. Not really all that unusual especially for a single woman. Scully, due to her late night calls from Mulder, also kept her phone near the bed. On a hunch, she lifted the receiver and pressed the redial button. After two rings, the line was answered by a woman attempting a Marilyn Monroe impression, "Good evening, this is Collette, how can we make your fantasy a reality?" She stood silent for a moment shocked at the connection. Moving into the corner of the room, she asked softly, "I'd like to speak to operator 17, please." "Just a moment," sounds of fingers tapping on a keyboard could be heard. "oh, I'm sorry but Marty is unavailable for calls at this time. I'm sure we have someone else who would love to talk to you -- " Scully never heard the rest, she hit the disconnect button, replaced the phone carefully in it's original position and quickly left the room. She stopped to update Mickelson on her findings and told him she would complete the autopsy the next morning. Well, technically, this morning. It was 2:47am and after the adrenaline burst received from her phone call she wasn't tired. And now that she had a moment to think about it, Mulder had been calling for help, Her instincts had been correct. If she hadn't allowed herself to become so distracted by the sex operator info she might have pushed him harder. She separated herself from the others and headed towards her car, needing the time to think about Mulder's connection to this crime. Hell, she needed to talk to Skinner. Slipping into her rental car, she headed out to look for a near-by motel. She'd been in Des Moines, Iowa when word of the new murder hit. It had taken approximately two hours via small plane to arrive in Appleton, a small city in Wisconsin. Using the Mulder method to find a motel, she pointed the car east and looked for the tackiest sign. Fifteen minutes later, she was checking into the Limelight Motel. The front desk area was appropriately decorated in lime green vinyl wallpaper. Mulder would love this place, she thought, making her way to her room. >>>>>>>>>>>> OFFICES OF EROTIC FANTASIES: The soft click of the lock announced Mulder's success. Turning the knob slowly, he eased the door open and slid into the dark room. Taking off his jacket, he shoved it at the base of the door. There must be no light seen bleeding into the hallway. Next, he flicked on the light and walked towards the desk. Within a few short minutes he had the first piece of the puzzle, Jonathan's user ID. He inserted the disk per Byer's instructions and recorded the necessary file detail. As the program executed, he wandered around the office. Two pizza boxes teetered on the top of the trash bin, curious, he popped the lid. As he examined the two leftover pieces of what appeared to be a veggie and cigarette butt pizza, he was inspired. The program completed, he accessed the internet and sent the file to Byers. Just before he logged off he noticed an ad for a national pizza chain. "Don't do it, Mulder, it's just too childish," he scolded himself aloud. Unable to fight the impulse, he cast a paranoid glance over his shoulder in search of smoke. Finding the coast clear, he clicked on the link and placed a very large pizza order before turning off the machine and the lights. He bent to retrieve his coat, eased the door open carefully and crept into the hall. As he turned around the corner he bumped into a pleasantly surprised blond. "Sally," he started, surprised, "what are you still doing here?" She frowned, "well, if you must know, Marty, I was hoping you were just running a little late." She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close. Oh damn, she was doing it again. Mulder closed his eyes and leaned into her, enjoying the feel of her skin, the smell of her hair. Suddenly a picture of Scully entered his head causing him to pull back slightly. "Actually, I did stop by to see you, but it was to tell you I have to go out of town for a while," he answered tensely. He wouldn't lie to her -- didn't want her to expect something he wouldn't be around to give. At the same time he was a bit out of practice at this kind of thing and he wasn't sure how she would react to the news. She stood on her toes and lightly teased behind his ear with her tongue. "So," allowing herself a small nibble on his lobe, "will you be coming back?" "I'm n-n-not sure," he stammered, his voice rising an octave. He really needed to go. He tried to step away from her, only to find himself pulled back by the two fingers she had tangled in his belt loop. She was exploring his neck now, her tongue and his Adam's apple performing an interesting dance. His pulse increased and it was becoming difficult to breath. "Is Marty your real name?" she asked in a disinterested voice. He tensed and responded a bit more harshly than intended, "why would you ask that?" She rolled her eyes and began to pull him in the direction of the stairwell door knowing it would be deserted this time of the night. "Come on, baby, anyone who talks to you for more than a few minutes can tell you don't belong here. So," yanking him hard into the stairwell, "since it looks like you won't be around for a while, I'd like you to do me a favor." By this time he stood flat against the wall and her nimble fingers were performing all kinds of interesting magic tricks. He knew he should stop her and he fully intended to in just another minute -- or two. "Favor?" he asked weakly, his eyes focused on the top of her head as she slid slowly down to her knees. Was it just him or did all men find this view particularly difficult to resist? "I think I have that moaning thing down, tell me what you think?" His last coherent thought was whether or not the stairwell had a security camera. >>>>>>>>>>>> FOX CITIES MORGUE Following Day: 11:30am Scully could not resist the lure of the beautiful Fox River, perhaps it was the name. Grabbing a sandwich and drink from a nearby restaurant, she found a bench that allowed her a view of the wide river that cut a path through the center of Appleton. Shivering, she pulled her coat a little tighter around her neck. The autopsy complete, she craved the crisp November air, needing to smell something alive. As she nibbled on her sandwich, she wondered when she would hear from Mulder again. He'd promised to call today, but as she'd learned many times over, he sometimes became distracted -- especially when he was involved in an investigation of this type. The main difference in his current behavior was he didn't seem to want to be alone this time. The old Mulder, when embroiled in a hunt for a serial killer, would have simply disappeared into the personality of the monster, lost in a world only he could see. To her surprise, this Mulder had called her and, dare she hope, seemed to be reaching out for help. Was it possible he wanted her near in case he went too deep? Did he trust her to bring him back? She had asked that copies of the phone records of all the victims be forwarded to her attention. That information should be available to her later this afternoon. As to cause of death, it was clear -- a deep slash to the throat severing an artery. She was going to do more research on weapon identification this afternoon. This type of work could be done on her own, thank goodness. Lately, she had no patience for her team. Her phone chirped, she answered immediately, "Scully." "Agent Scully, this is Director Skinner, how did the autopsy go this morning?" Scully eyed the phone suspiciously, how did Skinner know she had an autopsy this morning? "It went well, sir," she informed him politely before asking, "why do you ask?" Her question was met with a slight pause before Skinner cut to the chase, "Agent Scully, I'll be blunt. Mickelson called to report you are not blending well with the team. He says you've been extremely aggressive, investigating leads without his permission and not showing the proper levels of respect." Skinner paused another moment as though expecting some type of excuse. Scully remained silent, wondering again when Mulder would call. "Agent Scully, did you hear what I said?" Skinner asked a bit louder. "Yes, sir," she replied calmly. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" "Well sir, I could say that Mickelson is an egotistical idiot who is not capable of distinguishing his ass from a hole in the ground but THAT would be disrespectful," she informed blandly. Skinner choked into the phone, "Scully, is Mulder there?" The older couple sitting on a nearby bench were charmed by the sudden smile that appeared on the attractive redhead's face. It was as though her whole face lit up. Scully answered carefully, "not yet, sir." "How did I know Mulder was involved in this," accused Skinner. Scully quickly defended, "sir, I am perfectly capable of having a bad attitude without Mulder. Give me some credit please!" "Scully, please tell me how Mulder is involved in this?" Skinner ordered. It took approximately 15 minutes to bring Skinner up to speed. It might have taken less time but neither could get over the fact that he was actually a 900 sex operator. She'd had to explain to Skinner three times that Mulder was making a living selling phone sex. They'd both spent a few extra minutes laughing about that one. The one thing you could count on from this new Mulder, he was never predictable. "Scully, if what you suspect is true and Mulder has actually spoken to the murderer, we really need to get to him. Knowing him, he's already become too involved and I don't want him out there alone." "I agree, sir." "I'm also just selfish enough to want him down there helping," he added. "Do you think that's his intention?" Scully pondered the question carefully, "if he did speak to either the murderer or the victim, he won't be able to walk away." Then she added guiltily, "his voice was a bit shaky, I knew something was wrong. And then add to that Helen Baxter's last dialed number was his service, it just seems too much of a coincidence." She sighed heavily, "the real question is will he try to do it on his own, or will he know enough to come to us for help?" Skinner did not respond to her question, instead he asked, "Scully, this case is heating up, is the profiler any closer to providing anything of real value on this case?" Ordinarily, Scully would have made some pretense of political correctness -- not today though. She was tired of working with incompetents, there was a killer to catch. "Well, you know, sir, the perp is male, 25-35 years old, although surprisingly, our profiler, Agent Kelliher, does not believe it has anything to do with the man's mother." "I get the picture, Scully," Skinner answered. Carefully, he asked, "Scully, when did you turn into Mulder, rattling the locals and not playing well with others?" She chewed her lower lip, sighed and answered, "well, it didn't happen overnight, sir. It took Mulder years of coaching..." "Call me when he contacts you, Scully. We need to figure out how we're going to handle him. He is, after all, no longer with the bureau." "I understand, sir, I'll call as soon as I hear from him." She hit the end button and pocketed her phone. Standing, she stretched carefully and considered her next move. Back to the lab for more analysis and phone record review this afternoon. At three she was expected to attend the team debriefing. As she walked back to the building her phone chirped again. EAST ON ROUTE 21, WISCONSIN Route 21 offered only light traffic this early in the afternoon allowing Mulder to push the speed limit a bit. He yawned widely and idly wondered what motel Scully had checked into. Last night had afforded him little sleep. He grinned crookedly, well, admit it Mulder, the night had nothing to do with why you were delayed. He turned the radio louder. It blasted some song with a great beat ----pretty fly for a white guy------ Smiling smugly, he had to admit he was feeling pretty fly. Visions of Sally pinned up against the stairwell wall, legs wrapped around his waist, fairly danced in his head. The woman was amazingly flexible. She'd even driven him back to his place to pack and then to the Avis Rental counter at the airport. An abso-fucking-lutely amazing woman was his Sally. He shook his head, physically trying to remove everything except thoughts of the case from his head. Grabbing for the cell phone he'd picked up this morning, he dialed Scully's number. Byers had confirmed his last call had been dialed from a Helen Baxter's home and he hoped Scully would confirm the victim matched the name. "Scully," she answered simply. "Hey, Scully," he replied. "Mulder," her voice caressed his name, then angry she snapped, "Skinner just accused me of being you!" "Not likely," he returned, "your legs are too short." "Hey, size has nothing to do with this," she defended. "Guys love when women say stuff like that, Scully." "Where are you?" she asked, ignoring his comment. He glanced around for a landmark, road sign or something. "I'm not really sure, but I believe I'm about two and a half hours away from you." "You're coming here!" she squeaked. Serious now, he replied, "I have some information on the case you're working, Scully." "You talked to him, didn't you?" "Who," he asked blankly. "Helen Baxter's killer, he called you, didn't he? What did he want," she urged, "why did he call your service?" "He likes it when people listen, Scully. He loves it when he can get a reaction from an audience." He paused and eyed the phone curiously, "how'd you know?" She took a deep breath and admitted, "I knew something was wrong when you called and then when I was in the room with the victim, something just told me to pick up the phone and hit the redial." Impressed, Mulder was silent a moment, "that's a little spooky, don't you think, Scully?" "Well, someone has to keep the spook-o-meter going while you're on vacation, Mulder," she sniped sarcastically. "Spook-o-meter! Ouch, Scully, that hurt," he replied in a pained voice. "Oh suck it up, Mulder." Then more seriously, she asked, "are you sure you want to do this?" He knew she was really asking if he could handle this. In her eyes, he must seem very fragile these days. But, in reality, he was feeling stronger than he had in a long time. Was he strong enough to help her with this case? Yes, he was always ready to help Scully. Was he strong enough to deal with the VCS Team? Well, no, that was something to be avoided at this point. He would share what he knew with Scully, let her somehow carry it back to the team and then, and then, what Mulder, he asked himself. Remembering Scully, he answered, "I'm just coming to talk to you, Scully, you understand what I'm saying here?" "Mulder, if you are a witness, you really need to talk to the team." She knew this was going to be a tough sell. Even if they took his testimony seriously, it would be all over the FBI that the great Mulder was working as a 900 operator. Her statement was met with a long silence. Finally, unable to wait any longer, she prodded, "Mulder, talk to me." He had pulled off into a rest stop area. At the mention of talking to the VCS Team, he had actually begun to tremble and now sat there, head resting on the wheel, phone still perched to his ear. "Mulder, are you there?" Scully's voice shouted through the slight static on the line. He pulled his head off the wheel and glanced around the area. A few cars, two people walking their dogs and a pick up truck that had followed him in met his careful gaze. Paranoid, Mulder, paranoid. "I'm here, Scully," he finally answered, his voice low and uncertain. "I don't think I can do that. I don't think I can talk to them." He was shaking his head as he spoke, so sure it was a task he could not manage. "Mulder, it's the right thing to do. If you hadn't spoken to him I would say it wasn't necessary, but you're as close to an eye witness as we may ever have," she reasoned. "There were others who spoke to him, Scully," Mulder advised desperately. "They didn't want to take his calls anymore so I told them to put him through to me. I thought maybe they were, well, I thought it might be interesting," he admitted. "I'll have the phone records this afternoon of all the other victims, if he called from all the sites, we'll have to interview all the other operators as well." "They can't say, Scully. They made us all sign a contract not to reveal what we hear. I shouldn't even be talking to you about this," he argued weakly. "This is a murder investigation, Mulder. That contract is null and void as far as I'm concerned," she advised more sharply than intended. "I'm not coming," he whispered, "I can't." Tears had begun to form in his eyes and he blinked rapidly in an effort to push them away. He'd wanted to see her, to be with her. He didn't want to do this alone, but now it looked like he had no other choice. Putting the case aside, she considered his words carefully. He had done something he'd rarely done before, he'd asked for help. This was a huge step for Mulder and here she was arguing policy with him. And if she continued to push him this way was it possible he'd never come to her again? She struggled between what was the right thing, based on the known rules, and what was the right thing for her and Mulder. Her concern for Mulder won out, at least for now. "All right, Mulder," she agreed, "I won't ask you to talk to the authorities, at least not yet." And then, in a slightly desperate tone of her own, she pleaded, "come to me, Mulder, come help me." He ran his fingers tiredly over his eyes, "I'll come, Scully, but, I'm not dealing with Mickelson," he warned. Scully's eyebrow shot up, "how did you know Mickelson was running this investigation?" "I know," he informed her tiredly, "I know a lot more than you think I do about this case." Before she could ask, he added, "where are you staying?" "It's a little motel called the Limelight. It's just off Badger Avenue." She released the breath she'd been holding, he was coming, he was definitely coming. "That's an unusual place for Mickelson to hold up?" Mulder asked with mild interest. "The rest of the team are at the Holiday Inn." "Oh," he answered. "Scully, maybe Skinner was right." "About what?" "Maybe you are becoming me." She ignored his comment, "check in when you get here. I'll be back around 5:30." With that she disconnected. He suspected his last comment had hit a little too close to home. He pushed open the car door, climbed out and slammed the door behind him. Walking into the small brick building, he used the restroom, bought a few candy bars, an iced tea and a local newspaper. As he walked back to the car, he realized he was looking at the killer's latest victim. Staring into the eyes of Helen Baxter, he couldn't help but remember her giggle when she told him she liked green eyes. She'd been a lovely woman and Mulder, leaning heavily on the car, relived their last moments. The article described her as a professional woman, divorced, living on her own. She appeared to be involved in several community charities and was considered a responsible, well-liked neighbor. How, he wondered, did a woman like this meet a monster like Craig? His fingers went numb as the newspaper and candy bars fell from his hands. CRAIG, she had called him Craig! He bent to retrieve his items and then slid into the car. With little conscious thought he started it and continued his drive towards Appleton his mind playing over and over the phone conversation. So involved was he in his thoughts, he never noticed the green pick up that followed closely behind. Frankston, dressed in jeans, a denim shirt and a cowboy hat hunched lower in his seat, not wanting to attract his prey's attention. Although, by the looks of Mulder, he wasn't paying attention to much right now. He'd watched the man as he fell against the car while reading the newspaper. Curious, Frankston had purchased the same paper and, seeing the report of Helen Baxter's death, was left to wonder as to the connection. As he followed Mulder out onto the highway, he flipped open his cell phone and contacted the Smoking Man. After two rings, the phone was picked up. "Yes," a tired voice answered. Frankston hesitated, unused to any emotion in this man's voice, "sir, checking in as you requested." And then, without thinking, he asked, "are you all right, sir?" WASHINGTON DC - UNKNOWN LOCATION CSM rubbed the palm of his hand tiredly over his eyes. Last night he had been awakened every 15 minutes by pre-paid pizza deliveries. He'd, of course, eaten none of them, no telling what could be in them. But, after the fourth pizza arrived, he knew he was the victim of a very immature practical joke. By that time, he simply refused to answer his door anymore and this morning, he'd found seven additional pies laying on his front step. Why was he so sure Mulder had something to do with this? The boy was annoying! First the boot on his car and now pizza deliveries. He was actually finding these types of pranks more irritating than Mulder's investigations into matters best left alone. At this point he'd rather have to clear out a warehouse at the last minute to avoid Mulder's prying eyes than bear these childish pranks. Ah well, he lectured himself, you weren't really around much during his terrible twos. Maybe Mulder was finally accepting that he, CSM, might be his father and was just allowing himself to relive a bit of his rebellious teen-age years. In any case, he hadn't gotten any sleep last night as his doorbell rang and rang and rang. "Sir," a hesitant voice repeated from the phone. "Report," he ordered sternly in an effort to cover up his lapse. "Mulder returned to the offices of Erotic Fantasies late last night. He broke into an office, accessed their systems and -- " the man stumbled here. "And," CSM urged impatiently. "And, upon leaving, bumped into a fellow employee and had sex in the stairwell. From there -- " CSM interrupted, amused, "he had sex in the stairwell?" "Yes, sir, it appears he was saying good-bye to the woman." CSM inhaled deeply, "go on." "Afterwards, she drove him back to his apartment where he picked up his things and then headed off to the Avis Rental Car counter at the airport." "And now?" "He stopped about an hour back and purchased a cellular phone and has since been on the road travelling for, I believe, Appleton, Wisconsin." CSM knew Scully was already there on a case. "Why do you believe he's going to Appleton?" Frankston explained about the article in the newspaper and Mulder's reaction to it. "Good job, continue to follow," he informed. "And remember, do not allow him to see you." He ended the call. >>>>>>>>>>>>> APPLETON POLICE DEPARTMENT Scully watched the clock, willing the minutes to fly by. Kelliher continued to drone on about the killer being confused by his sexuality. There was some news, thought Scully nastily. Her nails clicked lightly on the arms of her chair. Mickelson watched her closely, he was extremely disappointed in Agent Scully's lack of interest. When she'd first arrived, he worried about her. He had been pleasantly surprised to meet a lovely, level-headed young woman, who within 48 hours seemed to blend in with the other team members. He'd even found himself attracted to her and thought, maybe, the feeling was mutual. Then her incessant questioning had begun and he'd been put on the defensive attempting to explain the reasons certain steps had not been taken. The defining moment had come when he'd mentioned the X-Files and she had angrily informed him that her work on the X-Files had allowed her to work with the very best. The very best, my ass, thought Mickelson. She'd worked with Mulder, the laughing stock of the whole FBI. If that was her definition of the very best, then she had no place on his team. He'd even attempted to get her removed with a call to Skinner. His request had been ignored, Skinner ordering him to make it work. Scully could take it no longer, "Agent Kelliher, do you believe there's anything to be learned by the calls made to the 900 service from each of the victim's homes?" Kelliher reddened slightly, he