ELS Chapter 3 By Dawson E. Rambo Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and any other tangentially mentioned characters created by Chris Carter remain his copyrighted property, as well as the copyrighted property of 1013 productions and Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox. No infringement is intended. Posting Date : October 23, 1997 Archive Entry : "ELS" Chapter 3/? Classification : SRA Chapter Rating : R (Violence, Language) Story Rating : NC-17 Casting : John Ashton, "Detective Boyle" Missing Chapters: http://www.sonic.net/~drambo/els.htm Summary : After solving the Chicago case, Mulder and Scully attempt to take some downtime, but end up having to rush to another city in order to help stop a madman. Spoilers : Pusher, Conduit, Home. (See note below) Content Warnings: Violent content, language NOTE: Violent scenes are set off with a "@" character at the beginning and a "#" character at the end. If you do not want to read the explicitly violent scenes, set your text reader/word processor to search for "#", and when you encounter the "@" character, do a "Find Again" or "Find Next" and the program will skip it. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= The Drake Hotel, Chicago The Chicago Police Department, in the persona of Detective Stan Boyle, had indeed gone whole hog with the accommodations. Mulder wasn't aware of it, but Stan Boyle was married to one Jeanie Boyle, born Jeanie Kazinski. Jeanie Kazinski Boyle had one sister, Margie Kazinski, who had met and married Ted Adams. And Ted Adams was the Assistant General Manager of the Drake Hotel. Stan had found the relationship between him and his brother-in-law such that he could call on Ted from time to time for a favor, in the reasonable expectation that at some later date the favor would be repaid. This usually took the form of having detectives assigned to the Public Morals Squad (Vice) of the CPD stopping by and visiting the bar and restaurant lounge of the Drake Hotel to make sure that the ladies of the evening that tended to ply their trade there were aware that the CPD knew of their presence, and did not appreciate any half-assed attempts by them or their 'managers' to cause undue trouble with the guests. It was an arrangement that worked out well, as Mulder was pleased to see, even if he was unaware of it. Ted Adams had made sure that the two adjoining rooms, while not suites, were lavish and comfortable just the same. Each room came equipped with a pair of California King-sized beds, a bathtub large enough to hold several members of the Chicago Bears starting offensive line, a well-stocked and comped minibar, and a Sony 35-inch XBR flat-screen television that received over 200 individual satellite channels. Which is why Special Agent Dana Scully, upon entering Mulder's room from the connecting doorway, found him sprawled on the bed, remote in hand, a small bottle of peanuts balanced on his chest, engrossed in what appeared to be some form of team sport from a country with a name that had more consonants than vowels. "What are you watching?" she inquired. "As far as I can tell, it's some odd strain of football," Mulder replied, using the remote to silence the excited cries of the announcer. Something had just happened on the screen, a goal of some kind having been scored, but Mulder would have been hard-pressed to describe the exact method for that goal having been scored, or how many points the goal was worth. "So..." Scully started. "So...?" Mulder asked. "Chicago," Scully explained. "Case is done. We don't leave until tomorrow..." She raised her eyebrows, hoping Mulder would take the hint. He didn't. She moved directly into his line of sight to test a theory, and her supposition was correct; Mulder moved slightly on the bed, craning his neck around her body so that he could keep the television screen in view. "Mulder," she said, hoping the tone of her voice would catch his attention. "I have no desire to sit in a hotel room and watch satellite television for the next eighteen hours. Nor do I wish to watch you do the same." Her tone, if not her words, did indeed catch her partner's attention, and he quickly shut the TV off. "What would you like to do?" he asked softly. "Dinner?" she offered. Mulder glanced at his watch. It was barely after four in the afternoon. "Little early for dinner, Scully." Hands on hips, Scully turned and walked back to her room. "Think of something," she called over her shoulder. Mulder chewed his bottom lip. Chicago. What to do? Go down to Rush Street and cruise the thousands of bars they had? No, not Scully's style. Plus, he'd spend the night shooting daggers with his eyes at the men who hit on her. Bad idea all around, he mused. A sudden inspiration striking him, Mulder grabbed his cell phone and quickly dialed. "Boyle," a voice answered. "Stan, Mulder." "Hey, Mulder. What's up? I hope you got some good rooms." "They're wonderful, Stan. I don't know who you know, but tell them I owe 'em one." "Done. What can I do ya for?" "If my memory serves, the Knicks are in town..." Boyle groaned. "And you were wondering if I knew anyone that had a ticket or two to spare, correct?" "Something like that." A sigh from Detective Boyle was Mulder's answer. "Well, as a matter of fact, my partner happens to be dating an officer from the Traffic Division who's father just happens to have two tickets that are going unused tonight." "I see..." Mulder said. "I could ask my partner to inquire as to the availability of those two tickets," Boyle offered. "If your partner's girlfriend's father doesn't mind giving them up in the name of interagency cooperation, I'd be very appreciative," Mulder offered. There was an uncomfortable pause. "Well, let me ask Bill, and he can ask...his friend to ask...er..." Boyle trailed off. Mulder felt something shift in the air between them. "Uh, Stan, did I just make an incorrect assumption as to the gender of your partner's...friend?" "Yeah, Mulder. Is that a problem?" "Not for me. How about you?" "No...Bill's really nice, and so is his...friend, Richard." "Well, if Richard's father wishes to part with two Bulls tickets in the name of interagency cooperation-" "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Stan said. "Hold on a second, let me make the call." Mulder heard a click! as Stan Boyle put him on hold. Forty-five seconds later, Boyle was back. "Richard's father was more than happy to contribute to the cause. They'll be at the box office under your name. Have a good time, and say hello to that pretty little partner of yours, Mulder." "Thanks, Stan. I owe you one." "We're even, Mulder. Have a nice night." The two law enforcement professionals said their good-byes just as Scully re-entered Mulder's room. "Who was that?" she asked. "Detective Boyle," Mulder answered. "He wanted some information for the case file. Formalities, paperwork, that sort of thing." Scully nodded. "Figure out anything for us to do?" "Why is it always my job?" Mulder asked. "Because, Agent Mulder, you dragged me out here." "I got you away from a mountain of paperwork," he pointed out. She nodded. "Point granted. Now, did you figure something out, or am I going to have to?" "Let me ask you a hypothetical question, Scully. We've been partners for a while now; I think it's time I discover your opinion on a very important, very personal topic." Scully leaned against the door jamb, her arms crossed. "Do I want to hear this, Mulder?" "How do you feel about two partners...a man and a woman... in a city far, far away from Washington, DC...two partners that have known each other for a long, long time..." As he spoke, Scully felt the air in the room shift and change. "...doing something together that might be frowned upon by their superiors?" "Mulder..." Scully started, letting out a huge sigh. It had taken long enough, but the day Scully had feared had finally arrived. How to tell him? she wondered. "I mean, if anyone ever found out what I am about to suggest, they'd be green with jealousy." "Mulder..." Scully said, flattered that he would think that anyone would be jealous of her, "I really don't think that..." "I mean...going to the Bulls game while on the road... It's just not done, Scully!" Bulls game? Scully thought. "Did you just say 'Bulls game'?" His face the picture of innocence, Mulder nodded. "Yes, the Chicago Bulls versus the New York Knicks, tonight, at the United Center." He paused. "Why? What did you think I was going to suggest?" "Nothing," Scully said, a little too quickly. "Sounds good," she added, "but do you think you can get tickets this late?" Mulder nodded. "I'm sure of it. So, tell you what... let's take the El down to the arena, walk around a bit, maybe get some dinner. We'll get some tickets, watch the game...?" Scully nodded. "Sounds like a plan. I'll just go and... change." She left Mulder on the bed in his room, softly closing the connecting door. She leaned against it, re-crossing her arms, nibbling her bottom lip. She was trying to decide if she was offended, scared, or disappointed. