ELS Chapter 18 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 : January 17, 1998 Archive Entry : "ELS" Chapter 18/? Classification : SRA MSR Chapter Rating : NC-17 Story Rating : NC-17 Missing Chapters: http://www.sonic.net/~drambo/els.htm Spoilers : Momento Mori, Redux II, Unusual Suspects Casting : Russell Crowe, "Mark Dupree" Helen Hunt, "Deputy Inspector Alex Cahill" +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Interrogation Room "C" Ten minutes previously Deputy Inspector Alex Cahill was walking down the hall towards room "A," where a pair of detectives were interviewing an armed robbery suspect, a man thought to have committed six bank robberies in the last month alone. Sensing something wrong, Alex slowed and then stopped, turning her head and listening. There it was again. A soft thudding. Glancing up at the ceiling, Alex wondered if Physical Plant was in the ductworks again, fixing the heat for the dozenth time that week. Slowly turning her head to localize the noise, Alex realized that it was coming from inside room "C". Well, she thought, of course it was. She raised a hand to knock. Noticing that the door wasn't completely closed, she instead used her fingers to push it gently open. Special Agent Fox Mulder was seated in one corner of the room, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms clasped around his shins. He was slowly, methodically rapping his head against the wall over and over again. Not enough to hurt or to cause damage, Alex noticed, but the glazed, distant look in his eyes was alarming just the same. "Mulder?" she asked softly. No response, except for his head thudding against the wall twice more. Glancing over her shoulder, Alex entered the room and closed the door. Moving slowly, Alex approached him, glancing around to see if there was anything obvious worth noticing. The interrogation room looked as if a hurricane had recently passed through; paper was strewn everywhere. Hastily scrawled notes peppered the blackboard. Two dozen empty Styrofoam coffee cups littered the tabletop. Mulder's tie was loose, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. "Mulder?" Alex asked again. He didn't appear to hear her. His head continued to thud against the wall with the regularity of a metronome. Squatting in front of him, Alex searched his face for something, some sign of recognition. "Mulder?" she asked again. "You OK?" His head turned towards her drunkenly, but his face remained blank. Disconnected, Alex thought. He looks disconnected. She reached out a hand and touched his face. Mulder's eyes immediately closed and he smiled. "I like it when you touch me," he whispered. "I'm glad," Alex said. She removed her hand and Mulder's eyes opened again. His eyes staring at something in the middle distance, he began once again to softly bounce his head off the wall. Alex turned to go find Scully. "Don't go," Mulder said softly, gently. He sounds like a little boy, Alex thought, turning back. "I want you to stay," Mulder said again, his voice a whisper. His voice held a musical, almost lyrical tone and Alex found herself captivated by it. Hypnotized, she thought. He almost sounds as if he's been hypnotized. "Mulder...what are you thinking about?" Alex asked. "The case," he said, a beatific smile on his face. "Always thinking about the case. Even when I sleep, which is almost never, I'm always thinking about the case. Or about you." Biting her lip, Alex took a gamble. "How long have you been thinking about me, Mulder?" "Since we met," he said softly, shyly. "And how long is that, Mulder?" His brows drew together as he thought about the question. "What year is it?" he asked. "1998," Alex answered. Mulder pouted and raised a hand. Starting with his thumb, the tip of his tongue sticking out from between his lips, he visibly counted. "Five years," he finally said. Bingo, Alex thought. He thinks I'm Dana. Now what? Alex realized that Mulder was in a very delicate, very fragile position. Not quite over the edge, but damn close. "What do you think about when you think about me?" she asked, trying to find a topic of conversation away from the case, hoping that it would bring him out of his shell. "I was thinking about how much I..." He stopped and frowned, still not seeing Alex, not seeing anything. "No," he finished. "Can't tell." "Why not?" "It's a secret," he smiled, placing a finger across his lips. "Shhhh. Secret. Can't tell." "You can tell me, Mulder. You know you can tell me anything." He shook his head. "Won't believe me," he said sadly. "Tell me I'm nuts, that I'm crazy, that I don't know what I'm saying." His eyes suddenly blazed, his brows knitting together. "You always say that. Always tell me to prove it. How can I prove it? It just is." "What is?" "What?" "What just is, Mulder?" "Me. You. Us." Alex sighed. No wonder they weren't a couple, if this was the kind of conversations that they had. Even normal, Mulder was frustrating. If he got like this all the time...it's a wonder Scully hadn't shot him by now. "What about us?" Alex pressed, not sure why she wanted to know. "You know," Mulder said. The shy smile was back. "You always knew. You pretend like you don't...but you do. I know you do. I read your book." Dana wrote a book? Alex thought. "What book, Mulder?" "You know...the book. When you were in the hospital. I read it. I know how you feel. But you won't tell me. You won't say it." Alex chewed her lip. Brushing her hair behind one ear, she tried again. "Why don't you go first, Mulder? Why don't you tell me?" "I did. I told you that night. That night we thought you were going to die." "What did I say?" Alex asked, realizing how absurd the question was, but knowing that in his state, Mulder probably wouldn't see the obvious. "Nothing. You were asleep." "So if I was asleep, how could I have answered?" He seemed to think about that and then shook his head. "I don't know how to tell you when you're awake." "I'm awake now," Alex pointed out. "Yes...but you're not really Scully," Mulder said again, still not focusing his eyes. "You're just a ...fig newton of my imagination." He giggled at the joke and then grew serious. "See, I don't feel good, and you know that, because you know me. You know when I'm not feeling good. I mean, when you're you, you know. But you're not you, you're me, or a part of me, or a fantasy or something. A dream. You're not really Scully." Progress, Alex thought. He knows something's not right. "Can you wake up, Mulder? If you're dreaming...can you wake up?" "I'm not sleeping. But I may be dreaming." "Have you ever done this before?" Alex asked. He shook his head. "Not since the last time." He laughed, knowing the answer was not the answer. "When was the last time, Mulder?" "What day is it? Date, I mean?" Alex told him the date. "Almost seven years