hadn't really considered it yet. "We don't know for sure that the killer made the calls," he stalled. Scully's mouth dropped, each victim's bill showed a call to a Erotic Fantasies at the estimated time of death. Was he really going to overlook this crucial piece of evidence? Before she could argue her point, Mickelson interrupted, "Agent Scully, I'm curious," he smiled mildly and glanced around the room alienating her from the whole team with his one look, "what made you hit the redial button at the Baxter residence?" Her eyes narrowed, "no reason, sir. The phone just seemed too close to the bed as though a call had just been made." "So," he continued in his most innocent tone, "it wasn't some type of psychic premonition or anything?" With that the room broke into laughter, all understanding the amusing reference to her previous cases. She noted the time at 5:10pm. Standing, she walked to the wall and pulled her coat off the hook. She turned and informed the group coldly, "people are dying and we're playing games." She shrugged her coat over her shoulders smoothly, maintaining an ice cold exterior. "When the next body is found, and, based on this teams current progress, there will be another body, call me. I'd love to help." She smiled tightly and left the room leaving a stunned and embarrassed team behind. LIMELIGHT MOTEL 5:25pm Mulder sat quietly on the floor of his motel room surrounded by pictures of seven victims. Their profiles and descriptions of the crime scenes were scattered on the floor and Mulder simply sat, cross-legged, on the avocado green rug and considered each carefully. Helen, or Honey as he'd known her, seemed to call to him. From the description of the crime scene, she was meticulous. Except for the body itself, no signs of violence were observed in the home. The other victims ranged in ages from 22-36 years of age and all showed signs of consensual sex prior to their death. All but the first were found in their own homes with none of the scenes showing any signs of resistance. What kind of man would make seven responsible individuals, who from all known evidence were not known for their promiscuity, to allow this man into their homes, into their beds? And what type of man felt compelled to charm, manipulate and then, just as his victim was climaxing, end their life. His eyes closed as he again reviewed the phone conversation. Green eyes, she loved green eyes. His eyes snapped open and he again examined each of the victims. They each had either hazel or green eyes. He wondered if the victims with hazel eyes leaned towards green flecks. His own eyes were known to change from hazel to green and people were sometimes confused as to their actual color. What else had the man said, "doesn't sound average to me -- " What did it mean? Mulder again replayed Honey's murder, watching it all from his imaginary corner in the room. He pictured Helen's face as she giggled into the phone. The man was harder to imagine but somehow, Mulder knew he was tall and lean. As the man reached his arm around to cut her throat Mulder met the horrified green eyes of Helen Baxter. He stepped forward to help her and found himself face to face with himself, straddling Helen from behind, pushing deeply into her. He stumbled backwards, disgusted by the vision of himself, blood dripping from his hands fucking Helen's corpse. He moaned loudly and began to crawl. Hands and knees scattering the pictures as he blindly clawed his way towards the bed. Like a child escaping monsters, he needed to get away and began to slowly pull himself up onto the mattress. >>>>>>>>>>>> She entered her room cautiously, sensing another presence. Her eyes caught and held the connecting door between her room and the one next door. The door was open. Weapon in hand, she silently approached. A low moan met her shocked ears and all caution forgotten she rushed into the room. Mulder was trembling, shaking like a frightened child. Her evidence folders were strewn across the floor and he appeared to be pulling himself up onto the bed in a vain attempt to escape the horror of the floor. She moved carefully around the papers and firmly grabbed hold of his shoulders assisting him as he climbed onto the bed. He curled into himself, his eyes and mouth clenched shut. Gently, she removed his shoes and then, using a blanket from the other bed, tucked it around him. She then sat quietly by his side and began to stroke his face. Light, gentle touches meant to communicate care and safety. She crooned his name softly, her voice offering the comfort and security he craved. Clinically, she noted his color, pale, waxen caused most likely from lack of sleep and poor eating habits. "Shhhhh," she whispered softly at the small whimpering sounds escaping from him. She continued to stroke him, her hands moving to the back of his neck. He'd had a long drive, approximately five hours by her calculation. Oh yes, she'd known he was in Minneapolis, the frame continued to mark his path. In spite of her promises not to watch him, she found she couldn't let him go. After a while, Mulder's eyes opened, hazy and unclear. It took him a moment to identify the owner of the soft fingers, but when he did, he could not stop the sweet smile that appeared. She returned it with one of her own, continuing her light caresses. Laying perfectly still, he asked hopefully, "you really aren't mad at me about Chicago?" Her smile remained on her face as she answered sincerely, "sometimes I still get mad when I think about Chicago, but right now," she let her fingers wander down his crooked nose, "I'm just really happy to see you." His face lit up, "yeah?" She shook her head at how easy he was to please, "yeah," she repeated. "You look tired, Mulder, didn't you get any sleep last night?" He blushed bright red and stuttered, "I-I had to get a few things done before I came -- " he stopped and shot her a panicked look, "here, came here, I mean." Her hand froze, puzzled by his reaction. She stood and moved away from the bed. Bending, she began to pull together the various files scattered across the floor, "it's okay, Mulder, I believe you. You just look beat." She placed the files neatly on the desk, turned and asked, "how does Chinese sound?" He was sitting on the side of the bed now, hair mussed and sleepy eyes making him look about twelve years old. "Sounds great, Scully, but do you mind if we eat in? That way we can talk about the case," he explained hastily. She shrugged, "sounds good to me but," she warned, "I'm not looking at the crime scenes again until after we eat, deal?" He stifled a yawn and agreed reluctantly, "okay. Do I have time to grab a shower before dinner?" Grinning she joked, "I'd actually recommend it, Mulder. You're a little ripe." He made a great show of smelling his own pits before pouting, "Jeez, Scully, you work with dead bodies. I must smell like heavenly perfume compared to most of your patients." She peeked her head back into his room, "I missed you, Mulder." With that she was gone. Mulder heard her picking up the phone and placing their food order. He stood, a bit shell shocked, by her behavior. He was unsure what had come over her, but either way, he liked the way it made him feel. >>>>>>>>>>>> He could smell dinner as he left the bathroom. He reached into his bag and pulled out some fresh clothes. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he straightened and examined himself seeing only a stranger. He stood, tall and straight, a thin motel towel knotted haphazardly around his waist. Hair, still wet, lay flat on his head. Green eyes standing out starkly on his pale skin. His nose, too large for his face, and lips that belonged on a woman rather than a man. Scully stepped into the room. She watched him study his reflection for several minutes. Her first instinct when she'd entered was to tease him, but seeing the unfocused look in his eyes she knew he was thinking about the case. She moved closer, careful not to startle him. "Mulder," no reply. "Mulder," she whispered, her hand resting gently on his naked chest. She saw him struggle to come back to himself, his eyes offering her a view to his internal battle. He blinked rapidly and then, just noticing her, looked down at her hand. "What were you thinking, Mulder? Where were you?" she questioned softly. He stepped away, not ready for her touch. "I-I was wondering what he sees when he looks in the mirror," he attempted to explain. "I was wondering if he sees -- " he cast her a helpless glance, "me." She bent to pick up his clothes and then, turning her back to him, held out his boxers. He snatched them from her and pulled them on. Next, she held out his socks. "Is this how it's done, Mulder? I've been watching the profiler assigned to this case and he doesn't seem to go through this type of emotional upheaval." He could hear the honest interest in her voice as she asked, "why do you have to become so involved? Why does it have to hurt you so much?" He pulled on his jeans before answering softly, "I don't know any other way to be, Scully," he confessed. She turned and handed him his shirt. "I know, Mulder, it's just that sometimes I wish it could be easier for you." She pulled him away from the mirror, "come on, you need to eat. I have a feeling this case is going to take everything you've got and more." He allowed her to pull him out of his room and into hers. The food was laid out neatly on the table. No case files in sight, she'd even turned the heat up in her room to ensure he'd be comfortable. Shoving him towards the chair she ordered, "eat, Mulder. No more talk about the case until you eat something." He pulled up a chair and began to inhale the cashew chicken and vegetable egg rolls she'd ordered. She watched him a moment before joining in. Mulder broke the silence first, "I want to visit the last crime scene tonight." She ignored his statement, "Skinner shared some fascinating gossip with me the other day," she tempted, unwilling to be pulled into conversation about the case until he'd eaten everything. His eyes lit up with interest. He dug into the bottom of the container, in search of the last cashew, mouth full, he urged, "do tell." Her eyes twinkled, "seems someone has been playing pranks on the Smoking Man." Mulder's eyes widened, did Scully know? Interpreting his wide-eyed silence as interest, she continued, "yup, first his car got the boot." She chuckled, "rumor has it he had to call Krycek for a ride." His lips twitched, "he must have been pretty upset." Scully nodded, then bit into an almond cookie. She swallowed and added, "at first, but then he seemed to take it in stride. Seemed to find it slightly amusing." Mulder frowned, disappointed. Confused by his sudden mood change, she informed lightly, "now the pizza thing, THAT he was pissed about!" Mulder appeared to be choking. His eyes filled, face reddened and his hands clasped over his mouth. Scully leapt across the table and pulled his hands free from his mouth, needing to clear his airway, the man was obviously choking! At that exact moment, Mulder burst out laughing spewing rice and bits of chicken onto the table and Scully's chest. She pulled back, stunned. "What the hell are you doing, Mulder?" She cast him an evil glare, clearly not amused by his latest antics. Mulder tried to apologize but again found himself overcome with laughter. He grabbed his stomach painfully and began to gasp for air. Scully stared at him for a moment before realization hit, "YOU! You did it!" Unable to answer verbally, he nodded his head vigorously. He tried to stand but found he could not. Scully, finding his laughter contagious, began to giggle. For almost twenty minutes they howled, every time one appeared to gain control, the other lost it. If not for the ringing phone, they might never have stopped. Scully took a deep breath and reached for the phone. "Scully," she answered weakly. "Agent Scully, are you all right?" asked a concerned Skinner. She straightened, all thoughts of laughter forgotten. Mulder recognized the Skinner stance and moved closer to the phone. "Yes, sir!" Mulder crossed his arms and provided her with his best Skinner imitation. She quickly turned away, unwilling to be a victim to his immature humor. "I'm fine, sir," she assured hastily. Her response was met with a long pause. Finally, Skinner spoke, "may I speak to Mulder, Scully?" She glanced quickly at Mulder, then back at the phone. Unwilling to intentionally lie to Skinner, she held out the phone. His face suddenly took on a look of fear and he began backing slowly away from her. He wasn't sure what he was afraid of, but he knew he didn't want to talk to Skinner. He stood poised between the two rooms ready to flee if it became necessary. Confused, Scully returned to the phone, "sir, he isn't able to come to the phone right now." Skinner, ever patient, asked, "and why would that be, Scully? He is there, isn't he?" "Yes, sir, but," she hesitated, she really was unsure as to what was going on with Mulder. A few minutes ago he had been his old self, check that, better than his old self. He was relaxed, charming and in good humor. "What's wrong, Scully?" he asked again, his worry obvious in his tone. She turned away from Mulder and whispered into the phone, "he won't come to the phone, sir." Then she added anxiously, "he seems to be afraid to talk to you." Angrily, she added, "what did you do to him now?" "I didn't do anything to him, Scully," he denied. "Please try to get him to come to the phone." She placed the receiver down on the table and walked towards Mulder. He looked furtively over his shoulder, checking for a clear path of escape. She placed her hand gently on his arm and leaned into him, "Mulder, what's going on? Are you still angry with Skinner?" He shook his head in denial, "I-I don't know, Scully. I just know I'm not going to like what he has to say." She began pulling him closer to the bed. She pushed him down so that he now sat perched on the end of the mattress. "Come on, Mulder, Skinner doesn't deserve this. He's your friend." His wide hazel eyes met hers anxiously. Numbly, he placed the receiver to his ear. "Sir," he rasped. "Mulder, are you okay?" Skinner began safely. "Yes, sir," he answered simply. No additional information was volunteered. "Have I done anything to upset you, Mulder?" Skinner asked bluntly. "No, sir." "Then what the hell is going on?" Skinner demanded, now angry. Mulder winced and pulled the receiver away from his ear. He swallowed hard and whispered roughly, "I'm not going to the police, sir." There, it was out. He was not ready to deal with the VCS Team. He wasn't ready to face Mickelson or any other agents he might have worked with in the past. At the same time, he knew there was a crime to solve. "Mulder, I want you to listen very carefully to what I have to say. Above all, do not interrupt until I'm finished, can you do that for me?" Skinner asked. Mulder grunted his agreement. "You may not be an FBI agent now, but having been an agent you clearly understand the need for the law. That being the case, Mulder, if you have evidence that can lead to the identification and eventual capture of this serial killer, you MUST come forward." Skinner paused for a moment before asking, "do you agree, Mulder? Tell me you can walk away from this?" Mulder's lower lip trembled and he fell back onto the bed. His eyes glazed, unfocused, he lay quiet for several minutes. Skinner never said a word, just waited. He attempted to explain, his voice unsteady, "sir, I don't need to work with the team to help with this case." Skinner reasoned, "Mulder, it's too dangerous, for you and Scully." Mulder sat up and looked at Scully guiltily. "Then I'll do it alone," he advised stubbornly. "NO!" Skinner ordered firmly, "NO more alone, Mulder." Mulder stood and began to pace the distance the cord would allow. "Did you hear me, Mulder?" Skinner demanded. He sniffed quietly, fighting the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, "yes, sir," he repeated, "no more alone." "Mulder, I know you can do this alone, but neither Scully nor I will allow it. We're done stepping back and allowing you to place yourself in dangerous situations. And Mulder," he waited for a response. "Sir," Mulder's voice grated. "You are strong enough to face the VCS Team. You are the very best agent I have ever had the privilege to work with. By far, you have proven yourself to be the finest, most effective profiler in the history of the FBI. Do not let the ignorance of others stop you from doing what only you can do." Mulder's whole body slumped and Scully, concerned, moved to support him should he fall. He spoke softly, "yes, sir." He straightened and handed the phone over to her. Without another word he left the room. She was torn between following him or talking to Skinner. After confirming Mulder was not leaving the motel, she returned to the phone, "sir." "Where's Mulder?" Skinner asked, his voice unable to hide his nervousness. He wasn't sure if he had pushed too hard. "He's still here, sir. He's just in the other room." She looked towards the door, hoping Mulder would return, "he doesn't seem happy." "Scully, keep me informed. Call me on my cell phone if he makes any move to leave on his own." His voice gentled, "I don't want him trying to solve this by himself. You both need the resources of the team to make this work." "But, sir, Mickelson will never agree to Mulder's help. He'll have to take his statement but he will never allow Mulder to take on the profiler role." "We'll see, Agent Scully, we'll see," Skinner answered mysteriously. "Contact me immediately if you have any problems." She eyed the door nervously, unsure what to expect from Mulder. "Yes, sir," she agreed and hung up the phone. >>>>>>>>>>>> Entering Mulder's room, she found him staring at Helen Baxter's pictures. Determined eyes met hers, "I want to go to the last crime scene." She considered his request. He'd driven most of the day today and, from the looks of him when she arrived, hadn't slept much the night before. Add to that his emotional dip into the mind of a killer, some Chinese food and an apparent lecture from Skinner and you have a very unpredictable Mulder. She shrugged, willing to risk it, "let's go," she answered simply. His eyes widened in surprise. Rather than question her sudden compliance, he grabbed his jacket and followed her out the door. Twenty minutes later they pulled into the driveway of the Baxter home. Except for his initial request to see the scene, he'd said nothing. On the drive over, glasses perched on his nose, he had continued to study the files. She stayed silent, understanding his need to focus. They sat in the driveway a full minute before he realized the car had stopped. Sending her an embarrassed half smile, he let himself out of the car and walked towards the front door. Scully intentionally lagged a step behind. As he moved up the stairs he imagined Helen Baxter's last journey. Looking at the railings, he turned and questioned, "this area doesn't look like it was dusted for prints, why?" She shrugged, "actually, Mulder, I haven't been able to figure out Mickelson's approach since I arrived on this case. Almost all my input has been ignored and, quite honestly, ridiculed," she confessed. He turned, brows raised, and nodded, his expression understanding. "It must have been very difficult for you, Scully," he replied quietly. Their eyes met, Scully's dropped first, his message received and understood. He stepped back and allowed her to take the lead. They entered the home and Mulder was immediately struck by the femininity of the room. He fought the urge to remove his shoes, sure if Helen Baxter were there, she would expect it. He looked around and noted the hallway closet. Rubber gloves on, he opened the door and found what he sought. A small floor mat containing the heels of Helen Baxter sat on cream colored carpet remnant. Mulder snapped on the closet light and bent to examine the mat. "Scully, they might want to remove this as possible evidence. We might get lucky and get some shoe prints here." She nodded and began to note his instructions. "What makes you think so, Mulder?" "Look around, Scully, she was meticulous. Based on the conversation I overheard, he was welcomed into her home. It was only after she," he hesitated, his face pale, "climaxed, that he killed her." He walked slowly through the house, studying every detail. Finally, he entered her bedroom, positioning himself just inside the door. The voices played in his head. "hi, Marty, you know I l-o-v-e green eyes." Whose eyes were you looking at when you said those words, Honey, he wondered. "I want you to listen to me fuck her, Marty. I want you to tell me how you 'feel' when you hear us." He walked slowly forward and ran his fingers lightly over the bedspread. "Marty, I don't want you to miss the best part." His eyes clenched shut, fighting the nausea that again threatened to overwhelm him. Scully found him this way. He stood tall, eyes clenched shut, swaying slightly. She touched his arm gently, "Mulder, what is it?" He opened his eyes slowly, dazed. She sighed, heavily, it had begun. She knew he would not walk away until this man was in custody. Looking at her watch she noted the time as 10:45pm, they'd been here several hours. "Come on, Mulder, let's get back to the motel," she urged gently as she pushed him from the room. His fingers rubbed his forehead roughly, attempting to push away the fog that had settled upon his brain. Wearily, he allowed himself to be led from the home. "What makes a woman like that take a man home the first night they meet? What kind of man would make you do that, Scully?" She stopped, shocked at he question, "why would you ask me that, Mulder? He leaned on the hood of the car, chin resting on the back of his hands. "Seriously, Scully, you're an attractive, successful woman. I've seen your apartment," eyes twinkling, "it's perfect." She frowned, pissed off, "well of course my apartment is perfect, Mulder, it matches me!" Climbing into the car, she slammed the door hard. "Shit," mumbled Mulder and followed her into the car. The way she was revving the engine, he wasn't sure whether she'd leave him here or not. He placed his hand over hers, stopping her from putting the car in reverse. "Scully, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it as a bad thing. I just wanted to know what kind of man could talk a woman into taking him home and, on top of it, calling a 900 service so some stranger can listen." He squeezed her hand lightly, "I didn't mean to insinuate anything." She looked away from him, searching for anything except his intense green eyes. Finally, she answered, "you." He pulled his hand back as though burned. She turned to face him, "someone like you, Mulder. Someone smart, attractive and dressed like a million bucks. Someone with eyes that laughed at me one moment and then suddenly drifted a million miles away. And as to talking a woman into letting a stranger listen," she reached out and placed her hand affectionately on his cheek, "you've talked government officials into believing in little green -- " His eyebrow raised -- She grinned, "I mean gray men. What kind of a stretch would it be for you to talk a woman into letting a stranger listen on the phone? Hell, Mulder, I know women and men at the FBI who'd do you in the janitor's closet." She stopped, appalled at what she'd just said. Calmly placing the car in reverse, she stepped on the gas and began the drive back to the motel. After a few minutes of silence, he asked, "Scully, do you think you could make me a list?" One eye still on traffic, she turned, her lips pressed together tightly refusing to react to his comment. Feigning confusion, she responded, "list of what, Mulder?" He nonchalantly looked out his window, seemingly mesmerized by the passing scenery. "Well, I was thinking a list of the women would be nice along with the location of that janitor's closet. I'd really appreciate it, Scully," he added sincerely. "And what about