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= The elevated subway car was packed with people heading to the game. Mulder and Scully were not only forced to stand for the entirety of their trip, but the crowd density pressed them together, Mulder's front to Scully's back. The car went around a curve, and the sudden change in inertia caused Scully to start sliding to the left. She felt two strong arms snake around her waist from behind, steadying her, bringing her body closer to his. "Easy, killer," he whispered in her ear. "Don't want to bump into the natives..." The track straightened, but Mulder left his arms where they were. Sighing, Scully leaned back just a bit, just a little bit, closing her eyes as she felt Mulder's arms squeezing her gently. Part of her knew it was dangerous, that it sent a signal Scully wasn't sure she wanted to send. He's my best friend, her mind rationalized. Friends hug, and touch, and...do this, whatever 'this' is. It should make no difference that Mulder was an extremely attractive man, that his warm, strong arms felt wonderful around her body, and that she was taking just a little bit too much enjoyment from the feeling. For his part, Mulder was thinking many of the same things. Scully felt wonderful in his arms. She fit just...so. He wasn't romantic enough to believe that she was 'made' to fit into his arms, but there was no denying the fact that it was a very comfortable arrangement, that the warm, soft length of her pressed against him was not an unwelcome or uncomfortable feeling. It was a train ride, he told himself. Just a train ride. When the ride is over, and we step off this car, she'll separate herself, put some distance between us, put that invisible wall back up brick by mental brick. And then everything will return to normal, and I'll have a nice memory to carry around with me for a few years. His chin was lightly resting on the crown of her head as the train swayed back and forth. Scully moved her arms until they were over his, her fingers lightly teasing the hair at his wrists. Mulder decided to take a small chance. He leaned down just a bit, until his mouth was next to Scully's left ear. "I love the way your hair smells," he whispered, and then straightened. Scully felt the heat in her face, felt the blush crawling up her neck, flaming her cheeks and ears. Damn the man, she thought with a grin. Three hundred and sixty days of the year, he acts as if doesn't notice her as a woman at all, and those other five days he makes some soft comment to remind her that he's not a statue. The train hit the Ashland station and slid to a stop, the doors hissing open to admit the passengers to the platform. Scully and Mulder waited for everyone to pile off, not wanting to separate just quite yet. Finally, there was no choice but to leave. Reluctantly, they separated, exiting to the platform. Scully stood to his left, glancing around, trying to orient herself, already missing the feeling of his body pressing against hers. She remembered a case in Louden County, Virginia, a case about a man with the gift of the Whammy. She remembered standing in the doorway of his hospital room, reaching down with her hand to find Mulder's. She remembered how natural it had felt then, even as she had known the chance she was taking. Without her consciously thinking about it, Scully's hand repeated the motion, her fingers reaching out to tickle the back of his hand. Mulder took her fingers in his, and together, they set off down the platform. They went down the stairs and turned right and walked south and then west, ending up on West Madison. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= "Mulder!" Scully protested. "There's no way we're going to get tickets!" Mulder glanced at the lines streaming from the box office windows. Twelve separate windows, each with about forty people standing in line, all with hopeful, expectant looks on their faces. "Have no fear, Scully," Mulder said with a smile. "For my heart is pure, and God rewards the pure of heart." Scully bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. "How much do you want to bet?" she asked. He glanced down at her. "A kiss," he said gently. Scully felt her jaw drop. "Excuse me?" "A kiss, Scully. I bet you we can get two tickets to tonight's event. If I win, I get a kiss." "A kiss?" she asked again. "What kind of kiss?" "A normal kiss. On the lips." He thought about it a moment. "From you," he added, realizing he was dealing with Scully. "A kiss from me, on the lips. A normal kiss. If you get two tickets." He nodded. Scully glanced at the lines again. "In this crowd, for this game, tonight." Mulder nodded again. Scully calculated her odds. "What if I win?" "What do you want?" he asked softly. Scully felt his fingers tightening around hers. "Paperwork," she smiled. "If I win, you do all the expense vouchers and case reports for...two weeks. A kiss against two weeks of paperwork." "Deal," Mulder said quickly. Way too quickly, Scully thought. Something's up. He left her standing there as he made his way up to the Preferred Customer's line at the box office. The clerk regarded him with a bored, distracted expression. "Help ya?" "I believe you have two tickets for Mulder?" he asked. The clerk reached into a bin filled with white envelopes and began flipping through them. "Mahoney...Meyer...Mulder...here ya go." Mulder took the envelope, opened it, and withdrew the tickets, sliding the envelope back to the clerk. "Thanks." Walking back to where Scully stood, Mulder fanned the tickets in his hand, holding them up in a "Y" for her to see. "Told you," he said softly, smiling. Scully felt the bottom of her stomach fall out. "Mulder, I don't know how you did it, but this feels rigged." Mulder shrugged. "Welshing, Scully?" "Never," she said. "Not here. Not now." "That's fine...I can wait. Let's go see the game." And with that, he took her hand again, leading her into the arena. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= They were good seats. Hell, they were GREAT seats, Mulder thought. Half-court, about six rows back from the wood. Scully sat to his left, her forearms on her thighs, leaning forward, watching the game intently. He realized that she probably had other things on her mind when she remained in that position even as the Bulls cheerleaders took to the floor during a 30-second time out. "Scully?" he asked. "What?" she replied, her eyes still focused somewhere in the middle distance. "I did have it rigged," he said softly. "Boyle got us these tickets. His partner's boyfriend's father." Scully nodded, slowly turning her head to face him. "I thought Boyle's partner was Bill..." she trailed off, noticing Mulder's expression. "Oh!" was all she said. "Yeah," Mulder nodded. "So...you don't owe me anything." Scully saw the guilt in Mulder's eyes and decided to have fun. "Oh, no, Mulder. A bet's a bet. I owe you one kiss on the lips. Deal's a deal." And with that, she turned back to the game, careful to keep Mulder's face in the corner of one eye. He looked miserable, she thought. Good. Serves him right. