The Abyss Looks Back - The Collector's Edition by Kronos Rating: R Category: XA Spoilers: Through Fifth Season to Date Keywords: Mulder/Scully UST, Mulder/Scully/Skinner Friendship Summary: Mulder is the Bureau's last hope for solving a horrific child kidnapping/murder case and is assigned as behavioral specialist consultant. It's Skinner and Scully's job to keep him well and sane long enough to prevent another death. Similarities to both victim and killer profiles create an uneasy resonance in Mulder, who must fight to maintain enough of a professional distance so as to avoid an unrecoverable slide into the abyss. Disclaimer: The characters herein belong to 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Usage is made without authorization but with utmost respect. Archive: Anywhere appropriate with notice to author and name of author attached. Author Notes: This is a first-time effort. Please be kind with feedback. Sincerest thanks to Heidi Manzone for story ideas and editing. My apologies to anyone living in Minneapolis or St. Paul who might be offended by the fact that I have created locations out of thin air due to my complete lack of knowledge of these fine cities. I further offer apologies in advance to anyone who might be offended at the religious tie-ins I have manufactured. No disrespect is intended. *********************************** Tuesday, 8:09 a.m. F.B.I. Headquarters Washington, D.C. Dana Scully had just settled at her desk after completing the ritual she implemented every morning upon arriving at the X-Files office. Say "Morning Mulder", put briefcase on desk, hang coat on rack, get a cup of already made coffee from the pot (cream no sugar), sit down at desk and get a good look at her partner. This final part of the ritual had become almost a game of late. Could she decipher from expression and body language alone, his mood, his thoughts, whether a new X-File had piqued his interest? It became obvious to Scully that this morning was going to be more of a challenge than most. Her partner, Fox Mulder, had hardly acknowledged her presence with a weak 'Morning' and was now staring blankly at a file that sat on the desk in front of him. She could barely see his face. The ringing of her phone prevented Scully from asking him about the file in which he seemed so engrossed. "Scully." She immediately recognized the voice of Skinner's administrative assistant, Kimberly, asking her if she could come to the Assistant Director's office. "I'll be right there." Scully hung up the phone and rose out of her chair, unconsciously straightening her suit jacket as she did so. She took a deep breath, silently preparing herself for an unexpected encounter with AD Skinner. Mulder still hadn't moved a muscle and Scully began to get the uncomfortable feeling that he might actually be the reason she was being called into Skinner's office - alone. "Mulder, that was Kimberly. I've been called to Skinner's office." At this, Scully was relieved to see that Mulder looked up at her with a slightly confused expression. "Just you? For what?" His words to her confirmed that her speculation had been unfounded. A twinge of guilt niggled it's way through to her consciousness. "I don't know, she didn't say." He continued to look at her curiously, as if expecting that she would somehow miraculously pull more information out of the air. Almost with disgust, Scully shook her head slightly and headed for the door. Mulder's voice stopped her as she was turning the door handle. "I don't think I've done anything to get us in trouble, Scully. I've only been here for half an hour." Scully smiled at the wry grin on his face. This was a Mulder she could definitely read. "Don't worry, Mulder, I'll be sure to let you know one way or the other." Her trip to the Assistant Director's office was mercifully brief, with elevators and crowds posing no obstacles for a change. Kimberly's smile and nod relieved Scully somewhat of the feeling of apprehension that had settled over her, despite Mulder's joking words. Scully opened the door to AD Skinner's office and entered, quietly closing it again behind her. As she made her way to her accustomed seat, Scully attempted to read Skinner's mood, despite the silent reminder to herself that she hadn't been having much luck along those lines lately. Skinner looked at his agent, who sat waiting patiently for him to speak. Dana Scully was the picture of professionalism and calm, even though he could guess at the distress his summons had evoked. *Dammit! Why should I feel guilty about this? It is my place and my job to make assignments like this.* Skinner realized that the internal argument that he had been waging with himself since the evening before had long since become circular. He heaved an uncharacteristic sigh before breaking the silence. Skinner decided it was best not to beat around the bush. "Scully, are you familiar with the Twin Cities Strangler case?" If possible, it seemed that his agent became even more pale at the mention of the case that was quickly becoming every FBI agent's nightmare. The press had long since blamed the FBI for not putting an end to the seemingly random kidnapping/murders that were plaguing the twin cities of St. Paul and Minneapolis. Scully, like every agent in the Bureau, knew of the case and of the fact that it was a publicity nightmare. Seven deaths so far of children ranging in age from five to thirteen, all economic backgrounds, both boys and girls, although the first four had been all boys. The children were taken from home, from school, from the playground, from stores - no common denominator. In fact, it seemed that there was nothing to tie the victims together at all, they were chosen at random. First came the kidnapping, then after between one to three days, severe beatings ending with strangulation - always with shoestrings that had been tied together to create an effective noose. The bodies had been found dumped in a variety of locations - again, with no seeming link. Scully had figured it would only be a matter of time before they turned to Mulder for help. Patterson's Golden Boy - the only profiler to exceed a ninety percent success rate in the history of the unit. Even since he'd fought his way out of the VCS, no one else had come anywhere close to achieving Mulder's solve rate. Scully breathed deeply and attempted to answer evenly. "Of course, sir." Scully lifted her chin slightly, almost in challenge, making it clear that she would not make this easy on him. Walter Skinner cursed once more to himself and found that he had dropped his eyes to the piece of paper in front of him. The memo from the Director telling him, in no uncertain terms, that his days of pampering Mulder were over. Either Skinner would put Mulder on the case or the Director would do so personally. "I'm sorry, Scully. I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. My hands are tied." Skinner looked up again at his agent, this woman whom he'd grown to admire and respect so greatly over the last five years. He knew she would argue, she knew he knew. It wouldn't change anything, but both had roles to play. "Sir, the Mostow case almost killed him, and Roche.....He almost lost himself the last time." Scully shook her head slightly and tried to regroup. "Sir, there must be some other way. He got out of the VCS for a reason. He, he..." - only Nietsche's famous quote on evil seemed appropriate to Scully as being a good argument, the only argument really - "he slid into the abyss but he managed to pull himself out. Patterson didn't. You can't do this to him." Skinner realized that Mulder's name had even now not been explicitly mentioned. There was only one 'he' to Scully. Skinner doubted she even realized the implications. He couldn't resist anymore - all his frustrations came pouring out in the fist that slammed against his desk, scattering papers and knocking a book to the floor. Scully jumped in her seat, eyes widening slightly - the only evidence that she was surprised by Skinner's actions. Inside, however, Scully felt her stomach clench and heart hesitate, as if waiting for the other shoe to fall. "Scully, I have been denying requests for his involvement for the past three months. I made it clear to those involved that there should be no 'unofficial' requests to him directly. I have instead given them more resources, assigned more agents to the case, the best we have." Skinner's eyes searched out Scully's. "But not really the best." She knew it then, knew that he had been protecting her partner as best he could. Knew that everyone had a boss, everyone had someone who had the ability to turn their world upside down, even Skinner. Scully tried to nod, to let him know that she didn't blame him, that she understood. But she was terrified - terrified of what getting into the mind of a killer who kidnapped, mutilated, and then killed innocent children would do to her partner, her best friend. She was terrified that this time, his slide into the abyss would not be halted. Scully felt her eyes fill with tears, unbidden and unwelcome. She angrily wiped away the evidence that she was not really the Ice Queen. Skinner stood from behind his desk and walked over to kneel in front of Scully. He knew she'd absolved him of responsibility for the decision to assign Mulder to the case, but he hadn't yet absolved himself. He gently placed his hands on top of Scully's and then gripped them more tightly. "I might not be able to do anything about assigning him to the case, but I'll do everything I can to make sure he comes out of it all right. I'm going with you." The look of confusion that had crossed Scully's face when he first took hold of her hands gave way to relief, as she understood that she would not be alone in keeping her partner well and sane. Scully was able to whisper a strangled "Thank you, sir" and then began to bolster her defenses once again. Skinner seemed to sense her need for a moment to collect herself. He stood and leaned back against his desk, still keeping his eyes on Scully. When she looked up at him, Skinner knew she was ready to talk about details. "There's a flight at 2 p.m. out of National. I'll meet you at the gate. Kimberly has the tickets. She also has copies of all the case files." He paused a moment and Scully knew that he was unsure about who should inform Mulder of the new assignment. She decided to take advantage of the temporary break to assert her own view. "Sir, if it's all right with you, I'd prefer to tell Mulder of our new assignment." Relief washed over Skinner's face and then quickly changed to disgust as he realized just how much he wanted to abdicate his responsibilities in this case. "Scully, why don't you inform Agent Mulder of the case and I'll bring the files down to your office in about twenty minutes so we can all discuss a general approach before heading out." Scully nodded in acceptance, rose and made her way to the door. She stood for a second with her hand on the knob, then turned and said simply, "Thank you, sir", before heading out and shutting the door behind her. Walter Skinner nodded, knowing that she was thanking him for more than just being willing to face Mulder personally. She was thanking him for trying to protect them, and for caring enough to want to. He moved back around his desk to begin making the many arrangements that would be necessary to keep things running smoothly while he was away for what might be the next few weeks. This one was going to cost a hell of a lot of favors. *********************************** In the X-Files office, Mulder sat still staring at the file in front of him. It was a compilation of data, information, photos, and theories that had been gathered on the Twin Cities Strangler case. Mulder knew it was only a matter of time before he was called in. He had a suspicion that Scully's visit to Skinner this morning was, in fact, tied to this case. Mulder's stomach rolled and he fought down the warring feelings of terror and guilt. Terror at what profiling this kind of monster would do to him and guilt that he hadn't gotten involved sooner. Perhaps he could have saved a child or two. It wasn't arrogance that led to such a thought, it was his gift - his curse. The ability to understand the killer's motivations, thoughts, feelings - to know him - to become him. And with each bit of understanding went a little more of his soul. Mulder pushed back from his desk slowly and leaned forwards, elbows resting on knees. He brought his hands up to rub his face and ran his fingers through his hair. He'd told Scully he'd been in for half an hour but the truth was he'd never left last night. Not since he got the file from Vickers. He had a decision to make. If they weren't being assigned to this case by Skinner, he might request it. Perhaps he had to. It seemed he'd lose either way. If he could save a child by losing himself, wouldn't it be worth it? *********************************** Scully came back to the office to find her partner leaning forward in his chair, hands raised to his face, with fingertips rubbing his forehead. He didn't look particularly well. She noticed for the first time the day's growth of beard and the wrinkled suit. Was it the same one he'd worn yesterday? How could she have been so blind earlier? Scully cursed the nameless fates once again and decided to be as blunt with her partner as Skinner had been with her. "Mulder, I just came from Skinner's office. We've been assigned a new case." Mulder was looking at her now intently, expectantly, fingers temporarily halted in their circular paths. "He's assigned us to the Twin Cities Strangler case." Scully expected perhaps a look of distaste, of frustration. She hadn't expected the smile that crossed his face or the laugh. Scully was trying to decide whether this constituted bizarre enough behavior to call for help, when it dawned on her that his was not a laugh of pleasure or amusement, but rather was tinged with hysteria. Mulder sat up straight, attempting to regain his composure before Scully had him committed. He picked up the file in front of him, closed it and handed it to her silently. He watched as Scully crossed the room to take it and then looked down at the cover. She started looking through the file as he began to talk. "An old.....acquaintance of mine asked me to look it over. Told me they'd all been threatened with a tour in Alaska if any of them tried contacting me 'unofficially'. He said he was sure no one on the team was going to catch this guy. He seemed to think I might be their only chance." Mulder paused and shifted behind his desk, folding his arms on the top. The resigned slouch spoke volumes to Scully. She knew the struggle he'd been waging within himself. She wondered for how long? "Mulder, when did you get this file?" Mulder dropped his head onto his folded arms and Scully heard the muffled reply, "Yesterday." "Were you here all night?" Mulder sat up again and looked straight at his partner, trying to assure her he was up to this, even if he wasn't totally convinced himself. "Look, Scully, I'm fine, I'm ready. It's the right thing. It probably should have happened much sooner than this. When do we leave?" A knock on their office door prevented Scully from replying. *Oh, well, Dana, just go with the flow.