the men?" He winced, scrunching up his face, "Skinner's not on that list, is he?" She shrugged, "maybe." Shaking his head, he answered seriously, "call me shallow, Scully, but I like to see hair when I look down." Her lower lip was quivering now and he, hand pressed hard against his mouth, wasn't any more successful than her at hiding his amusement at their discussion. She continued to drive, concentrating hard on the road. He pushed his forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window wondering exactly where this janitor's closet could be found. >>>>>>>>>>>> LIMELIGHT MOTEL Scully's Room: After returning to the motel, Scully pushed Mulder into his room and told him to get some sleep. He nodded tiredly and watched her leave. Laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, she wondered what tomorrow would bring. Certainly Mulder would have to talk to Mickelson and inform the team as to what he'd heard. Then they'd have to return to Minneapolis and talk to the other operators, there was more to learn from their conversations with this animal. By rights, she should have pushed him to go in tonight and talk to Mickelson. He'd been so upset after talking to Skinner, she'd been afraid if she pushed, he'd leave her again. Looking towards the connecting door, she could detect no light at the base. Perhaps Mulder had actually learned to sleep in the dark, she thought tiredly. The time registered 11:55pm as she drifted off to sleep. >>>>>>>>>>>> Mulder's Room: The television glowed silently in the corner, he had muted the sound unwilling to share his late night activities with Scully. He glanced guiltily towards the door expecting at any moment to see her standing there frowning. The towel he'd placed at the bottom of the door should convince her he was sleeping, the last thing he needed was a lecture on proper health habits. He maintained his crouched position and glanced around the room, ignoring the muscle cramps that plagued him. Each victim's picture was taped to the tacky wallpaper. Beneath each picture hung post it notes documenting all known details of each crime scene. So many mysteries to solve... He moved to the first victim's display. Victim #1: Name: Beatrice Saunders Age: 22 Sex: Female Body Loc: Hilton Hotel room, New Orleans, LA Employment: Summer intern, major software company. Victim #2: Name: Samuel Bartosik Age: 32 Sex: Male Body Loc: Victim's apartment/Little Rock, AK Employment: Unemployed-Downsized high-level management position 30 days before death. Victim #3: Name: Kevin McCarthy Age: 27 Sex: Male Body Loc: Victim's trailer, Nashville, TN Employment: Bartender / singer Victim # 4: Name: Janet Spires Age: 34 Sex: Female Body Loc: Victim's condo in Louisville, KY Employment: Real Estate Agent Victim # 5: Name: Max Trenton Age: 36 Sex: Male Body Loc: Victim's home in Peoria, IL Employment: State Prosecutor Victim # 6: Name: Stanley Michaels Age: 31 Sex: Male Body Loc: Victim's home in DesMoines, IA Employment: Architect Victim # 7: Name: Helen Baxter Age: 32 Sex: Female Body Loc: Victim's home in Appleton, WI Employment: Marketing Director He stood and anxiously paced the room, examining each picture before moving on to the next. It was important he know the victims, understand the type of people they were. Understanding who attracted this man was the first step in putting him away. >>>>>>>>>>>> Scully's Room: The digital display flipped to 3:37am. Scully found herself wide awake staring at the ceiling. Her eyes flickered to the door, again noticing the lack of light. She sat up and grabbed her robe, "God damn it, Mulder never sleeps in the dark," she mumbled, angry with herself for being so easily duped. Unwilling to wake him, in the event she was mistaken, Scully opened the adjoining door quietly. His pace didn't slow as she entered the room. He moved from one area of the wall to the next, slowly, methodically. His arms were wrapped tightly around his chest. His body shivering slightly from the chill in the room, his need for sleep obvious in every movement. "Mulder," she called softly. "Mulder," she said a bit louder. He stopped pacing and turned slowly in her direction. His arms remained wrapped protectively around him and his bearded face was full of shadows. She stepped forward, took his arm and led him to the bed. Pushing him into a sitting position, she knelt in front of him and took both his hands. "Mulder, you need to sleep," she stated firmly. His eyes moved around the room before returning to hers. Shaking his head, he whispered, "too much to do, Scully, there's so much to learn." She pushed him back, forcing him to lie on the bed. "There is a lot to do, Mulder, and we need you healthy and alert. Come on now, it's almost morning, try to get a few hours sleep." He sniffled and threw his hand over his eyes. "I'll try, Scully," he promised. She tucked the blanket around him carefully and then switched off the light. As she left the room, she noticed the towel on the floor. That explains the lack of light, she thought. What it didn't explain was why he felt a need to deceive her in such a way. As soon as she left, he pushed the covers away and again began moving among the pictures. What kind of a man could so easily seduce both men and women? He was someone who must have given the impression of respectability, someone trustworthy. Back in the car Scully had compared the man to himself. He stopped in front of the mirror and studied his reflection. No, he thought, the man who committed these crimes must possess enough physical beauty to sexually attract both sexes. What drove this man to murder in such a way? He sat wearily on the edge of the bed and ran his hands roughly over his face. He was working on about 40 hours of no sleep and as much as he'd like to lie down and rest, per Scully's instruction, he couldn't. He'd never been able to sleep much once he began to absorb the details of a case. He stood suddenly and walked to the window. The night was clear, no clouds blocking the stars. Tomorrow he would have to face the police and the VCS Team. He would have to tell them all and, if he were honest with himself, the thought terrified him. He shouldn't care, didn't really, but the thought of more of his personal life being revealed to all (and he had no doubt everyone would be aware Spooky was taking 900 calls) was something he had never considered. It had begun as a harmless experiment and ended with a decent article and his full involvement in a murder investigation. Every time he tried to move away from this life, something pulled him back. His eyes searched the early morning sky. It called to him, offered him sanctuary from his thoughts. Five minutes later, sweats and running shoes on, he let himself quietly out the door and began to run. He replayed Skinner's words as he ran: "You are strong enough to face the VCS Team." Mulder really couldn't agree with this statement. Far away, he was strong but here, hours away from facing probably the worst ridicule of his career, he was feeling less than confident. "You are the very best agent I have ever had the privilege to work with." He ran swiftly across the park, legs long and strong. Did he really mean that, thought Mulder, does he really think so highly of me? And if he did, how did I get to this point, running across the country pretending to be anyone but myself? "By far, you have proven yourself to be the finest, most effective profiler in the history of the FBI." Sweat dripped freely from his brow as he slowed his pace and followed the path along the river. Okay, he did have a good solve rate in VCS, but the way he'd been treated, you'd never know it. In the back of his mind Mulder knew it was simple envy among the others. Unfortunately, he was just human enough to want the respect of these men and women. A man could only go so far on a straight diet of painful barbs and outright contempt from the very people he needed to watch his back. In the past he'd always felt he was free falling when he became involved in a case. As he went deeper he knew there would be no one there to catch him, to pull him back. It was always his decision to return. He'd feared that at first, but later, with Patterson, it had become like a drug, he'd been drawn to it. The thought of falling in so deep and never having to face tomorrow was oftentimes extremely appealing. "Do not let the ignorance of others stop you from doing what only you can do." "...hi, Marty, you know I l-o-v-e green eyes." He stopped, bent at the waist and inhaled deeply. Helen Baxter and the others had not deserved their fate. He straightened and calculated the miles back to the motel as three. Determinedly, he began his run back. There was work to be done and he, selfishly, had put his own fears before innocent people. It was time to put away his own needs and focus on, as Skinner had said, "doing what only you can do." >>>>>>>>>>>> Scully's Room: The alarm buzzed noisily in her ear. She was instantly awake. Today Mulder would have to talk to Mickelson, a man he disliked intensely. There was unknown history between the two, although, knowing Mulder, he had probably come in and solved one of Mickelson's cases a little too quickly. No doubt he'd made the man look incompetent. Mulder was very good at making others look inept. She walked to the connecting door and knocked lightly, "Mulder, time to get up." The door opened and Scully was startled to find a fully dressed Mulder, looking fresh and well- rested. Instead of a suit, he wore khakis and a gray sweater. Noticing her surprise, he said simply, "sorry, Scully, the suit I have in the car didn't travel well." "No, Mulder, it's not your dress," she denied. "You look fine." "I feel fine, Scully," he joked dryly. "Mulder, how can you look like you do when I know you haven't slept for the last two days? How the hell do you do that?" "Low stress lifestyle, Scully," he quipped. She rolled her eyes and backed away from him. "Give me twenty minutes and I'll be ready." "Uh, Scully, if you don't mind, I'd like to follow you over in my car," Mulder told her hesitantly. His mask had slipped a bit, eyes reflecting his nervousness. "That's really not necessary, Mulder. I can drive you wherever you want to go." His eyes drifted over her shoulder, "I'd just prefer to have my own car in the event I have to leave." "It'll be okay, Mulder. There's no need for you to drive over alone," she insisted. He shook his head, "sorry, Scully. It's not really a choice, I want to be able to leave if I need to." Her lips pursed as she considered continuing the debate. Sensing he would not give on this point, she answered tersely, "fine, Mulder, I'll meet you by the cars." TEMPORARY OFFICE OF KEVIN MICKELSON: Kevin Mickelson was not a happy man. This investigation had dragged on for weeks and all he had to show for it were seven victims. Seven victims, male and female, of various ages. Their only similarity seemed to be their common decency. Each had been described as good people, decent. Speaking of common decency, he wondered where Agent Scully was this morning. Her behavior yesterday had been cold, he'd only been trying to release some of the tension among the team with his joke. Who knew the woman had no sense of humor? After all, she worked with Mulder for how many years, surely that meant she could take a joke. He stood and walked towards the window, staring out at nothing. Truth be told, the investigation was at a dead end. Until their profiler could give them a bit more they had no idea where the killer would next strike. They could still not predict a victim type, next location or even any background on the killer himself. As much as he hated to admit it, a smart ass Mulder would be a welcome sight about now. "Too bad the Spookster went nuts," he mumbled to himself. His dark thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in," he called. Dana Scully entered, followed by a tall man in dark sunglasses. Barely looking up, Mickelson asked, "what can I do for you, Agent Scully? He'd begun shuffling papers upon her entrance, still a bit put off by her attitude the day before. "Sir, I have a witness who may have spoken to our perp," she began coolly. His head snapped up, a witness! It was at this moment that he focused on the man behind her. The figure pulled off his sunglasses and held out his hand in greeting, "good to see you again, Kevin." Mickelson gulped, "Spooky, I heard you were," he stopped, realizing what he'd almost said. Even Mickelson had some tact. Mulder let his hand fall to his side and slid the glasses back on. "As you can see, reports of my insanity have been greatly exaggerated," he answered lightly. Mickelson moved to sit behind his desk, a bit disconcerted to have his musings actually appear in his office. "Yeah, well, glad to hear about that, Mulder, but, you do not work for the FBI any more," he reminded. Scully stepped in, "he's here as a witness, sir. He spoke to the killer during Helen Baxter's murder." "Yeah, right, next thing you'll tell me is he was the sex operator," Mickelson joked. Mulder stepped forward before Scully could answer, "well, a man's gotta work." Mickelson's eyes squinted meanly, "my how the mighty have fallen. What does it feel like to be a paid pervert?" It was just as well Mulder had replaced his glasses. They provided a shield that he was determined he would not allow Mickelson to pierce. "Now, Kevin, people with real needs call these services," he explained. Scully stepped back, not liking Mulder's tone. "Yeah, pathetic people who can't get any," snorted Mickelson. Mulder shook his head mildly, "tsk, tsk, Kevin, so judgmental." Waving his finger in Mickelson's face, he added, "your mother is not pathetic!" It took Mickelson a moment but once he understood the comment, he practically flew over the desk pushing Mulder against the wall. It was at this moment Assistant Director Walter Skinner made his entrance. Skinner studied the scene carefully. Mulder was shoved up against the wall his collar twisted in the clenched fists of Kevin Mickelson. His sunglasses, now crooked, hands thrown out in apparent surrender at his sides and an expression of surprised innocence obviously feigned for Skinner's benefit. Scully stood behind Mickelson, attempting to pull him off Mulder. "Dr. Mulder, I'm sorry I'm late," Skinner announced in his most effective director tone. Mickelson's head swung around, noticing Skinner for the first time, and automatically dropped Mulder. Scully released Mickelson and swung around at the sound of Skinner's voice while Mulder, well Mulder simply straightened his glasses and continued with his wounded innocent routine. Skinner continued, "Kevin, Agent Scully and Dr. Mulder," he nodded to each, "once again, I apologize for being late." Mulder and Scully exchanged confused looks at the title Skinner was using. In all his years with the FBI, no one had called him doctor, he'd never requested it. To hear the title spoken by Skinner made little sense. Skinner held out his hand to Kevin, who shook it carefully, "Kevin, I'd hoped to talk to you before Dr. Mulder arrived. Sit down, man, you look a little shaky," he ordered. Mickelson moved to take a seat keeping a sharp eye on Mulder. Skinner explained, "Listen, Kevin, I know the investigation is not going well and so, I called in a favor and asked Mulder to act as an outside consultant. I'd hoped you would appreciate the extra resource." Mickelson stared dumbfounded at Skinner, what was the man saying? "With all due respect, sir, the investigation is not at a stand still," he insisted. "So you have a full profile compiled and distributed to your team," Skinner asked curiously. "Well, no, but it's just a matter of time," Mickelson stuttered. Skinner paused for a moment, then stated firmly, "people are dying, Kevin, we don't have time. We were lucky enough that Dr. Mulder was doing some research on an article he was writing and just happened to have spoken to the killer. You don't get opportunities like this everyday, Kevin, we can't afford to ignore it." Mickelson fumed, "I protest, sir, this is my investigation." "Yes," Skinner answered, "it is your investigation and, if you don't mind, I'd like to stick around and offer my assistance as well as Ag -- " he sent Mulder a look of apology, "I mean Dr. Mulder." Then before Mickelson could again interrupt, he added, "the press is all over this, Kevin, we need to solve this now!" Mickelson realized the futility of arguing with Walter Skinner once he made a decision. Grudgingly, he turned to Mulder, "let me pull in Kelliher and get a tape recorder and we'll take down your statement." He stood and headed out of the office, turning at the door, "meet me in room 318 in 30 minutes." The door slammed loudly behind him. Scully bit her quivering lip and moved towards the window. Mulder fidgeted with his glasses and avoided looking directly at Skinner. Skinner reached out and grabbed the Ray Bans he'd actually paid for in Chicago. "Give me those, Mulder," he snapped. Mulder stepped back and straightened his shoulders before meeting Skinner's glare. "Don't break those, sir," he warned, "they were a gift." Scully's shoulders began to shake, her back to the both of them. Skinner forced the smile from his face and snapped, "you are here for ten minutes, Mulder, ten minutes! I come in here and find you up against the wall by the lead investigator on this team with Scully playing back up." He glanced at the younger man in disbelief, "how do you do it, Mulder?" Mulder shrugged, slightly chagrined, "years of practice, sir." "You're an Asshole, Mulder," Skinner stated bluntly. "That would be Dr. AssHole to you, sir," Mulder responded blandly. "By the way, how much do consultants make?" "Don't push me, Mulder, I just covered your ass and you know it," Skinner threatened. "Well, there is that," Mulder mumbled, running his hand tensely over the back of his neck. He hadn't realized how stressed he was when he walked in the office. Scully, laughter under control, decided to rejoin the conversation, "sir, are you really going to be a part of this investigation?" Skinner nodded, "yes, Mickelson is getting nowhere with this one and we need to close it quickly. Turns out victim number five, our state prosecutor, had a friend in the Senate whose been making not so discreet inquiries about this investigation. I need some activity on this case and I need it now." Then, looking at Mulder, he asked, "are you in, Mulder? Will you help?" "I don't have a choice, sir," Mulder answered. Skinner was disappointed, he wanted Mulder to want to be here, "there's always a choice, Mulder." Mulder nodded and it was only now that Skinner saw the dark smudges and deep lines in his face. "No, sir, not all of us have choices. I couldn't walk away even if I wanted to," he stated flatly. Skinner nodded his understanding. Mulder's talent was a double-edged sword. On one hand he was able to dive deeply into the mind of a sadistic killer. On the other, he would sometimes find himself drowning in the evil with no one to turn to who understood what he was experiencing. Placing his hand gently on the man's shoulder, he squeezed his support, "let's go, we have a case to solve." MEETING ROOM: 3:18PM The day had rushed by in a blur. Mulder had provided a full statement and then, under the direction of Skinner, had spent several hours with Kelliher. The hope was that Mulder's input would lead Kelliher to a useful profile. By approximately 2:00pm that hope had vanished. "But there is a similarity in the victims, don't you see?" asked a now frustrated Mulder. Kelliher grunted, carelessly waving aside all Mulder's input. The walls presented a more detailed version of Mulder's motel room. They were covered with a great deal of information but, to Kelliher, none seemed to match. "Dr. Mulder," he stated with more than a hint of sarcasm, "the victims are male and female of various ages from various parts of the country. There's little connection here." Mulder slammed his fist down on a nearby table causing several papers to fall to the ground. He turned his back to Kelliher for a moment while he regained his composure. Scully and Skinner chose that moment to join them. Mulder, not realizing Skinner was in the room, informed him tightly, "Kelliher, get the hell out of here. I don't have the time or energy to waste on narrow minded imbeciles like you." Scully silently agreed with Mulder but had the decency to feel somewhat sorry for Kelliher. Skinner had no such compunction. "Mulder, would you and Scully please step out of the room." They both complied with no argument. As the door closed, Kelliher began to speak, "sir, I know Spo -- I mean Dr. Mulder, is not with the bureau anymore but I'd like to file a complaint." "Really, Agent Kelliher, on what grounds?" Skinner asked curiously. Kelliher's mouth dropped open in shock, "you, you heard him, sir. He has no right to talk to me like that!" "Do you have any idea of that man's talents?" Skinner asked in disbelief. "Did it ever occur to you that this might be the last opportunity to see the finest profiler in the bureau at work? Or are you so caught up in your own ego that you can't grasp what you are being offered here?" There was actual fear in Kelliher's face now, "but-but," he stuttered, "everyone says he's a nut case." "Before you pack up your things, I'd like you to attend the 4:00pm meeting and if, after that, you still think there's nothing to be learned from this man, you can catch a plane home tonight. Mulder will finish this case." Kelliher's large nostrils flared angrily, "fine, sir." Skinner turned and left the room. Scully and Mulder stood at the end of the hallway, clearly separated from the other agents on this case. Before they entered the meeting room, Skinner informed Mulder quietly, "it's your show." For Mulder's part, he was confident in his investigative abilities, but once again wondered why it always came down to this. Mulder against everyone else, film at 11:00. Seeing Scully seated only a few feet from him and Skinner leaning on a side wall with a full view of the room, he realized it wasn't Mulder vs. all. Somewhere along the way he had managed to pick up a few supporters. Mickelson took the lead. "As many of you are aware, we have a new lead in this case as well as a new," Mickelson sent Mulder a look of pure contempt, "resource. For those who don't know him, this is Mul -- " seeing Skinner's frozen look, he corrected, "Dr. Mulder. He's agreed to act as a consultant on this case as he is no longer working for the bureau. Please give him your full attention." With that Mickelson sat down and proceeded to shuffle through some papers on the table, clearly sending the message to the rest of the room that he had no intention of doing the same. Mulder walked to the front of the room where the slide projector had already been set up. "Lights," the room immediately dimmed. There was complete silence, no whispers, no snickers. There was also no sense of welcome in the room, it was going to be a tough sell. Taking a deep breath, he began. The first slide showed a map of the United States with the locations of each murder clearly marked. Mulder began with the basics. "Within the last seven weeks there have been seven victims, three women and four men. The killer has worked his way from New Orleans, Louisiana up to the latest victim in Appleton, Wisconsin. The victims range in age from 22-36 years of age, all intelligent professionals in their fields." A voice corrected from the back of the room, "not number three, McCarthy, the guy was a bartender." Mulder nodded, "true, but it's important that we don't link job title with success. After all," he looked around the room, eyes resting snidely on Mickelson, "we all know people who carry a title who aren't necessarily successful." Mickelson's eyes narrowed angrily as Mulder continued. "In the McCarthy situation, he was weeks away from signing a record deal. Success was simply a matter of time, at least according to a fan's web page." A woman's voice called