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= They made it just past half-time. "What's that beeping noise?" Scully asked, glancing around. "If I had to guess, I'd say it was my pager," Mulder replied. Scully absorbed this. Mulder hadn't moved, his attention focused on the game. "Are you going to check it?" "Eventually," was his answer. "Mulder?" He sighed. "Aw, Scully, it's probably Littleton wanting to know the outcome of the case." "So..?" "If I call him from half-court at a Bulls game, he'll never forgive me! I'll never hear the end of it!" "Mulder...it could be important." He rolled his eyes and reached for his pager. Glancing at the number, he shrugged. "Hmm..it is Tony's number, but he added '911' at the end." "Call him, Mulder." "Yes, dear," Mulder said snidely, reaching for his cell. He dialed quickly, his eyes on the game. "Littleton," a voice answered. "Mulder, Tony. What's so important it couldn't wait-" "Where are you?" "In Chicago. You know that." "I mean...can you get to the airport in the next...three hours?" Mulder sighed again. "I'm sure we could manage it, if it's important. What gives?" "I'm going to book you two on a flight to Jacksonville, Florida. I'm faxing the case notes to your hotel as we speak. We have a mess down there, Mulder. A kidnapping case that's gone sour." "We profile serial criminals, Tony-" "I _know_ that, Mulder. This started out as a serial murder case. Four boys, all between the ages of eight and ten, found murdered over the last year. Only this time, the jerk calls it in. We need you down there, pronto." "But-" "Hey, you refusing to take an assignment?" "No, but-" "Three hours, Mulder. Delta airlines. Information will be at your hotel. Get moving. Now." Littleton hung up on him. "Shit," Mulder grumbled, collapsing the antenna on his phone. "C'mon, Scully...we gotta go." "What's up?" she asked. "Jacksonville, Florida. Kidnapping." She nodded, taking one last glance at the game. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= The Drake Hotel Mulder was zipping his overnight bag shut when he detected Scully standing behind him, her shoulder pressed against the jamb. "You ready?" he asked. "Yes," she said. Something in her voice made him turn. Her eyes were soft, moist, and she was looking at him with the strangest expression he'd ever seen. "What?" "I..." she stopped. "I want you to collect on the bet, Mulder." He shook his head. "Scully, I told you, that was rigged. You don't owe me anything." She shook her head, taking a step towards him. "A bet is a bet, Mulder. And I know you. If you don't collect on this bet, you're never going to let me forget it. You'll hold it over my head for months, and I can't deal with that. So come here, let me kiss you, and we can just get it over with." He sat down on the bed, hard. "Just forget about it?" he asked wistfully. Poor choice of words, Scully thought. "You know what I mean," she amended, stepping still closer. Mulder looked at the carpet, searching for the words. "Scully..." he started. She stepped between his spread legs. "We have time," she said softly. She gently placed her hands on his shoulders. He looked up, his expression miserable. "Scully..." "What's the matter, Mulder? Don't you _want_ to kiss me?" Danger, his mind warned. "No," he said gently. Scully felt the color drain from her face. She removed her hands from his shoulders and started to step back. "Well then why did you even-" she started. She felt his hands at her waist, pulling her back towards him. She resisted for a moment, and then gave in. "Scully," he said, staring at her stomach, "It's not that-" "Look at me, please," she demanded quietly. He glanced up, meeting her eyes. "It's not a 'yes or no' question, Scully. If we ever do kiss...like that...I don't want it to be as a result of a silly little bet. I want it to be-" "Hush," Scully said, pressing two fingers against his lips. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he went and did something like this, something so generous, so wonderfully gentle... "Mulder...just by saying that, you make me want to kiss you." Danger, his mind warned again. Extreme danger. "Scully..." She moved then, her hands back on his shoulders, her head lowering to his. A moment before their lips would have touched, the phone rang. "Dammit," Scully muttered, moving out of Mulder's arms. He leaned back on the bed, snagging the phone with one hand. "Mulder." "Your taxi is here, sir," the desk clerk announced. "We have a rental," Mulder replied. "Oh, sorry, sir. Special Agent Littleton made it clear that-" "Well, dismiss it. We'll drive the rental to the airport." "Yes, sir." Mulder hung up the phone, thankful for once for Tony Littleton's interference. "C'mon," he said. "We have go to." Mulder stood and reached for his bag. Scully moved to block him. "Mulder..." "Scully...we have a kidnapping case waiting for us in Jacksonville." "But we're here now." "Scully, it was just a stupid bet. A stupid, rigged bet!" Scully put a hand in the middle of his chest and pushed. Mulder's knees hit the edge of the bed and he sat down, hard. Scully straddled his waist, draping her arms over his shoulders. "Listen to me," she said softly, pinning him with her eyes. She reached back to tuck a lock of fiery hair behind one ear. "If you back out now, that makes you a welsher, too." He opened his mouth to protest, and she placed the same two fingers across his lips. "If you were willing to risk my getting angry over rigging a stupid little bet in order to get a kiss from me, the least I can do is grant such an obviously deeply held desire." She shrugged. "It's just a kiss, Mulder. It will... satisfy a long-standing curiosity." Mulder couldn't focus his thoughts. All he knew was Scully's warm weight in his lap, her arms across his shoulders, the nearness of her, the look in her eyes. This was not what he had planned at all; he'd never planned on collecting the bet. It was too dangerous, too filled with chances for hurt; for him and for her. "Fine. Kiss me." Mulder said, his voice distant, remote. Slowly, bit by bit, the emotion and animation drained from Scully's face. She stood. "Screw you, Mulder," she said softly, staring at the floor. "Just...screw you." She turned and walked back into her room, reappearing a moment later with her overnight bag. "Let's go. As you said, we have a plane to catch." Shit, Mulder thought. Doesn't she understand? He stood and grabbed his own bag, took two steps towards the door and stopped. Dropping the bag, he spun on her, grabbing Scully by the shoulders. One hand slid around and into her hair, arching her neck, tilting her face towards his. The other hand slid down her side, around to the small of her back, bringing her close. His mouth found hers. Scully's eyes fluttered and then closed, her own arms coming around, snaking under and through his, one around his back, the other around his neck, her own fingers in _his_ hair, using it to guide him, to pull him harder against her. It was magic, he thought. Pure, sweet, simple magic. A kiss like he'd never known or suspected. Her lips, lips he had wondered about, fantasized about, peered at and lusted after...were perfect. They fit against his own as if made for them, her breath in his mouth, the small itch of her fingernails against his scalp only contributing to the overall sensation. Amazing, Scully thought as the kiss deepened and grew heat. Standing in a hotel room in Chicago, in Mulder's arms, feeling his mouth working against mine: Who would have ever thought? He pulled away, his hands moving to cup her face, thumbs stroking the arches of her cheeks. "See?" he whispered. "It's not _just_ a kiss, Scully." His need, his hunger, his desire spoke more through those six words than any other could have. She looked into his eyes and saw the complex, whirling emotions behind them. Desire, fear, pain...all of it. She knew the same emotions were reflected in her own eyes. "Mulder-" she said softly, reaching for his mouth with her own again. He pulled away, reaching for his bag. "Time, Scully. We both need time to think about this." He paused. "Let's go. We have a long flight." She nodded, a little hurt that he didn't want to continue kissing her. But he was right, dammit. In the grander scheme of things, the kiss was both expected, and not. A small part of each of them had known it was coming...someday. Neither had expected today to be that day. Mulder had been... What? Teasing her? At the arena...he'd known he'd win the bet. And that had been all the impetus that Scully had needed. She'd wondered about Mulder that way once or twice... Liar, she thought. More than once or twice. A hell of a lot more. And she knew that he had as well. It was only human nature. They were attractive, intelligent people in the prime of their lives, with exciting, interesting careers, and a wonderful relationship. Well, she amended, at least an exciting one. And it was getting better. Baby steps, to be sure...but it was getting better. Jacksonville, her mind announced. She followed Mulder out of the room and down the hall to the elevator. They rode down in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. The desk clerk handed them a thick pile of flimsy fax sheets as they checked out. Scully took it and began reading; it was the case file from Littleton. Two paragraphs into the summary, she knew that the next few days were going to be hard. For her, and for Mulder. Especially for Mulder. Child abductions just hit too close to home. Together, still silent, they headed for their rental car. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Aboard Delta Flight 2066 Two Hours Later The beverage cart had just rattled up the aisle. They had both ordered coffee, black. Mulder had quietly instructed the flight attendant to keep the coffee coming. She'd seen the paperwork spread out before them and had nodded, understanding without knowing the specifics that it was important that these two passengers remain awake for the flight. She'd offered to move the people in the rows in front and behind the two Agents, so their light wouldn't keep them awake. Mulder was studying the profile that had already been written, taking copious notes. Scully eyed this with more than a passing interest; she'd never known Mulder to take a single note in all the years she'd known him. Which probably meant he was distracted. And taking that as a given, she had a good idea what he was distracted _about_. The same thing she was, as a matter of fact. "How does it look?" Scully asked. "Not good," Mulder answered. "Did you see the autopsy data?" Scully nodded, trying to swallow past the sudden lump in her throat. The data had been gruesome, and that was being kind. The killer, what ISU profilers called an UNSUB, (for UNknown SUBject,) seemed to have a distinct antipathy towards young blonde boys. Four boys between the ages of eight and ten years old, had been taken from the Jacksonville area in the past nine months. All four had been found dead by the side of the A1A causeway. Each of them had been found naked, hands and feet tied, with evidence of severe physical and sexual torture prior to death. @ Death had been caused, in each case, by a blow to the head with a blunt object. All the victims had suffered fractured skulls, but it was the Arlington County Coroner's Office opinion that the blow to the head had taken place immediately prior to each victim being strangled with bare hands. Pinpoint hemorrhages in the whites of the eye had contributed to that finding. The coroner listed a dual cause of death, because in his opinion, death would have occurred within minutes after the blow to the head, regardless if the choking had not taken place. Each victim bore signs of physical torture. Some had cigarette burns on the backs, buttocks and genitals. Others had what appeared to be plier marks on the nipples and genitals. The coroner had removed a cement plug from the anus of the most recent victim, and the Florida State Police Crime Lab had determined through means unknown to Scully that the plug had been inside the body for up to three days before the victim was murdered. # "He likes it," Mulder muttered. "He really likes what he's doing." "So why call it in?" Scully asked. "Why draw attention to himself?" "Only reason I can think of is that he's getting ready to fly the coop. Change locales. He wants to brag to the cops that he got away with it." Scully nodded her agreement. "Makes sense. Or is it a cry for help?" Mulder shook his head, annoyed at something. "Not that, Scully. Look at the way the bodies were positioned. All face up, all displayed in such a way to call attention to the crime. If they'd been face down, or covered, or hidden, I might have believed there was some sort of post-rage remorse. But...not in this case. His anger is still to raw, still too hungry." Scully nodded again, glad that Mulder was talking. "So...what does Littleton expect us to do?" Mulder shook his head. "I have no idea. Maybe he just wants a headquarters profiler down there, some kind of presence from the Crystal Tower." Mulder began shuffling paper, looking for the UNSUB profile. It was standard: White male, 25 to 35, with a blue-collar job, driving a ten to fifteen year-old car. The car would be heavily customized, with a powerful engine and a loud radio. The UNSUB would be clean and neat. The use of the ligatures on the hands and feet indicated an organized killer, probably with a kit. The ropes used to bind the victims had been analyzed, and were standard clothesline, available at hardware stores across the country. He would smoke, but would be trying to quit. He would be of above average intelligence, but an underachiever, both professionally and personally. He would have failed relationships, several of them, with women his own age, and would prefer younger women, especially women that looked prepubescent. Mulder wasn't sure about that last one. He had the feeling that the UNSUB was... He closed his eyes, reaching up to turn the reading light off, thrusting their row into total darkness. Scully, in the process of going over crime scene photos, turned to complain and saw Mulder's eyes twitching behind closed lids. Darkness, she remembered. Mulder went deep inside himself, looking for the UNSUB. He felt around in the darkness of his mind, one hand holding a lamp cord, the other searching for the socket, feeling along the wall. His mind turned words and phrases from the reports over and over again, glancing at them askance, turning them upside down. It shouldn't be this hard, he thought. No, not little girls. He likes little boys. But not sexually. He's not gay, and he's not a pedophilie, even though the children were molested. His sexual high isn't from the actual molestation...it's from...the revenge? The get-back? Mulder touched on a memory, and his mind drew back as if burned. He approached the memory slowly, as if it might run if startled. Ten. He'd been ten years old. Little League game. His father, dropping him off, Sam in the car. He remembered wanting his father to stay for the game, wanting his father to watch him pitch. He'd been working on his fastball. His father curtly ordering him out of the car, telling him to find his own ride home. His father turning to Sam and calling her "Princess," and how they were going to go out and buy her a new dress, so she could be pretty. Pretty for who...? Mulder remembered thinking. And he remembered not wanting that question answered, remembered the hatred and the bile that had risen in his throat as he'd turned and watched his father drive away, smiling at his little sister, remembered how the departing form of the Mulder family car had slowly revealed the baseball field, how it had shown the other boys on his team, their fathers standing on the sidelines, calling encouragement, praise, shouting out words of love and support. And then the burn. He remembered the hatred he'd felt for those boys, how he wanted them all to die, to vanish, to disappear from the face of the Earth forever. How he wanted to be them, how he wanted to have fathers like they did, fathers that didn't scream and shout and yell and point fingers, fathers that didn't drink and hit. And then the memory doubled back on itself. Mulder saw his father screaming at him, his neck corded with anger, a huge, fat, blue vein throbbing in the center of his forehead. The one game his father had managed to make, and Mulder had walked in the go-ahead run. His father, on the sidelines, jumping up and down like an organ-grinder's monkey, shaking his fist. And the ride home, after the game, Mulder's father repeating over and over again how embarrassed he'd been, how humiliated and disgusted. His son...HIS SON... walking in a go-ahead run! Failing! And the hate and the bile and the anger and the shame came rolling back again, Mulder remembering the hatred he'd felt, upset that he'd gotten his fondest wish, for his father to see a game, to see him play, and how that still hadn't been enough, it was never enough, it would never _be_ enough. Never