* She had no idea how Mulder was going to respond to the news that Skinner was going to accompany them. "Come in," she said. Skinner opened the door and walked into their office, a rather large box held securely under one arm. He moved to set the box on the nearest desk, as he tried to assess the mood in the room. Before he could say anything, Scully turned back to her partner, who had scrambled to a standing position on the sight of his boss. "Mulder, AD Skinner will be accompanying us to the Twin Cities." Skinner quickly understood that his arrival was a bit premature and prepared to head off any fireworks. "Mulder, as I explained to Agent Scully, this case has become a political hot potato. Until it's resolved, my ass is on the line personally." Well, it sounds like a good reason, anyway, even if it wasn't the complete truth. "I brought down complete copies of the files to date. I was hoping we could hash out some broad goals for our initial efforts." Mulder had not said a word. Had not, in fact, even moved, perhaps not even breathed since Scully and Skinner started talking. Mulder could see them looking at him, expectantly, waiting for a reaction. He wasn't sure what to think, what to feel. He sensed that something more was going on, but was too stunned and exhausted to work it out. He recognized that some part of himself, deep down, felt relieved at the news. He had come to think of Skinner as a friend and, although their age difference was not that great, even something of a father figure and protector. The pressure to respond to them was building. He knew he had to say something. "Okay, when do we leave?" He almost laughed at seeing both Skinner and Scully sag in relief. A small smile played at one corner of his mouth when he leaned close to his partner and whispered in her ear, "So, does this mean no Celebrity Skin on the airplane?" Scully was obviously trying hard not to laugh when she replied, "Mulder, you can read whatever you want - you just have to share with AD Skinner." Mulder opened his mouth in a fake laugh and looked at his boss. "So, when DO we leave?" "The plane leaves National at 2. We have about an hour or so before I have to head out to pack. And I assume you'll both have to do the same." Both agents nodded in silent agreement and then started walking towards the box of files sitting on Scully's desk. Skinner pulled a chair over to the desk and sat back while his agents pulled files out of the box. "Agent Mulder, what do you know about this case?" Skinner saw Mulder flash a look at Scully, almost too fast to catch. He couldn't interpret it. "Sir, I know that there have been seven children so far, all Caucasian, five boys, two girls, ages 7, 11, 5, 13, 10, 6, and 9, in the order of their kidnapping, taken during day and night, from home, school, shopping centers, a gas station once, taken roughly one month apart, molested...." At this Skinner and Scully both jerked in surprise, Scully because this information had never been reported and Skinner because of the obvious breakdown in security around the case. Mulder continued on, either not noticing or not acknowledging the surprise of his partner and boss. "...beaten, and then strangled with their own shoestrings, tied together to form a garrote, eventually dumped." Mulder's voice had become monotone, his eyes unfocused, a sure sign he was attempting to distance himself from the horrors of the case. "The team working the case has assumed the killer to be male, between 20 an 35, unmarried, living with parents or parent. They believe the victims were chosen at random and on a whim and were dumped also by whim. They believe the delay between kidnapping and murder to be merely a matter of convenience on the part of the killer rather than a result of any plan or design." Skinner sat staring at Mulder, wishing for some sign of emotion from his agent. He had never seen this Mulder personally before, this Mulder sunk in profiler mode, and he found it was bothering him tremendously. Skinner realized Mulder had stopped talking and was gradually focusing on his boss once more. "Someone gave you the files to review." It was not a question. There was no way Mulder could have known so many of the details of the case. They hadn't been reported by the press and were definitely not common knowledge outside the Twin Cities team. Mulder sighed heavily and shook his head. "No sir, only a summary file. It's right that I should be involved sir. It's the right thing." Skinner wasn't sure which one of them Mulder was trying to convince more. "Okay, so you know some of the details, the rest is here. Everything the team's uncovered or done, as well as the profiles to date. What do you suggest as the best process to implement from here on out?" Mulder felt relieved that Skinner wasn't going to try to find out who'd broken security on the case. He had no desire to get Vickers in hot water over this. In reality, Vickers was a good agent, with a kind heart, who was in way over his head with a case such as this. "Scully and I obviously need time to read through these files. We should have time between now and our arrival in Minneapolis. We'll at least make headway. I assume you've read them already?" Skinner nodded. "I don't know if it's necessary to re-perform any of the autopsies. Hopefully, Scully will have a better idea by the time we get there. Scully, I'll need you to talk with the pathologists, though. There are three different ones listed, with the last 4 autopsies all being performed by the same one - a Dr. Davidson. It evidently took them awhile to figure out what they had. We need impressions. Was anger a motivation for the beatings, the murder, was the killer in control or not, was he just pissed or was he meeting out justice? It'll have to be qualitative impressions. I don't want to fall into the trap of taking any of the team's conclusions at face value. We start over, look at every possibility, even those that have been ruled out already. I'll want to meet with the team ASAP, tonight if possible, tomorrow first thing if not. We have roughly one to two weeks before he takes his next victim. We'll have to move fast. I'll want to review the team control center, perhaps make some modifications, reorganize. Jenkins is ASAC - won't like my being there - won't take input without a fight, just on principle, unless he's mellowed. He doesn't like me - it's an old grudge. I might need your backing." Mulder was looking at Skinner, waiting for an understanding that he eventually received. Skinner knew Dave Jenkins personally and believed Mulder was selling the man short. They'd see. However it played out, though, he'd back both his agents. Mulder was animated now, pacing in the cramped space between the wall and desks. "I'll need to review the crime scenes, in order, tomorrow. Scully, it would be good if you could be there, but I realize you might be tied up. They've totally abandoned the idea of a pattern. They're wrong, there is a pattern to the victim choice, and, I believe, to where he's dumping them. I don't see it yet, I don't see the pattern, but I know it's there. At any rate, they haven't really been looking for patterns since the fifth victim. They've written it all off as random. That's just bad procedure, regardless. When we find the patterns, we have a chance at identifying the next victim or victim type, and we'll have more insight to his motivations. It is a he, male that is, but I think most of the rest of the profile is just plain wrong. I'll know more after reviewing the files. I think...." Mulder tapered off his somewhat frenetic discourse as if he were suddenly worried at how his audience might react. He looked at both Scully and Skinner closely, gauging how much he could trust them, before continuing. "I think he knows the victims....somehow. I believe there's a link. That's another reason to find the pattern. The pattern may help with identifying the link." Mulder was staring at Skinner, eyes begging for his trust. He needed Skinner's support if he were going to make it through this case. He needed to be believed. Skinner didn't disappoint, regardless of what he must have been thinking. "Okay, Mulder. Before we get there, I want you to draw up a list of all action items you think warranted. We'll get the ball rolling as soon as possible. Right now, you're being called in strictly as a consultant profiler. But Jenkins knows I'll be calling the shots from here on out and that I'll be counting on you to provide new leads and ideas. You won't have any problems." Skinner stood and gestured to the door. "I'm going to wrap up some things in my office and head out. I'll meet you both at the gate around 1:30 p.m." With that he opened the door and left the X-Files office. His long strides took him quickly to the elevator where he pushed the up button and then let out an explosive breath. My God, he thought to himself, in less than fifteen minutes, Mulder, unshaved and in a crumpled suit that looked like he'd slept in it, had thrown out the results of seven months of effort on the part of some thirty different agents, had insisted that they were wrong about all crucial aspects of the case, and had told him, told Skinner, that he, Mulder, expected his, Skinner's, support to back up his, Mulder's, crazy ideas. But they weren't really crazy, Skinner knew. There was a reason that Mulder had the highest solve rate in the VCS. There was a reason Patterson fought so hard to keep him from transferring out. Even while he acknowledged this awareness, Skinner recognized that more importantly, he trusted the man. He trusted Mulder's instincts and he trusted him to solve this horrendous case, even though no one else in the agency had a clue as to how to go about it. If they wanted to prevent more children from meeting the fate of those poor seven who'd already fallen victim to this killer, then they'd all have to trust Mulder. It was going to be his and Scully's job to keep Mulder intact long enough for him to find the killer. *********************************** Scully pulled up in front of Mulder's apartment complex and honked the horn. She was running a few minutes late and hoped that she wouldn't have to go in after him. Missing the flight was NOT an option. Just as she was ready to pull over and park, Mulder came running down the steps of his building, a suitcase in each hand and a briefcase over his shoulder. He'd taken the time to shower and change clothes and looked much fresher than he had any right to look after at least some thirty plus hours without sleep. Scully pulled the trunk release and unlocked the passenger door. After stowing his bags, Mulder slipped into the passenger seat and gave Scully a small smile and a "Hey." After Skinner left their office earlier, they had continued discussing the case for another fifteen minutes or so before heading to their respective homes to pack. Scully agreed that the forensic information obtained during the autopsies was most likely straightforward and that new autopsies probably weren't warranted. She'd make the final determination after reviewing the reports on the plane. Both agreed that Scully should be able to accompany Mulder to the crime scenes, where the bodies had been dumped, barring any unforeseen circumstances. She also concurred with his assessment that a pattern to both victim selection and dumping site should be sought. Mulder wasn't sure why her agreement meant so much to him. Scully had never been trained as a profiler. But she was his partner whom he trusted, and he needed to know she was behind him. He settled back into the seat and closed his eyes, recognizing that even a fifteen minute nap was going to be hard to come by over the next few days. *********************************** Mulder and Scully were seated in the same row, Mulder on the aisle, Scully at the window seat, with a stack of case files in the seat between them. Mulder had at least two of the case files sitting on a closed portable computer on his lap, with another file sitting open on top of the stack. In the row behind, Skinner sat in the aisle seat across from his agents, with another stack of files on the empty seat next to him. The flight attendants had quickly learned to keep these three stocked with coffee and to not bother them with anything further. Skinner had been reviewing the summary file Jenkins had compiled on the case. He could see why Mulder and Jenkins might not get along. Jenkins was a by- the-book, follow procedure agent. He'd had a respectable career as an agent, serving well in the field and earning the respect of the agents under him. Skinner had known Dave Jenkins personally for years, had even worked with him many years ago. In fact, he liked the man. Jenkins, however, was known to have little tolerance for agents who didn't follow the rules. It was one reason he might never make it any further up the chain of command. Skinner couldn't identify anything particularly wrong with the way the investigation had been handled to this point, but it was basically uninspired with no risks taken. Perhaps Jenkins couldn't appreciate risk takers -- and Mulder certainly fell in that category. Skinner glanced up from the file he'd been reviewing and looked over at his maverick agent once again. Mulder had been totally engrossed in reading the stack of case files since they'd arrived at the airport. Skinner had been keeping an eye on the agent, partly out of curiosity and partly in amazement. In the last fifteen minutes or so he'd completed reading the account of events pertaining to the fourth murder and had moved on to the fifth. Skinner knew intimately that each case file contained hundreds of pages of witness reports, officer accounts, forensic reports, photographs, and agent summaries. Not exactly easy reading. Yet, Mulder had only taken fifteen minutes to read the complete file and probably could recite line and verse of any page at will. Skinner knew that it was partly this ability to absorb information so quickly, and then to be able to access it at will through his eidetic memory, that allowed Mulder to piece together profiles that bewildered others who had access to exact the same information and data. Mulder now sat staring blankly at the seat back in front of him. He hadn't moved in the last couple minutes. Skinner, feeling like a voyeur, still couldn't force himself to look away. Mulder's hands sat flat on top of the open file, a recent school picture of the fifth victim smiling out from between his fingers. Skinner