from the back of the room, "what about Bartosik, he was unemployed?" Again Mulder nodded his agreement, "but, Bartosik took a golden parachute package, unemployed in his case was a hell of a deal. I suspect, and I would like that either confirmed or denied by this team, that he was already negotiating another position, possibly with our murderer." The notepads were out now and the scratching of pencils could be heard throughout. "Maybe, like you Dr. Mulder, he's a consultant of some type. That would explain his ability to easily travel and meet professionals," a quiet voice in the front suggested. Mulder walked towards the younger man and asked, "you're Agent Roberts?" Roberts nodded in stunned surprise. "I heard about your work on the Skylar case, excellent," he complimented. "Actually, I believe the man is a professional, very respectable. There is also a general belief that many serial killers by their seventh or eighth victim can be located only a mile or two from their actual homes. We could be dealing with a local boy." Walking back to the front of the room, he continued, "another similarity is in the general appearance of each victim." His thumb pressed the button, quickly presenting the room with a quick slide show of each victim. "All were 5'9-6'1. All had light brown/dark blond hair with either hazel or green eyes. They were all slim and obviously cared for their physical appearance and general health. What I don't have on these people are routines, patterns, mannerisms that, if being selected from afar, would mark them as a victim." Casting a serious look around the room, "we need that information." Again the heads went down and notes were taken. "Is it true you've spoken to our killer?" Mulder froze only a moment, he'd known it was coming. "Yes, I believe I was speaking to the suspect while he killed Helen Baxter." Taking a deep breath, he continued, "it would also appear that our perp likes it when people listen as he first has sex with him or her and then, as the victim reaches orgasm, slits their throats." He gestured for the lights to be switched on, "now would be as good a time as any for all of you to hear my recorded statement. Mickelson..." Mickelson stepped forward and set up the tape. "Dr. Mulder, gathering data for an article, was working as a 900 sex operator for Erotic Fantasies." There was some snickering in the room which no one saw fit to acknowledge. "Through Dr. Mulder's own sources, and our own check on the victim's phone records, a call was made to the same service at the approximate time of death of each victim. Our next steps will be to find the other operators who have spoken to this man and gather as much information as possible from their statements. Dr. Mulder and Agent Scully will lead that effort beginning tomorrow morning," he stated somewhat reluctantly. "In the meantime, listen carefully to Mulder's statement." He punched the play button and for the next forty-five minutes they listened to Mulder's emotionless voice describe the nightmarish last moments of Helen Baxter's life. Mulder leaned heavily against a nearby wall only a few feet from Skinner. The spotlight no longer on him, he allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes if only for a moment. Skinner turned slightly and examined the man. Dressed casually, he appeared younger than his actual years. Shoulders curved forward, Skinner feared for a moment that Mulder might actually have fallen asleep. Just as he was sure he'd have to make a grab for him, Mulder's eyes snapped open and he pulled himself back. "Damn," he cursed. The tape had just finished and all eyes turned to him. "It's almost time for him to strike again," he explained to Skinner, "when it happens, I need to be the one on the phone." Mickelson, confused, asked, "what are you getting at, Mulder?" "If he calls again, the call needs to be transferred to me. It needs to be recorded and, if possible, we need to talk him out of it." Without further explanation, he approached Agent Roberts, "contact Mr. Karnosk of Erotic Fantasies and gain his agreement to transfer that call to me when it comes in." Roberts nodded, "of course, but how will they know who he is when he calls?" "Sally, Millie, they all know him by voice now. Most of the other operators will not talk to him," he explained. Roberts looked to Mickelson for direction, "where do we set up the phone, here, the motel, where?" Mickelson, obviously aggravated by Mulder's takeover of his investigation asked snidely, "you're the phone sex expert, Mulder, how do you want it set up?" Mulder's jaw clenched, "I think we should set up a station here with recording equipment. Then, if I'm not here, you can transfer him to my cell phone number." Skinner stepped forward sensing another confrontation was near. "It sounds like we all have our assignments. Roberts, you take care of the phone situation. Johnston, your team is in charge of identifying victim patterns, behavior routines." He turned back to Mickelson, "and with your permission, Kevin, Mulder, Scully and I will travel to Minneapolis and begin gathering statements from the other operators who may have spoken to this man." The request for permission was a courtesy, no one in the room expected Mickelson to refuse. Mickelson, making one last attempt to regain control said, "I think it would be best if Dr. Mulder were to stay here and create the profile he's been hired to provide." Scully's face burned, this man had just placed Mulder in the same position as hired help. And not just any hired help but help that needed to be watched at all times. She stepped forward, "considering Mulder's relationship with the other employees of this phone service, his presence will probably make them more open to talking to us. Let's face it, these people do sign a confidentiality agreement." Mickelson shook his head, "I'm only trying to get our money's worth here," he argued nastily. Skinner was about to intervene when Mulder stepped between them. "There's a flight out to Minneapolis tomorrow morning, I'll begin the profile tonight and complete it after I've spoken to any other witnesses. I'll be ready to present it to the team in approximately 48 hours." "We may not have 48 hours, Mulder," Mickelson warned, "he's due to hit again anytime." Mulder shook his head tiredly, running his hand nervously under the collar of his sweater, "I know, I know." Mickelson snarled, "it's on your head if we lose another one, Mulder!" and left the room. Mulder turned pale, black spots dancing before his eyes, he began to sway slightly. The room cleared as those who witnessed the event were unsure whether to follow Mickelson's lead or stick with Mulder. Except for Roberts and Kelliher, they all left quickly. Scully pushed him into a chair. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and covered his face, "he's right, Scully, I should have come forward sooner. If he kills again it's all my fau -- " "Don't you dare say it, Mulder! I will not tolerate you blaming yourself for something you have no control over," Scully snapped. Roberts stepped forward, "Dr. Mulder, today's activities are the most progress we've made. We even found a vague imprint of a man's shoe in Baxter's closet, just as you advised. Very expensive shoes, I might add." Mulder continued to shake his head, exhausted and overcome with guilt, "what if he's already called, I should have thought of it sooner." Skinner interjected, "Mulder, there have been no new bodies found. Roberts will have the lines set up in the next few hours. You need to get some food and sleep before we catch that plane to Minneapolis." "Uh, if you don't mind, Dr. Mulder, I'd like to travel with you," asked Kelliher hesitantly. "I'd just like to observe." Mulder looked over towards Kelliher, what was this man's game? "Why, Kelliher," Mulder asked bitterly, "need some new Spooky material to take back to my old friends in VCS." Kelliher refused to back down, "I deserve that, Mulder," he acknowledged. "But, actually, after witnessing your work in here today, I'd really like the opportunity to work with you," he paused before admitting, "to learn from you." Mulder was unused to such a request. Few, especially from the VCS, had ever looked upon him as anything but a freak. Unable to find the words, Mulder nodded his agreement. Roberts and Kelliher took this as their cue to leave. Skinner asked, "do you think they'll have a spare room at your motel for tonight?" Scully and Skinner exchanged an amused look, "sir," she answered, "I think this motel always has a vacancy." Skinner rolled his eyes, "let's grab some dinner and then make it an early night. There's nothing more to be gained here." Mulder rose slowly and began to follow. As they entered the parking lot area, the three began to walk in separate directions. "What the hell," asked Skinner, "how many cars do we need?" "I can drive," stated Mulder and Scully simultaneously. Skinner studied them both, they looked tired and stressed from a long, emotional day. "How about if I drive?" offered Skinner. Scully shrugged and began walking towards him. Mulder hesitated, "I'd rather follow, sir." "Come on, Mulder, you can barely stand, there's no need for you to drive," said Scully, exasperated with his stubbornness. Mulder stepped back, "no, I'd rather drive myself. You two go ahead and I'll follow you to the restaurant." Skinner, seeing the determined look in Mulder's eyes, decided now was not the time to argue. Still, he wasn't comfortable with leaving Mulder alone during this type of case. The Patterson incident, years before, still haunted him. Scully offered, "I'll drive with you, Mulder." He smiled, "no, you help Skinner find a decent restaurant. And Scully," he added as he walked away, "no pizza." Skinner started the car, keeping a sharp eye for Mulder's in his rear view mirror. "Why didn't he want to drive with us, Scully?" "My guess?" she asked. He nodded. "I think the only way he feels safe being here is knowing he can drive away anytime. I also think, during this type of case, he needs time alone and as much as I hate to give it to him, I think it's the only way he can solve it. I just wish it didn't take so much out of him." Skinner's eyes found Mulder's car, the man was several feet behind him waiting for Skinner to lead. Without further discussion, they exited the parking lot and went in search of food and, hopefully, sleep. INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF PANCAKES Much to Mulder's delight, Skinner had chosen an IHOP for dinner. The International House of Pancakes was known for their wide variety of food. After spending an inordinate amount of time reading the varied menu, he settled on a large stack of pancakes. Scully, while amused by his boyish behavior, wanted food now and ordered a salad. Skinner rounded out the order with the special. Mulder spoke first, his voice sincere, "sir, thank you for your support today, it meant a lot." "You really mean that, Mulder?" he asked. Mulder, smelling a set up, pushed himself back into the seat, crossed his arms and nodded his answer. Skinner easily read Mulder's body language. The boy was definitely on the defensive. He leaned forward, "promise me you won't walk away from this or," he added, nodding silently towards Scully, "from us." Mulder looked everywhere but at them. The man at the next table seemed to be enjoying those eggs and, was it his imagination or were those rain clouds out there? The waitress behind the counter, feeling herself being watched, flashed him a flirtatious smile. Yes, everywhere but where he needed to. It wasn't that he planned on leaving, he knew he needed to stay until the end but, he wasn't sure he was ready to be locked in. True, he'd been thinking of returning to Washington, knew it was simply a matter of time but... "Mulder, did you hear me," Skinner asked pulling him from his thoughts. He answered slowly, "I'm not going to walk away from," waving his hands at nothing, "this." He sighed, "but I can't promise I won't walk away when this is through. I don't want to think that far ahead yet," he finished honestly. Scully looked away, clearly hurt by his response. Skinner, disappointed, compromised, "but you won't walk away until the case is over." "I'll only walk away from working this case with the team if asked to, sir," he answered. The waitress arrived with their dinner and silence fell. Mulder, lost in his own thoughts, absently poured strawberry syrup over his pancakes. He stared as it flowed gracefully down the sides and pooled at the base of the stack. Dripping blood flickered before his eyes and a picture of Helen Baxter, throat slashed, flashed. He gasped, his focus returning to the food on his plate. Standing abruptly, he explained, "I-I'm not hungry, I'll meet you both back at the motel." That said he moved quickly to the exit and left, leaving a stunned Scully and Skinner in his wake. Skinner rose to follow but Scully placed her hand on his, "don't. If he's going to stay with us, it has to be his decision." Skinner took his seat, every time he thought he was close to understanding the man, he'd head off in another direction. When would Mulder stop running? LIMELIGHT MOTEL - Mulder's Room: He paced the room, grabbing any loose clothing or items and shoving them into his backpack. He had to get to Minneapolis, once he spoke to the other operators he was sure he could pull together an effective profile. Mulder grabbed his bag, adrenaline rushing through his system. He'd drive, yes, he'd drive to Minneapolis. Yanking the power cord from the wall, he shoved his laptop into his case with the rest of his things. As he turned to leave, the adjoining door opened and Scully shouted, "FREEZE." Instinctively, he raised his arms and began to turn slowly. Skinner rushed into the room and stood between Mulder and the open door, his anger obvious from his set jaw and flashing eyes. He turned and slammed the door shut and asked angrily, "where the hell do you think you're going?" Mulder turned to Scully, but seeing he would get no help in that direction, lowered his arms and backed into the room. "I was going to Minnea--," he tried to explain. "Tonight?" she snapped, "Mulder, by the time you drive there, the plane will be landing. Why would you put yourself through that?" The backpack slid off his shoulders, the energy that had raged through his body minutes ago now lay in a puddle at his feet. Weakly, he tried again, "he's calling to me, Scully, I need to talk to the others." "Mulder, Mr. Karnosk has arranged them all to come in and talk to us at 10:00am tomorrow morning. The plane will arrive there at 8:30, there is nothing more to be done on this tonight and there is certainly no sense in driving through the night." She placed the back of her hand to his cheek, he was slightly warm, flushed. "Come on, Mulder, you're making yourself sick here, you need to pull back a bit." He eyed the door in front of which stood an angry Skinner. "You broke your promise, Mulder," he accused. "No, sir," Mulder defended, "I wasn't walking away from this case." Skinner reminded, "when we talked on the phone I told you no more alone. Do you, with that damned memory of yours, not remember us having that conversation?" Mulder blinked rapidly and whispered "but I-I can see him." "I don't care if he's sending you smoke signals, Mulder! No more alone, do you get it?" Skinner shouted harshly. He focused on the spot right above Skinner's left shoulder, "yes, sir." He moved to sit on the nearby bed. Looking up, he found Scully and Skinner hovering above him. God, it was bad enough when Scully did it! He attempted to stand and found his legs wouldn't support him. Wisely, he let his weight fall back on the bed. "I think I'm just going to sit here a while. You two," he nodded towards the door, "can leave." "Nice try," Skinner commented dryly. "It turns out this motel does not have another vacancy and I am not going to find another motel so, Mulder, it looks like we're roommates for the night." "Now wait a minute, sir," Mulder protested. "Last I heard I wasn't getting paid for my work and, I believe, it is my cash paying for this room." Skinner ignored Mulder's outburst and threw his bag on the other bed. Scully withdrew to her room and returned with a bag, "Mulder, I brought back some soup in case you were hungry. You haven't eaten since last night," she added, her voice full of concern. He looked from Scully to Skinner and considered joining the Consortium if, for nothing else, to stop their constant presence. He stood, kicked the backpack, shoved past Scully and went into the bathroom slamming the door behind him. Forty-five minutes later, showered and fed, Mulder lay stretched out on his bed staring at the flickering television screen. Skinner sat up in his own bed, a recent bestseller in hand. Mulder turned his back to the older man and closed his eyes, maybe if the he thought he was sleeping he'd stop with the constant looks. He was fighting actual sleep as he didn't want Skinner to again witness any of his nightmares. He was tired of being so emotionally exposed. Unable to lie still any longer, he sat up, grabbed his bag and went into the bathroom, Skinner's ever vigilant eyes upon him. Five minutes later, he tossed the bag on his bed and headed for the door. A late evening jog was just what he needed. Skinner, unable to stay silent any longer, asked, "do you think you're in any shape to run, Mulder?" Mulder turned and answered firmly, "yes." Sensing he would not be successful in talking Mulder out of his late night jog, Skinner figured he should at least be there to pick up the pieces. There was no way Mulder was going to be able to make more than a mile or two without falling flat on his face. He started to stand, "well then, I'll go with you." "NO!," Mulder ordered. Skinner froze. "I'm going running. I like to run. I'm going to run by myself." With that he turned and left the room leaving a shocked Skinner behind. He considered following him, but realized the futility of trying to catch Mulder, especially a Mulder running full out. He stood and watched the man race recklessly across the street and down towards the river. After a few minutes, he returned to the bed and continued reading his book, one eye always on the door. Less than an hour later, a heavily panting Mulder let himself back in the room. He was breathing hard although, Skinner suspected, based on the time, he hadn't run very far. Mulder glared at him, angry at Skinner for so accurately predicting his weakness. He disappeared into the bathroom for a shower. A few minutes later, Mulder, dressed only in boxers, stumbled towards his bed. He flicked the light off on his side of the room, then switched on the tv. Ten minutes later, he fell into a restless slumber. Skinner put his book down, turned over and, finally, slept. AMERICAN AIRLINES Flight 734 The plane bucked as another wave of turbulence washed over it. Skinner tightened his belt while Scully gripped tightly to the armrests. Mulder sat, headphones on, shuffling through the additional victim information. He hummed lightly, scanning each document trying to find the connection. Scully watched him in disbelief as he bobbed his head to the beat of the music, completely oblivious to the turbulence. " ...if I go there will be trouble," more head bobbing, "if I stay there will be double...," he mumbled to the music. She punched his arm and he looked up in surprise. "What," he protested as he pulled off the headphones and rubbed his arm. "How can you be so calm in this weather?" He looked around apparently just noticing the rough ride. He shrugged, "we all have to go sometime, Scully. It's not like I can control this." With that he flipped back on the headphones and returned to his files. She blinked, had Mulder actually made sense? Was she the one being illogical here? The plane dipped sharply causing her to let out a small squeak. Well, she might not be able to control it, but that didn't stop her from being terrified. Meanwhile, a pale faced Kelliher was just stumbling his way back down the aisle. He fell weakly into the seat across the aisle from Scully. "Doesn't he ever stop," he asked in awe. She turned and looked at Mulder through Kelliher's eyes. To him he appeared to be an incredibly hard-working, dedicated professional, not allowing anything to get in the way of finding a killer. An eccentric, no doubt, but, a brilliant eccentric. To her, he appeared to be a man who pushed himself too hard. A man with no common sense or concern about his own personal safety. Nuts, the man was nuts. Okay, brilliant nuts, but still nuts. Mulder leaned over her lap, he pushed a picture of the first victim in front of a Kelliher. "He knew her," he stated confidently. "She was his first taste." Kelliher leaned towards him, Scully pushed back further in her seat sending a helpless glance Skinner's way. "His first taste?" Mulder nodded, "I'd say we're dealing with a sexual psychopath." Then, expression quite serious, he asked, "what do you think, Agent Kelliher?" Kelliher's face brightened, the student being recognized by the respected professor. He cleared his throat nervously and quoted, "defined as an intraspecies predator who would use his charm, manipulation, intimidation, and violence to control others in order to satisfy his own selfish needs. The definition seems to fit this type of crime." Mulder suppressed a smile, it had been a long time since he'd intimidated another agent. "But, he knew Beatrice Saunders," he said tapping again on her picture. "Why do you think so?" asked Kelliher, genuinely curious. "The kill wasn't in the victim's home, it wasn't as clean. And," he looked up at Kelliher and shrugged, "I just know. Something happened here to set him off, a job loss, a marital break up, something." Scully had had enough, she elbowed the both of them out of her way and insisted that Kelliher switch seats with her. Both gave her a puzzled look, but as soon as Kelliher sat down, their hushed conversation resumed. She was torn, she was the one Mulder usually discussed these types of details with. It was obvious from Mulder's expressive hand movements that he was enjoying himself. Sometime between yesterday's meeting and this plane ride, he had won Agent Kelliher's respect and admiration. The man was like a puppy hanging on every word Mulder spoke. Mulder, for his part, was a natural in the role of teacher, of coach. Perhaps teaching those children in Maywood had taught him some patience. Just as the flight attendant leaned in to offer her more coffee, Scully overheard him say, "just call me, Mulder, I don't usually use the title." Kelliher answered, "actually my name is Norman, but," he added before Mulder could repeat the name, "I go by Kelliher." "Well, Kelliher, turn around and ask that woman for some more coffee." He yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eye, "caffeine is definitely needed here." Kelliher signaled the attendant to pour them two cups, "with as many cases as you've seen, Mulder, I'm surprised you still have trouble sleeping." Mulder shrugged, eyes haunted, "I don't sleep much," he admitted. Kelliher frowned, concerned, "have you ever spoken to anyone about it? Maybe a sleep therapist," he offered helpfully. Mulder turned away, focusing on the passing clouds. Another minute passed before he responded mysteriously, "I don't want to sleep." He flipped on the headphones and turned towards the window effectively ending any further conversation. EROTIC FANTASIES - 9:30am Sally watched the door anxiously, something was up. She and Millie had been given special instructions as to how to handle one of their callers. And, interestingly enough, they were told to advise the caller Marty was the only available operator and patch the call through to a special number. On top of that, Robert, Nancy and a third operator, Sandra, had been asked to come in for questioning by the FBI (Mr. Karnosk had let that info slip over coffee that morning). Something major was going down because usually they