enough. Never. Ever. "Daddy," he whispered, and then whimpered. Scully, having watched the entire episode, knew that Mulder was...being Spooky. He was in the Dark Place, as she privately called it. He was reliving something from his past. Something evil and painful and dark. Dark like the grave, she thought, and shuddered. She considered reaching out to him, but didn't know if she should. Did he want her to? Need her to? Or did he need this more, these trips into his pain, into the horror that passed for his childhood? Mulder, still inside the memory, saw himself as a boy, saw himself trudging up the stairs to his room, closing the door softly, not wanting to alert his father, not wanting to incur the wrath again, saw himself sitting on the bed, tossing the mitt on the floor and... And... Crying. Sobbing. Letting his face fall into his hands as he struggled to let the pain out as quietly as he could. Private pain, not for sharing. Not with his mother, nor his sister. No one to listen. Even then, knowing he was different, smarter than the other kids. Knowing that baseball was the great equalizer, that when he was on the field he was just another one of the kids, just a faceless, nameless number in a uniform. Knowing that now, when he needed a friend, he had no one to turn to. No one. And the memory shifted. Memory became fantasy as Mulder's mind tried to deal with the overwhelming guilt and pain. A little girl walked into the room, a little girl with red pigtails and smart blue eyes. "It's ok, Mulder," the little girl with the voice of an adult Scully said. "It's ok...I'm here." She walked over to the bed and jumped up, putting her arm around his shoulder. He turned his face into that her shoulder and sobbed, letting the tears run out, letting the pain and rage and hurt and anger flow out of him in a never ending wave of grief and sadness and just plain hurt. She stroked his back, made cooing noises in his ear, letting him cry. "I know why," Mulder told the fantasy Scully. "I know why he did it." "Who?" the fantasy Scully asked, and Mulder opened his eyes to find that fantasy had become reality, that it wasn't a six or seven year-old Scully sitting on his bed in the Chilmark house, but the 33 year-old Scully, his best, only friend holding him and letting him cry into her shoulder. He raised his face from her body, tears streaking his skin, and looked into the eyes of his partner. "The UNSUB. I know why he did it." Scully raised her eyebrows but said nothing. He saw her expression. "Maybe not the specifics, but if he calls back, and I can talk to him...I think I can get him to come in." Scully let out a deep breath. "Let's hope he calls, Mulder." "Tired," he whispered, lowering his face to her shoulder again. "So, so tired..." "Shhhh," she said, stroking his hair with her free hand. "Go to sleep, Mulder. Rest." He sighed happily, closed his eyes and was asleep within moments. Scully continued to hold him, not minding, actually welcoming it. Is this what it's like? she wondered. Is this what it's going to be like to love this man? Would be like, she mentally corrected herself. Would be like. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Jacksonville, Florida The plane landed without incident. The bump of the wheels against the tarmac woke Mulder from his sleep, and he straightened, looking at Scully with a strange expression on his face. He doesn't remember, she thought. He thinks it was a dream. "Hey, sorry," he said, a wry smile on his face. "No problem, Mulder. I've drooled on you during enough stakeouts." He nodded, suddenly remembering the Modell stakeout, how he'd reached over and teased the side of her face with his fingers, thrilling to the silky, sexy feel of her skin against his. "Yeah, that's true." "So, Mulder...come to any conclusions?" He turned to her, opening his mouth to speak, and saw the guarded expression on her face. She knew. He must have said something. He sighed. "Listen," he started. "I...when I'm working a case like this... it gets weird sometimes. If you want to...go back to Quantico, I'll understand." She considered smacking him one, but remembered how... utterly vulnerable he'd looked during his...trance. "No, Mulder," she said softly. She leaned close to him, once again pinning him with her eyes. "Listen to me...no one should have to go through what you do when you...do that. But...if there's anyone in the Bureau with half a chance to bring this...UNSUB in, I know you're the man for the job." Impulsively, Scully leaned in as if she was going to kiss him, instead settling for gently patting his hand and smiling. Stunned, Mulder could only sit there and wonder what might have happened. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Joint Task Force Headquarters Jacksonville, Florida 0521 Hours Mulder strode into the building, flashed his ID to the uniformed officer at the desk and asked for directions to the task force. Scully trailed in behind him, attempting to cover a yawn behind the back of her hand. Mulder turned and continued walking, following the cops directions, and found the conference room in short order. There were two Jacksonville detectives and an FBI agent inside. "Hey," Mulder said as he entered. "Who was supposed to meet us?" The FBI agent looked up, bleary-eyed. He lifted a wrist in the general direction of his face. "Not s'posed to be here for another hour," he said, and dropped his wrist back to the table. "How long have you been awake?" Mulder asked. "What day is it...?" "If you don't know, that's too long," Scully said. "Go home, get some sleep. Leave your pager and cell numbers." The agent stood, nodded, and wrote two numbers down, handing the piece of paper to Scully as he walked past. "The Jax ASAC and SAC are going to be in at six-thirty. Have fun. Sorry I missed you." And with that, he was gone. "Anything new?" Mulder asked the two Jax detectives. "Who are you?" one of them asked. "Mulder, ISU," he said, shrugging out of his jacket. "Fox Mulder?" the older one asked. "One in the same," Scully confirmed. The two detectives exchanged a grim smile. "Coffee?" Scully asked. "Good idea," the younger detective said. "I take mine with one sugar, no cream." "Nice to know. When you get it, make sure you get me and my partner one," Mulder said instantly. "I take it black. She takes it one cream." The two cops exchanged a glance. "Now," Mulder snapped. Scully didn't know whether to be grateful or annoyed. She settled for tired, and made her way to a free chair at the conference table. "God, I'm beat," she said, collapsing into the chair. "I'll see your beat and raise you an exhausted," Mulder replied. "Call," she said, surprising Mulder. "You play poker, Scully?" "Navy brat. Two brothers. You do the math." He nodded, too tired to explore this...fascinating concept any more. Scully realized that the uncomfortable feeling in her abdomen was the pressure of a full bladder. She got up to find the bathroom, and instead discovered the community coffee urn, with the two Jax detectives hovering around it, talking in quiet, subdued tones. "...heard about him," the older one was saying. "Rumor has it he can read people's minds." "No shit?" the younger one asked. "Yeah...but only scumbags' minds. He's some kind of... weirdo. But he gets the job done, from what I've heard." "Like what?" "Oh, Lord...about nine, what...ten years ago? A case down in Tallahassee. Standard hooker slayings. All black hookers. Tallahassee vice figured it was NVNNH." He said it as "En Vee En En Aych." Scully made a mental note to discover what the acronym meant. "So this Mulder guy comes down, does the profile, and they have the guy in like two days. Tallahassee cops thought it was a black man, because serial killers rarely cross racial lines. Turns out the guy was mulatto. Mulder figured it out because the only hookers that were getting chopped were ones that were black...real black. Coal black." "Blue black," his partner confirmed, sniggering behind an arrogant smile. "Well, anyway, Mulder figured it out in about ten seconds. Once he got a look at the crime scene photos, he put it together in the space between two heartbeats. I tell you, the guy is strange." Scully quietly made her way back up the hallway and finally discovered the ladies room. After finishing, she returned