remembered the picture now, a little girl, just turned 10 and small for her age, with brown hair in pig tails, red ribbon wrapped around the ends and streaming down in swirls. Skinner couldn't see Scully from his vantage point but saw her hand move over to rest on top of Mulder's. The silent communication must have helped because Mulder finally moved, turning his head toward his partner. Skinner saw Mulder squeeze Scully's hand and then it was gone from his sight. He wasn't sure if words were exchanged but Mulder looked back to the case file and then slowly turned the page. *********************************** The layover in Chicago gave them a chance to stretch their legs, but not much else. By the time the three walked from one terminal to another, their second flight was practically ready to board. They had only about fifteen minutes before they had to board the flight. Scully was pretty sure that Mulder hadn't eaten anything since sometime the day before and was determined to get something into him before they got to Minneapolis. She was starting to wish she'd talked with Skinner in a little greater detail before they left. She'd need him to help her to convince her partner to eat and rest during this case. As they dropped their carry-on bags on a couple of empty seats outside their gate, Scully turned to Skinner. "Sir, I'm starved and we're not scheduled to get any food on this flight. How about if I get us all something to bring with us? I saw a deli just a couple gates down." Skinner was just about to tell Scully he wasn't hungry when something in her look communicated itself to him. He found himself agreeing, even though he had eaten a hefty lunch just before leaving home. A glance at Mulder confirmed that Scully had an ulterior motive. He was once again absorbed in a case file, oblivious to his surroundings, oblivious to Scully's comments, and oblivious to her departure once Skinner had agreed with her. "Mulder.....Mulder." Skinner had to repeat his name several times before finally getting Mulder's attention. "We have a few minutes before we board. Why don't you go for a walk, stretch your legs? It'll be your last chance for another few hours." Mulder was confused. Was Skinner trying to get rid of him? Was this a suggestion or an order? And where the heck was Scully? Sensing the confusion, Walter Skinner dropped into an available chair across from Mulder and shook his head at the younger man, before looking up at him. "Don't you ever rest, Mulder? Aren't your eyes starting to cross from reading continuously for....." Skinner looked down at his watch before continuing, ".....almost three straight hours? You're making me feel old, Mulder." Mulder had to smile at his boss' rare descent into jocularity. In fact, until now Mulder hadn't even been sure Skinner knew how to joke. He closed the file of the last victim and put it in his briefcase, then stood and stretched. He looked around again for Scully, slightly concerned at the circumstance that could have led to her being gone without his being aware of the fact. He looked back at Skinner and asked the obvious question. "Where's Scully?" The ten second silence seemed to stretch for much longer and Mulder became even more concerned. Had something happened to Scully and he'd been so out of it that he forgot? Impossible....wasn't it? "Mulder, Scully went to get us some dinner at the deli a few gates up. She left about ten minutes ago." Skinner found himself talking slowly and succinctly, as if to a dense child, and tried to shake himself of the vision just generated. Before Mulder could respond, the object of their discussion returned, arms carrying bags and a cup holder. "Hey there. Mulder, grab these drinks will you? I got orange juice and tomato juice, and turkey and ham sandwiches." Scully ignored the look of dismay Mulder sent her way. She knew he didn't drink juice unless forced due to impending dehydration and here she was trying to push two different kinds at him. Mulder sent a look to Skinner and confirmed that there would be no help from that quarter. "Gee, thanks Scully, that was very kind of you." "If looks could kill, Mulder." "Hey, did I say anything? I just thanked you. I appreciate that you're concerned about my welfare. But if you really want to do something to help me, you can get me a cup of coffee, black." Skinner was glad he wasn't on the receiving end of the look Scully was giving Mulder right now. He'd seen better men fold under such pressure. It was a good thing these two liked each other. "Drink your juice, Mulder, and if you're very good and drink all of it, and if you eat your sandwich, I might let you have a cup of coffee on the plane." "Let???" Mulder looked over at Skinner with a grin. "Sir, doesn't this constitute harassment by a fellow agent? I think I have the right to bring charges for this type of behavior, don't I?" The announcement to board the flight came at just the right moment, saving Skinner from the need to respond. He quickly stood and gathered his belongings. Mulder merely grabbed his briefcase and slung it over his shoulder, his other hand still carrying the drinks. The word "coward" could be heard muttered softly, as they moved to the gateway. *********************************** Skinner sat in essentially the same seat as the flight before, across from and one row behind his agents. The plane was slightly smaller this leg and Mulder and Scully sat next to one another in a row with two seats on their side and three on the other. Skinner wasn't sure what Scully had said, but she'd evidently managed to convince Mulder to eat, drink his juice and even sleep, all with minimal complaint. Mulder hadn't even twitched for the past hour. Skinner sent a silent prayer for sweet dreams and leaned back in his seat to consider once again the upcoming hours. They'd be landing soon and would have a full night ahead of them. Jenkins had called a meeting of the entire team for that evening. They'd have time to check into the hotel and kick back for about a half hour or so before they'd have to leave again. The announcement to prepare for landing interrupted Skinner's musings. He put his notes away in his briefcase and leaned forward to check on his agents. He could see that Scully was also fast asleep, and had curled towards her partner, her head resting lightly against his shoulder. Mulder's head was turned down towards Scully, as if to watch over her even in sleep. Skinner knew his agent's hadn't crossed the line, despite office rumor, and that they probably never would, at least while the X-Files drove them. Both were too professional and, he believed, not fully aware of their feelings for one another. He didn't doubt that they loved each other, but recognized the pure love that went beyond friendship, beyond kinship, but remained strictly a love of the spirit and not the body. Skinner leaned forward and gently shook Mulder's arm, releasing it when he saw the man start to move. He saw his agent raise his head and look around to get his bearings, before turning to wake his partner. Skinner closed his eyes again, not wanting to intrude, so he missed the sight of Mulder gently pushing the hair away from Scully's face and then dropping his hand to her rub her arm slowly, tracing a path up and down, to waken her. "Hey, Scully, rise and shine. We're almost there." As his partner slowly sat straight and stretched her neck, Mulder joked, "Hey, you drooled on me again," for which he received a punch in the arm. Mulder suddenly felt self-conscious when he remembered that he and Scully weren't flying alone this trip. He looked back to ask Skinner a question and was relieved to see the man sitting with his eyes closed. "Sir?" Skinner immediately opened his eyes and addressed his agent. "Yes, Mulder?" "I was wondering, sir, about transportation. We'll need at least two cars. I didn't get a chance to talk with Kimberly before I left so I was just curious what arrangements had been made." "Actually, Mulder, for now we've only got one reserved. Agent Janice Anderson out of the Oklahoma office was assigned to the team about three months ago and she'll drive Scully when necessary. She's also an M.D. and evidently knows Dana. Since Janice oversaw the last three autopsies, it makes sense for her to be involved. I'll either be at the command center or with you or will be able to obtain transportation if needed." Mulder nodded in acquiescence and responded with a polite, "Thank you, sir," before leaning back to prepare for landing. *********************************** Tuesday, 6:21 p.m. Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport "So, Sir, does the Federal Government have a contract with Ford, or something? Why do we always end up with a Ford Taurus?" "Get in the car, Mulder." For a minute the two men looked at each other, Mulder glancing down to the keys in Skinner's hand, Skinner looking at Mulder's hand approaching the driver's door handle. Scully could almost feel the testosterone permeating the air between the two men. "This is ridiculous." Scully stepped between them, grabbed the keys out of Skinner's hand and pushed Mulder out of the way. "I'll drive. Get in the car, both of you." Skinner couldn't remember being so shocked in his recent memory. The mirror image of shock on Mulder's face was enough to break him out of his frozen stupor. A grin broke across both their faces almost simultaneously. "I've learned not to argue when she uses that tone. I think we better get in or she might leave us here." Mulder grinned and opened the back door, slipping easily into the seat behind Scully. Skinner quickly made his way around to the passenger side and also climbed in, while trying to give Scully an intimidating look....somewhat unsuccessfully, however, as she wasn't even looking at him. Mulder had already pulled files and portable computer out of his briefcase and was busily typing, unaware once again of his surroundings. Skinner directed Scully as she navigated her way out of the airport and towards the local FBI office. Their hotel was supposedly located just down the street from the Minneapolis Bureau. *********************************** Tuesday, 6:49 p.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel "I'm sorry, sir, we only have two rooms available. I can't imagine what could have happened." The young clerk looked nervously between an intimidating Skinner and an irate Mulder. She had become reasonably good at dealing with the numerous Federal Agents who had invaded the hotel some months ago, but these two seemed particularly dangerous -- even threatening. Scully focused on the two men standing tensely in front of the counter as she walked through the door. Why in the world did they look like they were ready to draw their guns on that poor girl? Silence had reigned for a good thirty seconds that felt more like minutes. The clerk was about to call her manager to handle the situation when Skinner finally responded. Scully heard Skinner talking as she walked across the lobby towards them. "Okay, fine. Mulder, it looks like we'll have to share temporarily." Scully could see Mulder tense even more, his jaw working silently. She understood the problem immediately and knew that Mulder would never object on his own. "Sir, I don't think that would be a good idea." Both Skinner and Mulder turned to look at Scully, Skinner confused and Mulder relieved. He trusted Scully to pull a good one out of her hat for him. "Sir, you'd never be able to sleep. Mulder can't work without the TV or radio on and on a case like this he often works through the night. He'd drive you crazy." Well, it wasn't exactly the rabbit Mulder had been expecting, but whatever worked. Mulder held his breath in expectation, hoping Skinner had bought it. While nothing Scully said was really incorrect, she'd left out the part that when he did finally sleep, it was generally for a few hours only to be awakened by horrific nightmares, generally accompanied by screams that would give heart failure to any unsuspecting listeners. Skinner once again realized that Scully was trying to tell him something beyond her words. He'd have to trust her on this one, especially since Mulder stood patiently as if waiting to have sentence pronounced against him. He merely nodded at his agents and then turned back to the clerk. "Can we see your manager please?" *********************************** "Well, never let it be said that intimidation and name dropping doesn't sometimes pay." Skinner grimaced at his agent's flippant remark. He and Mulder stood in the living area of their two bedroom suite, surveying the luxurious accommodations. Each room had its own bath and there was a kitchenette off the living area. Scully was settling in across the hall in a double room. Mulder nodded at the large table in the corner of the living room. "This'll make a good work area." He dropped his briefcase and one suitcase by the table and Skinner realized for the first time that the younger man had been carrying all the case files by himself. Skinner nodded silently. "We actually have about an hour still. We're scheduled to meet with the team at eight. Tell Scully we'll meet here at nineteen-twenty to review our position and outline goals for the meeting tonight." Mulder smiled inwardly when Skinner reverted to military time. He was sure Skinner was oblivious to his slip. "Yes, sir, I'll tell Scully." *********************************** Scully felt greatly refreshed after her quick shower. Knowing Mulder, the meeting tonight with the existing team would not be brief, so she was happy to have had the opportunity to change. That is, it wouldn't be brief unless he pissed absolutely everyone off immediately. Skinner answered her knock on their door and stood back, gesturing her in. "Wow." It was the only word she could get out past her awe. The word 'luxurious' didn't seem to do the room justice. She finally noticed that Skinner had also taken the time to shower and change while Mulder had evidently spent the time setting up his own command center at the back of the room. He'd moved various pieces of furniture and taken a couple pictures off the walls to provide the space he needed. Photos and index cards were taped in their place. Scully wondered briefly what the manager was going think about tape residue on his expensive wall paper. "Scully." She walked over to her partner and nodded to indicate she was listening. "You read the pathology reports on the plane. What do you think?" "It appears very straightforward. Toxicology confirms absolutely no foreign substances introduced before or after kidnapping, at least none that left any trace. Obvious strangulation in all cases, although the beatings were so severe in two of the cases to have resulted in initiation of shut down of some bodily systems. They would have died even without the strangulation. The sexual assaults were all of the same nature, foreign