ago. When I was in ISU. Serial rapist. I got bad." "What did you do then to get better?" He frowned, thinking. "I called Phoebe." Who is that? Alex wondered. "C'mon, Mulder...let's stand up." "Okaaay," he said, his voice a sing song. They stood together, Mulder still staring off into space. Alex brought her hands up to his face, raising his gaze to hers. "I want to help you, Mulder," she said softly. "Thanks, Scully." "Why don't you call me Dana?" Alex asked. He shrugged. "Because that's what everyone else calls you. You're my Scully." Alex nodded. In a very Mulder way, that made sense. "I need you to help me, Mulder. I need you to tell me how to help you." He shrugged. "Just don't ever leave me, Scully." Wow, Alex thought. Need, thy name is Mulder. The man was an emotional black hole. "What were you doing before I came in?" Alex asked. "Autopsy reports," Mulder said slowly, speaking as if the words were hard for him. "Looking at what he did to them. Looking at the..." He paused. "...at the blood and stuff." Stuff? "What stuff?" "Guts. Intestines. Stomach. Liver. Pancreas. All of it. He opened them up, Scully, to let it out. To let the badness out." Progress, Alex thought again. "What bad stuff?" "The bad stuff that he sees inside them. They have something bad inside them, and he's letting it out. He's freeing them. He's... choosing them because they have the stuff inside that makes you bad." Stuff inside that makes you bad? Alex felt like she was talking to a six year old. And then inspiration struck. "Mulder...have you been bad?" He looked at the floor and actually shuffled his feet. Alex tried to hide a soft smile and then let it shine anyway. It was beginning to make sense now. "Mulder...when is your birthday?" "October," he mumbled. "I want to get you a special present, Mulder. Is that Ok with you?" "Sure." "I need to know how old you're going to be on your birthday, Mulder." He blushed, Alex saw. He actually blushed. "Ten," he said and smiled shyly. Regressed, Alex thought wildly. He's regressed. He thinks he's nine years old. "Do bad boys deserve a present?" Alex asked. Mulder shook his head. "N-no," he said. "What did you do, Mulder. Why were you bad?" He shrugged again. Alex chewed her lip. "Mulder..." she said, trying to make her voice sound authoritative. "Tell me what you did." He mumbled something, something that sounded like "...myself." "What?" "Touched myself," he said louder. Alex nodded. "And you're not supposed to do that, are you?" He shook his head. "Bad. Dirty. Bad boys. Dirty boys." Alex wanted so badly to find a way to break through to this man, to make him understand what was happening. "Mulder, how old is Scully?" "Thirty three," he said. "And how old are you?" "Nine, almost ten." Alex waited, wondering if his mind was going to make the connection. "So you met Scully when she was twenty-eight?" "Yes." "How old were you then?" "I was...four?" Alex waited again. "No," he said, "that's not right. I was older." He stepped back, shaking his head, his hands going to his face. "Wait," he said. "Wait...it doesn't make...four?" "No..." Mulder said, shaking his head, his voice high, keening. "No, it....No...NO!" Alex stepped forward, her arms reaching for him. "Come here," she said gently, wrapping him up. She was almost four inches taller than Scully, but Mulder didn't notice. His arms went around her waist, pulling her towards him. He buried his face in her neck. "Don't leave, Scully...please don't leave." "I won't....Shh...." Alex said, stroking his head. "Scully," he whimpered. Alex made soothing noises, running one hand through his hair, and using the other to softly rub his back. She felt the air pressure change as someone opened the door to the hallway. And then she heard the gasp. "I'm sorry," Scully's voice said. "I had no idea-" Alex twisted slowly at the hips, her eyes searching for and finding Dana Scully. She made a 'come here' motion with her hand. Scully frowned, glancing back over her shoulder at the hallway. Alex made a more violent motion, narrowing her eyes. "Now!" she hissed. Slowly, Scully approached. Upon entering the room, to say she'd been surprised to find Alex and Mulder embracing would be putting it mildly. Seeing the way Alex was holding him, the way she was softly stroking him and making motherly noises, Scully began to understand what was going on. She stopped a foot away, asking a question with her eyes. "Mulder?" Alex asked. "W-what?" he said, his voice sounding humid, as if he'd been crying. He lifted his face from her neck and both Alex and Scully saw that indeed, he had been crying. "Look who's here," Alex said gently, turning Mulder to face his partner. "Scully...!" Mulder said, reaching for her. Startled, Scully took a step back and then stood there as Mulder folded her up in his arms. Alex stood and watched them for a moment and then quietly excused herself, shutting the door behind her on the way out. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= "Mulder?" Scully asked. "What's going on?" Mulder froze, his body tensing as her familiar, welcome voice filled his ears. He straightened, looking her in straight in the eye, his own gaze clear. "I..." he said, looking around. "I'm not sure." "I came looking for you, and I found you in here..." Scully said. After a moment, she added, "With Alex." "Alex?" "Yeah. You were...hugging." Realizing that his arms were still around her, Mulder stepped back. "Sorry," he said. "That's alright," Scully said. "I'm more concerned with what was going on before I got here, Mulder." "I don't know," he said. Scully bit her lip. "What's the last thing you remember?" "I was reading the autopsy reports...backwards. You know, how I do that thing...?" Scully nodded. "And the next thing I remember is...you came in, but you weren't you. You were...different." "I was Alex," Scully pointed out. "Y-yeah, I guess," Mulder said, running a hand through his hair. "I was...somewhere else." "I'll say..." "And then, you were here, and it was you, and..." Glancing around the room, Mulder asked the obvious. "What the fuck just happened here?" "I was hoping you could shed some light on that, Mulder." He shrugged. "Why don't we call it a night, Mulder? Go back to the hotel, get a good night's sleep?" He nodded. "That's a good idea." Moving to collect the paperwork on the floor, Scully stopped him. "Leave it. Just get your coat, ok?" "It's in the bullpen," Mulder said softly. Nodding, Scully used her hand at the small of his back the way he had so many times before with her, gently leading and guiding him out of the room. Walking back up the hallway, Scully spotted Alex in her office, talking on the phone. Spotting the door to the men's room, Mulder stopped walking. "I'm just gonna..." he trailed off, hooking a chin at the door. "Fine," Scully