to the conference room to find a steaming cup of coffee waiting for her. "So, as I asked before," Mulder was saying. "Anything new?" "Nope. We have a trap and trace going, so if he calls, we'll have him within seconds." "Don't you guys have 911 Enhanced?" Mulder asked. The cops exchanged a what-a-dumb-question look. "Yeah. Doesn't work against cell phones. The phone he's using was reported stolen six hours ago. We haven't turned it off...for obvious reasons." "The newest upgrade can work cells," Mulder insisted. "What version of the software are you using?" Neither cop had any idea. "Well, perhaps if you contact your communications section, they'll be able to tell you," Scully offered. Again, with the exchanged glances. Mulder rolled his head. "Please." They started to go. Mulder got up and walked over to the door to meet them. He took the younger one by the shoulder and pulled him close. "How long you been a cop?" he asked. "Nine years." "Eleven for me. That little redhead over there is the best partner I've ever had, and the best goddamn cop I've ever seen. You do not want to be messing with her, playing your little local law enforcement mind games. She will hurt you," Mulder whispered. "You guys call yourselves professional law enforcement officers. Start acting like it." With that, he turned and walked back to Scully's side. She could tell by the look on his face what had just taken place. The only thing that saved Mulder from getting a serious what-for was the fact that he looked like he was dead on his feet. It can wait, Scully decided. The two cops returned in ten minutes. "The third-quarter 96 version," the older one announced. "Need an upgrade," Mulder groaned. He was seated at the head of the table, leaning back against the headrest, eyes closed. "Did he say he was going to call again?" he asked. "He said that he might call us so we could listen to him kill the kid." "Ok, lemme see what you got on the most recent victim," Mulder said, opening his eyes. The older cop slid a thin folder across the table top to Mulder. The FBI agent opened it and began reading. "Nine ears old, blonde and blue. Upper middle class. Good grades. Plays sports. Hates girls, loves frogs. A typical kid. Average, maybe a little above. Still has both original parents, and a bratty little sister that he secretly adores. Everything the UNSUB isn't, and always wanted to be." "Excuse me?" the older cop asked. "Your UNSUB," Mulder said, slipping into his Lecture Voice, "is killing himself. Over and over." "Whaaaat?" "He's killing the image of what he thought he was supposed to be, what he thinks he's entitled to. A normal childhood with two loving parents. He hates...despises...the fact that these kids have a life that he never could, never did." "And you know all this because...?" Mulder grinned. "If I said it was because this is what I do for a living, would that make any difference?" "The other profiler said that he did it because he has a problem with his pedophilia and latent homosexuality." "pedophilies are not necessarily homosexuals. In most cases, they aren't. You didn't find any semen in or on the bodies. The torture of the victims is inconsistent with pedophilia. Pedos try and arouse the kids, try and get them to admit that they like it. Pedos prey on kids from dysfunctional families, kids that are lonely, not very well adjusted. This kid fits none of those profiles. Trust me on this one, guys. This guy is not a kiddie-didder." Scully winced at the term. She knew it was a defense mechanism, but it was still crude. "So what do we do?" "How big is your suspect pool?" "We're convinced he's a transient." "Good. Ok, here's what you do. Start calling all the day care centers, all the grammar and middle schools. Start waking people up if you have to. Get a hold of the personnel records. Find out anybody hired within the last sixty days that recently resigned or was fired. Doesn't matter the reason. Don't look too hard at anybody that was fired for being too close to the kids or too friendly with them." "Why? That makes no sense." "Listen to me...take these names, cross-reference them with your suspect pool. Anybody that turns up in the records check against the schools...eliminate." "Eliminate?" "This guy can't stand to be around kids, get it? He hates them. This is a quick way to narrow your suspect list a little." "Process of elimination?" "Something like that," Mulder agreed. "What if you're wrong?" the younger cop challenged. "Then we got another dead kid on our hands," Mulder answered, "and I get a new matinee for my ever-revolving series of nightmares. Now stop talking and start doing." "Anyplace besides day cares and schools?" "Sports leagues. Ice rinks. Any place where kids congregate that has blue-collar workers. Get as many men as you can spare on this as quickly as possible. We've got a clock, gentlemen. I'd like to beat it this time." "The press is going to start screaming if they get wind of this," the older cop observed. "Fuck 'em," Mulder replied cheerfully. "Easy for you to say," the cop observed. "Ride into town, solve the case, take the credit, ride out. We gotta work here. We gotta-" Mulder's hand came down on the smooth, flat surface of the table with a loud smack! "I don't care _who_ gets the credit for this," he hissed. "Just get me that goddamn information." The two cops stood and walked towards the door. "Fuckin' prima donna," the younger one whispered. "Should I order a Bundt cake?" Scully asked. Mulder grinned. She had a great memory. Almost as good as his. "What was that...fifth case?" "Something like that." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= 7:30am The phone in the center of the table rang, two short trills, then a longer third, and then two shorts again. "That's him," one of the cops announced. The room had filled up; there were several detectives, the FBI SAC and ASAC, both of them giving Mulder and Scully a wide, cold berth, and much of the senior Jacksonville Police Department brass. Mulder made a motion for the phone. Someone handed it to him. "Hello?" "Who is this?" The voice was harsh, strained. He sounds as if he's out of breath, Mulder thought. "My name is Mulder. I'm an FBI agent." "Oh...from Washington, I assume." "Quantico, actually." "Oh, a shrink?" "Yes, as a matter of fact. But I don't practice." "Ready to play?" "Is this a game?" Mulder answered. "To me, it is." "No, it's not." "What?" "A game. It's not a game. I know what it is, and it's not a game." "What is it, then?" "You know." "Tell me." "Tell _me_," Mulder insisted. "You're so fucking smart, Mr. FBI man...you tell _me_." Mulder ran a hand over his face, spinning his chair so he didn't have to look at the other people in the room. "Trace started," someone said quietly. "Keep him talking." "Tell me something," Mulder said, his voice smooth, comforting. "Did it hurt?" There was no answer. "Did it hurt, the way he looked at you?" Again, no answer. "So much hate. As if...as if he never wanted you to be born, right?" A choking sound on the other end of the phone. "Shut up." "No, really...talk to me. I know you, pal. I know you inside and out." "You don't know SHIT!" the voice screamed. "Almost got it," the same quiet voice announced. "Sure I do," Mulder said. "I mean, look at them. All perfect and cute, not a care in the world. They don't know, do they?" Silence. "They don't know about the nightmares. About the pain. About what it's like to get up in the morning and think that you might as well be dead, right? Nobody'd notice. You could just...give head to a twelve gauge, and no one would care. Is he still alive?" "Y-yes." Everyone in the room except Scully let out a breath. Only Scully and Mulder, and the UNSUB, knew that Mulder hadn't been asking about the victim. "In a home somewhere? Or is he still in the house you grew up in, drinking himself into oblivion every single day?" A strangled cry. "HOW?" the voice asked. "Because," Mulder said slowly, pronouncing each word carefully. "I. Am. You. I was you, at least. I know, pal. I know exactly where you are. Inside your head, I mean." "Shit!" the quiet voice in the room said. "He's...we can't lock in on it." "Tell me," the voice begged. "He hit you, but that didn't hurt," Mulder started. "Not after a while, anyway. Pain was just something to