implement, no semen, occurring before the beatings." Mulder was standing with his back to Scully and Skinner, one arm wrapped around his chest, the elbow of the other resting on it with his hand rubbing his chin, staring at the crime scene photos on the wall. He'd been nodding at each point, as if confirming some internal checklist. Scully went on with her summary. "I see no reason at this time to re-autopsy any of the victims. I will need to speak with all the pathologists who performed the autopsies, though. I'll determine then whether any further tests need to be implemented." Mulder, realizing Scully was finished, turned towards her. "Oral, anal, vaginal?" His abrupt segue caught Skinner off guard, but not Scully. She'd worked with Mulder too many times to be thrown so easily. "Yes, when possible." "Violent?" "Yes, very." Skinner realized then that Mulder had not read these parts of the reports. On purpose or because of a lack of time? The monotone questions continued in a short hand that even Skinner was finding hard to follow. "Intentional?" The act or the violence, Skinner wondered. Scully evidently had no problem following the discussion. "Not sure. I'll find out." "Order?" "Unknown." Mulder was pacing now, and Skinner could practically see the wheels spinning. "I can't help thinking it's important, Scully." "I'll find out." Mulder had stopped now in front of the photo of the fifth victim, the ten year old girl. This photo held almost no correlation to the little girl's school picture. Skinner decided it was time to get involved. "Mulder, now that you've read all the reports, what do you suggest for tonight?" Skinner would not play games with his agents behind closed doors. He wanted it made clear that he was Mulder's to command on this case, even if it couldn't appear this way in front of the team. Mulder drew a deep breath and walked over to the table, pulling out written notes and bringing up a file on the computer. "Sir, I've made a list of the teams I believe should be formed tonight. As I mentioned before, they've abandoned some lines of inquiry that I believe to be crucial in tracking this guy down. I've made notes here on priorities and possible distributions of effort amongst the teams. They'll be resistant to changing their approach, sir. They're comfortable now, have been working in the same teams for months." Mulder glanced at Skinner to be sure his boss understood what he meant. Skinner would possibly be as unpopular as 'Spooky' for awhile. "I've started a profile but it's too soon to discuss it with the team......" He debated with himself whether it was too early to discuss it with Skinner and finally decided to throw up his straw man. "I believe the present profile to be almost totally wrong. Our killer is a middle- aged man, 35-45 years old, a professional, married, no children. He's a first time offender, no prior record. In fact, I believe that to this point, he's probably been a model citizen. Some event, a life-altering event, triggered this behavior. We have to determine the event. The pattern is still the key. If we find the pattern, it might lead us to the trigger." Mulder was staring at Skinner, waiting for him to laugh, to call him Spooky, to tell him he was crazy. His boss did none of those things. Instead, the man looked at him kindly and with what seemed to be respect. "Mulder, I don't know how you do what you do. I only know that you do it well. I'm not going to question whether you are right or wrong at this time. I only ask that you not dismiss alternatives until you have good reason, and then you explain to me what those reasons or rationales are, in private, of course. I'll back you as long as I believe we are continuing to make progress. Also, Mulder," and here Skinner found himself pausing, asking himself whether he really wanted to voice his concern, "Mulder, I want you to know that you can trust me on this. I won't necessarily agree with everything you suggest but I'll respect your opinion and listen seriously." The younger man looked stunned, so used to derision and scorn from his colleagues that this vote of confidence and support was almost more than he could handle. Scully decided to break the almost uncomfortable silence by reminding them of the time. "I think we better get a move on, gentlemen. We've got about fifteen minutes to get there." Scully watched her partner, still dazed, struggle into his suit jacket and then start gathering his notes and computer. She looked over at Skinner and smiled her thanks. He got the message. *********************************** Tuesday, 7:52 p.m. Minneapolis F.B.I. Building Walter Skinner knocked lightly on Jenkins' partially open door. He'd sent his agents on to the conference room in the hopes of talking with Jenkins before the briefing. He was pleased to see his old friend again. It had been some three or so years since they'd last seen each other in person, although they'd had occasion to talk by phone since then. Jenkins looked up and smiled. "Walt, it's good to see you again, although these aren't exactly the most desirable circumstances." The two men shook hands briefly, the familiarity of the gesture not lost on either of them. "Good to see you, too, Dave. How have you been?" Jenkins gestured the other man into his office and towards a couch. He then very deliberately closed the door before sitting in the chair across from his friend. "Walt, I'll tell you, this case is killing me. Quite frankly, I'm not up to it. I don't know if anyone is, to be fair. I'm hoping Mulder will be. God knows we need a fresh perspective." He took a deep breath and looked away from Skinner before continuing. "The truth is we're going nowhere here. Been chasing our tails for the past two months." His eyes seemed to be focused on something across the room. Skinner followed his gaze to a collection of photos taped to the wall behind his desk. Photos on walls. God. Skinner didn't need to make out the details, he knew what they were. His old friend was looking at him once again, not even trying to hide the frustration anymore. "We have maybe two weeks - if we're lucky. It's not just a death sentence for some poor child, it's like we're all on death row. Everyone's edgy, frustrated.......helpless, although you won't get anyone to admit that. I know you didn't want Mulder involved, and believe me, I understand why. But, he's our last chance here, Walt. No one in the VCS has been able to provide any possibilities, any leads, nothing." Skinner nodded his understanding. "You know, Mulder worked a case here about eight years ago. He was so young." Jenkins smiled at Skinner as he remembered the encounter. "Cocky, in fact. Presumptuous, bold. He pissed everyone off in less than ten minutes. A record, I think." Skinner was now smiling also. He could imagine a younger Mulder, even more full of himself than he was now. He understood where Jenkins was coming from. "But, you know, Walt, he was right, too. About everything. I really don't believe it was arrogance, he knew he was right and just didn't have time to waste on us idiots who weren't fast enough to keep up with him. He saved a woman, ignored all sorts of regulations, alienated just about everyone in the process, but he saved her. Took out the bad guy himself in fact. I was very impressed. Also worried." At this, Skinner looked at Jenkins intently, waiting for more insight. "He was ready to drop by the end. He'd been here about a week and a half I think. I'm not sure whether he ever slept or ate anything. He seemed to always just....be here. He'd flown here directly from another case in Phoenix, no down time, and he already looked like Hell when he arrived. I talked with Patterson by phone, suggested that another agent might be more appropriate. He laughed. Said, 'you wanted the best, you got the best'. Told me not to worry about Mulder, he'd do the job. And he did. Before I even had a chance to tell him thanks, Patterson had shipped him off to, I don't know, Colorado, or somewhere, I can't even recall the case now. When I found out, though, I called Patterson - told him Mulder could not be sent directly out on another case, it'd kill him or get him killed. Patterson told me to mind my own 'fucking' business. Those were his words - I'll never forget it." There was silence for a few moments as both men thought about Bill Patterson and what his involvement in the ISU had brought him. Suddenly, not even sure what brought it to mind, Skinner remembered Mulder's rumpled suit and unshaven face that morning. Was it possible that Mulder had worked through the night after getting the summary file on this case? If so, he'd now be working for something like forty plus hours with only a couple hours sleep on the plane. And had he even eaten anything other than that sandwich from the airport? Jesus, it looked like Skinner would have to become a little more involved in keeping track of these things on this case. Skinner looked back up at Jenkins as he continued the story, more worried than ever now for his agent. "I kept expecting to hear that he'd bought it, either from exhaustion, or from some killer he'd been tracking, or by his own weapon. Instead, I hear that this naive kid, who I thought had no political savvy whatsoever, pulled the carpet out from under Patterson himself and arranged for a transfer to his own pet project. I laughed for a week." At this remembrance, Jenkins did indeed laugh out loud and Skinner joined him, glad to have something in the conversation to laugh about. Skinner leaned forward on the couch and propped his arms on his knees. "Dave, I'm sorry if I left you hanging on this too long. I know I should have sent Mulder sooner." Skinner continued over Jenkins' protests. "No, Dave, really - I'm sorry. I don't know if Mulder can help or not. I'll be honest with you here - I've pretty much given him free reign. It'll look to the team like I'm the one giving the orders, but they're coming from Mulder. You wanted a new perspective, well he's going to give you one. He's got a preliminary profile which is 180 degrees from your present one. It won't be put forward tonight. We'll be causing enough upset for one day with reassignment of teams and responsibilities. I'm going to give him as much rope as possible and pray he doesn't hang all of us with it. I'm counting on you to be devil's advocate. Dana Scully will also play that part well. You'll like her, Dave, she's not only a good agent good and exceptional pathologist, but she....she steadies Mulder. I don't really know how else to say it." Jenkins smiled a little in understanding and replied simply, "They're partners." Skinner returned the smile and thanked whatever powers were watching over him for Jenkins' understanding and steadfast attitude. Even keel Jenkins. Skinner was suddenly sorry that Mulder never knew of Jenkins trouble on his behalf those many years ago. He hoped that Mulder would come to appreciate the ASAC this time around. "Dave, in addition to providing some balanced views, I'm hoping I can count on you to help me with Mulder. I have to be honest, the only reason I'm here is to make sure he comes out of this in one piece. I saw him during the Mostow case with Patterson - and during other cases where he's slipped into profiler mode. It scares the Hell out of me how deep he goes. And besides, if I let anything happen to Mulder, Scully would kill me herself." On that note, Skinner stood, preparing to go to the team meeting. Jenkins also stood, preceding him to the door. Before he opened it he turned to Skinner with a final remark. "Don't worry, Walt, we'll keep your boy out of trouble." *********************************** Tuesday, 8:08 p.m. Minneapolis F.B.I. Building, Conference Room "What the fuck is the problem with you, Spooky?!?!" Skinner and Jenkins stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the tableau unfolding in the conference room. Mulder and another agent were standing across the table from one another, both tense and obviously angry, breaths coming in fast, hard bursts. Scully stood to Mulder's left, her right hand on his left arm, the other gripping the chair in front of her, angrier than Skinner had seen her in many months. It didn't appear that she was restraining Mulder in any way, but rather seemed to be drawing strength from the touch. Another agent stood next to Mulder's aggressor, gripping his arms as if to keep him from leaping across the table. Twenty or so agents were scattered around the room, staring between Mulder and his very vocal detractor. No one but the few agents by the door were even aware of Skinner's and Jenkins' presence. "Look, Crowley, I am not getting into it with you. I'm here to try to solve this thing, just like you. I was assigned to this case, with my partner, by the Assistant Director. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you talk to him." Mulder was thankful he'd managed to keep his voice relatively even and steady. It was way too early in the game to be alienating these people. Skinner was proud of both his agents discretion and decided it was time to put an end to this farce. "That's right Agent...Crowley, is it? I assigned both Agents Mulder and Scully to this case, at the personal request of the Director. I wasn't aware your approval was required." Walter Skinner felt the pleasure that Crowley's red face and now subservient attitude brought him. That's one to keep an eye on, Skinner told himself. Jenkins had entered the room behind him and now stood glaring at Crowley. Everyone in the room immediately understood that Spooky hunting season was over, at least in the presence of the two men who'd just entered the conference room. Almost at once, the silence was replaced by a noisy scuffling indicating people were moving to the table and preparing for the briefing. Skinner nodded to his two agents as he walked across the room and then introduced them to the ASAC, Dave Jenkins. Skinner mentally reviewed his earlier conversation with Jenkins, glad that, for once, he was going to prove Mulder totally wrong about something. *********************************** The briefing was mercifully short as such things went, partly because everyone involved seemed to be reeling from the shock of having essentially everything they'd done for the past seven months thrown out by an Assistant Director of the FBI, as well as by being almost completely reorganized and reassigned to different task groups. Agent Crowley wasn't the only one looking like thunder barely contained. Skinner decided to give them time to get used to the idea of starting almost completely from scratch on a seven month old case so he didn't even open the floor for questions. He dismissed everyone with a reminder to be back tomorrow by 9 a.m. He was hoping that would not only give them a chance to cool down, but would also give Mulder a chance to rest. Of course, he and Scully could use the break as well. Skinner wasn't used to these treks across country followed by hours of work. It had been awhile since he'd spent any major time in the field. As the disgruntled agents gradually cleared the room, Skinner sighed deeply, rested his glasses on the table in front of him and pinched the bridge of his nose. Excedrin headache number twenty-nine. Skinner noticed that Dave Jenkins had wandered over from across the room and was now standing staring at him with a grin. "You folks don't do anything halfway, do you?" Skinner saw that Mulder and Scully recognized the lack of animosity in the statement. "Just figured we'd try to get the worst of it out of the way as quickly as possible, Dave. Is there anyplace we could go to eat around here, someplace quiet?" Jenkins laughter reassured him that he'd got the message. Someplace close by the hotel where none of the other agents were likely to go. "Yep, come on, I'll go with you. Gerry's learned not to expect me before eleven most evenings. She's a saint for putting up with me." Jenkins looked over to Mulder and Scully and asked, "How's Italian sound?" Scully immediately smiled in appreciation, but Mulder seemed to be looking for some excuse to back out, fingering the stack of files in front of him on the table. "Agent Mulder, you're coming with us - that's an order." Although spoken somewhat jokingly, Skinner wanted to make sure there would be no means of escape for the younger man. Mulder actually seemed pained by the insistence, forehead crinkling, as if eating were nothing more than a pesky distraction keeping him from work. He heaved a sigh and started packing his briefcase, acknowledging Skinner's command with a resigned, "Yes, sir." *********************************** Tuesday, 10:13 p.