said. "I'll be in Alex's office. Take your time." Mulder nodded and pushed into the men's room. Scully listened to the door-closer hissing shut and then turned and marched into Alex's office. "What the hell happened?" she demanded. "Uh....let me call you back," Alex said into the phone and hung up. "I was walking by room and heard a thudding noise. Your partner was curled up into a ball, whacking his head against the wall, out of it. I tried to talk to him. He thought I was you. I stood him up, and was trying to talk to him when he started to get upset. He was regressing to childhood, Dana. For a while, he thought he was nine years old." "He told you that?" Scully asked. Alex nodded, not particularly liking the tone of Scully's voice. "As a matter of fact, he did. He also mentioned something about being a bad boy and touching himself." Scully gasped, a hand covering her mouth. "What do you mean?" she asked. "She means," Mulder said from behind her, "that I was flashing back to something my mother told me when I was very young." Scully spun on her partner, embarrassment flooding her face. "Oh, God, Mulder...." He waved it away. "It's ok, Scully. I was...deep inside that case and I started remembering what my mother told me about being bad. About what bad, dirty little boys did. And how bad little boys grew up to be bad men." He shrugged. "Happens sometimes, at least for me. I go out of it for about a half hour or so, and then I'm back. Sometimes, I..." He shrugged again. "Sometimes, when I get back, I have a new...angle on the case. A new insight." "Did that just happen?" Alex asked, interested. "I think so. Listen...do you know where the guys are?" he asked Scully. She nodded. "I want to stop by on the way to the hotel. I have an idea or two I want to run past them." "Fine," Scully said, eager to get Mulder out of the station, eager to...what? Get him away from Alex? +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= In the car, Scully drove as Mulder sat quietly, staring out the window as the scenery slid by. "Do you want to talk about it?" Scully finally asked. Mulder was quiet for so long that Scully was beginning to wonder if he was going to answer. "Later," he finally mumbled. Scully glanced at him as she drove, wondering if Alex had unknowingly unlocked the entire secret. The doctor in her knew that masturbation was a completely normal activity for both children and adults. The sex drive was second only to the sense of self preservation; this case, along with all the other serial murder cases Mulder had ever worked proved that. Mulder's childhood had been horrific; No one doubted that. Scully had always thought that the primary stressor in her partner's life had been his sister's abduction. But what if that wasn't the case? What if it went deeper, if the true stressor was in and of itself so utterly horrific that Mulder had fallen on Samantha's abduction as a defense mechanism? If the specter of her abduction was actually easier to take than what had happened. The possibilities ran through her head. Physical, emotional, sexual abuse. Any one of them, or some evil combination of the three could go a long way to explaining Mulder's...intimacy problems. "Tell me," Scully said softly. Mulder shook his head, still mute with shame. Scully pulled the car to the curb and killed the engine. She reached for his hand, taking it in both of hers. "Mulder," she said slowly, realizing she was entering an emotional minefield; one wrong step and the whole thing could blow up in her face. "... we've always been able to talk about anything. No one has the conversations that we do." She smiled. "And I wouldn't change that for the world." She paused. "Something happened in there. I'm sorry..." She saw him wince and hurried to finish her thought. "No...I'm only sorry that I wasn't there for you. I know how you get, how you need to be alone to do the things that you do, and I think I'm beginning to understand a little more why that is. But I...I wish I could have been there when it got ugly for you." "Why?" Mulder asked. Scully opened her mouth to respond, and after a moment, closed it. Such a simple question. Such an incredibly complex question. Mulder seemed to sense her confusion. "I meant, why would you want to go to...that place with me? It's not a nice place, Scully. Not a nice place at all." Scully spoke without thinking, and in doing so, gave Mulder the answer that came directly from her heart. "The only reason I would want to go there with you, Mulder, is to help you get back. Back to here. Me. Us." His soft smile was reassuring, and his fingers squeezed one of her hands. "Thanks," he said gently. "But I wouldn't want to take anyone there, least of all you." "Not even if I wanted to go?" Scully's tone was light, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness that they both felt. Mulder sighed. "It's...I don't think about it much," he finally admitted. Scully glanced away for a moment, unable to look her partner in the face for another moment. The infamous Dr. Fox Mulder, Ph.D., possessor of a doctorate in psychology from Oxford University. Board certified as a clinical psychologist, board certified as an abnormal criminal psychologist. Certified National Violent Criminal Profiler by the FBI. Known in forensic psychology circles far and wide. Internationally known, as a matter of fact; he had the letter of commendation from the Chief Detective Superintendent from Scotland Yard to prove it. And he couldn't see the truth that was staring him right in the face. "Not consciously, anyway," Mulder added, voicing the very thought that was crossing Scully's mind at that exact moment. She snorted. Once again, he'd surprised her. "Mulder...you've been in therapy so many times. Hasn't this come up before?" He looked away. "I tend to avoid it," he mumbled. Scully felt her jaw set as she started the car. "Not with me, you're not." Mulder glanced at his partner as she put the car in gear and pulled into traffic. He wondered if she knew how many times he'd wanted to tell her, to confide in her his dirty little secrets. Dirty, nasty little boy, his mother's voice said in his mind. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought. It didn't work. He could see her face, unlined with age, red with anger, eyes wide and accusing, her finger shaking as she pointed it at him from a fist clenched with rage. And then another memory, one of Phoebe this time. The third or fourth time they'd made...they'd had sex. She'd done something to him, something he'd only read and wondered about, something his mother had made more than clear that nice girls didn't do and nice boys didn't ask for. She'd raised her head from his lap, licking her lips like a kitten and seen the look on his face, a mixture of passion and fear. "Oh, you like it that way?" she'd asked, a gleam in her eyes. Mulder had nodded, not knowing at that moment that he was handing her the crowbar she would use to pry his head open and mind-fuck him for the next ten years. "You a dirty little sod, aren't you?" she'd asked, and he'd flinched. And then another part of him had flinched, remembering a long ago moment. To his shame, even though he'd just spent, Mulder had felt himself harden. Phoebe had felt it to, and the knowledge shown from her eyes. Again, Mulder hadn't realized it at the time, but Phoebe Green had all but purred with the certainty that she now had the young Fox Mulder by the proverbial (and literal) balls. And for the remainder of that school year, Phoebe had proved again and again that she knew exactly which buttons to push when it came to Mulder, and she had not hesitated to push a single one when it had suited her purposes. Just as his mother had. "We're here," Scully announced, sliding the car to the curb once more and killing the engine. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Inside, Frohicke was bent over the keyboard, his eyes focused on the 21-inch monitor not six inches away from the end of his nose. Byers was working on something with a pad of paper and a pen, his face screwed up in concentration. Langly was playing video games. "What's up?" Mulder asked Byers quietly. The hacker leaned back and rubbed his beard with both hands, pausing to scratch against his jawline. "I'm working on some encryption ideas for your codes. I'm trying to see if there's a mathematical way to reduce the possible number of runs that we'll need to do once we get an idea of what text to attack." Mulder nodded, not understanding. Seeing the blank look in his friend's eye and knowing that Mulder hated above all things to admit to ignorance of any kind, Byers took pity on him and began explaining. "Finite number of texts to attack, which is a good thing. Or a bad thing." "Why bad?" Mulder asked. "Because it's a finite raised to the power of four. We have no guarantee that he used the same text for all four victims." Mulder grunted, realizing that he was right. "What do you think?" Byers asked, hoping to bring Mulder into the game by starting on his turf. Mulder paced for a moment, hands jammed in his pockets. "I say he's probably using the same text because the text itself has some importance to him. It's the source material for his fantasies, or the way he's picking them, or confirming them, or something. The text has something to do with it, something big. So you can assume it's the same text." Byers nodded. "Ok, so we can start removing a lot of stuff. Any book published in the last ten years, say. Any popular novel. Pretty much any non-historically significant non-fiction. For example, I doubt that he's using a Dustbuster operator's manual. Also, we can start eliminating some of the smaller texts." "Why?" "The numbers he gave; if they are an ELS, then he's using something big, something over a million characters. So that narrows it down again." "To what?" Byers smiled thinly. "Oh, only about twenty thousand and something." "So what do we do now?" "Now...now we use the clues he left. We start accessing all the stored texts we can find, using the ELS sequences he gave us. We match that against all known specific words related to the four victims." "Specific words?" Scully interjected. "Yeah. We ignore words like 'and' and 'the' and stuff like that which appears in the official case files. We concentrate on words that are specific to the case. Names, dates, crimes committed, lawyers and judges, arresting officers, witnesses...things that are specific. Serial murder is a highly personal thing, while at the same time almost completely depersonalized at the level that the killer is treating his victims as objects that he needs to fuel his fantasy." Mulder raised his eyebrows, impressed. "That's exactly right, John." Byers blushed. "I've been doing some reading." "Remind me to borrow your library card," Mulder said softly. "So, given the parameters that you have, how long before you can start searching?" "Two, maybe three weeks," Scully groaned. "At that rate, we'll be knee-deep in victims and hostile press. You can guarantee that little operation will be shut down." "That's why I've been hard at work," Frohike said, speaking for the first time. Scully groaned inwardly; whenever the stubby programmer got involved, she knew she was in for a conversation filled with sexual innuendo and suggestive looks. "What are you doing?" she asked. "Your information was wonderful, Agent Scully. I think that I'll be able to breach the security of the WITSEC system within six or seven days." "Why so long?" Mulder wanted to know. "Because I don't want to be detected," Frohike said. Mulder waved that off. "You guys...you're protected on this one. I told you that." Frohike regarded his friend calmly, wondering to himself how much sleep Mulder had been getting lately. "I wasn't talking about the police or the Marshals, Mulder. If our perp can get in without being detected, you can almost be sure that he'll be on the lookout for anyone else attempting the same thing." Our perp? Scully thought. Well, he was a sworn law officer. And he was officially helping on the case. "I hadn't thought of that," Mulder admitted. "What, exactly, are you doing? And remember, I know just enough about computers to write a memo and download a game." Or a dirty picture, Scully thought, and was immediately ashamed. "Basically, using the information that Special Agent Scully provided, we're attempting to ride a secondary backbone access into the main mail server disguised as a mail message. A variation on the old sendmail bug that was so widespread with Unix systems a few years ago. Depending on certain configurations of secondary and tertiary servers, we can fool the machines into thinking that a trust relationship exists where one does not. That gives us a higher level of access to certain system functions. One of those functions has to do with how passwords are sent across the local internal network at Federal plaza." Mulder's head was spinning. "In English, please." "Very well," Frohike said. "At the FBI, they run a Novell front end and a Unix back end. When you sign onto the Novell network, your password is sent across the network encrypted. Not in the clear. If your password, was, say, "Scully," it's not sent as those six characters. It's encrypted so that anyone sniffing the packets as they go by won't be able to intercept it and use it." "Are the Marshals doing the same thing?" "Well," Frohike said, "we managed to capture one password file already." "That's GREAT!" Mulder said. "No, not really," Byers interjected. "The system administrator there is actually very sharp. He knows what he's doing security-wise. See, under