were not permitted to reveal the content of their calls. She'd just finished connecting another call when the door opened. Although four people entered, the smile she flashed was only for him, for Marty. He stepped from behind the taller man and walked over towards her. Turning to Millie, he asked, "Millie, can you cover Sally's phone for a moment, I need to speak to her." Millie nodded, Marty took Sally's arm and led her over to the corner on the other side of the room. She could see his companions were just as puzzled as she by his actions. His hand squeezed her elbow lightly, "you're a very intuitive woman, Sally." She frowned, "how so, Marty?" His eyes dropped, ashamed, "my name is not Marty." She moved in closer and forced him to look her in the eye. She smiled her forgiveness, "it was pretty obvious you were hiding from something." She cast a worried glance at the others, "you're not in any trouble, are you?" He shook his head, "no, I'm working with them on a case." Skeptically, she asked, "really?" He ran his fingers over his chest, "cross my heart." She grinned, always game for a new adventure. "So, what is your name?" He actually winced, "Mulder, Fox Mulder." She rolled her eyes, "your first name is Fox?" she asked in disbelief. He scratched his chin and ran his fingers tensely over his jaw. "People usually call me Mulder," he informed straight faced. She studied him, attempting to link the name with the face. Finally she asked, "okay if I still call you Marty?" He leaned in and gave her a light hug. "Missed you, Sally." He turned and walked back to join the others. Sally followed and went back to answering her phone. Millie informed, "Mr. Karnosk will be out in a minute, Marty, and," she added sweetly, "I'm making oatmeal raisin cookies tonight." He grinned widely, "thanks, Millie." Gesturing to the chairs off to the side, Mulder suggested, "why don't we wait here. We're a little early." Skinner and Kelliher took a seat. Scully continued to stand, eyebrow on stun, silently demanding an explanation. He frowned slightly and walked her a few steps away from the others. "You appear to have made a few new friends here, Mulder?" He shrugged, "they're very friendly here in Minneapolis, Scully, nice people." She stretched to get another look at Sally, "I'll bet." Shaking her head, she joked, "the next thing you know you'll be telling me you went disco dancing." He was clearly appalled at her suggestion and she chuckled to imagine him in a white leisure suit on a multi-colored dance floor. "Scully, I do not disco!" He was so charming when he wanted to be, "what was I thinking, Mulder?" she smirked. Dead serious, he answered, "I don't know, Scully. It's fairly obvious that the only sure way to get me to go, is play that old time rock and roll." Before a stunned Scully could reply, Mr. Karnosk announced, "gentlemen and," noticing Scully, "ma'am, I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Let's step into my office." Skinner, Kelliher and Scully walked towards Karnosk's door. It was then, Karnosk noticed Marty. "Marty, where have you been? Some of your regulars have been asking for you." Skinner stepped in, "I believe Agent Roberts informed you about the need to transfer the caller we discussed to Marty," he corrected quickly, "I mean, Dr. Mulder." Karnosk hid his shock well, "Dr. Mulder, well," he joked lamely, "I wish you would have told me Marty, we could've charged your callers more." "Sorry, Mr. Karnosk, your rates are still higher than anything I could bill." "Let's get on with it, shall we," interrupted an impatient Skinner. "Where are the others?" Robert is waiting in the office next door, the other two are scheduled to come in within the hour. Mulder turned to Kelliher, "let's get started then." ROADHOUSE BAR & GRILL 3:30PM: They were all exhausted from the interviews. They had learned quite a bit about their suspect. Mulder and Kelliher debated the small details, but they both agreed on the basic profile. Skinner and Scully were feeling a bit left out, unable to really contribute much at this level. The waitress stopped by to drop the check off and, leaning in towards Mulder, asked, "you going to stop by tonight, Marty?" He blushed and mumbled, "no, uh, have to work." She straightened and sighed, "your loss." He watched her walk away, disappointed. Clearly it was his loss. Skinner nudged him hard in the ribs causing Mulder to cough. Scully asked, "Mulder, you appear a little flushed, are you feeling okay?" He actually was feeling like crap, his throat had been scratchy ever since he'd chosen to go on that late night run. So, of course, he denied it, "I'm fine, Scully." Mulder turned to Kelliher, "Next stop, New Orleans. I want to meet the girl's family." Turning to Skinner, "Sir, do you think they can do a check on new moves in the last thirty days into Appleton. Concentrate on a five mile radius from the Baxter home." Skinner nodded while scratching out his notes. "What are you looking for, Mulder?" he asked curiously. Mulder shrugged, "not sure, sir, could be our boy worked his way home and Helen was the planned victim all along. There are clear clues that indicate he knew the area well." Kelliher listened carefully, strangely enough, following the logic easily. "Yes," he agreed, it seems like the next logical step." Standing quickly, he advised, "I'll go call in our status and check when the next flight leaves." Looking to Mulder, "when should I tell them the profile will be done?" Mulder shrugged, "it's your profile, what do you think?" "But," Kelliher stumbled, "if not for you, we would've never gotten this far." Mulder shook his head, "you would have eventually gotten here, Kelliher. Besides, I hate to type." Kelliher left the table, still mumbling under his breath. This case, if solved quickly, would mark a turning point in his career. Regardless of what Mulder said, he would not have arrived at this point without having worked with him. His mind had been closed to new ideas, techniques and Mulder had taught him to consider all avenues, to assume nothing, every detail meant something. Mulder threw his head back and closed his eyes. The purplish shadows under his eyes and deep furrows in his forehead gave testimony to the previous day's events. He pulled both hands forward and rubbed his face as though attempting to somehow erase himself. He leaned forward on the table and rested his chin on his fists. Eyes unfocused, he stated flatly, "we're close, he'll call soon." Scully placed her hand on his arm, "when, Mulder?" His eyes continued to stare at nothing, "it's time for him to kill again. He has a taste for it, he needs it. It's the only thing he can feel." He pulled his gaze back and looked from Skinner to Scully, "if it were me, I couldn't wait any longer. It would be time for me to kill again." Kelliher was just coming back to the table when Mulder's cell phone rang. It was Agent Roberts. "Mulder, we got him on line, we'll be recording and attempting a trace. Can you take it?" he asked. His breathing quickened and the little color he had was now completely gone. "Hold on, I need to find a quiet room." Looking to Skinner, he said, "it's him, I need -- " Skinner nodded, understanding immediately. He spied a door behind the bar, pushed his way past the bartender and cleared the back room in under twenty seconds. The team followed him into the room. Mulder looked around, confused by the presence of the so many people. He really needed to be alone, turning to Skinner with pleading eyes, he begged, "I need to talk to him alone please." The older man considered it, he knew Mulder would be more comfortable, more confident alone in the room. But, his instincts were telling him NOT to leave Mulder. Valuable seconds ticked by, finally he turned and ordered, "Kelliher, you and I will listen in from outside. Scully," his eyes piercing, "stay with him." With that, they left the room. Mulder and Scully were alone, she moved as far away from him as possible, placing herself in the far corner of the room. Realizing there was no time to argue, Mulder placed the phone to his ear and ordered, "put him through." Turning his back to her, he spoke, his voice husky, "hello, this is Marty." "Marty, Marty, Marty, you sound like you're not getting enough sleep. Have you been thinking about me?" the familiar nasal voice teased. Unable to hide his weariness, Mulder answered, "yeah, actually, Craig, I have been thinking about you." Silence met his reply. Mulder made no attempt to hide his own rapid breathing. He needed the man to hear his anxiety. Finally, the man spoke, "you're pretty smart for a sex operator, aren't you Marty. Who are you really?" He couldn't help it, he looked up and found Scully. He had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable in his life. "I'm an Oxford grad who is, if you listen to my family, only interested in porn and jacking off." Scully winced, her eyes dropped to the floor. The voice was clearly intrigued, "an Oxford grad, huh, I'm impressed." Mulder answered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "as are most of my customers." The man laughed aloud. Mulder asked, "so, what game am I in for tonight?" "Jealous, Marty," the voice asked coyly. Mulder's sharp intake of breath was clearly heard by their perp. "No," he denied coldly. The voice chuckled, amused, "Marty, I'd have you say hello to Jack, but I'm afraid a smart boy like you might ruin my plans." "I don't know what you mean, Craig," Mulder answered. The man's breath quickened as he spoke to his next victim, "oh yes, Jack, take off your shirt -- " The phone dropped and Mulder was left to shout into the phone, "Craig, stop, come back to the phone!" The sound of two men groaning their pleasure was easily heard. Mulder moaned in response, knowing nothing he could say would save the man. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he bent forward, clutching his stomach painfully as he listened. Scully moved to stand behind him and began lightly stroking the back of his neck. "Marty," the voice panted, "are you still there?" Mulder's eyes blurred and he was suddenly very tired. The cool wood of the desk soothed his fevered skin. "Yes, I'm here." Then, knowing there was no other way, he straightened, pulled away from Scully and said coldly, "you're going to kill him, aren't you, Craig?" A long pause before an out of breath Craig answered, "game, Marty, I told you before, just a game." "Craig," Mulder attempted to interrupt. "Shhhhh, Marty," he whispered harshly, "almost there -- " Mulder could hear the other man begin to groan loudly, obviously near climax. Another life ended while he listened. His own breathing became erratic and his heart pounded painfully in his chest. Scully stood by ready to step in when he'd allow it. Mulder modified his approach, if he couldn't save the man, he'd at least learn from the experience. His voice seductive, Mulder urged, "tell me how it feels, Craig? I need to know what you're feeling right now, tell me!" He felt Scully's hands slip away. She stood behind him in shock, obviously disgusted by Mulder's question. "Oh God, Marty, we're almost there, I'm almost there and it feels incredible. So good, so bad," the voice responded, barely coherent, "so b-b-bad, I need, shouldn't feel like this, bad." Suddenly a man's scream could be heard over the phone line. The tears fell freely down Mulder's face, his own breath coming in short gasps. Craig's moans could also be heard as he climaxed. The voice returned to the phone only to hear Mulder's harsh breathing and moans. Misinterpreting the reason, Craig urged, "that's right, Marty, let it go. Let it go, man." Mulder's fingers slipped off his phone and it clattered loudly on the heavy wood desk. Skinner rushed silently into the room, white faced, having witnessed both sides of the conversation via his own cell phone. Grabbing Mulder's phone, he pushed it back towards Mulder's ear, forcing him to continue the conversation. Mulder bit back the sob that threatened and spoke, "C-C-Craig, are you still there?" "You got off this time, didn't you, Marty?" the arrogant voice demanded. His question was met with silence. The voice continued, "it's because I was with a man this time, wasn't it, Marty? You wanted it to be you, didn't you?" he taunted. "No," Mulder denied, "I told you before, I don't want to -- " "Admit it, Marty, you wanted to be here with me." Mulder's hand rubbed his face tiredly, erasing the tears, "yeah," he whispered, "it should've been me there, not Jack." Skinner, still able to hear the conversation from both ends, stepped forward and gripped Mulder's arm, forcing the man to look up at him. Mulder's guilt stricken expression was all he needed to see to understand that this plan had been a bad one. In trying to pull Mulder back to the FBI, he might have effectively destroyed him. Mulder was not only attempting to walk in the shoes of a madman, now he was volunteering to step in for the victims. The penance this man demanded of himself was too great. Scully stepped forward and began to lightly massage his neck, sending him her own silent signals of support. Skinner eyes were frozen on Mulder's face as he listened to the call. "I can make all the pain go away, Marty. I can make it all disappear,' the voice promised hypnotically. Mulder flinched, physically pulling away from Scully. "No," Mulder insisted, "no one can do that. Too much pain." Mulder gave in to the tears, his breathing hitched. "No, Marty, trust me, I can help it to go away. And when we're done, I wouldn't hurt you, I'd save you," he added mysteriously. "Where are you, Marty?" the voice insisted. "Let me make it go away." Mulder pushed himself back into the chair. "I don't know, I -- we're not supposed to meet any of our callers," he answered evasively. Back in Appleton, those listening team members exchanged shocked and confused looks, what the hell was Mulder doing? "Where are you, Marty?" the voice demanded. "I don't think this is a good idea," Mulder pleaded weakly. "How do I know you won't hurt me?" he pleaded. "I'm going to find you anyway, Marty. I even know what you look like," he stated confidently. It was obvious from the man's tone, he believed he was in complete control of the conversation. "No, you don't! How could you?" Mulder demanded, outraged at being the victim of this man's profile. "Because you look like me, Marty. Don't you remember when we first talked?" "Yeah," he answered, his voice uncertain. "Green eyes, Marty, you have green eyes." Then, he added, "I picked Jack because he looks like you, Marty. When I fucked him, I imagined it was you." "No, I've never -- " "Don't interrupt, Marty," the voice chided. "Tall, lean with green eyes and I bet you're a handsome man, Marty. I can just imagine you wandering around London as a student. A heavy sweater, jeans and a lost, lonely look. We might have even met. Where are you, Marty?" the voice demanded again. "I can't," he whispered desperately, "I want to, but I can't." "Somewhere public then, Marty. Somewhere we can talk until you feel safe." The tables had turned. Instead of Mulder pleading, the man was begging to come to him. Scully and Skinner looked at Mulder in awe at the masterful manipulation he'd just pulled off. The same reaction could be seen back in Appleton by the listening team. Was it possible Spooky Mulder had actually tempted their perp to come to them? If true, it was an unparalleled feat, pure genius. "I'm-I'm -- " he hesitated a full thirty seconds, before appearing to admit under great duress, "I'm in Minneapolis." "Good, good, Marty," the voice complimented. "You see, that wasn't so hard. Isn't there an amusement park in the middle of that Mall monstrosity?" Mulder sniffed, then answered, "The Mall of America? Yeah, there's a roller coaster or something like that. I've seen the kids on it." He coughed hard, his throat sore. Scully stroked his brow, definitely running a mild fever. Worriedly, she thought, he's managed to run himself into the ground again. "I'll be there tomorrow at 2:00pm, that should give me time to catch a plane in," the voice planned. Mulder again pushed back, "I don't think you should fly in, Craig. I can't promise you anything here, I don't -- " again he allowed his voice to stumble. He needed this man to feel very confident, very much in control. "We'll just talk, Marty," he promised smoothly. "But you'll soon see, it'll be different with me. You don't have to be afraid of who you are and what you need. I can make it go away," he promised again. Mulder again let the line stay silent for a few seconds, then, inhaling loudly, he agreed, "I'll be there." "Tomorrow, Marty, tomorrow," the voice promised. The line went dead. The little control Mulder maintained, slipped away. He pulled away from Scully and stumbled to the other side of the room. Leaning heavily against the wall, he slid slowly to the floor taking Scully back to the place this had all begun. She remembered his words as though it was yesterday: "... if anyone in this world has a right to be screwed up, it's me..." " I willingly enter their thoughts, the thoughts of monsters..." She'd made the wrong decision then, instead of leaving the office and going to Skinner for help she should have wrapped herself around him and never let him go. No matter how hard he pushed her away, she should never have let go. A true friend would not have judged, they would have understood and held on tight. Mulder lay, curled into himself, in the corner. His face pressed against the cool tile floor. Eyes clenched shut, she could see the tears that sprinkled his lashes. He was hyperventilating, unable to slow his breathing. She rushed forward and crouched next to him. Shouting for help, Skinner flew to her side. Bending down to kneel beside the both of them, Skinner asked, "how is he?" "He's not responding, sir, possibly he's going into shock," she informed professionally. "Can you give him anything?" She hesitated, then shook her head, "I'd rather not, sir. I'd risk sending him deeper and I'm not sure how his body, in it's weakened state, would react. Then, looking up at Skinner, she instructed, "shut the door. I want him to feel safe when he comes out of it." Skinner moved to the door and locked it. Then, he dimmed the lights and moved back to join them. Working together, Skinner pulled Mulder forward while Scully positioned herself behind him. She cradled him in her lap, his face digging desperately into her neck. His breathing, still rapid, had begun to slow. Quiet moans were muffled against her skin. "Come on, Mulder," she crooned, "it's safe here." Skinner, bent at the knees, reached over and grasped Mulder's shoulder firmly. He felt completely responsible for Mulder's condition, he never should have allowed this. "Mulder, son," he called without thought, "you're okay, it's safe now." Mulder's eyelids fluttered, he awoke confused and somewhat fearful. Searching the room apprehensively, for some unknown reason, he expected to see his father. "D-D-Dad," he whispered. Skinner cursed himself, "no, Mulder, it's Skinner and Scully." Scully began stroking his brow, her other arm holding him tightly. He was heavy but she'd be damned if she'd let him go now. She whispered in his ear, "how you doing, Mulder? Do you know where you are?" He sent another fearful glance around the room and then began to pull away from her embrace. "I'm okay, Scully," he insisted. He leaned forward, only to find himself face to face with a very concerned Skinner, "you sure you're all right, Mulder?" Mulder looked from one to the other, then, legs wobbling, he moved to sit in the chair, "yes, sir, I'm okay now." "Bullshit, Mulder," Scully countered. He smiled and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes with his left hand, "Scully, really, I'm fine. Just a little wobbly. Help me to stand please." Skinner moved forward, he was better equipped to assist. Pulling Mulder into a standing position, he supported the younger man's weight easily. Mulder asked, "did we get the trace?" Skinner shook his head, "no, we've got the call traced to a rather large neighborhood in New Orleans, but they couldn't get it to an actual line." Mulder nodded, "he's starting again, he was going to work his way up the country again." His lower lip began to quiver and he bit it painfully, this was not the place for emotion. Just now realizing he was still leaning on Skinner, he pulled away. Skinner stepped back respecting Mulder's need for some distance. He unlocked the door and, together, they entered the main bar area. Kelliher, waiting anxiously outside the room, looked immediately to Skinner for instructions. Skinner ordered, "contact the New Orleans PD and let them know what we're looking for." Mulder stood by on shaky legs watching as Kelliher, Skinner and Scully busied themselves with gathering status on the caller. Feeling useless, he wandered towards the back door, needing air. Scully's anxious eyes monitored his exit. The back alley was empty, thank God. Overflowing trash bins and stray cats never looked so good. Ignoring the filth, he dropped to a crouch and held his hands to his face. For a few minutes he froze. Then he began to rock, like an anxious child. His hands rubbed against his face painfully, "don't let go, Mulder," he whispered, "can't let them see -- " His breath hitched loudly and, unable to stop himself, he released a loud sob. Angry at himself, he stood and began to walk the alley, gripping his stomach painfully. A man is dead, dead because he looked like me! He stumbled, falling hard into the brick wall and cutting his cheek. Reaching up, his fingers found the cut and carelessly wiped away the blood and tears. Rage welled within and, without thought, he punched his fist into the wall, enjoying the pain. Pulling it back again, he prepared to repeat the self abuse. Instead of the wall, his fist slammed into the firm cushion of Skinner's palm. Fear gripped him. Skinner had said it was a mistake, his and Scully's intention to commit him, but what if seeing him like this made him change his mind? He struggled for control, drawing blood from the inside of his cheek. As he attempted to pull his fist away from Skinner's hand, Skinner tightened his hold. Mulder, still not looking up, confessed, "I should have been able to stop him. I'm sorry, sir." Skinner's expression darkened at Mulder's words. When he'd first entered the alley, he found Mulder leaning heavily against the brick wall, openly weeping. He'd considered turning around, giving the man his privacy and was just moving to reenter the building when an anguished Mulder slammed his fist into the wall. Skinner lurched forward, unwilling to let him hurt himself further. Now, hearing Mulder's guilt and understanding that the man was taking all responsibility for a man's death, he, too, was angry. He gripped Mulder's shoulders and shook him roughly, forcing him to face him. "Mulder, stop this! NO ONE could have stopped him. You said yourself it's the only way he can feel anything. Anyone with that type of need was not going to be stopped by words alone." Mulder felt himself being shaken like a child, He could see that Skinner was talking to him but he couldn't make out the words. Instead, he flashed back to being shaken by his father in just the same way. His face white with fear, eyes panicked, he tried to pull away, "I'm sorry," he pleaded, "I'll do better next time, I promise. Please, d-d-don't -- " his voice broke. Skinner immediately realized his mistake and stopped the shaking. Seeing the sheer terror in Mulder's eyes, he knew he'd gone too far. Mulder needed to be handled with kid gloves on cases like this, he wasn't up to Skinner's anger. Loosening his grip, he allowed Mulder to move fearfully away. As Mulder stepped back, Skinner moved forward, "Mulder, don't go, I'm sorry." Mulder stopped and stared at Skinner in stunned surprise. They stood, only a few feet separating them, each sizing the other up. Another minute or two passed before Mulder became fully aware of his surroundings