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel A little more than an hour later, they were back at the hotel after a good but quick dinner. Both Scully and Mulder stood staring at the wall of photos at their mini-control center in the suites living room. At dinner, Mulder had relaxed enough with Jenkins to discuss some of his thoughts pertaining to the profile he was developing on their killer. Jenkins was curious about his insistence of a pattern for both the victim choice and the dumping site. All that Mulder could say was that he believed there were patterns, but he couldn't explain why. Mulder and Scully were now focusing on this issue of victim selection pattern, since Mulder was positive the pattern was the key. Skinner came out from his room dressed in jeans and sweater, ready to put in a couple hours before turning in. He stood behind Scully and joined his agents at looking at the photos. They were placed left to right, in order of crime, each showing the crime scene with victim graphically displayed. Mulder broke the silence, finally. "I want to focus on victim choice first." Mulder turned away from the wall and sat at the table, pulling a stack of large index cards in front of him. He began writing on the first. "On each card, I want victim number, victim name, age, sex, location of kidnapping, date of kidnapping, date of murder. Number and name, upper left hand corner. Age, upper right hand corner. Sex, lower left. Date of kidnapping and murder, lower right. Location of kidnapping, middle. Make three sets, one for each of us. We can use these to try out different pattern possibilities." Scully and Skinner both moved to the table to help, one on either side of Mulder. They quickly had three sets of seven cards filled with the pertinent information. Mulder adopted an almost professorial tone, evidently pleased for a change to have such willing students. "There are two possibilities that I see, if we accept the idea of a pattern. Either he knew of the victims or he found them. It's an important distinction, because it means that he either had a pool to draw from so that he could find the right match or he had to work to seek out the right type. Let's assume first that he knew them, or knew of them, and therefore, had a pool of potential victims. In this case, we can safely assume he would have certain information pertaining to the pool. This information would most likely include the child's name and sex, and possibly the age. Since some children were taken from home, it's reasonably safe to assume he had access to addresses. However, since only three of the victims were taken from their homes, it is unlikely that addresses are involved in the pattern. So we needn't include that information on the cards." Mulder stood up from the table, holding his set of cards in front of him. "I suggest we focus first on names, ages, and kidnapping location. Scully, why don't you take names, I'll take ages, and sir, you can take location. Try to consider every conceivable possibility. Don't throw an idea out because it seems silly. Quite often, it's the silly idea that pans out. I'm going to work on the floor over here for awhile." At this Mulder actually looked embarrassed and gave a self-deprecating shrug. "I prefer to have lots of room to spread out." A little over an hour later, Skinner stood from the table and stretched, hands resting on his lower back. Scully looked up at him and smiled before eventually following suit. She then wandered over to where Mulder was half sitting, half laying on the floor, staring at ten cards laid out in two rows of five. "Why ten cards, Mulder?" Her partner jerked at her question, obviously unaware that Scully was so close. "Well, if there's a pattern based on age, which are just numbers, after all, then there's most likely a limit to the numbers, or to the number of numbers allowed in the pattern." At Scully's still confused expression, he tried to explain his thinking further. Skinner came over to peer at the cards as well, intrigued by the 'number of numbers' comment. "Let's say for instance that our killer has a fascination for the number one hundred and is choosing his victims so that when all is done, their ages add to the number one hundred - that would be a limit to the numbers. Or, let's say that our killer had set out to kill ten kids. Then there'd be a limit of ten victims, whose ages in some way form a pattern, a limit to the number of numbers. This is the more likely scenario of the two and the one I've been looking at first. The ages of our victims are 7, 11, 5, 13, 10, 6, and 9." As Mulder mentioned each age, he pointed to a card in his 2 x 5 arrangement. "Here, I've hypothesized that perhaps he intends to kill a total of 10 children, so have added three blank cards. I've been trying to see if there's an arrangement that might make sense." Skinner found himself feeling totally inadequate to the task at hand. It seemed impossible that they would ever manage to chance upon the right combination. But Mulder didn't seem the least bit daunted. It was a challenge to be overcome, and he'd spent his life doing just that. What was one more, after all? Mulder looked up at Scully to see if she understood and noticed Skinner for the first time. He sat up straighter and tried to stretch his back. Scully's forehead was slightly furrowed, a sure sign she was wrestling with something that didn't make sense to her. She knelt down next to Mulder before breaking her silence. "But, Mulder, why would it make sense for him to predetermine the number of victims he's going to take? Couldn't he have a pattern that would be never- ending or repeating in some way? I mean, what happens if he gets his ten, or his twelve or whatever his limiting number is? Why would that satisfy him? Will he just stop then?" Mulder smiled at his partner. He was proud of her, although she'd probably inflict serious damage on his person if he ever said such a thing out loud. "It goes to motivation, Scully. I believe there was a specific event which triggered his spree. The event itself or the implications the event on his life are dictating the duration of the spree. It's essentially predetermined. He's gone for something like forty years, living a relatively normal life, until this thing, whatever it was, happened to him, and now he has to kill these children before he can go back to his life. Once he hits his quota, he'll be done. Mission accomplished, that's all she wrote. And by definition, he'll be satisfied." He searched his partner's face, trying to determine whether she agreed or at least understood his reasoning. "Okay, Mulder, I understand what you're saying, but your hypothesis presupposes a trigger event which, for some unknown reason, has a built-in limiting factor. I don't see it. Even if I buy that there was an event that triggered this spree, and that murdering these children somehow frees him from the ramifications of the event, why must the number of victims be prescribed?" "Because he has to have a goal, an end in sight. He's working towards an objective, and once accomplished he'll be able to move on with his life. He needs the metric, Scully. There has to be a limiting factor." As Skinner listened to his two agents, he realized how truly fortuitous their pairing was. They perfectly balanced one another in personality and ideology, as well as in their approach to solving problems. The fact that they had grown so close and come to trust each other so completely must have sent a shock wave throughout the administration who had hoped to disgrace Mulder and his work. "Okay, Mulder, if there's a limit to the number of children, or to the number of numbers - ages - then wouldn't there be an infinite number of possibilities for us to consider since we don't know what his limiting factor is?" "Yes and no. Realistically, if he wants to eventually return to his normal existence, the limiting factor would have to be something under twenty at most...although that's still quite high. I would guess something at or under 12. That would be a year out of his life, working on this project of his. So, we're looking at combinations between seven and twelve. That's not too bad. And for all practical purposes, we could really eliminate seven and eleven, so that leaves eight, nine, ten, and twelve." Mulder noticed a look of confusion pass across Skinner's face. The older man sat on the floor next to Scully and asked, "Why eliminate seven and eleven as limiting factors?" "They're primes, sir. I've already ruled out any possibility of a linear pattern all the way through twenty so only rows and columns really make sense now. Can't make an even number of rows and columns out of prime numbers by definition." Scully was nodding her head in agreement and Skinner had to admit it sounded like it made some sense to him as well. He pointed to what Mulder had on the floor in front of him. "So, what would the missing numbers - ages - be in this configuration?" "I don't know, sir, nothing jumps out at me here." Scully finally sat down, tucking her feet under her crossed legs. Skinner gestured again to the cards. "Mulder, do you think it's significant that there are no repeats to the ages?" Mulder immediately nodded his head. "Yes, I can't help thinking it's intentional." Mulder picked up the blank cards and turned them over. On the back of the three cards were written 4 yrs, 8 yrs, 12 yrs. Mulder reached to his right and grabbed two more cards on which were written 14 yrs and 3 yrs. Scully once more questioned her partner. "But, Mulder, shouldn't you also consider the fact that some of these children looked older or younger than their actual ages? Teddy Nicols was only two weeks from his sixth birthday and looked big enough to be mistaken for a seven year old. Kirstie Sanders looked like she could have been eight or nine instead of ten." Again, Mulder felt a surge of pride at his partner's understanding. He was aware that he had no right to feel this pride, since it had nothing to do with any accomplishment of his own. He couldn't help it though, she was his partner. "Yes, Scully, you're right. That possibility falls under the second hypothesis wherein the killer doesn't have an available pool but rather must search out victims to meet the specified criteria. Under those conditions, it would be likely that full information wouldn't be available and that he might have to 'guess' at some details, thereby choosing victims not based on actual age, but rather projected age. I'll look at these possibilities once I've exhausted the idea that he had a victim pool to draw from." Scully nodded at her partner. She was impressed. She'd seen him make intuitive jumps and leaps in logic. Now, Mulder was letting her participate to a greater extent then ever before in the process he used to make those leaps. She felt honored by his trust in her. "So, what now?" "I've already looked at eight and ten and was just ready to start with nine as the limiting factor. With nine, I'll start by assuming the missing ages to be 8 and 12, since all other numbers between 5 an 13 are already represented. If I can't find a pattern with the 8 and 12, I'll go back to blank cards for the missing two and try to see a pattern that way." Scully put a hand on Mulder's shoulder and squeezed, then stood and stretched once again. "Okay, Mulder, I'm going back to my names. Don't hold your breath though. I'm not having any luck whatsoever." Skinner had been staring at the cards in front of Mulder. He eventually shook his head, as if to clear it, and then also stood. "I'm going to get something to drink. Scully, Mulder? Can I get you anything?" *********************************** Wednesday, 12:47 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel It was well past midnight and Scully was starting to see double. To exacerbate the situation, both her body and mind were still operating on East Coast time. As tired as she was, though, Scully knew Mulder had to be even more exhausted. By her calculation, he'd now been up for around forty-five hours, except for the couple hours nap on the plane. She had to get him to stop. Scully stood and started gathering her belongings. "Well, everyone, I've had it. It's after midnight here. I think we ought to call it a night." Mulder hadn't moved from his spot on the floor and hadn't acknowledged her words. He was staring at the three rows by three columns of cards in front of him. Scully watched him reach out and pick up a card, move it to a different row and column and pick up the card that had been there. He then put that card in a different location, repeating the process. Scully decided to be a bit more vocal. She walked over to her partner and said, "Mulder," quite loudly. His head jerked up and his eyes eventually focused on her face. "Mulder, go to bed. You've been up for almost forty-eight hours. You have to get some sleep." He had that driven look on his face. The one that said, 'I'm on a roll, I know I'm not getting anywhere right now, but give me just another couple minutes and I'm sure I'll turn something up'. Scully bent down and once again placed a hand on Mulder's