Unix, you can't just copy the password file over and start using the passwords themselves. Unlike Novell, the password file itself is not encrypted, but the passwords themselves are. And because of the nature of the encryption scheme used, you can't just reverse it and figure out the password." "So what do you do?" Scully asked, fascinated. "Well, you select a password at random. An encrypted one, that is. Then, you use a dictionary, a big one, and you use the same Unix encryption scheme to encrypt every word in the dictionary until it matches one. Then you know what that password is. From that, you can extrapolate others. It's called a dictionary attack, for obvious reasons." "So what's the problem?" "As we said," Frohike explained, "the system administrator is no dummy. You can make it incredibly hard for a dictionary attack to succeed just by following a few simple rules." "Such as?" "Using non-English words. German, French, even Japanese. Using words that don't exist. My first system password in high school was 8JPK5R1. That won't appear in any dictionary, so the dictionary attack would fail on that password." Mulder nodded. "Ok, I get it. So if the system administrator is doing such a good job, why are you even bothering?" "Two things. First, Unix attracts hackers like Agent Scully attracts admirers." This from Byers, Mulder thought. "And hackers hate security rules like that. And so they code around them. Part of the hacker ethic is making it easier to do your job rather than harder. So they might have coded a backdoor into the system, using an English password. Or they might have created a ghost process, or a zombie daemon, or a dozen other little tricks that, if discovered, would be the key for us to unlock this particular Pandora's box." Mulder rubbed a hand over his face. God, I'm tired, he thought. "Ok, I do want you to pay specific attention to a few things. If you get in...one question: How long does account activity remain on the system?" "What do you mean?" Byers asked. "If I had an account that was created, say, six years ago, and I haven't used it in two months or so...would that show up?" "Sure," Byers said. "Unless root wipes it, it'll be there forever." "Ok, when you get in...notice I said 'when' and not 'if.' When you get in, I want a run of all account activities. I want to know who the oldest accounts are, and then of those, which has had the least access in the last three years. Also, the account with the least remote activity, and the account with the most remote activity. Think you can do that?" Byers nodded, seeing where Mulder was going. "Good idea. We'll keep an eye on it." "Great. I'm going to bed." Mulder turned to leave, stopped and turned back. "Do you guys need anything?" "A satellite dish," Langly called out. "I'll see what I can do," Mulder said. "But don't hold your breath," Scully added. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= They'd driven back to the hotel, ridden up in total silence and waved good-byes at their respective doors. Scully had desperately wanted to continue the conversation they'd started in the car, but judging by the look of pure exhaustion on her partner's face, it just wasn't the right time. Scully had taken a long, hot bath and then pounded her laptop's keyboard into mush bringing the case file up to date. She'd called down to Washington, checking both hers and Mulder's voice mail. A call to her mother had followed that. By then it had been almost nine, and Scully had decided to turn in. In the next room, Mulder was sleeping. And dreaming. If it could be called that. The movie screen his in mind played the same two dozen images over and over again like an endless tape loop from hell. The times his mother had caught him touching himself, first as a young boy, and then again as a teenager. When he'd been younger, she'd said told him that only bad, nasty, dirty little boys touched themselves like that, and if the continued to do it, God would punish him, God would send gypsies to take him away. When he'd been older... That image played over and over in his mind. He'd been fifteen. A friend of Mulder's had found a Playboy belonging to the friend's father and had let Mulder borrow it for the weekend. Mulder had excused himself from the dinner table, gone upstairs to his bedroom, closed the door and sat on the bed, reading the magazine. When he'd gotten to the centerfold, he'd felt himself harden. He did what any normal teenage boy would do under the circumstances; he touched himself. His timing couldn't have been worse. His mother, worried, had come upstairs with a piece of carrot cake on a plate, carrying a fork and napkin in the other hand. As was her habit, she'd pushed through his door without knocking, sure in the knowledge that nothing went on in her house that she didn't know about beforehand and personally approve. The shriek, Mulder later thought, could probably have been heard in other solar systems. She'd stood at the foot of his bed, the cake and plate in a mushy pile by her right foot, shaking with barely suppressed rage and anger. An accusing finger had been pointed and she'd gone off on him; the term hadn't been in vogue then, but if it had, Mulder's mother had truly "gone ballistic." "Don't you ever LEARN?" she'd screamed. And then...then the fateful words. "LOOK WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR SISTER!" The scream woke Scully from a dead sleep. She knew that scream, knew it like the sound of her own voice or the image of her own face in the mirror every morning. She was out of bed before she realized it, moving towards the connecting door. Flinging it open she shot through, taking a left and heading directly for Mulder's bed. The sheets were in a tangle at his feet and he was tossing and turning from side to side, obviously lost in the throes of some horrific dream. "Sorry," he said, again and again. "Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry, mommy. I didn't know. It's my fault. It's all my fault." He kept repeating the words like a mantra, almost as if he were able to say them enough times, whatever was torturing him would be satisfied and go away. Scully climbed onto his bed on her knees, reaching down to stop him from tossing and turning. "Mulder," she said softly, already knowing that her words weren't going to be loud enough to wake him. "It's me. It's Scully...wake up, Mulder." He stilled instantly, smiling in his sleep. "Scully," he whispered. Touched that just the sound of her voice could have such a calming effect, Scully was shocked by what happened next. "Sc-Sc-Scul-ly!" Mulder moaned. And then he started sobbing in his sleep. Tears, fat and wet and salty, brimmed over his lids and started leaking down the side of his face, his lower lip trembling. Frozen, Scully could only