again. Sending a guilty glance Skinner's way, Mulder whispered, "sorry, I hared out for a minute there." He turned his back on Skinner for just a moment. Then, turning back again, he added seriously, "I'm not crazy." Skinner shook his head, "no, Mulder, you're not crazy. The perp is crazy, this situation is crazy. You, my friend, are not." Mulder nodded, his eyes performed a paranoid sweep of the area as he stepped further away from Skinner. He stated firmly, arms crossed defensively over his chest, "I'm not going to let you do that to me again." Skinner nodded, understanding perfectly, "you have every right to distrust me, but I promise it won't happen again." Mulder attempted to explain, "this is what I have to do. This is where I need to be to understand him." Skinner moved forward and squeezed Mulder's shoulder gently. "I know, Mulder, it's what makes you so good at what you do." Mulder blinked, no one had ever understood this before. Or if they had, no one had acknowledged it out loud. He visibly pulled himself together, straightening his shirt and smoothing his pants, all emotions tucked neatly away. His face, a smooth plain, hiding all thoughts, all feelings. Skinner walked towards the bar door, gesturing for Mulder to follow. Scully joined them immediately upon reentering the building. Seeing Mulder's pallor and slow movements, she moved to his side. Uncharacteristically, she wrapped her arm around his waist and prodded, "come on, Mulder, you need a place to rest." Looking to Skinner, she asked, "did you notice any decent motels in the area, sir?" Mulder attempted to pull away but she would have none of it. Skinner nodded, "there were several a few miles away. And, if I'm not mistaken, close to the mall." HOLIDAY INN In the lobby, Mulder had insisted upon going to his room alone. Grabbing his key, he tossed his pack over his shoulder and stumbled to the elevator. Scully followed, unwilling to leave him in such an exhausted state. She pushed her way into the elevator just as the doors were closing. He ignored her and instead stared blankly at the buttons. Unsure what floor he was on, he slowly pulled the key from his pocket. My God, Scully thought, he's really out of it. Reaching past him, she punched three. He looked down at the key again, compared it to the number Scully selected and mumbled something unintelligible before leaning against the wall. Twenty seconds later the doors opened. Mulder straightened and began a slow, stiff walk to his room, ignoring Scully's presence a few steps behind. In front of his door, he turned, "Scully, I need to be alone right now." "Mulder, let me just come in for a moment. I just want to make sure you're all right," she explained eyeing his scraped fist. "I'm not okay, Scully," Mulder answered emotionlessly. "Then let me -- " He coughed harshly, his side pulling painfully with each dry hack. Catching his breath, he answered, "no, Scully, you don't understand. I'm not going to be okay until this is done, until we have him. How can I be?" his eyes begged for understanding. Turning he let himself into his room. "I just don't want to be around people right now," he said softly and shut the door behind him. She leaned her forehead against his door, willing him to open it to her. Let me in, Mulder, she screamed silently. On the other side of the door Mulder leaned his forehead against the cool wood. God he wished he'd let her come in with him. Alone in his own mind was not a place he preferred tonight. He waited, his cheek pressed against the cool surface, hoped for a knock or a sharp order from Scully to let her in. Another minute passed before he heard her walk away. Just as well, he thought, fighting his own weakness. He felt dirty, Craig's voice, his words had infected Mulder. Pulling himself away from the door, his eyes shifted between the bed and the shower. Back and forth several times, either choice would bring its own version of hell. The shower, his only safe haven for tears, or the bed, a torture chamber in itself. Ten minutes later Skinner, from his room window, caught sight of Mulder running, stumbling across the parking lot, heading God knows where. "What demons are you running from now, my friend," he said sadly. >>>>>>>>>>>> JACK'S STEAK & ALE Dinner that night was a silent affair. Mulder sat quiet, his expression flat and emotionless. Both Scully and Skinner had seen him like this before and knew, regardless of his seemingly endless stamina, he would not last much longer. If he didn't sleep soon, he would collapse. His attention seemed split between picking the little food he'd ordered into tiny pieces and casting wide-eyed, lost glances around the room as though searching for something he'd lost long ago. Kelliher leaned forward on the table, even he, new to the legend of Spooky Mulder could not help but be touched by the man's obvious pain. Cautiously, he asked, "Mulder, did you get a chance to review the profile?" He had dropped it by Mulder's room earlier. Mulder was just returning from a run, dripping with sweat and clearly exhausted from the effort. Once again Kelliher wondered what drove this man. Mulder blinked several times pulling himself back from somewhere only he knew. His voice soft, he answered, "it was good, Kelliher, very complete. You should send it off tonight." Kelliher beamed, that profile was his best work to date. He was proud of the work he'd done on this case knowing full well that none of it would have been possible without Mulder, Dr. Mulder, he corrected. Whether he chose to use the title or not, he still deserved the respect it carried. Yes, he'd learned a great deal from this man, but most important of all, he learned he would not continue as a profiler. He was unable to immerse himself the way Mulder did and, seeing what it did to the man, he feared the path to which it would lead him. Without that type of commitment, he had no business doing this work. Only those willing to open their minds to the monsters, willing to skate the edge of insanity need apply. Mulder stood and excused himself, they assumed to use the restroom. Scully's eyes followed him out the door, "where is he going?" she said aloud. Skinner, placed his hand on her shoulder, "you and Kelliher meet us back at the hotel. I'll make sure he gets back safely." Without another word, he left. He followed Mulder for a few minutes, observing the younger man from a few steps behind. He watched him study everyone that passed. Why, was he already trying to find their man? Mulder stopped suddenly and turned, questioning Skinner's presence with his eyes. A few quick steps and Skinner now stood by his side. "After all that running today, you want to walk back to the hotel?" Skinner asked lightly. Mulder struggled to speak, unsure how to explain. Finally he uttered harshly, "sorry, my head hurts. I just needed some air." Not expecting an answer, he began to walk. Skinner walked tall and strong beside him. As though discussing the weather, he asked casually, "why do you continue to pretend, Mulder? We're not only your friends when you're well?" He smirked, amused in spite of himself, "don't like restraints." Skinner grimaced, "I didn't understand then, Mulder." Mulder stopped short, causing a skater, to curse him as he veered sharply to avoid a collision. "If you understand, could you explain this all to me?" Seeing Skinner's confusion, he explained, "I don't know why I do this. I don't know why it's so easy for me to understand this type of person, to empathize." Holding his hand over his mouth, he coughed hard several times. Skinner winced to hear it, it sounded wet and painful. Mulder caught his breath, then continued, "in a way, we're alike, he and I. He seeks his rush from sex and murder and I, from chasing inhuman monsters and aliens." "You are different, Mulder, your work never humiliated or killed," Skinner argued. He laughed at Skinner's answer, "didn't it? Scully's cancer, her sister, my father, my God, even Krycek's arm, the bastard, was a result of my work, my need to slay some invisible dragon." Skinner gripped his arm, "Mulder, stop," he demanded. Mulder froze in Skinner's grip, he swayed forward instinctively craving the security of the older man. He'd had friends in college with close relationships with their fathers. He'd watched enviously as they were supported emotionally and physically in their academic pursuits. He'd often wondered what it would feel like to be held by his father in support, not pain. Skinner placed his other hand on Mulder's shoulder, physically supporting him. He could feel the younger man weaken. "Mulder," he reasoned, "you were able to walk away, to recognize when you felt out of control. You are nothing like this man!" Mulder, unconvinced, "I am everything like this man. My vice is the X-Files." "But you walked away from that vice, Mulder. You took control when you needed to," Skinner argued. They were standing in front of the hotel now, having walked the mile from the restaurant. Mulder raised his eyes in shame and rasped, "but I miss it, I need it. I need it the same way this man needs what he needs." Abruptly, he turned and entered the lobby, leaving a stunned Skinner behind. >>>>>>>>>>>> MULDER'S ROOM: 10:30pm He lay flat on the hotel bed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. He'd done it, revealed his need to Skinner. Exposed his desire to return to the X-Files. So Mulder, he thought, you asked the man for your job back. You knew you would return eventually, it was always just a matter of time. The pretending to be someone else, the hiding had allowed a needed break, an opportunity to regroup. He'd taught class in Maywood, snuck a smoke with a security guard in Kalamazoo and danced to rock and roll here in Minneapolis. For a while, he'd been anonymous, almost normal. No one knew of Sam or his knowledge of secret sects who plotted daily to rule the world. He snorted, there were times even he couldn't believe it. It was only as he thought of the people he'd met along the way that he knew he must return to uncover the conspiracy, fight a future that would potentially destroy life as it was today. Reaching for the remote, he surfed the channels, anxious to find something, anything that would distract him from tomorrow and beyond. He did not look forward to a face to face confrontation with this man tomorrow. He suspected that all would not go as smoothly as Mickelson, Skinner and the team planned. This type of man was not to be underestimated. He would show, Mulder was sure of it. But when he showed, would he be unprepared? Mulder doubted it. This man would be ready for anything and so must he. Staring at the screen blankly, it took a moment before he realized someone was knocking on his door. Dressed only in boxers, he walked to it and opened it just a crack. A very determined Dana Scully stood outside. "Uh, hold on, Scully, I'm not -- " he explained as he started to close the door in her face. She pushed the door in firmly, "give me a break, Mulder, it's nothing I haven't seen." "Scully," he protested, shocked by her aggressive behavior. Turning he grabbed his sweatpants and pulled them on. "Wha-what did you need, Scully?" "We need to talk, Mulder," she stated simply. He shook his head and stumbled back towards the bed. Sitting down on the edge, he answered, "can't this wait? I'm tired." Scully's lips pushed together, turning her usually full lips into a straight angry line. Moving to the bed, she sat down next to him. He attempted to stand, uncomfortable with her closeness but she placed her small hand on his arm, "sit down, Mulder!" "Scully," he whined. "Mulder, what the hell does it matter if you're tired. We both know the best you'll manage is a few hours tonight. You won't sleep until this is through, correct?" she challenged coldly. His head hung, "I guess, Scully," he admitted gruffly, "but I really am tired." Her voice gentled, "I know, Mulder, but I'm afraid that after tomorrow you'll disappear again. There's a few things I'd like to discuss with you." He could see this was important to her, "I'm sorry, Scully, what did you want to talk about?" He pushed a few pillows up against the headboard and positioned himself more comfortably. Knowing Scully, this could be a long one. She flipped off her pumps and pulled herself up on the bed. Placing herself directly across from him, she began, "Mulder, back in Chicago, I got the clear impression that you were pushing me towards Skinner. Why?" He looked at her with admiration. Any other woman would have danced around the issue, would never have come to the point so quickly. Realizing she would accept nothing less, he answered honestly, "he's a good man, stable, someone you could count on to be there for you." She nodded her agreement, "yes, but what makes you think I need someone stable, someone I can count on. Do I look like a woman who needs taking care of Mulder?" she asked dangerously. "Uh, no, Scully, I didn't mean to insinuate that," he answered defensively. "Mulder, I was raised in a military family, we were constantly on the move. I walked away from an opportunity to practice medicine to join the FBI." Mulder nodded, unsure where she was going with this seemingly unrelated explanation. "And Mulder, were you aware that I could have refused the X-Files assignment, simply walked away. Even later, there were times I could have left the X-Files with little negative impact on my career, in fact," she joked, "I probably could have been your boss by now." "I know I haven't been good for you, Scully," he admitted quietly. "Oh shut up, Mulder," she snapped. His lower lip pushed out slightly, he would never admit she hurt his feelings when she talked to him like this. "You're missing my point, Mulder. I could have walked away time and time again. Left in search of a more stable life. But I didn't, Mulder, and do you know why?" He shook his head mutely. "Earth to Mulder," she teased, before continuing seriously, "because I don't want a stable life." "But, Scully, you deserve that," he argued. "Mulder, I don't deserve that. I deserve the right to live the life I want, the one I choose. I want my life with you and the X-Files." He had to ask, "Scully, would you stay with the X-Files if I weren't there? Would this have been the work you chose if you hadn't met me?" He leaned forward, inches from her now. He had to know. "Honestly?" she asked. He nodded. She took a deep breath, "no, Mulder, if I hadn't met you I would not be working the X-Files now. And, to be honest, I was considering leaving the X-Files right before I was assigned to this case." Mulder sat back, a solemn expression on his face, "then I was right when I said I haven't been good for you, Scully." "Mulder, I might not be working the X-Files, after all, I'm a scientist," she reminded a bit haughtily. "But I could be doing something equally unpredictable, potentially dangerous. Who knows if I would still be standing here today. After all, I doubt I could have found any other partner that would cover me the way you do." He'd never thought of it like that. He always assumed if she hadn't been working with him, she'd be married, living in the suburbs with 2.5 children. The Scully who sat before him completely contradicted that picture. Relieved by her revelation, he revealed, "I was worried you and I, I mean, well, you know and that you'd be disappointed because I couldn't give you that kind of life." She reddened slightly, "well, I'd be a liar if I said I never thought about it," she admitted. "But, face it, Mulder, after a few weeks of," she paused to give his naked chest a lustful look, "really good sex, we'd probably end up shooting each other." Mulder returned her provocative look with one of his own, focusing a little longer than needed on her full lips, "You know, Scully, a man's gotta go sometime and I bet it would be a hell of a few weeks." She leaned over and punched his arm lightly. "Mulder, you are my best friend and I love you. I just wish you would let me be a part of your life again because," she hesitated before admitting, "I really miss you." His eyes filled, Scully loved him! He could not remember the last time someone had looked him in the eye and told him they loved him. He reached for her and gently pulled her into his arms and snuggled his nose into her neck, enjoying her scent. He coughed, before admitting huskily, "I-I'm tired." She tried to pull away taking his statement as her cue to leave. He tightened his hold on her, "Scully, don't take this the wrong way." She looked up at him with puzzled eyes. Smiling sweetly, he asked, "would you sleep with me, please?" She slipped out of his arms and he was sure he'd just screwed up big time. Damn, Mulder, he thought, why do you always have to push it? She stepped into the washroom and a few short minutes later returned wearing only his oversized T-shirt. Pulling the blankets down on the opposite side of the bed, she crawled in. Then, seeing he had all the pillows, yanked what looked to be the fluffiest one from behind his back causing him to fall back and bump his head on the wall. "Ouch, cripes, Scully, get invited into a man's bed often?" he teased, rubbing the back of his head playfully. She cuddled up next to him before pulling him down into her arms. He wriggled a bit, not quite sure what he'd gotten himself into. He was tired though and she felt so, so -- safe. Snuggling closer, he mumbled, "thanks, Scully," just as he began to doze. "Don't get used to it, Mulder," she warned. "If I knew VCS had these fringe benefits, I'd have never left," he admitted, voice thick. Her fingers ran lightly through his hair, she could feel the tension leave him. "Mulder," she whispered, "Mulder." He raised his head, eyes half closed, "hmmm, what, Scully," he slurred. Smiling, she stroked his cheek, pleased to be the woman who put him to sleep in bed, "hey, sleepyhead, I'm going to turn off the TV, okay?" His eyes clouded with confusion, "turn off the TV," he repeated. "Yes, Mulder, I can't sleep with the TV on," she explained. He looked at her, completely serious, "you're right, Scully, we would end up shooting each other." Her giggles could be heard long after the TV went off and Mulder went out. >>>>>>>>>>>> MALL OF AMERICA: 1:43PM Mulder sat in the food court overlooking the amusement park. He wanted to take some time to become familiar with the area before moving down towards the park area to meet the deadly Craig. Scanning the area, he picked out seven different agents in the amusement park area. The entire mall was under surveillance. He sighed wearily, sweating lightly in his jeans and heavy sweater. The sweater was selected due to it's bulk, it hid the wire he wore. He checked the area quickly before questioning, "Mulder checking in, clear?" Scully, standing one floor below, apparently fascinated with a Champs sports store window display, confirmed, "I've got you, Mulder." Her voice was followed by Skinner's, "check, Mulder, it's showtime." Mulder walked towards the escalator and began the journey to the park area, several floors below. Just as he was moving towards the final escalator down, his shoulder was gripped firmly from behind. Startled, he turned as a nasal voice, asked, "Marty?" Mulder's blood ran cold, his own green eyes met and held eyes that resembled his in color but not in warmth. The man's expression displayed amusement and arrogance that could only come with supreme confidence in one's own abilities. The resemblance between them was uncanny, Craig stood, just slightly taller at 6'2. His physique slim and lanky, nose straighter and hair just a bit darker than Mulder's. The differences were slight and Mulder could not help but stare. Without thought, he nodded. Craig smiled and gripped Mulder's elbow lightly leading him away from the crowded amusement park. Mulder pulled away concerned the wire he wore might be detected, then, to alert the others, he asked aloud, "you're Craig?" Craig nodded, still smiling, "I'd know you anywhere, Marty." In fact he had spotted Mulder as he made his way towards the park area. The man, his expression slightly lost and hungry for something as yet unfound, marked him from afar. Craig grinned and studied him carefully. As though dealing with a skittish pet, he stroked Mulder's cheek with the back of his hand, "you're just as I pictured, Marty." Mulder pulled away, noting Scully approximately twenty feet away admiring some jewelry in a shop window. Craig frowned, "don't like to be touched, Marty? The bastard must have hurt you bad." One floor up, leaning on the railing, Skinner froze, disliking the direction of this conversation. Skinner, aware of Mulder's past, worried that their perp might have scored a hit on Mulder. Speaking carefully into his mouthpiece, he ordered, "begin to move in, I don't want to lose him." In the meantime, Skinner was right to be concerned, Craig's words had indeed struck home with Mulder. He denied a bit more vehemently than necessary, "I don't know what you mean, Craig." Mulder's expressive eyes clearly displayed his emotions. This was exactly how Craig had hoped it would go, keep his Marty off balance. As they continued to walk, Craig allowed his eyes to wander down the curve of Marty's jaw resting in delight on his full lower lip. He wondered what it would taste like. His Marty's face was beautiful and, Craig vowed, they would be face to face when they made love the first time. He also noted Marty's posture was slightly hunched in his thick sweater. Such a shame to hide those shoulders and, no doubt, flat abs. Craig planned to teach him to dress in clothes that enhanced rather than hid his physique. He still remembered the excitement in Marty's voice as he listened to him with the last man. The thought of Marty in the room, watching as Craig performed was extremely arousing. Sensing Marty's nervousness, Craig forced his mind away from such thoughts. It was too soon. He smiled seductively at the man, time, it would take time. There was no need to rush things with someone like this. He would take his time and then, together, they would make the pain go away. Mulder noted worriedly that they were heading for a nearby exit. He stopped and pulled back from Craig, "I don't want to leave yet, Craig," he insisted quietly, "I don't feel safe with you." Craig leaned in, dangerously close when he noticed the petite redhead again. Was it his imagination or was she following them? His eyes ran a quick scan over the area noting the unusual absence of women with children. It was a set up, damn, he raged, Marty had set him up! He leaned into Mulder as though to whisper into his ear and, before Mulder could pull away, dug a knife painfully into his side. "Keep walking, Marty," he demanded. Mulder obeyed, but advised calmly, "there's no way out, Craig, put down the knife." His words were heard by all wired agents in the area. Craig, frustrated, twisted the knife slowly, sinking it into Mulder's flesh. Mulder gasped and felt his knees begin to give. He heard Scully state angrily, "the bastard just stabbed him, I'm going in." She turned, now directly in front of the two, displayed her weapon and shouted, "federal officer, FREEZE!" Mulder groaned softly as the knife pushed deeper. Biting the side of his mouth, he forced himself to remain silent. He would not give this bastard the satisfaction of a reaction. In an instant, the knife in his side was raised to his throat. He felt the edge of the damp blade pushing into his skin and struggled to keep his legs from giving out. The burning in his side was making it difficult to focus, to concentrate. Scully was becoming a fuzzy red blur. Craig felt him waver and ordered sharply, "stand the fuck up, Marty, or I'll cut out your throat!" Mulder straightened and foggily considered his options. Scully stood less than ten feet away, sparks flying from her eyes, stance deadly, she was terrifying. If it were him, he'd definitely give up. Mumbling to Craig, he advised, "look at her, Craig, she'd just as soon shoot you than take you in. Give it up and I'll make sure she