shoulder, gently squeezing. "Go to bed, Mulder." This time her voice almost pleaded with him and he discovered he was powerless to argue. How could he disappoint her, after all? "Okay, Scully." He put the card he had in his hand down and slowly climbed to his feet. It was the first time he'd moved in hours and he was feeling it in his back and shoulders. He walked his partner to the door, one hand lightly on the small of her back. He was aware that he did this, but couldn't say why, he only knew that it felt right. He opened the door for his partner and said, "Night, Scully, sleep well," as she left. He waited to make sure she was in her room before closing the suite door. When he turned, Skinner was already turning off lights in their work area. "Are you trying to get rid of me, sir?" "Mulder, you promised Scully you were turning in. I'm just making sure you keep that promise." Skinner almost laughed at Mulder's chastened expression. He'd guessed right. Mulder had been planning on going right back to work. "Go to bed, Mulder." *********************************** Wednesday, 5:39 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel Skinner was awakened by a noise outside his door. He grabbed his gun on the side table and quickly got his bearings. Hotel, Minneapolis, pitch black outside. Putting on his glasses, he read the time. A little after five thirty in the morning. Slipping out of bed, he went to the bedroom door and slowly opened it, still not turning on any lights. He quickly stepped out of the doorway and raised his gun after seeing a shadowy figure cross the dark living room. Mulder's voice finally got through to him. "Uh, sir, it's just me." "Mulder, what the hell are you doing?" Skinner reached out and turned on a lamp to better see his agent. Mulder sat on the sofa, in sweat pants and sweat shirt, and putting running shoes on. "Sir, I was just getting ready to go for a run. I'm sorry if I woke you. I was trying to keep it quiet." Skinner had already relaxed and was leaning against the door jamb. For some reason, the idea of a run appealed to him. "Mind if I join you? I'll only be a minute." Skinner saw Mulder pause for a moment in tying his shoes, before replying, "No, of course not, sir. I'll wait." Five minutes later, both agents stood outside the hotel stretching. Neither had said anything once they'd left the room. As Skinner watched Mulder go through his obviously familiar stretching routine, it occurred to him that he hadn't actually done this in awhile and that Mulder could easily run circles around him. "Mulder, just how far do you usually run, and how fast?" Mulder smiled at the inquiry. He'd already planned on toning it down a bit. "Well, sir, usually I'd do about seven or eight miles. I probably run around a six, six and a half minute mile, depending on how far I push it." Skinner nodded and started laughing when he realized what he'd gotten himself into. "Don't worry, sir, I'll slow it down some. I believe we can take a four mile loop, starting down to the left, going past the bureau, through the park, and back around from the other direction. Pretty straightforward." Skinner nodded. "I'll do my best, Agent Mulder." After about a mile and a half they headed into the park Mulder had mentioned. The park was well-lit from street lights and had wide, smooth paths, perfect for running. Skinner was now in the groove and even began to enjoy the freedom associated with this sport he hadn't engaged in for years. While he hit the gym at least four times a week and often ran on the treadmill, it couldn't compare with being outside on a cool spring day, with the sun just starting to paint the eastern sky orange. He no longer felt the need to concentrate quite so hard on the mechanics of running so freed his mind somewhat to wander where it would. Skinner glanced over at his agent and saw that Mulder was running easily, breathing controlled and even. Skinner realized that he hardly even knew this man, hadn't ever considered what he did in his free time, whether he had friends, enjoyed movies, played cards. Skinner had always assumed that the X-Files were Mulder's life and that his driving need to know, to discover what he perceived to be the truth, about his sister's abduction, and the involvement of the government in related conspiracies, that these truths were all Mulder cared about. His occasional glimpses into the partnership between Mulder and Scully and into their own lives never really gave him any great insights into who they were as people. He knew he admired them both greatly, and liked what he saw. Skinner resolved to himself that he would try to get to know both of them better during the next days and weeks. But first, he had to survive the next two miles. *********************************** Wednesday, 9:03 a.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Conference Room "Okay people, listen up." Skinner's voice carried easily through the noise in the room. The thirty some agents quickly quieted an looked at him expectantly. The shock of the previous night had worn off and there was a feeling akin to excitement in the air. After getting nowhere for months, they would at least have something to do, even if it were an illusion of constructive work. Most of the agents who had attended the briefing the previous night felt no resentment at being reassigned to new task groups. For some odd reason, the very fact that they would be working on something new gave hope where none had been before. "I know that many of you were unable to attend the briefing last night but I'm sure you've heard what's happening. ASAC Jenkins requested my involvement and the assistance of Agents Mulder and Scully in this investigation. He has asked me to direct the team from here on out. Essentially, ladies and gentlemen, we are starting from scratch. Nothing has turned up in seven months and we're facing a one to two week deadline before our killer strikes again. I have identified five teams that will be working full force for at least the next several days, after which time we will reevaluate resources and determine whether modifications are required. These teams are 1 -Victim Selection Pattern Team which will be led by Agent Halston, 2 - Dumping Pattern Team, led by Agent Brewster, 3 - Profile Team, being coordinated by Agent Vickers out of the VCS, 4 - Commonality Team, headed by Agent Tresky, and 5 - Forensics Team, led by Agent Anderson. You all know what teams you've been assigned to. Agents Mulder, Scully, and I have already briefed the team leaders. I'll leave the team leaders to explain your objectives and activities over the next couple days. Agents Mulder and Scully will be working with every team as appropriate and at their discretion -- and mine." At this Skinner paused and panned his gaze around the room, daring anyone to have a problem with anything he'd said. "We'll be setting our temporary headquarters up in the adjacent room." Skinner gestured to the smaller conference room to the right. "We'll be meeting with the team leaders tonight and will all meet again tomorrow evening here at 8 p.m. Kiss your husbands and wives good-bye for awhile ladies and gentlemen. You're mine for the next couple of weeks." Skinner abruptly turned his back on the group and took the couple steps necessary to reach Scully and Mulder. Behind him, he could hear the departure of the agents, heading out to meet with their new team leaders. He raised a brow at his agents. Mulder nodded to him, letting Skinner know he was satisfied. "Sir, the team leaders are all good choices. They know what to do. Scully and I'll be working closely with them. I'm having all the evidence brought next door. While the teams are meeting, I want to look it over. Scully's heading out to speak with the first two pathologists. We're planning on going to the first site in about two hours, so we'll leave from here around noon." "All right. Keep me apprised of where you'll be at all times. I'm meeting with Dave Jenkins to discuss the case. If you can't reach me through him, get me on my cell phone. I'd like to join you on a couple of the sites at least." Both his agents nodded and then went their separate ways, after a verbal exchange that was too soft for Skinner to hear. ************************* Wednesday, 11:26 a.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center Mulder sat alone at one end of the conference table in their temporary headquarters, amidst stacks of boxes, each prominently marked with a five digit number followed by a date. He had an open box next to him that corresponded to evidence retrieved from the first crime scene. The box was full of bags, each tagged with a number and initials to indicate investigating officer. The police had released the evidence to the Minneapolis Bureau, relieved to be no longer responsible for it. Mulder quickly established a procedure for looking through the box of evidence. Pick up a bag, compare identification number and contents to the list on the table beside him, check it off, go to the next item. Every once in awhile, a piece of evidence would be intriguing enough to cause a break in the pattern. Mulder would then open the bag, often turning the item, feeling the texture, sometimes staring at it for as long as a minute, before returning it to its bag and moving on to the next item. When he reached the string of shoelaces, he stood, carrying the bag with him to the end of the table, where another set of case files sat. He opened the first and sorted through the pages until he found the photo he'd been looking for -- a particularly gruesome view of the crime scene. Mulder pulled the photo out of the file and stood staring at it. He finally placed the photo on the table and then removed the shoelaces from the bag. He held them loosely on his open hands. They were so light. He could hardly even feel the weight. It was hard to believe they could be responsible for the death of a child. Mulder closed his eyes and slowly wrapped his fingers around them. They felt practically new, smooth, except for the small knot tying them together. Opening his eyes, he gripped one end of the string firmly in his left hand and with the right hand very deliberately stretched the length taut. He wrapped the laces around each hand, once, twice, still stretching them tightly. He allowed his head to drop back and again closed his eyes for a heartbeat, two, three. This was what it felt like. The blood was slowly being cut off to his fingers. They began to tingle, first at the tips, gradually spreading up, to the knuckles, even to the palm. His hands started to throb, suddenly heavy. It was almost sensuous. The muscles in his arms were now straining against the tension. His entire body was rigid. His breathing sped up, became slightly erratic. Mulder opened his eyes again, blinded for a moment by the overhead light. He then looked down at the table where the photo lay, taking in, yet again, the details. The photo drew him in, surrounded him, invaded him. He didn't fight it. He wanted it -- he needed it. Mulder was there, standing by the body -- Kevin Foster's seven year old body -- each wound horribly visible, the sexual assault obvious, the young skin offering silent testimony to the heinous violation. The stench of death invaded Mulder's nostrils. Blood, urine, vomit -- the perverted perfume of innocence lost. As if physically present, Mulder was immersed in the sight and smells of violent end. He stood looking down on the youthful face, twisted horribly in pain, frozen by death's stamp. It was too much, too soon. Mulder tore his eyes away and gasped as if he had been holding his breath for minutes. He threw the shoestring garrote on the table and stumbled to the near wall where he dropped to his knees and proceeded to lose everything in his stomach into a trash can. He eventually became aware of a hand gripping his shoulder and opened his eyes to see a paper towel by his head. Mulder took it, still not sure who was there and not really caring. He was too exhausted, too miserable. After rubbing the paper towel over his mouth and chin, Mulder threw it in the trash, folded the plastic edges of the trash bag down into the can, and moved to stand. A hand entered his view, offering assistance, and he took it, finally looking up at his benefactor. He wasn't surprised to see AD Skinner standing above him, a worried expression on his face. "I'm sorry, sir. I..... it must have been.... something I ate." It sounded like a pathetically weak excuse even to his own ears. Mulder ran one slightly shaking hand across his forehead to remove the light sheen of sweat that had taken up residence, eyes bouncing from the ground in front of him to the far wall, anywhere but on his boss. Skinner had still not said a word. He decided not to let Mulder know just how long he'd been in the room. "Mulder, the Forensics team wants to get access to whatever evidence you don't need right now. They didn't want to disturb you. Also, Agent Scully phoned. She'll be here in about half an hour." Skinner quickly revised his own schedule in his mind. He decided he wanted to stay close to Mulder today. "I'll be accompanying you this afternoon to the crime scenes." Skinner looked around the room briefly, taking in the stacks of boxes in disarray. He needed time to think and used the survey as a delaying action. Mulder still stood quietly, arms hanging at his sides, a now blank expression on his face, working hard to calm his breathing. "Look, Mulder, why don't you check in with the team leaders before we head out. Tell me what you need to bring with you to the crime scenes and I'll arrange for it to be gathered." Mulder looked at his boss then, the feeling of relief coursing through him almost tangible. Could Skinner somehow know? Could he possibly understand? From his time in the VCS, Mulder was used to suffering through these cases alone. All of a sudden he found he had not only his partner looking out for him, worrying about him, but also AD Skinner, his hard-ass, take no prisoners boss. Mulder took a slightly shaky breath, nodded, and replied, "Yes, sir. I do need to coordinate with them. I'll need crime scene photos, and all the ..... garrotes." He rushed on, as if afraid Skinner would object. "I'll meet you back here in half an hour, sir." Skinner nodded and watched the younger man head towards the door. He thanked the heavens above that he had never shown any aptitude for profiling. He knew about the men and women of the ISU in VCS who got into the killer's head, into his thoughts and feelings. After seeing only a few minutes of Mulder doing this, Skinner knew he wouldn't wish the job on his worst enemy. God help them. God help Mulder. ************************* Scully sensed that something had happened while she was away. The two men facing her seemed tense, uneasy about something, although both smiled upon seeing her. "Hi. Are you