remind you that you were still alive, that he could still touch you. You hated the hits, but the hits were better than nothing. It was the words that hurt the most, and more than that, the looks. He'd look at you across the dinner table like you were scum, like he blamed you for who he was. He'd get drunk and come and find you, tell you how worthless you were, and you believed him. You believed him because she wouldn't stand up to him. You believed him because he was your whole world, and when you did something, no matter how small, now matter how insignificant, when you did something to please him, it almost made you forget about the rest. He'd smile, and take your hand, put you up on his knee and ask you how come you couldn't always be that good little boy that had just made him happy. He wouldn't understand how long you'd searched to find that one thing, and he didn't know then, but you did, he didn't know that you'd do that same thing over and over and over again, hoping to make him happy all the time, you'd keep doing it until it annoyed him, until it wasn't a good thing anymore, you'd keep doing it until it set him off, until it made him angry, until he was hitting you and calling you names again, because the pain and the names and the anger and the hate were comfortable, familiar. You recognized those as something that you knew...it was all you knew, pal. Nothing but pain and hatred." Mulder stopped, reaching behind him blindly to hit the MUTE button on the phone. He let out two huge, gasping breaths, and then hit MUTE again. "And you see these little kids, all perfect, with a nice Dad and a nice Mom in a nice house with nice things and nice sisters and brothers and cats and dogs and you just get so angry, so jealous. You should have been them. It should have been you in that house, not in the house you were in, not living the life you were given. It should be you, not them. "Not them." The UNSUB was crying by this point. Every single person in the conference room was holding their breath. "It's not his fault," Mulder said softly. Again, everyone but Scully, Mulder and the UNSUB thought he was talking about the little missing boy. "He was weak. Don't hurt the boy, pal. He's like you were then. Afraid. He wants his father and his mother and his brother and his sister. He wants to see his dog again, wants to see his bedroom again, his bedroom with the Ninja Turtles bedsheets. He wants to wake up and go down and have pancakes for breakfast again. He wants to go to the mall with his family and play video games while his mom shops for bras because he's embarrassed to be in that adult place. He wants to stay up late and read comic books under the covers. He wants to grow up, pal. He wants to grow up to be like you want to be now. Normal. Loved. Let him. "Let him grow up." "It's not FAIR!" the UNSUB screamed. "Got him!" the voice called. Everyone in the room shifted into motion. They had a target now. The senior commander in the room lifted a portable radio to his mouth and began giving quiet orders. Somewhere in the city, two SWAT helicopters lifted off, nosed over and down, and headed south. "No one ever said life was fair," Mulder whispered. "My sister ... she was taken, when I was the boy's age. I never saw her again. She just...vanished. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't even the man who took her's fault. It just happened. Life isn't fair, pal." Mulder paused. "Will you tell me your name?" "Clay." "Clay...listen to me. You have a chance here. You have a chance to make it all right. Not for you, not for me, but for that little scared boy that wants to play another season of Little League." Mulder hit the MUTE button. "Tell SWAT to wait for my order before they go in," he said urgently. "This guy's on edge. No telling what he could do." The senior commander, grim-faced, nodded his assent. Mulder punched MUTE again. "Listen, Clay. They know where you are." Every head in the room, Scully's included, snapped around. Please, Scully thought. Please, Mulder, be right. Know what the hell you're doing. She walked over to him and gently placed her hands on his shoulders. One of Mulder's free hands came up and found hers, cupping her fingers. "They know where you are. They're on the way. I know you don't want to hurt him...I know you feel you have to. But talk to me. Stay here, on the phone, talk to me. I promise, I won't let them hurt you." "What's going to happen?" Clay asked. "The SWAT team is going to kick your door in. When they get there, they're going to let me know. I want you to do exactly what I tell you. If you do that, you won't be hurt. I promise." Mulder's gaze found and pinned the police commander. He nodded, his face stark and angry. His men had been running on coffee and bloodlust since this entire thing had started. But they had no choice. "They're going to hurt me," Clay whined. "No, they're not," Mulder promised. "They're going to do exactly what I tell them, and nothing more. Clay...is the boy all right?" "I...hurt him," Clay said. "I'm sorry." "How bad did you hurt him?" Mulder asked, his fingers tightening on Scully's. "...bad." Scully's free hand started rubbing Mulder's other shoulder. She didn't care how it looked to the room at large. "Is he alive?" "Y-yes." Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good, Clay. As long as he's alive, you and I can work together." "Touchdown," one of the cops called. "They're four minutes out." "Clay...it's almost over." Mulder hit the MUTE again. "The name! What's the boy's name?" "Tommy." Mulder hit MUTE. "Clay, I want you to put Tommy on the phone." "I can't. He's...asleep." Mulder leaned forward, breaking the contact between Scully and himself. "Asleep, Clay? Did you make him go to sleep?" "Yes." "Can you wake him up?" "No, I gave him...a pill." "What kind of pill, Clay?" "Demerol." Mulder glanced at Scully. She shrugged. "Where did you get the pill, Clay?" "From my doctor. Sleeping pills." "How many did you give Tommy, Clay?" "Two." Again, Mulder twisted to study Scully. She see-sawed her hand back and forth. Depends on his weight, she thought, and how much food he's had. She stuck a finger down her throat and then shrugged. "Did Tommy throw up when you gave him the pill?" Mulder asked. "He...moaned a little, like he was sick." Scully had moved and was flipping through the file that held Tommy's vital statistics. He weighed 76 pounds. She did a quick mental calculation. "Is there a medic on the SWAT Team?" The commander nodded. "Tell him...if he can't get Tommy to wake up to give him five milligrams of Narcan titrated in a D5W IV." The commander recoiled as if he'd been slapped. "I'm a doctor," Scully explained. "They're at the door," the quiet voice said. "Ok, Clay...listen to me. I want you to stick the phone between your head and your shoulder, and get down on your knees." "Why?" "Just do it, Clay, please?" "Oh...ok." The sound of shuffling movement filled the speaker. "Now, cross your legs at the ankle. Put your hands on your head and interlace your fingers. It's ok to lean against the wall so you can keep talking to me. Let me know when you're ready." More movement. The commander raised the radio to his lips. Mulder waited. "I'm rea-" "GO!" the commander radioed. The sound of a door being kicked in filled Mulder's ears. He heard the SWAT team calling " DOWN DOWN DOWN " through the phone. The sound of a brief struggle, and then, loudly, clearly, two sounds at once. The cold metal ratcheting sound of handcuffs closing, and, softer, in the background, a voice. "CLEAR! I FOUND HIM!" And then, seconds later, "He's alive, but barely. MEDIC UP!" The phone was lifted, and a new voice spoke. "This is Captain Taggert. We have the suspect in custody. The boy is alive, but pale. And...God...he's messed up." Mulder slumped against the table, burying his face in his arms. His shoulders sagged as the adrenaline rush dissipated. The police commander grabbed the phone from Mulder's hand. "What do you mean, messed up?" "Kid's naked, bruises all over his face and body. Burns on his butt and back. There's blood in the...in the crack of his..." "Understood," the commander said. "Get him to a hospital. Use the bird if you have to, but get him there fast." "Roger that," Taggert said. A moment later there was a click! as