doesn't hurt you." A harsh bark of laughter met his remark, Craig replied, "Marty, why'd you have to be such an asshole? We could've have had such fun together." Craig dug the knife in a little deeper into Mulder's neck, causing Mulder to press his body tightly against him. Craig grinned and added, "see, Marty, your body knows what you want even if you don't." Then Craig began backing them up into a now abandoned perfume store, the clerk having run out the back door when the action had begun. Scully moved forward and repeated, "FREEZE!" Craig shouted, "back up, red, or Marty's Adam's apple is going to be bouncing down the escalator." She stood firm, gun never wavering and watched helplessly as he pulled Mulder into the shop. Now inside and temporarily out of range, Craig released Mulder and slammed the heavy glass doors shut. A shot pierced the window sending shattered glass in all directions. Mulder, grabbing the opportunity, dove towards Craig and succeeded in knocking him to the ground. Craig, however, slightly larger and definitely healthier, easily pinned Mulder beneath him, punching him several times on his injured side. Another shot burst through the store front shattering several bottles of inexpensive perfume. Mulder moaned and attempted to crawl away from Craig and the door, "fuck," he moaned, "I'm dying here." The more air he gasped, the more he coughed. Each time he coughed, it felt as though his insides were ripping apart. Outside the shop, Scully gasped as she heard Mulder's words. She snapped into her mike, "Sir, Director Skinner, we need to get in there now, he's killing him!" Several agents now joined her near the entrance to the store. Skinner's worried voice responded, "we're going to enter the shop from the back, Agent Scully. Prepare the team to move on my orders." Craig, gripping Mulder's leg, pulled him back towards him. He pulled himself over Mulder and now held a small pistol to the back of Mulder's head. Mulder moaned, his lungs burning from a broken bottle labeled, Lover's Musk, "oh, God, please shoot me, I can't stand the smell any longer!" The wired agents covering the store hid their grins, this guy was not to be believed. Scully would have liked to respond to Mulder's plea for mercy with a few choice words of her own but knew anything said would be heard by all. "Shut the fuck up, Marty," demanded Craig. "Now, here's the plan. You and I are going to crawl behind that counter. Then, you're going to call your friends out there off or I'm going to blow your fucking head off," he threatened. Mulder allowed himself to be half pushed, half carried behind the counter, offering only passive resistance. As Craig pushed him the last few feet, his hand found the wire taped to Mulder's chest. In compete disbelief, he ripped it off taking with it some hair and not a little flesh. Mulder pulled away breathing hard. Craig threw the instrument to the other side of the room. "Oh Christ," Mulder moaned, "do you have any idea how long it took to grow that?" "You were wired the whole fucking time, Marty," Craig accused. Mulder shrugged, just barely managing to stay upright. His back was pressed against the cold, hard display case, arms wrapped protectively around him. He could feel the sticky dampness of his sweater as the wound continued to bleed. Light headed, he knew he had to end this before he passed out. Mulder could see the other man was angry, upset at himself for walking into what now must seem an obvious trap. Mulder knew, based on Craig's previous crimes that he was not a man easily fooled. Craig, sitting directly across from Mulder, reached for the cordless phone on the wall and handed it to him. "Call your friends off, Marty," he said flatly. "Call them off or we'll die together." "You first," Mulder suggested weakly. Craig, unable to control his temper any longer, grabbed a handful of Mulder's hair and slammed his head against the glass case. Blood red flashed before Mulder's eyes and he fought to stay conscious. Mulder slumped slowly to his side, tears welled in his eyes. Keep it together, he berated himself, it's just a little blood and a bump on the head, be a man. Eyes closed, the edges of his lips lifted upwards in a stupid smirk. His Dad had always said that, "be a man, Fox, be a fucking man!" The phone was once again shoved towards his face, Craig demanded, "call them off now, Marty, or whatever the hell your name is!" Mulder took the phone and stared at it blankly, who should he call? He stretched carefully and peered over the counter. He could barely make out Scully in front of the store. He pressed in her number, surprised when she answered on the first ring. "Waiting by the phone for my call, Scully," he rasped. "Mulder," she answered anxiously, "are you all right?" Mulder looked towards Craig, a gun pointed directly at Mulder's chest. "I must admit, I've had better days." The phone was grabbed from his hand, "who is this?" Scully answered, "this is Agent Scully, FBI." "Ahhhh," Craig chuckled, "the little redhead, I presume." Scully ignored his comment, "give it up, there's no where for you to go." Craig balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear. Grabbing Mulder's shoulder, he forced the injured man to stand, facing the window. He placed Mulder protectively in front of him leaving only a few exposed inches as a result of their height difference. Scully's finger itched to take the shot but, it was just too close, an inch off and Mulder would be dead. Speaking into the phone, Craig warned, "okay, red, Marty and I are going to walk out of here. If you expect him to survive this, I want to see a car with a full tank of gas outside that door." "You're not taking him anywhere," Scully replied tersely. Craig's eyes narrowed and his arm tightened painfully around Mulder's chest. Mulder whispered, his breathing slightly strained, "whatever she said, don't take it personally. She can be a little difficult sometimes." "Shut the fuck up, Marty!" A sound from the back of the store caught Craig's attention. He swung around in time to see a large bald man enter the store with rage in his eyes. He swung Marty around to the front of the store again, planning a hasty escape. From somewhere unknown, a shot caught him just above his right temple, spraying blood all over his hostage and killing him instantly. Everything froze for a few seconds, Craig's now dead body leaned heavily against Mulder's. Skinner, knowing his team had not taken the shot, glared out the window hoping to determine who had made such a careless move. A hostage in his arms, procedures clearly indicated it was too dangerous an attempt. Mulder broke the frozen scene by stepping forward weakly and leaning unsteadily against the glass counter. He felt Craig's body slide down his back before limply hitting the floor. The sound sickened him and Mulder felt compelled to move away from it all, to escape the violence. As he stumbled forward, Skinner rushed to assist him. "Easy, Mulder, take it easy," he soothed. Mulder rested his forehead feebly against Skinner's chest before attempting once again to move away, "n-n-need to get out of here, smells too much like my first girlfriend," he joked lamely. "You had a girlfriend, Mulder?, Skinner teased. Mulder accused weakly, "low blow, Sir." Skinner carefully led Mulder outside the shop into the waiting arms of Scully. She holstered her weapon and pushed towards the two of them. Spotting a flat bench, she gestured with her eyes to Skinner to move him to it. As they began to carefully lower him, she shouted over her shoulder, "get an ambulance in here, NOW!" Mulder winced, "Scully, have I ever told you how much I appreciate your lack of daily perfume?" "Mulder, just stay quiet," she ordered quietly. Rolling him on to his side, she examined the knife wound. It wasn't deep, but it was still bleeding profusely. An older woman, from a shop several stores down, came rushing over with her store first aid kit, "will this help?" she asked. Skinner took the kit from her and handed it to Scully. Then, thanking her, he handed her off to a pale Kelliher. Mulder barely suppressed the moan that threatened to escape as Scully pressed a bandage firmly against the cut. Seeing his pale face, she apologized, "I'm sorry, Mulder, but I need to stop the bleeding." He nodded weakly and it was only now she noticed the matted hair on the back of his head. "Damn," she cursed, her fingers efficiently examining the bump. Shards of glass cut into her fingers as she attempted to clean it up. "Scully, don't," he pleaded weakly, "h-h-hurts." "I'm sorry, Mulder," she apologized again. Then, over her shoulder, she shouted, "where are the paramedics," only to find them directly behind her. She stepped back as the medics quickly assessed the situation. Within minutes they were loading him onto a stretcher. Mulder lay quiet through the whole ordeal, a clue to Scully and Skinner that he was in far more pain than he would admit. Following him into the ambulance, she took his hand and asked, "hey, Mulder, how are you doing?" He turned towards her voice and struggled to focus beyond the nausea and pain. "Scully," he rasped. She moved in closer, placing her ear inches from his mouth. "I'm n-n-not fine," he stuttered and passed out. >>>>>>>>>>>>> MERCY HOSPITAL 48 HOURS LATER: Scully entered the hospital lobby with a bag, containing a change of clothes for Mulder, over her shoulder. She hummed a bit as she walked towards his room, happy in the knowledge that he'd be released today. Concussion, stitches, antibiotics and sleep had filled his last two days and she was sure he would be as excited as she to get him out of here. "Agent Scully," a low voice commanded from down the hall. She turned and smiled as she saw Skinner. Adjusting his glasses, he said, "I've got the car pulled up in the driveway." Then smiling, he added, "it'll be good to get him home." She nodded, "yes, he seems to want to come home this time." "He wants to work again," Skinner informed. "He wants the X-Files back." "I know but there's something more," they stopped in front of his door, "he seems more confident, independent. You know he insisted on me only being here during visiting hours, practically kicked me out." She chuckled at the memory, "the old Mulder never wanted me to leave." "I heard he didn't piss off any of the staff this time," Skinner answered. Then, in a serious tone, he asked, "is it possible this really isn't Mulder? Maybe he's a clone." Together they entered Mulder's room laughing. Their laughter stopped immediately upon finding an empty bed. Scully checked in the bathroom while Skinner searched the locker. Gone, everything was gone! Unsure whether to be angry or worried they stood frozen for a moment and considered their options. "Uh hem," Mulder cleared his throat. Both sets of eyes pinned him angrily. He stood, fully dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, both fit like a glove. "Did you bring my jacket, Scully?" he asked calmly. She dug in the bag and pulled it out, "I thought you ditched me again," she snapped. His eyes reflected hurt, upset that she would even suggest such a thing, "Scully, I haven't ditched you in almost two days." Smiling widely, he added, "that has to be a record." "Come on, Mulder, let's get you checked out," Skinner announced, anxious to get on the road. He had them booked on a early afternoon flight back to D.C. Mulder shrugged on his jacket, "already done, sir." Scully was incredulous, "you took care of all the paperwork and checked yourself out, Mulder?" "Scully, I'm an adult. I can do things for myself," he insisted, his eyes sparkling mischievously. Just then, Sally, the operator from Erotic Fantasies walked in the room. Ignoring Skinner and Scully, she had eyes only for her Marty. Mulder took her arm and walked her out into the hallway. Sally gave him her best elevator eyes, the clothes she'd purchased for him were perfect. They hugged every lovely line of him. "You know, Marty, you should let me shop for you more often. You look good." Flirting playfully, he asked, "you mean I don't look good without clothes?" She leaned in and nipped his ear playfully, "oh, Marty, you look especially," she paused and licked her lips, "tasty without clothes." He laughed, placed his arm casually around her shoulder and began walking towards the elevator. "Now," she began, handing him over some papers, "I charged the clothes and your hospital bill to this credit card. Here are all your receipts as well as your release papers." He looked them over carefully, then shoved them in his jacket pocket, "thanks, Sally, I appreciate you taking care of it for me." She leaned in and carefully hugged him, "anytime, Marty, you know that." She frowned and asked, "are you sure you can't stay a little longer? If I'd known I was dating a FBI agent and a doctor, I would have introduced you to the family. My mother would have been thrilled!" "I can't but," he promised, "I'll give you a call within the next few weeks and we'll plan a weekend." She eyed him skeptically, "sure, Marty, I've heard that one before." He raised an eyebrow, "did anyone ever tell you that you have a trust issue." "Trust no one," she quipped. He stepped back, obviously surprised by her comment, "what made you say that?" "Oh I don't know, Marty, the fact that I'm a single woman whose heard every line in the book. It's our motto you know." He rubbed the bandage on his head carefully, "no, I didn't know." "Oh, come on, Marty, everyone has trust issues. So, are you serious or is this the last time I'm going to see you?" "Sally, I like you. I definitely like spending time with you." His expression turned suddenly serious, "I can't promise you any future but, I'd like to see you again." He questioned nervously, "that is if you want to see me?" She stood on tiptoes and rubbed her nose against his. Staring into his beautiful green eyes, she whispered, "call me." Without another word, she turned and started to walk away. Scully and Skinner moved forward as Sally turned to leave. Only a few feet from Mulder, they could not help but hear her as she called over her shoulder, a little louder than necessary, "thanks for last night, Marty." She blew him a kiss and stepped in the elevator. Mulder blushed under Scully's speculative gaze, "so, Mulder, that's why you wanted me to leave after visiting hours." "Uh, no, Scully. I, I was tired and then Sally came and well, you know...," he trailed off, his eyes searching for anything but her face to lock on to. Skinner smirked, "let's get out of here." MINNEAPOLIS-ST. PAUL AIRPORT: They arrived at the airport with time to spare. Mulder, refusing to check his backpack, wandered the terminal area stiffly. He might be well enough to be released but his body still protested general movement. In fact, he'd popped a few stitches last night with Sally. He winced slightly as he felt the fresh stitches pull annoyingly. Skinner was absorbed in some paperwork and Scully had begun a report of their activities on her laptop. For the most part they left him alone, free to wander at will. He read the departures absently, his eyes taking in the display documenting all outgoing flights in alphabetical order. Without thought, his eyes searched for and found Chicago. Guiltily he realized he had never responded to Jackson's e-mail. He'd lost track of time as he worked this case. Damn, he'd really wanted to talk to him about his scholarship. Noting the time of the next flight out, he moved towards the phone and dialed the school. >>>>>>>>>>>> "Flight 1272 now boarding," a sterile voice announced. Scully snapped her laptop closed and shoved it in her briefcase. Skinner, sitting directly across from her was also packing up his case. She searched the area for signs of Mulder and, finding none, assumed he was in the restroom. After all, he was clearly ready to return home. "You better check the restroom and tell Mulder to get a move on, sir," she suggested. He nodded, swung his case over his shoulder and left to find Mulder. As he entered, Scully heard her name being paged. She walked to the nearest counter and advised, "I'm Dana Scully, you have a message for me?" The attendant nodded politely and handed her an envelope. She opened it immediately and began to read. --- Scully, Had to make a side trip to check on a friend. I'll meet you in Skinner's office in one week, 9am sharp. Mulder --- Her temper boiled, how could he do this to her again! Skinner, unable to find Mulder, joined her. She wordlessly passed him the note. >>>>>>>>>>>> ATKINS SCHOOL, MAYWOOD, IL: Next Day - 3:25pm Jackson, alone in the gym, dribbled the ball sluggishly across the wood floor. His thoughts were not on the shot. At first, when they'd told him his story had won, he'd been ecstatic. Now, unsure whether he could handle college, he considered refusing the prize. After all, his other grades were just average, how the hell was he supposed to manage college? He had to make his decision soon, a ceremony was scheduled here in the gym tomorrow morning celebrating his and several other student's academic achievements and they expected an answer from him before then. Dribbling the ball from hand to hand, he wondered what they'd say if he called in sick. With little warning, the ball was stolen from his grasp. The thief, tall, dressed in jeans and T-shirt was immediately recognizable. "Mr. Waters," he grinned, "what are you doing here?" Mulder returned the grin and gracefully sunk a shot from the free throw line. He turned and held out his hand, "I came back to congratulate you, Jackson. I knew your story would win the first time I read it." Jackson reddened, still unused to praise, "thanks, Mr. Waters, but, well I don't know that it's all that good." Mulder's mouth dropped, he gripped Jackson's shoulder hard. "How can you say that, it's a wonderful story full of rich, interesting people that I couldn't help but care about." Shaking his shoulder gently, he urged, "come on, Jackson, you know you're good." Jackson shrugged, then moved to sit on the nearby bleachers. Mulder sat beside him. "Okay," Mulder asked, "what's bothering you?" Jackson paused, his eyes searching the gym. He was unsure where to begin. "I just don't think I'm very good." Head down, he could not meet his mentor's eyes, "okay, I can write a story, but the rules around writing and all the other classes I'd have to take in college, I just don't thing I can handle it." Mulder leaned forward on his knees and allowed his wrists to dangle between them. Looking at the floor, he asked, "sounds like you think you're not good enough to go?" Jackson nodded, there was no use denying the obvious. "Other people go to college, Mr. Waters, not me." Mulder leaned towards him and shoved him playfully with his shoulder, "the name's Mulder," he informed. Jackson' eyes widened, "Mulder?" "Yeah, I was working here under an assumed name." "Why?" Jackson asked, his writer's curiosity getting the best of him. Mulder stood, paced a few steps, then stopped and turned back to Jackson. "I was running away from who I am and what I'm supposed to do. I didn't think I could handle it anymore," he explained. Jackson answered, confused, "I don't understand." Mulder held out his hands helplessly, "quite honestly, Jackson, neither did I, not for a long time. You see, I'd lost my sister, my job was, well, let's say extremely stressful and on top of it all I was still expected to literally save the world." He smiled as he added the last part. Jackson grinned in spite of himself, "yeah, sure, Mr., uh, I mean, Mulder." "All right, maybe the save the world thing is a slight exaggeration but, suffice to say, I was doing a lot of work and taking a lot of risks for what seemed like nothing. Everything I touched went bad." "What did you do?" Jackson asked, fascinated by Mr. Waters story. "I ran. I ran until I found people like you and," his eyes darkened momentarily, "Chante. When I saw how hard you all worked every day, I realized I'd have to eventually return to the life I had. I'd have to accept my destiny. You know, Jackson, like you." Jackson was thoroughly confused, "what do you mean like me?" "Well," Mulder explained, "you have a gift, a talent. You were born to study people, to write. Now you must take the next step and gain the skills that will help you tell your stories to a wider audience." Stepping forward, he stood directly in front of Jackson and waited. Jackson finally met his gaze. "You can't fight who you are, Jackson. Accept your talent, appreciate who you are and then share that talent with the rest of us. It's your destiny." Jackson sat quietly for few minutes before answering, "but there's the rest of the money, if I fail, I could never pay it back. I don't like owing people." Mulder scooped up the basketball and threw it hard at Jackson's chest, "bet you a four-year scholarship, I can kick your ass at this game." "You're old man," Jackson joked, but rose to the challenge. "Let me get this clear," he asked, "if you beat me I get a four-year scholarship?" Mulder nodded, "old man, my ass." "What if I win?" "You get nothing," Mulder deadpanned. "So you're telling me to humor an old guy and let you win," Jackson confirmed "Let me win? You don't have to let me win," he responded, shocked. "I can kick your sorry writer's butt all over this court." "Yes you can, sir," Jackson smiled. Enjoying himself thoroughly, he played the worst basketball ever. It was an entertaining game. Jackson, clearly more energetic, ran circles around Mulder. Mulder's advantage turned out to be his cold. An occasional sneeze left Jackson wondering about the dampness of the ball and he'd been hesitant to actually touch it. At the end of the game, they were both panting heavily. Mulder announced, "looks like I owe you an education." Jackson shook his head, "I know you were just kidding, Mr. Mulder." Mulder stood and smiled, "a bet is a bet. Come on, Jackson," he challenged, "I'm willing to invest in the next great American author, are you up to it?" Just now realizing Mulder was serious, Jackson nodded. "Will you be at the ceremony tomorrow?" Mulder reached over and ruffled the young man's hair, "wouldn't miss it for the world, Jackson, wouldn't miss it for the world." >>>>>>>>>>>> SKINNER'S OFFICE - ONE WEEK LATER 8:53AM: A.D Skinner once again checked his watch. He couldn't help but wonder if Mulder would actually show. After the man had once again disappeared at the airport, he was no longer sure what Mulder would do. Scully and he had debated his whereabouts on the plane, but both realized it was now up to Mulder to come back on his own. Scully sat nervously in a chair in front of his desk, occasionally checking the door. "Sir," she asked, "were you able to determine who made the shot back at the mall? That was an extremely dangerous move to make." Grateful for the change of subject, Skinner shook his head negatively, "nothing, Scully, none of the agents on duty took the shot. Ballistics can't trace it back to anyone." "That's strange," Scully mused. "I don't think so, Scully. Mulder has always had some type of guardian angel, for whatever reason." Rubbing his brow, he added, "it was a tight shot though. Whoever did it was a pro." Before they could continue, Kimberly walked in and announced Mulder's arrival with a huge grin. Mulder turned and returned her smile as she walked from the office, she really was a lovely woman. Scully stood, but said nothing. Skinner greeted him first, his hand outstretched, "good to see you, Mulder." His eyebrow raised skeptically, he added, "I wasn't sure we'd be seeing you today. Please, take a seat," he gestured to the chair next to Scully. Mulder's nose twitched, his hand dug anxiously in his pocket. He pulled a clean, white handkerchief out just in time, and sneezed loudly. His eyes apologized to them both as he blew his nose. Shoving the cloth back in his pocket, he turned and explained, "sorry, I haven't completely shaken the cold I picked up in Minnesota." "Are you taking anything for it, Mulder?" Scully asked concerned. "Non-drowsy