ready, Mulder?" Her partner nodded and then looked at Skinner. At this, Scully also looked at her boss. "I'll be accompanying you this afternoon, Scully. Agent Brewster is lending us Patty Sachs. Agent Sachs is intimately familiar with all the crime scenes and will be driving us. We're meeting up with her out front." Scully nodded at this words and looked again at her partner. He seemed to be taking the news of two additions to the party well. "Let's go, sir." Trust Scully not to waste time. Skinner led the way through the building, giving Scully the chance to drop behind to walk with her partner. She spoke to him loudly enough so Skinner could hear her update. "Mulder, nothing new turned up this morning. I still need to talk with the other two pathologists involved. Janice Anderson is arranging it for first thing tomorrow morning. I'll be speaking with her at greater length this evening. I don't expect anything really groundbreaking to come of it, though." Scully had been watching her partner take in the news and was concerned by his pallor. She put her hand on his arm, leaned towards him and asked him quietly, hoping her inquiry wouldn't reach Skinner, "Are you Okay?" He looked at her then, really looked at her, and managed a small smile of reassurance with an accompanying nod. They had reached the front door and were greeted by a young agent who didn't seem old enough to have even graduated high school. He had a box in his arms. Skinner preempted the young man with a, "Follow us to the car, please," and breezed out the door, then held it open for the other agents. They could see Agent Sachs standing on the curb, watching their progress. As they reached her, there were nods of acknowledgment all around. The last thing Patty Sachs ever expected to be doing was playing chauffeur and waitress to Spooky Mulder, the Ice Queen, and the Assistant Director. It was more than slightly daunting, and greatly annoying. She was still bristling a bit from the call she'd received twenty minutes ago instructing her to arrange for juice and coffee for them, and while she was at it, how about get some bottled water. Who the hell did they think they were? The chauffeuring she didn't really mind. To be fair, she was not only driving them, but was also there to provide details on the crime scenes. She'd been involved almost from the beginning so few other agents had her perspective. It was the damn order to 'wait' on them. Oh well, 'ours is not to question why', she reminded herself. "Hello, sirs, ma'am. I got the items you requested, sir." This last was directed at Skinner. "They're in the car. We're all set to go to the first scene. It's in St. Paul. It'll take about forty minutes at this time of day." The young woman paused a moment before going on. "Sir, there are closer sites. The fourth site is only ten minutes from here." Skinner could see Mulder straighten noticeably out of the corner of his eye so he looked over to better gage his agent's reaction. Mulder was shaking his head and finally said, "No, we have to see them in order." Skinner nodded acknowledgment and returned his gaze to Agent Sachs. "We'll see the first one. Could you pop the trunk Agent Sachs, so we can store this?" Skinner gestured to the box the young agent had been patiently holding. He saw Mulder move once again, a jerky movement, as if he stopped his actions before finishing. He looked over at the younger man. Mulder was evidently debating with himself. Skinner could guess at what. "Mulder, Scully, perhaps we can take the time during the drive to plan the evening's objectives and discuss developments from this morning." Mulder merely nodded and moved around the car to enter the back seat from the driver's side. Scully also moved to the back seat, leaving Skinner to sit up front with Patty Sachs. Once in the car, Skinner turned to the female agent sitting next to him. "Agent Sachs, I apologize if you got stuck getting coffee and refreshments for us. I know you have better things to do with your time. Unfortunately, on such short notice, you ended up with the short straw. All I can say is that we greatly appreciate it and next time, I'll play fetch." Patty Sachs didn't know how to react. The Assistant Director just begged for her forgiveness and promised to 'fetch' coffee for her. Was that supposed to happen? She finally collected herself enough to reply. "No problem, sir. I know things are hectic right now. It was my pleasure." Skinner smiled at her wryly, letting her know he understood that it wasn't really, but that it was Okay. He then reached towards the bags sitting on the seat next to him and opened one at random. He pulled out a couple small cartons of orange juice and passed them to the back seat, not asking Mulder or Scully if they actually even wanted them. "Mulder, I remember how much you enjoyed this on the plane." He could hear Scully's light, appreciative laugh as he turned to look in another bag. Coffee. Smelled wonderful but that could wait a bit. He opened the third to find the bottled spring water. He pulled two out and passed these back as well. He knew Mulder had to be dehydrated. Skinner was used to missing meals and rarely ate lunch. Missing a meal this afternoon would be no hardship for him. He wasn't so sure about Scully, still thin after her ordeal with cancer, and Mulder always looked like he could use a few extra pounds on his frame. But Skinner knew better than to suggest eating just before viewing the crime scenes where seven small children were dumped after being brutalized and murdered. He just prayed they'd get through the afternoon as quickly as possible. ************************** Wednesday, 1:17 p.m. Gas Station and Automobile Repair, St. Paul (First Crime Scene) Mulder stood in the center of the still deserted garage. The yellow crime scene tape had long since fallen to shreds and remaining bits here and there fluttered in response to the light afternoon breeze. A mustiness permeated the air. The building had been closed for more than seven months now. The garage was attached to a gas station that had been targeted for renovation some eight months ago. The owner had temporarily shut down while the renovation was initiated. Before the first counter could be replaced, the nude, maimed body of seven year old Kevin Foster was found lying in the center of the garage. Mulder had taken about six or seven photos from the case file. He would stare at one, then would look up and around the garage, trying to match present and past. He had again removed the shoestring garrote from the evidence bag and had it wrapped around his right hand, ends trailing down either side. Scully and Skinner stood by the garage entrance, talking with Patty Sachs. Patty had met extensively with the local police and had visited the scene with the investigating officers a couple months after the murder. The FBI hadn't been called in until the third victim had been found, since the police hadn't originally been aware they had a serial killer on their hands. Scully kept glancing over at her partner. She knew that for whatever reason, he didn't need to hear Sach's accounts. What Mulder needed was much more intangible. He needed to get the feel for the site. He needed to 'see' everything, to see how it might have happened, the dumping of the body. Agent Sachs couldn't really help him with that. Scully figured he had now been gazing at the photo in his hands for about four minutes without moving. She was debating whether to approach him when she realized Skinner must have been thinking along the same lines. He walked up to Mulder's right side and intentionally stopped far enough in front of his agent that he'd be in Mulder's view, not wanting to startle the man. He realized, however, that Mulder stood with his eyes closed, not looking at the photo he was holding in front of him. Skinner's soft, "Mulder," brought no response whatsoever. Skinner opened his mouth to speak again, more loudly, reconsidered, then looked over at Scully. Mulder seemed lost in some sort of self-induced trance. But was it really Skinner's place to intrude? Mulder had done this work for several years, and done it exceedingly well, during his time with the VCS. Perhaps this was a necessary part of Mulder's approach to solving these cases. Scully still stood with Agent Sachs, who seemed fascinated with the play unfolding in front of her, and didn't seem to mind that both Skinner and Scully had turned away from her while she was in mid-sentence. Scully was lightly chewing on her lower lip, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. She was obviously debating whether to intrude on her partner. She didn't know the right thing to do either. Skinner looked back at Mulder and discovered the younger man was now swaying slightly, almost unnoticeably, and his hands were beginning to shake, causing the ends of the dangling shoestrings to sway and the photo to undulate weirdly, so that there was an appearance almost of movement on the page. Sweat stood out on Mulder's forehead, one drop rolling down his right temple. Skinner wanted to avoid another incident like that in the conference room so decided to be more aggressive in getting Mulder's attention. Skinner gripped Mulder's forearm and again repeated his name, "Mulder", much more forcefully this time. The younger man's eyes flew open and his breath caught. He still stood frozen in the same position, but swayed to the left as if he'd lost his balance temporarily. Skinner gripped his arm more tightly and put his other hand on the younger man's shoulder to anchor him. Skinner waited a good seven or eight seconds to be sure his agent was steady before removing the hand from Mulder's shoulder and then forearm. "Everything all right, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked the question quietly, giving Scully the chance to become otherwise engaged. When he heard her soft voice speaking with Agent Sachs, he knew she'd got the message. Mulder was now looking around, apparently trying to get his bearings. He actually appeared confused. Then the confusion was replaced with embarrassment and Mulder stood straight, looking once again the consummate professional. He cleared his throat before replying. "I'm fine, sir, thank you." Mulder was furious with himself. He knew better than this. Twice now he'd allowed himself to get lost in the case with others present or nearby. Scully was one thing but Skinner. God, what had he been thinking. He'd have to be more careful the rest of the day. Hell, he'd have to be more careful the rest of this case. He could feel his jaw clench, almost on its own. He looked back at his boss, prepared to explain, or better yet, fabricate some pacifying statement to get the man off his back. Instead, Skinner was gazing at him kindly. The words Mulder had been trying to come up with died before fully formulating. Skinner had surprised him yet again. His boss turned away, heading for Scully and Sachs, allowing Mulder to recoup. Mulder took a last look at the garage and headed over to the other agents. He'd seen enough here. ************************* The rest of the day proceeded in a haze for Skinner and Scully. Each site was different but oddly similar. Always a location which had been temporarily deserted or closed, but in the midst of a busy residential or commercial area. An empty house for sale, a flower shop closed while the staff was on vacation, a commercial property for rent, the gas station being renovated. Always a site where the body would be sure to be discovered within days, but where there would be a degree of privacy at night for the killer to dump the victim's body. All but two of the sites still remained empty, appearing abandoned. They had crossed back and forth from Minneapolis to St. Paul three times. Scully and Skinner had had extensive conversations with Patty Sachs, gaining insights and impressions on each site and on the furor surrounding the discovery of the bodies. Mulder had been uninterested in hearing these details. He had been very professional at each site, as well as thorough. He had, at times, seemed engrossed in minutiae, at other times almost bored with the surroundings. He once stared at a blank wall for no apparent reason, only to then walk to within inches of it, at which point he then turned and walked back to the middle of the room, as if pacing off the distance. At another site, Mulder placed the crime scene photos on the floor, each positioned corresponding to the scene in the photo, and then proceeded to walk from one to another, staring down at the photos, then around the room. Scully had only seen glimpses of this Mulder before and wasn't totally sure what to make of it. She had already decided not to question him. She had doubted him in the Mostow case, hadn't trusted him, and it had almost cost him his life. She wouldn't repeat that mistake again. Throughout the day, Agent Sachs had watched Mulder whenever possible, often surreptitiously. He was something of a legend throughout the Bureau, and she'd been surprised at how young he actually was. She had heard Spooky Mulder stories even when going through the Academy and was now seeing him operate first hand. He was certainly living up to his spooky reputation. On the other hand, she was beginning to think Dana Scully's reputation as the Ice Queen was way off base. Sachs had seen Scully's concerned gaze find its way to her partner over and over as the day progressed. Occasionally Scully's and Mulder's eyes would meet and perhaps a smile would be exchanged. Patty was beginning to think that maybe Fox Mulder and Dana Scully were more than just partners. And she had no idea where Skinner fit into the equation. He seemed to honestly care about his agents and had been solicitous of Mulder's health. They were now at the last site and had been working steadily without a break beyond the car rides for seven hours. Mulder was again at the location where the body had been found, but was down on one knee, the inescapable shoestring garrote in hands. His shoulders were slumped and he seemed drained of all life and vitality. Each movement was orchestrated, deliberate, as if he had to conserve his energy and was rationing his internal accumulation carefully. Scully had remained discreetly neutral throughout the day, but was now concerned enough to walk over and kneel down next to her partner, lightly touching his arm. "Mulder, are you about done? We're going to have to leave soon to make the eight o'clock meeting with the team leaders tonight." Mulder dragged his head up and nodded once. Dark circles had begun to form under his eyes. "Come on, Mulder, let's go." Scully gently moved her hand under his elbow and started to pull, lending him her support. She had gathered the photos in her other hand and now guided Mulder to the exit. He didn't seem to see Skinner and Sachs standing by the door. Scully merely nodded to