watch as Mulder rolled away from her, his shoulders shaking with the effort from crying. Oh, Mulder, Scully thought, her heart breaking. She was torn between comforting him and leaving him his dignity. Compassion won out. Scully reached down, using her hands to turn his face towards hers. Her lips brushed against his forehead, and then his eyebrows, his nose, his cheeks, first one and then the other, and finally his lips. When Scully's lips brushed Mulder's, his eyes snapped open. In the dim light of the hotel room, Scully saw Mulder regarding her solemnly. Neither spoke. Scully opened her mouth and lowered it against his, her tongue brushing lightly across his lips before seeking out his tongue. He met hers with his own and they wound around each other, wet and slick and hot. She tasted his breath in her mouth and greedily inhaled it. She felt his hands on her back, sliding up, fingers tangling in her hair, bringing her mouth against his harder, more urgently. Scully responded, knowing that it was right, that he needed it, needed her, that they needed each other more than words could say, more than either of them had thought possible. Scully's entire body was jerking with erotic energy, the nerves and synapses firing again and again as she sank lower into this man, into her partner, into her lover. Finally, a small part of her exclaimed. Finally! And then all rational thought left her. Scully felt his hands at the front of her PJs, working the comically large buttons quickly, easily. She twitched her shoulders, losing the offending garment in an instant, baring her skin to Mulder for the second time. This time it was not a cold, dank morgue locker room. This time it was for real. His hands traced her shape, her lines and contours. She felt his smile of delight against her lips as his fingers encountered the tips of her breasts, tugging and gently twisting her there. Scully groaned low in her throat, welcoming the animal noise, wanting Mulder to know how aroused she was, how much she craved him, his touch, his lips, his fingers, him. "Scully," he breathed. Mulder was still trying to figure out exactly what was going on. One moment he'd been asleep, and then he'd woken to Scully's mouth on his, her fingers on his face, her tongue asking for permission to enter his mouth. A thousand fantasies rolled into one, a thousand and one nights spent thinking about this woman, this moment, this kiss, these lips, these fingers. Her eyes. He opened his own, searching for hers and finding them. Even in the darkness of the hotel room he could see her depthless blue shining eyes and he let out a bone-deep sigh of desire and expectation. "Mulder," she sighed back. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= The government, Mark Dupree thought, had done a very good job of providing for Mr. Strimnovitch. He'd been given a first-class dacha, Dupree joked to himself. Looked to run two, three grand a month. On the top floor of a midtown apartment building, Strimonvitch's apartment probably had a spectacular view of the park and the Hudson RSiver. Well, for a man who had sold his loyalty, his very soul, Ivan was doing quite good for himself. Mark approached the door, already having bluffed his way past the doorman. He'd worried for a moment that the doorman would be able to describe him, but Dupree had a plan for that as well. He'd kill the doorman on the way out. The door to 1205 was closed, as Dupree expected. He felt inside his pocket and found the straight razor. He'd purchased it earlier that day and had spent most of the afternoon alternately masturbating and sharpening it. The anticipation of this one was killing him. He knew exactly what he wanted to do with Strimnovitch once the man was dead. He had it all planned in his mind, he could see every image, every movement, every sweet motion of the razor as it cut and split flesh. Dupree reached out and knocked on Strimonvitch's door. +=+=+=+=+===+=+= Mulder rolled, bringing Scully with him. She grunted as she took his weight, but it was a delicious, secure feeling and she welcomed it, opening her legs to him, cradling his body with at the juncture of her thighs. She was breathing heavy, eager, hungry. She eyed him from below, licking her lips, pleased at the expression that crossed his face. She did it again, wanting to be hot for him, sexy for him, knowing in a deep part of her soul that no matter what she did, she would be sexy for him. She had been waiting for this moment almost as long, if not longer, than he had. And if pressed, Scully would be unable to pinpoint the exact moment when she'd known she wanted her partner. When she wanted him to touch her, kiss her, make love to and with her. Mulder looked down at his partner, his lover and smiled the widest, warmest smile he'd ever felt. Tomorrow didn't matter; the case was forgotten. All that mattered was the wonderful woman beneath him. Her face...like this...twisted and sweaty with passion and anticipation...there could never have been a more beautiful sight in the world. Mulder suddenly understood the hold Helen of Troy had exercised over her armies. I would do anything, Mulder thought, go anywhere, fight any battle, any foe, any monster...for this woman. For her to look at me this way, with desire and passion and hunger and want and need and lust on her face like this...for her to reward me, grace me, give me this...I will do anything. "Anything for you," he whispered, and Scully knew what he meant. She smiled, reaching for his face with her hands, drawing him to her for another kiss. Deep, moist, passionate, promising more, demanding more, asking for all and accepting nothing less. Mulder reached to his waist, making short order of his boxers. Scully was still wearing the bottoms of her PJs, and underneath those, plain cotton panties. Mulder didn't notice. He lifted her legs to his chest, closing them, and quickly made her naked for him. Scully spread her legs slowly, letting her legs trail down his arms, rubbing her calves against the hairs there, purring at the sensation. Scully said something she had always wanted to, something she had been sure she would never get the opportunity to say. Smiling, arching an eyebrow, giving Mulder the smile she knew he craved, Scully whispered, "Take me." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= "Yes?" a heavily-accented voice called. "Open up," Mark said, using his Command Voice. The door opened, and again the world faded to black and white. There, in front of him, the mark, the symbol, the last signal that Mark Dupree needed. Strimnovitch, the word CHOSEN carved in the skin of his forehead. Dimly, Dupree was aware that the word wasn't REALLY there. But that was about to change. For the first time, Dupree was going to actually carve the word in the corpse's body. "I'm...Angers," Dupree said, almost giving his real name. "With the Company," he added. Strimnovitch regarded him calmly, saying nothing, making no move to invite him inside. "We need to talk," Dupree said again, rearing back as if to take a step forward. Strimnovitch hesitated for a moment and then nodded. "Of course," he said. "Please...come in." Dupree entered, feeling himself harden. This was going to be wonderful. "Can I get you a drink?" Strimnovitch asked. Dupree shook his head. "Do you mind if I have one?" the spy asked. Again, Dupree shook his head. "Well, have a seat." Dupree remained standing and watched as the impossible happened. Strimnovitch walked over to a wetbar next to the entrance to the terrace. Reaching inside an ice bucket, he returned not with ice, but with a small semiautomatic pistol which he then pointed directly at Dupree. "Please not to be moving," Strimnovitch said calmly. "Or I will be forced to kill you." Dupree felt the world regain color. When he looked, the word was gone from Ivan's forehead. "W-what are you doing?" Dupree asked. "You obviously know who I am, but how you know this is a mystery to me," Strimnovitch said. "Your English is getting better," Dupree observed. "Yes, quite," Ivan said, smiling. "It comes in handy sometimes to play the stupid Russian immigrant. But that is of no matter. I'm afraid that I must insist you tell me how you know who I am." "You first. What gave me away?" Dupree asked. Ivan shrugged. "Since it is unlikely you will live to see tomorrow, I will tell you. You said you were from the Company. That's a Hollywood creation. No one from the CIA says Company anymore." Dupree swore softly under his breath. "Now. My turn. You are?" Dupree felt the weight of the pistol at the small of his back. He'd been planning on using it on the doorman. Plans change, he thought. He'd practiced drawing and firing that pistol a thousand times. He'd even managed to clock himself. He could do it in under a second. But a second was a very, very long time. Ask any computer programmer. Dupree moved to the side, hoping to hide his next actions. "Please don't move. I have no idea who you are or who trained you, but they are obviously picking from the bottom of the barrel. Your tradecraft is horrible. Now...who are you?" "Dupree, Mark Dupree," Dupree said, hoping it sounded funny. After a moment, Ivan smiled. "Ah, I get it. Bond, right?" Ivan snorted. "To quote one of your politicians...Mr. Dupree, I have met Mr. Bond. I know Mr. Bond. Mr. Dupree, you are no James Bond." Mark smiled, moving an inch more to the left. "Please," Ivan said. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= "Right there, please!" Scully moaned. Mulder froze his motions, memorizing the location on Scully's body that had obviously given her so much pleasure. His lips continued their work, kissing and licking and sucking her, tracing the outlines and contours of her sex, his face buried between her legs, Scully's fingers buried in his hair, twisting and pulling, guiding him. "Oh..." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= "...right there," Ivan finished. Dupree began to move. Ivan fired. The bullet missed, high over Dupree's right shoulder. The gun was in his hand and the arm was moving clear of the coat, coming up, finding, tracking Ivan. The ex-spy lunged to his right, Dupree's left, forcing the serial killer to move so he wouldn't have to fire cross-body, the most inaccurate of all positions for untrained, non-professional shooters. Dupree pivoted, moving with him, the pistol finally coming around. The world went black and white. He Chosen, Dupree thought, and fired. The bullet caught Ivan high in the chest, six inches from the sternum over the right lung. The ex-spy grunted and fell, but managed to keep the pistol in his hand. Tucking a shoulder and rolling, Ivan came up in a Spenatz combat stance, using his left wrist to steady the pistol as he aimed at Dupree's crotch. Ivan Yorgi Strimnovitch fired. +=+=+=+=+=+===+= "Oh YES!" Scully cried out, exploding in orgasm. "Oh my GOD!" Her legs clamped against Mulder's head, drawing him even tighter against her. Mulder rode through her orgasm, his hands clutching her tight, compact little tush as she wriggled under his touch. "Now, Mulder...my God, please NOW!" Straightening, Mulder moved between her thighs, gently spreading her with his hands on the insides of her legs. Scully's eyes were glassy with passion and need, and she smiled up at the man who had just given her so much pleasure and who was about to give her so much more. She felt him, fat, hard, hot, at her entrance and she bit her lip, knowing it was going to be painful at first. It had been so long. But this was so right. And then she felt him entering her slowly, filling her, opening her to him. And it didn't hurt. It was the most delicious feeling she had ever had in her life. Scully moaned, low and deep, her voice sounding like it was coming from somewhere else. Mulder continued his long, delicious slide and then he was completely inside her. "Scully..." he whispered, feeling her clutch at him with her muscles, moist tissue tugging at him, urging him on. He began to withdraw, sighing at the feeling. Scully moaned and pouted at his absence, her tiny hands pulling on his biceps, encouraging him with her eyes and her moans and her breathing to insert himself again, to fill her again, to join with her again. Mulder slid into her again, harder this time, just a little bit harder the next, and then harder still the next. Socketed to Scully like this, Mulder was sure he had died and gone to heaven. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Dupree felt the bullet pass through his leg, white hot, burning, like a poker had been shoved into the meat of his thigh. Retreat, his mind said. Time to get the out of dodge. He used the pistol to lay down a withering cover fire, aiming nowhere in particular as he pulled the trigger again and again, moving for the door. And then he was outside the door, panting, stopping at the elevator, thumbing the magazine release. The empty clip clattered to the floor and Dupree fumbled in his pocket for the spare. Finding it, he slammed it home and thumbed the slide forward. It slid into battery with a satisfying ker-chunk! A door opened in the hallway and Dupree threw a shot towards it. The door slammed shut. Dupree heard the bolt being thrown and smiled. That'd keep whoever it was inside. The elevator doors slid open and Dupree stepped inside. +=+=+=+=+===+=+= Scully rolled, bringing Mulder with her. She was on top, her hands planted on his chest, fingernails digging into the skin, raising and lowering herself over him, filling herself with his thickness, reveling in the liquid, moist sounds they made as they parted and joined again and again, over