cold and flu medicine and lots of orange juice," he assured in an amused voice. He patted her hand gently, before informing lightly, "do you know there are places out there called pharmacies? People who aren't lucky enough to have a private physician use them all the time." She had the good grace to blush, "okay, Mulder, I can take a hint." She leaned back into her chair. He moved to sit in the seat beside her, directly in front of Skinner's desk. Except for the sniffles, he looked healthy, his movements fluid, it was hard to believe the man was only a week off a stressful case and a two day hospital stay. Skinner sat behind his desk and enjoyed for a moment the sight of his best team sitting before him. He almost wished he had something to chastise them for from this last case. Clearing his throat, he brought the two of them to attention, "let's not dance around the issue, Mulder, do you want to return to the X-Files in your previous role?" Mulder nodded, "yes, sir." Skinner turned to Scully, "and do you want to continue working the files, Agent Scully" Her eyes flickered to the man at her side, there really was only one answer to this question, "of course, sir." Mulder visibly relaxed at her side. Not even he realized he'd been holding his breath waiting for her answer. He could continue on without her, he'd done it before, but he respected her and wanted her by his side. "Mulder," Skinner's voice pulled him from his thoughts, "I'll need you to pass a psychological screening before you can be reinstated. You'll also have to requalify on the firing range. How do you feel about that?" Now it was both Scully and Skinner's turn to hold their breaths. Mulder answered quietly, "I can return to the range today for recertification." Then, more firmly, he continued, "as to the psychological screening, absolutely not. If you want me to return, what you see is what you get." "Now, Mulder," Skinner informed, "it's policy." Mulder stood and carefully smoothed the suit he wore, "fuck policy, sir, I won't pass and both you and Scully know that." Scully, shocked by his vehemence, attempted to convince him, "of course you would, Mulder." He wandered towards the window and turned his back to them before continuing, "there's a song out and in the lyrics it says, -I'm not sick but I'm not well-, that's how I feel. I won't pass any test, but we all know I really don't have to so let's cut through the crap." Turning to face Skinner, he challenged with typical Mulder arrogance, "make the call, sir, it's your decision. But, understand," he counseled, "regardless of your decision, my work will continue." Skinner nodded and considered his options. Offering no rebuttal, he asked, "when can you start, Mulder?" Mulder's eyes reflected his relief, "tomorrow," he replied. Skinner nodded, Scully reached to shake his hand, "welcome back, partner." He squeezed her hand in return, "I'll see you tomorrow morning, Scully. I have a few things to finish before returning to work." A few moments later, he was gone leaving a curious Skinner and Scully in his wake. Neither, before Mulder's latest adventures, had ever considered Mulder had things to do outside of work. >>>>>>>>>>>> UNKNOWN LOCATION: "That was a very dangerous shot you took in Minneapolis, Frankston," CSM stated coldly. "I would have been very upset had you missed and hit him." Sweat broke out on Frankston's brow, it had been a risky shot, but seeing his assignment threatened by a deranged serial killer had forced him to make a choice. One floor up, perched on the edge of the balcony, he had carefully aimed and taken the man down. "I felt he was in more danger from his kidnapper than my aim, sir." Then, more confidently, he added, "I would not have taken the shot if I thought I'd miss." CSM inhaled deeply, silently considering Frankston's words. The man was an assassin, who better to make such a shot. Still, one inch off and Mulder would not be sitting in Skinner's office right now discussing his return to work. Mulder, he mused, finally home and where he could keep an eye on him. The man had been more productive on his extended vacation than most other agents working full time. He'd captured two serial killers, fought off Krycek and exorcised the Michigan phone company of ancient Indian spirits. This was all done while healing from what could only be categorized as an emotional breakdown. Ah well, his mother had always been the nervous type. His thoughts returned to Frankston, the man had done a fine job keeping track of Mulder. "Good job, Frankston, I'm sure I'll have use of your services again," CSM advised, then turned away, silently dismissing him. As Frankston backed out the door, he remembered the package in his coat pocket. Reaching in, he pulled out a video tape, "sir." CSM turned, surprised he was still here. Frankston stepped forward, hand outstretched with tape. "This is the video tape from Mulder's tryst in the stairwell. I thought you might find it interesting." CSM took the tape with no comment. Frankston turned and left the room. Cigarette hanging from his mouth, he studied the tape in hand. I wonder how I can make use of this, CSM pondered. He loaded the tape into the VCR, turned on the television and hit play. CSM watched the 17 minute tape with great interest. Once completed, he rewound and watched again. Ejecting it from the VCR, he pocketed it carefully. A small smile on his face, he commented aloud, "the family resemblance is remarkable!" >>>>>>>>>>>> HOOVER BUILDNG - HALLWAY Mulder attempted to exit the building quietly. Unfortunately, when he entered the building earlier he had been recognized though not acknowledged. Shocked eyes met his as he'd made his way to Skinner's office. He'd ignored the hostile glares, rewarded any attentive woman with sparkling, interested eyes and stared coldly at those quite obviously having a laugh at the expense of a Spooky goes nuts joke. Spine straight and only a few minutes from the exit, Mulder turned the corner and walked directly into Kelliher and team. Before he could speak, Agent Spender stepped out from behind Kelliher and attempted to push past Mulder. Mulder stood firm, effectively stonewalling Spender's progress. Maliciously, Spender commented, "I heard you went nuts, Mulder?" Then he added nastily, "if you're applying for a job, I heard the gym needs a pool boy." His comments had attracted a small crowd. They gathered to see if Mulder was indeed as unstable as recent rumors insinuated. Mulder's eyes narrowed dangerously, noting the crowd, he considered his options carefully: 1) Beat the crap out of Spender 2) Shred him with smart ass comments which questioned his sexuality 3) Ignore the situation and move on. Before he could decide, Kelliher stepped forward, hand extended. "Good to see you again, Dr. Mulder," he greeted professionally. Mulder shook his hand, curious as to Kelliher's intent. "Your help on this last case was invaluable, that man would still be out there if not for your efforts." Mulder shrugged, slightly embarrassed by the positive attention. The crowd, seeing no Mulder scene forthcoming, began to disperse. Spender stood slightly to the side, staring at Kelliher and Mulder in disbelief. Kelliher asked, "are you just visiting or, dare we hope, are you returning to the bureau?" "I'm returning to the X-Files beginning tomorrow," Mulder informed. Spender could stand no more, "bullshit, Mulder, nobody in their right mind would let a fucking basket case like you back in the door!" Kelliher stepped in front of Spender effectively separating the two men. "Mulder," he stated calmly, "did you know I'm now leading a team of my own as a direct result of our success on the Craig Neubeck case?" Mulder, eyes focused on Spender, answered sincerely, "congratulations, Kelliher, you deserve the opportunity." "Yes, thanks to you," Kelliher agreed "Did you know Agent Spender is a member of my team?" Mulder's eyes sparkled mischievously, this conversation was getting interesting. Several other members of Kelliher's new team hung back enough to avoid the argument, but close enough to hear the details. "Lucky you," Mulder stated sarcastically, "I hear he makes a mean cup of coffee." Snickers from Kelliher's team could be heard clearly. Spender's eyes blazed with fury, his body pressed forward, pushing Kelliher into Mulder. Mulder refused to budge. Kelliher answered, louder than necessary, "Not one of them has your skill, Mulder. Would you consider a lead role on my team?" Spender's eyes widened in shock, he'd been getting on well with Kelliher. In a few minutes, everything had changed! "Sir, you can't be serious," he demanded. Before Kelliher could answer, Mulder did, "I appreciate the offer, but I'm already committed to the X-Files." Then, his tone sincere, "thanks, Kelliher, your confidence in my ability is appreciated." "Anytime you need a change, Mulder, give me a call," Kelliher turned, pushed contemptuously past Spender and headed towards his office. All but Spender followed his lead. Spender, now toe to toe with Mulder, warned, "this is not over, you son of a bitch!" Mulder held up his hand to quiet him. Leaning in closely, he taunted in a childish tone, "if you keep using that language, I'm going to tell Dad." Spender stepped back as though burned. "NO!" he denied adamantly. Mulder smiled, score one for the Spookster. "Be careful, Spender, it's obvious insanity runs in the family." Nodding his head in a silent farewell, Mulder left the building with a small, satisfied smile. >>>>>>>>>>>> UNKNOWN LOCATION: 10:42PM The private elevator opened directly into his apartment, a security precaution on his part in preparation for the work he would begin shortly. Several days ago, when he'd first returned, he'd checked out his previous home. The Lone Gunmen had continued to cover the expenses on the tiny apartment, unwilling to let it go. Looking around he'd wondered what he ever saw in the place. It was like his penance, a small, dark set of rooms that reminded him daily of his worthlessness. All those years he'd felt guilty about his personal wealth and, therefore, except for his suits, had left the funds basically untouched. Now, he wondered at his own warped logic. Life was short, he worked hard and odds were his life especially, would not be a long one. God knows, he'd never be able to truly spend it all. He also had no intention of having children, the thought of a child being ripped away from him was more than he could bear. He'd never take that risk. In other words, you can't take it with you. This thinking had brought him here. An old factory building, the floor he'd decided to make his home had, at one time, been the private residence of the owner. The building had been for sale for approximately 10 months and Mulder had picked it up for a song. Within the last 72 hours, he'd purchased, at great expense, new furniture, transferred all remaining personal belongings in and, of course, had had the place scrubbed from top to bottom. Again, the Lone Gunmen came through, wiring an elaborate security system and hiding various weapons and "call" buttons throughout. Paranoid some would say, but you weren't paranoid if it was true. In any case, as the elevator doors opened, he visibly relaxed, feeling safe. He was home. The apartment was really one extremely large room with a loft off to the right that housed a new king sized bed. Beneath the loft was a small kitchen that provided him with exactly what he needed to reheat any food purchased elsewhere. Steel appliances gleamed as the moonlight embraced the room. Walking further into the room, he tossed his keys on a nearby desk which already showed signs of typical Mulder clutter. A computer with docking station sat atop the desk and he'd easily become addicted to the laptop convenience which allowed him to work while sprawled out on his new leather sofa, this one picked for it's amazing comfort. Mulder realized, after being on the road for so long, and living in less than luxurious surroundings that he was actually a very sensitive man. He took sensual pleasure in the feel of a woman's skin, a chilled glass and the butter softness of fine leather. He would no longer deny himself these pleasures. Glancing at the wall next to the desk, he scanned the four monitors. They allowed him a continuing view of the building and surrounding area. He planned on having a panel built which would hide them from a casual visitor's view. After all, he'd eventually have to let Scully see his new home and, in truth, he owed it to Skinner to provide him with his actual address. He had no intention of placing it on his FBI records though. Eventually they would find him, but, with any luck, he could avoid them a bit longer. His long, sensitive fingers slid over the bindings of his books now neatly housed in a wall to wall bookshelf. He'd had them all, including those from his father's home, transferred here. The collection was extensive and Mulder looked forward to rereading many of his favorites. He sighed, content in the silence and security of the soft, glowing tones of the room. He had purchased everything and laid it out with his own personal comfort and safety in mind. Making his way to the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and opened a bottle of iced tea. Searching the freezer, he considered thawing something out for dinner but decided it was too much bother. Tea in hand, he yawned widely and wandered towards the balcony doors. He pressed the release next to the doors and stepped back as they hummed open. Smiling, he realized the LG had forgotten nothing. Strolling restlessly onto the roof, he enjoyed the night sky. He knew spending time outside put him at risk but he was unwilling to give up the night sky in return for his own security. That was a concession he refused to make. Ignoring the chill, he leaned on the balcony edge and cleared his mind. If there was one thing he'd learned from his time away, it was important to, on occasion, completely clear the mind. Sally had been really good at helping him with this exercise. He'd have to call her this weekend, he promised himself. The phone rang inside, pulling him from his thoughts, he rushed to pick it up. The phone display showed his mother's number, wary, but concerned, he answered. "Mulder," he announced, readying himself for bad news. "Fox, is that you, son?" his mother's voice asked. His heart began beating faster and he found it difficult to breath, what did she want? "Yes, Mom, this is Mul-- I mean, Fox." He held his hand over the receiver in an effort to conceal his cough, then asked, "is everything all right?" "Oh, yes," she assured, "I was just thinking about you today and thought I'd call. Didn't you get my message last month?" she scolded a bit harshly. His voice dropped, he didn't want to fight. "Sorry, Mom, I was on the road." "I understand you've moved your father's books. Do you have room for them all?" she asked curiously. "Yes, Mom," he confirmed. "And I drove by his house and there's a For Sale sign on the lawn. Are you selling the place, Fox?" "Yes," he answered, quietly yet firmly, "I thought it was time to get rid of the place." "He loved that house, you know," she prodded. "I appreciate that, Mom, but, Dad's gone and it holds no fond memories for me." "Fox," she asked, shocked, "how can you say that?" Mulder sighed, he was tired of games. He would no longer avoid the tough confrontations. He was done hiding, "Mom, you know damn well the bastard beat the crap out of me on a regular basis. You'll have to pardon me if I don't feel compelled to turn his home into a shrine." His sharp comment was met by complete silence. He could feel the familiar feelings of guilt wash over him, damn, he shouldn't have upset her. What had happened between him and his father had not been his fault, but, he thought compassionately, it was not really her fault either. She had not been capable of protecting him. It had been too much to expect of her. "Mom, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up," he apologized. She answered quickly, needing to speak before she changed her mind. "No, Fox, you're right, of course." There was another long pause at this point and Mulder wondered what he was right about. "Mom, are you all right?" he asked. "I'm fine, Fox. I was just thinking how long it's been since I've seen you, are you planning to stop in for a visit soon?" It was his turn to pause, he could honestly not remember the last time she'd asked him to visit. The psychologist in him understood this was her way of reaching out to him, although he suspected she would always avoid discussion around the abuse. The child in him was overcome with emotion, his eyes filled with tears and he attempted unsuccessfully to suppress the muffled sob. "Fox," she asked worriedly, "are you all right?" He sniffled and wiped the tears from his eyes hastily with his sleeve, "I'm fine, Mom. I-I'd like to come down for a visit. I need to check my case load first, can I call you on Friday?" he asked hesitantly. "Of course, Fox." Mulder sniffled again, loudly, "uh, Mom, I have to go. I have an early day tomorrow," he explained lamely. "You take care, young man." The click on the line indicated she'd hung up. He placed the phone down on the desk and once again moved towards the window. Looking up at the night sky, he was flooded by a sense of purpose, a solid direction. He raised his arms above his head and arched his back in a cat like move. Yes, there was much to do, but these things would all wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he was tired, not yet completely recovered from this cold and the injuries received in Minneapolis. Tonight, he needed to sleep. He switched off the lights and walked up the steps to the loft that overlooked the rest of the apartment. Stripping down, he fell into bed, his skin enjoying the cool cotton sheets. Tomorrow would be here soon enough. >>>>>>>>>>>> HOOVER BUILDING, BASEMENT OFFICE 7:23AM He sat, feet perched precariously upon the desk, chair bent backwards threatening to topple at any moment. The room, heavily shadowed, the only source of light a small desk lamp near his feet. Papers shuffled as he read quickly through another folder, then tossed it atop the five others he'd reviewed that morning. His new bed was comfortable, but Mulder could still manage no more than four-five hours of sleep per night. Sometimes it was nightmares but, oftentimes, he just found himself with too much to think about. His mind was always reminding him of tasks, of facts he'd hidden away. Beyond the X-Files, which gave him access to all FBI resources as well as a certain legitimacy, there was much to do. Scully entered and found him this way, hair slightly mussed from a recent finger combing and glasses, smudged with what looked to be ink stained fingerprints, absorbed in a large file. She stayed silent unwilling to break his concentration. Slipping off her coat, she hung it neatly then dug into a bag containing two coffees and a bag of sunflower seeds. She moved silently towards the desk and placed the coffee near his right hand. He looked up, smiled and automatically reached for the cup, "thanks, Scully." She tossed the sunflower seeds on his papers, "I made you breakfast, too." His eyes crinkled, laugh lines too often unseen, accenting their lovely green shade. She moved to stand before his desk and crossed her arms, "so, Mulder, what's on the agenda for today?" He stood and walked to the slide projector, "if you'll dim the lights, Agent Scully, there appears to have been an incident in New Mexico that involves, what I suspect is," his eyes were fairly dancing by this time, "a mummy who has a penchant for human blood." The first slide displayed a wound on one of the victims. Scully moved in for a closer look, "Mulder, what makes you think these punctures were caused by a mummy. Last I heard," she added sarcastically, "mummies don't bite, at least they never did in any movie I saw." Then, unable to resist she asked, "isn't this more likely the work of a vampire?" He bit the inside of his cheek, fighting to maintain a serious stance, "you're still disappointed we never found out where that sheriff went, aren't you, Scully?" "Hardly, Mulder," she answered haughtily. Mulder's eyebrow rose in a perfect Scully imitation, "actually, Scully, you are half right," his thumb demanded the next slide. It was an extremely dark picture showing a large figure, wrapped in what appeared to be strips of cloth, biting the neck of their most recent victim. Before she could react, he added, "it appears we have a vampire mummy on our hands." She was appalled, "Mulder, the picture is obviously a fake. It looks like something from a really old Lon Chaney movie!" He reached to turn on the light before turning to her, his face full of disappointment, "actually it was a Vincent Price film." If looks could kill, he'd be spread out on the desk, a wooden stake in his heart. "Very funny, Mulder," she snapped. He shrugged, he really did think it was funny. Scully really needed to lighten up a bit. "Seriously, Mulder, what next?" He tossed her a file and gestured for her to sit down, "actually, Scully, there have been some unusual sightings in Louisiana and," he held up his hand to stop her obvious interruption, "it ain't swamp gas." "But, Mulder," she argued -- >>>>>>>>>>>> APARTMENT OF CSM - 9:43PM His hands overflowing with three days of mail and a lit cigarette, he struggled to open his apartment door. As he entered, he tossed most of his mail on to a nearby table, leaving only a small parcel in his hands. By rights he should take it in and have it x-rayed before opening it, but something about the return address label made him hesitate. A small Marvin the Martian smirked at him from the upper left hand corner. Ignoring his usual caution, he opened the package. He first encountered a short note: Dear Sir, Thank you for your annual subscription to the Marvin the Martian club. Every eight weeks you will receive a new gift designed especially with the discriminating Marvin fan in mind. We look forward to serving you, our valued customer, in the year to come. We know you will enjoy your first gift. The Marvin the Martian Club CSM pulled out a man's tie. It was adorned with what appeared to be glow in the dark spaceships. He frowned, obviously another Mulder prank, the boy was becoming a real nuisance. Tossing the tie aside, he considered the situation carefully. He was most concerned about the fact that his address was so easily found, how had Mulder managed it this time? He'd moved 24 hours after the pizza prank and had been extremely careful as to his new location. Was Mulder having him followed? "Damn," he seethed, this was a game he was unfamiliar with. After all, he had just carelessly opened a package assuming it was another Mulder antic. Would the day come when the boy could actually be a threat to him personally? He studied the package again closely. If Mulder had wanted, he could have placed a bomb within this small box. It would have been so easy for the boy to eliminate him. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he glanced over his shoulder nervously, feeling as though his every move were being watched. So this is what it feels like, he thought nervously. This is what Mulder felt when he found the surveillance camera in his apartment. This is how the boy felt every day. CSM didn't like this feeling of being stalked, He had always been the hunter, seldom the hunted. When had the tables turned between him and his reluctant son? >>>>>>>>>>>> Final Summary: Thanks to all who took the time to provide me with feedback on this series of stories. I can honestly say, if not for your notes/comments I would not have continued writing. This was a creative exercise I wanted to try after reading other fan fiction and your positive support allowed me a safe environment in which to play. For this I am eternally grateful. Reluctantly, karoshi12 has returned Mulder home. Is this story over? You tell me. Feedback: karoshi12@ameritech.net