the phone was disconnected. For two long, long beats there wasn't a sound in the room. Then the men exploded, cheering and clapping. Scully saw more than one macho cop trying to rub tears out of his eyes. They started moving, exiting the conference room, moving to make telephone calls, lifting radios to mouths, shouting orders, getting responses. One by one, they filed by the head of the table. Some stopped, looked as if they were about to say something, and patted Mulder's back as they passed. Some mumbled thanks, congratulations. Finally, it was Scully, Mulder and the commander. "Nice work," he said to Scully, his expression asking another question, his eyes flicking to Mulder's slumped form. "Thank you," she said crisply, jerking her chin towards the door. The commander nodded and quickly made his exit. Scully sat down next to her partner. She saw him take a single hitching breath. She quickly moved to the door, stuck her head outside, glanced both ways, and quickly withdrew, shutting it. Moving back to Mulder, she reached out a tentative hand and placed it on the shoulder closest to her. "Door's shut, Mulder. It's just you and me." And then it started. Softly at first, a gentle, high keening sound that tore Scully's heart in two. Slowly, it deepened, until Mulder's body was wracked with wet, shuddering sobs. Scully had the feeling that she was seeing something no one else ever had: Mulder in in the terminal, total stages of utter emotional and psychological meltdown. She rubbed her hand across his back, saying nothing. Nothing to say, she thought. "You did it," she finally mumbled. "You got him back." "M-my job," he gasped wetly. She smiled at her partner's slumped form. "No, Mulder... your gift." And your curse, she thought. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Ten Minutes Later The two cops from before barged into the room and stopped dead in their tracks at the sight before them. Mulder was on the floor, bent at the waist, his face in his hands, sobbing loudly. Scully was kneeling by his side, holding him by the shoulders, gently rocking him. "Get OUT!" she hissed. They turned and left without a word. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Later Mulder finally stopped sobbing. He opened his eyes and glanced around. "How long?" he asked. Scully shrugged. "A bit." "How long, Scully?" "Half an hour, give or take." He nodded and stood, moving to the table and reclaiming his seat. "Thanks," he said gently. "No problem, Mulder." "Call Tony for me, ok?" Mulder asked, his voice making him sound like a lost little boy. "Now?" "Please." She dialed the phone. Littleton answered in the middle of the first ring. "Littleton." "Scully," she said. She opened her mouth to continue, and then saw Mulder waggling his fingers, asking for the phone. She handed it to him. "...going on?" Littleton asked. "Mulder, Tony. We got the suspect in custody." "The victim?" "Not this time. A survivor. He's on the way to the hospital now. He's in for a life of nightmares and therapy...but it's a life, at least." Littleton paused. "Mulder, I know it's not your thing, but would you mind speaking to the press?" Mulder's head snapped back. "What?" "Well...this is a high profile case. Could really give a shot in the arm to the ISU, if you know what I mean." Mulder shook his head. "No...Tony, I can't." "Mulder-" Scully had been listening on the speaker. She took the phone from her partner and gave him her back as she spoke to Littleton in hushed, urgent tones. "Listen to me, sir. Mulder's...he's in no condition to talk to the press right now. He'd do more damage than good." "Will YOU speak to them?" Scully twisted to face Mulder, wrapping the phone cord around her waist. He nodded. "Sure. I'm going to give the basic statement. I won't answer any questions about methods." "Understood. Thanks, Scully." "Sir?" "Scully?" "We need...some time off." "You got it. Three days enough?" "Plenty," Scully said. I hope, she silently added. "We'll fly up tonight." "Come in Monday, then. Take five days." "Deal," Scully said, hanging up. "Mulder, I'm going to talk to the press, and then we're getting the hell out of here." He nodded, lowering his head into his arms again. "Tha's fine, Scully. You talk to the press. I'll wait here." She studied his face for a moment and then strode from the room. Dana Scully had one thing on her mind: Getting Mulder back to DC where he belonged. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Outside Jacksonville Police Headquarters "...and with the cooperation of local law enforcement, we were able to generate a profile of the suspect and effect an arrest," Scully finished. "Questions?" The reporters were gathered on the steps of police headquarters. They all started shouting at once, jumping up and down, arms pumping. "Miss Scully! Miss Scully!" "Dr. Scully," she corrected. "What kind of doctor are you?" one shouted. "I'm a forensic pathologist," she answered. "Did you generate the profile?" "No, my partner, Special Agent Mulder did," she announced. "What's his first name?" a third screamed. "He prefers that you just use his first initial, "F"," Scully answered. Pointing, she said, "You." "When did you arrive?" "Four this morning," she answered. "You." "Why didn't the police call you in sooner?" a fourth asked. Scully ignored the question, pointing to a fifth reporter. "One more question, and then I'm afraid I have to leave to return to DC." "Why isn't your partner here?" "He's...finalizing some of the paperwork," she answered, knowing that it sounded like a lie. "He's not available to answer your questions right now." She paused. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. That is all I have for you." She stepped to the side, and the Jacksonville Chief of Police took over, holding up his arms to silence the reporters that were still shouting questions at Scully's retreating back. Quickly making her way back to the conference room, she found a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Mulder sitting up and drinking a cup of coffee. "I'm ready," she said. "Good. So am I. Let's get the hell out of here," he said. "Let's go out the back way. The front is mobbed with the press." He nodded and followed her out. They snuck out the back door to their rental car and quickly drove to the airport. Neither one of them glanced in the rearview mirror. After turning the rental car in, they jumped on the bus to take them to the terminal. Mulder settled into his seat, leaned back and closed his eyes. Scully studied his profile as the bus chugged through the airport. From the moment they'd arrived in Jacksonville up until now, she'd all but forgotten about the kiss they'd shared in Chicago. Without thinking, Scully reached over and grabbed Mulder's face, pulling him to her. She kissed him, long and hard. He pulled away, sleepy eyes regarding her. "What was that for?" he asked. "Not that I'm complaining," he hastily added. She smiled at him. "The hero always gets a kiss from the pretty girl," she gently teased. "You're the hero, so..." "And you're the pretty girl..." he mumbled, leaning back and closing his eyes again. They rode in silence for the next few minutes. Just as the bus pulled to a stop in front of the terminal, Mulder spoke. "I'm glad you're the pretty girl, Scully." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= END CHAPTER 3 Note: In the "Spoilers" line, I mention "Conduit" and "Home." The reference to Conduit isn't really a spoiler, as it has little to do with the actual plot of that episode. In it, Mulder antagonizes the local sherriff, and upon exiting the police station, Scully chastises him. Mulder responds, "So I'll send him a bundht cake." The reference to "Home," technically isn't even a reference. Allow me to explain: In the original shooting script of "Home," the scene where Scully performs the autopsy on the baby in the sink of the police station, the camera directions had Mulder pressing up against Scully from the back. She gets a quzzical expression on her face and half-turns to face Mulder. He apologizes and says, "Oh...I have a flashlight in my pocket." Scully quirks a smile and says, "Oh...I thought a long-standing curiosity had just been satisfied." (You can guess my reaction when I found this didn't make it to the production script...)