and over. Nothing had ever felt this good, this right, this damn-fucking-tastic-perfect... "Fuck me," she groaned, surprising herself. She hated that word, hated men that used it as casually as "How do you do?" She hated women that used it even more, women that tried to be more like men. But at this moment, that was what he was doing to her. And doing it wonderfully. Mulder's eyes opened and found hers, his smile warming her heart, a lower portion of his anatomy warming a similar portion of hers. "So close," he moaned. "Me too," she groaned back. "Almost there...." +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= @ The doors opened on the lobby. The doorman, Dupree saw, was on the telephone, a panicked look on his face. Dupree raised the pistol without thinking and emptied it into the man's body. Shot after shot impacted: Chest, arms, throat, face. Sixteen rounds of 45ACP splattered the doorman against the wall. He slid to the floor in a bloody pile, taking the phone with him. # Dupree stopped next to the body, stooped and laid the note on the dead man's chest. He had not completed his mission, but that didn't mean the game was over or even suspended. There is an agenda, a scheduled that must be adhered to, he thought. Dupree stepped outside and hailed a taxi. It was dark, and the driver didn't notice the blood seeping from Dupree's leg wound. As the cab pulled into traffic, Dupree studied the wound in the limited available light. It was a flesh wound. It hadn't gone through the leg, but along the inside edge. Six inches higher, Dupree thought, and I'd be singing soprano for the rest of my life. The wound was jagged, but clean. The heat of the bullet had cauterized most of the blood vessels. He wasn't bleeding so much as oozing. He would survive. And more importantly, he wouldn't have to go to the Emergency Room. That was a ticket straight out of the game. Relaxing, Dupree leaned back against the seat sighed. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= "Oh my..." Scully giggled. "That was..." She trailed off, unable to find the words. "Intense," Mulder suggested, breathing heavily. "Uh-huh," Scully agreed, rolling over onto his body, moaning at the slick, delicious feeling their sweaty skin made as they slid together. "Tell me again why we waited so long," Mulder said. "Five years of foreplay, Mulder. Five long years." "Works for me," he said. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= Alex Cahill was in the middle of a particularly erotic dream when the phone rang. Oddly enough, the dream was about a man she could never have: Sam Cross. "Cahill," she mumbled into the phone, using her other hand to lift the hair out of her face. "Central radio, Cap...er, Inspector. We have a homicide that fits your teletype. Midtown South is responding." "Shit," Alex said. "Uh, Inspector, it might not be my place to..." Alex frowned. She knew the voice. McDonald. Hugh McDonald. Lieutenant, old-timer, weeks away from his pension. He'd been moved to communication when... She blushed, remembering. Hemorrhoids. He'd gotten an incredibly painful case of them, and the powers that be decided to let him spend the last six months of his career in radio. At the peak of his career, he'd been a hell of a cop. "Talk to me, McDonald," Alex ordered, knowing that he'd be impressed that she'd remembered his name. "Ma'am...I think you lucked out on this one. The intended target is still alive." "Come again? You said it was a homicide." "Yeah, but that's the doorman. We got his murder on the 911 tape. The doer came at him just as he reached an operator. We got all sixteen shots, clear as a bell on tape. But the intended victim took one in the shoulder. He's still alive...but he's circling the drain. I think...from what I heard from the first units on the scene, he took one in the lung." "Ok..." Alex said, swinging her feet out of bed, shaking her head to clear it. "Page Detectives Cross and Hicks. Send them to whatever hospital the vic is at. Page the rest of my day tour; send them to the scene. I'll meet Hicks and Cross at the hospital. I'll come up on the air in about ten minutes, and I'll need that hospital." "Ten-four, Inspector. I show you notified at...two thirty six." McDonald hung up in Alex's ear. Alex sighed, thinking. Everything was taken care of. Dammit. Mulder, Scully. She dialed the hotel and asked for Mulder's room. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= "That can't be good," Mulder observed wryly. "Maybe it's one of your girlfriends," Scully said, giggling. Mulder shrugged. "I dunno. What day is it? I'd have to check my calender." Mulder grabbed the phone and handed it to a surprised Scully. "Scully," she said, trying to sound sleepy. "Alex. We just got another, but the victim fought back. He's alive, on the way to the hospital. I have my team minus Cross and Hicks going to the scene. Want to join me at the hospital?" "Of course," she said, reaching over Mulder to turn on a light. In the process of moving, she dragged her right breast across his face. She felt his lips tease at it as she moved and she slapped his chest, pointing at the phone and shaking her head. "I'll call Mulder," Alex said. "As a matter of fact, I thought I just had." "Uh..." Scully said. "What?" "Don't. I'll...uh..." They both paused. "He's there, isn't he?" Alex asked. Scully said nothing. "Good for you," Alex said. "But listen to me. If you're going to keep doing...that...you've got to learn how to lie better. Call me when you two get moving." Scully heard Alex hang up in her ear and she lowered the phone to the bed. "Our killer struck again, but he didn't finish the job. The victim is on the way to the hospital." Mulder was moving before Scully had finished the sixth word. Scully's next words, however, froze him in his tracks. "Alex knows." "About...us?" Scully nodded. It was Mulder's turn to shrug. "Ok, we'll deal with that later. We need to get moving." He moved to his suitcase, digging for jeans and a t-shirt. Scully watched him sadly for a moment, realizing that he was right, that they did need to get moving. The timing couldn't have been worse. The first time they make love...and no snuggle time. Thirty seconds of it, and the phone had rung. She got up to go back to her room and get dressed. A hand at the small of her naked back stopped her. She closed her eyes; how many times had she felt those very same fingers at that exact spot through her clothes and wished to feel them against her skin? Fantasies were good; reality was better. "Hey," Mulder whispered in her ear. "I hate rushing off like this. When we get some time...I want to pick up where we left off." She nodded, not turning to face him. "I'd like that," she finally said. "Go," Mulder said, patting her on the rump. She went. +=+=+=+=+=+=+=+= END CHAPTER 18