them and walked out to the car with Mulder, opening the door for him. He practically fell into the car and closed his eyes, quickly falling asleep. Scully walked around to the other side of the car and waited for Skinner to approach. "How's he doing, Agent Scully?" "I don't know, sir. I'm not sure what he was doing today, what it accomplished, beyond the obvious. But, sir, Mulder does know what he's doing." Skinner merely nodded and then looked closely at Scully. He had managed to forget for awhile how near she had been to death mere months before. He wasn't convinced she was fully recovered, and here he was subjecting her to additional worry over her partner. "And how are you doing, Dana?" Scully smiled. Mulder wasn't the only one who could cut through her defenses by the simple use of her first name. "I'm fine, sir." They both smiled at the familiar phrase. "We better get going, sir. We've got a briefing in about a half hour." ************************* Wednesday, 8:07 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center The command center had undergone a startling transformation during their absence. On one of the twenty foot walls was a 6 x 6 grid, created by masking tape, taking up most of the wallspace. A couch sat against the opposite wall. Along two thirds of the far thirty foot wall were taped photos, index cards of varying size, and a collection of bagged items. Long vertical strips of 3" wide masking tape provided clear demarcations between each case. The bags with the shoestring garrotes had been added to their appropriate locations, making the wall a sick tribute to one man's evil. Under each section, one or two boxes lay pushed against the wall, each containing the remainder of the evidence pertaining to that case. Mulder stood leaning against the opposite wall, one arm across his chest, the other propped on top of it with hand on chin. No clear details were obvious from the twenty foot distance, but still he stared, oblivious to the others now filing into the room. The thirty minute nap he'd managed in the car had somewhat rejuvenated him and he felt ready now for the hours ahead. Their command center had quickly become crowded with the five team leaders, ASAC Jenkins, Skinner, Scully and Mulder. The crisp professional look of the morning was long gone. Jackets had been discarded, sleeves rolled up, ties hung loosely askew. The two women had also shed their jackets and Janice Anderson had even changed from heels into tennis shoes. Skinner caught Scully looking at Anderson's feet in envy. What was with those heels she wore anyway? He'd often wondered how Scully had managed to operate in the field for five years without breaking an ankle. He guessed her 5'2" natural height had something to do with it. The kid from the morning poked his head in the room and then walked over to ASAC Jenkins. Skinner saw them confer briefly and then Jenkins nodded and gestured to the conference table in the middle of the room. The young agent left the room only to appear moments later followed by yet another kid, arms full of bags. Evidently, dinner had arrived. Jenkins was at Skinner's side now. "Walt, I took the liberty. I know none of my agents have eaten since lunch and I figured you wouldn't have had the time either. I hadn't realized until just a bit ago how long it's been since we've done this so late. I guess we had pretty much given up." His disgusted expression turned bitter and then his face smoothed once again. Skinner could guess at the self-recriminations and found himself at a loss as to what to say. He merely reached out to grip his old friend's shoulder for a second, hoping to convey his understanding, then moved towards the head of the table. Time to get this show on the road. "Okay, people, load up and then let's get started. We have a lot of ground to cover still tonight." A burst of activity ensued as the hungry agents moved to grab sandwiches, drinks and cartons with unnamed substances. No one particularly cared about the details. At this point, food was food, caffeine was caffeine, and both were absolutely necessary. Skinner was relieved to see that Mulder had also grabbed something and had settled between Scully and Vickers at the table. Skinner took his own dinner and sat across from them, where Jenkins joined him. The other agents had also settled in, each with stacks of files and pages of notes in front of them. Determining that everyone was set to start discussing the day's events, Skinner kicked off the briefing. "Okay, ladies and gentlemen, unless there's an objection, why don't we progress by the numbers tonight. Agent Halston, can you give us an idea of what your Victim Selection Team has been doing and where you're going?" Halston pulled his stack of notes closer and rapidly swallowed, then mumbled a hasty, "Yes, sir," as he stood. He shuffled through his files until he found a stack of 5" x 7" index cards and then walked over to the 6 x 6 grid at the end of the conference table. "I've divided my team into two groups - one of two and one of four. We've hypothesized that either the killer knows his victims or he's finding them somehow." Halston went on to describe a scenario very much like the one Mulder had been working on the previous evening. "We're pretty sure that if there is a pattern, it will coincide with the idea of an available victim pool, which my B team is investigating, but we don't want to rule out the other possibility as yet. Now, my B team has hypothesized that the pattern coinciding with the victim pool would most likely involve ages, names, or pickup location." Skinner and Scully exchanged quick smiles, and then both found their gazes drawn to Mulder. He was completely absorbed in Halston's briefing, as if everything the team leader was saying was totally new to him. Skinner should his head slightly in exasperation and amazement, before focusing once again on what Halston was saying. "If the ages are the key to pattern, then, we'll most likely see some grid relationship forming the pattern. We've exhausted any linear pattern possibilities and have moved on to possibilities with rows of two." He used the 6 x 6 grid on the wall to explain the various combinations they were investigating. Scully found herself interested in the approach Halston was outlining for his B team. They had arrived at most of the same conclusions and hypotheses as Mulder, but their plan for testing the hypotheses was slightly different. They weren't necessarily assuming a limit to the 'number of numbers', as Mulder had, and were progressing more conservatively through every combination. Scully was surprised that Mulder didn't object to the slower approach the team was taking. A look at her partner revealed that he was nodding his head at Halston's words, still looking interested and content at their progress. On the pad in front of him, however, Scully saw that he had drawn a grid of 3 x 3, thick black pen marks indicating that he had drawn over the lines again and again. To the right of the grid he'd created a column of numbers: 7, 11, 5, 13, 10, 6, 9, then a space and an 8 and then a 12 next to it. He'd circled the 8 so many times that it was almost illegible amongst the darker lines around it. Skinner had also wondered at Mulder's silence, but decided to take it as a sign that there was no objection to the approach Halston's teams was implementing. After entertaining a few clarifying questions from the other team leaders, Halston outlined their activities for the next day and then moved to sit down again. The briefing continued as each team leader brought the others up to date on their hypotheses, actions that day, and tasks for the next day or two. The only real excitement came when Vickers reviewed the results of the profiling team's day. It seemed there were two completely different profiles being developed and a substantial friction was growing between opposing agents within the team. Not unexpectedly, it was Hank Crowley who was most vocal in objecting to the 'new' profile. The original team had developed a profile of a young male, probably 20-25, unmarried, living at home with parents. The new profile, being put forth by Vickers (and in reality fed to him by Mulder), hypothesized the killer was a much older man, between 35 and 45 years, married, no children likely, with a professional career. Vickers explained to the group, "It's causing a strain. Nothing I can't take care of. Just thought you should be aware that we have two competing views at present. This will impact the other teams, obviously, since you'll need the profile to start refining your own hypotheses. I would suggest that unless it become critical for your people, you allow me to continue with my team through tomorrow and we should have a preliminary resolution by the joint meeting tomorrow evening." He was looking at Mulder as he said this last and was reassured to see Mulder nod minutely in confirmation. Both knew what the resolution to the situation would be, but the others in the room weren't privy to the details. It could wait until tomorrow at least, if not longer. Mulder continued to sit passively, listening to the questions being fired off at Vickers. Eventually, the team leaders were content and they moved on to the next team's report. By eleven, Skinner was ready to drop and called a halt to the meeting. It was obvious that each team was working efficiently and effectively. If they were to continue to do so, they'd need their leaders to be at their best and that wouldn't happen if Skinner wore them down prematurely. The agents around the table stood and then slowly began heading out. Mulder and Scully still sat at the table, Mulder slouched low in his chair, Scully leaning forward at the table, still writing on the pad in front of her. Mulder stood, stretched tight muscles, and then leaned over his partner slightly, touching her shoulder. "Come on, Scully, let's head home." Scully was amused at Mulder's choice of words. It sounded so ... domestic. What they were doing was as far from domestic as you could get. Her partner now had both hands on the back of her chair, obviously prepared to pull it out for her as she stood. It was odd that this didn't bother her. She had fought hard to be considered an equal by her male counterparts. But Mulder's solicitousness in no way affected the way he viewed her and depended on her. He counted on Scully to watch his back and no matter how many doors he opened for her or chairs he pulled out, nothing would ever change that trust. Scully nodded to her partner and gathered her notes and files, rising slowly. She stood for a moment and let her head fall to the right, then left, stretching her neck. She then put one hand up to the back of her neck and rubbed for a moment before picking up her notes. Both agents put their discarded jackets back on, and left the room, waiting outside the control center until their boss joined them a couple minutes later. None of them spoke. There was no need for words to tell them what they already knew. It would only get worse. ************************* Wednesday, 11:51 p.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel At the hotel, Scully moved to take her leave of the two men outside their rooms. Skinner entered the suite, leaving the partners alone. Scully squeezed Mulder's arm and held on for a minute. "Mulder, don't work too late, Okay?" She knew better than to expect he wouldn't work at all, but she could hopefully get a promise that he'd get some sleep at least. Mulder stared down at her intently, and sighed before replying. "Scully, you don't need to baby-sit me. It's not your job to make sure I eat or sleep." Scully raised her other hand to her partner's face, a gesture which took him completely by surprise, causing him to flinch slightly. " I know it's not my job, but it is my pleasure. Sleep well, Mulder." Mulder stood in the doorway to the suite, watching his partner and friend enter her room. A smile finally found its way to his face. Dana Scully never ceased to amaze him. ************************* Thursday, 1:54 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel Walter Skinner was at a complete loss. He was used to giving orders and being obeyed. He was comfortable with it, familiar with it. But he didn't really have the authority to order his thirty-seven year old agent to go to bed. The mere thought of it was ludicrous. It was now almost two in the morning and Skinner had been tossing and turning since going to bed a couple hours before. He would drift off and then jerk awake, check to see if light was still shining in under his door from the living room, lay back in frustration until he would drift off again and repeat the process. He finally decided to check on Mulder. Maybe the man had fallen asleep on the couch and all this worrying was for nothing. Skinner got out of bed, putting his glasses on, and made his way to the door. He opened it quietly, so as not to disturb Mulder if he were sleeping. He needn't have worried. Mulder sat on the cleared space on the floor, where he had been the previous night. He had changed into sweat pants and a T-shirt and his feet were bare. He again had his 3 x 3 grid of index cards and sat staring at them, Indian style, one hand pulling slowly and repeatedly at his lower lip. Against the wall, the TV cast eerie shadows across the room, the sound so low it didn't even reach Skinner's ears. After standing in the doorway for half a minute watching his agent, Skinner moved into the room. "Mulder, how's it going?" Mulder looked up at him, stared through him for several long seconds, then flushed red as he finally processed who he was seeing. "Sir, I'm sorry, did I wake you? I'll go into my room. I wasn't thinking." The younger man had already gathered his cards and was standing before Skinner could reassure him. "No, Mulder you didn't wake me. I just got up for a drink and saw the light. Thought I'd see what you were up to. Stay where you are ... please." Mulder sank back to the floor, nodding his head, still seeming slightly flustered. His eyes roamed the room, finally settling on Skinner. "So, Mulder, any progress?" Mulder looked at the cards in his hands, laid them out in a 3 x 3 grid, in a very definite order. "I've been looking at this ordering, sir." 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 "There are actually a couple different orderings that all achieve the same ultimate symmetry, so that whether you go across any row or down any column, there's a linear progression. For instance, across the rows, it's obvious that the numbers reduce by one from left to right. Then as you go down each column, you subtract 3." Skinner looked at the cards and nodded in understanding. "So, is there anything about this ordering that would correspond to a pattern the killer would be using for victim selection?" Mulder sighed and stretched slightly, a small grimace passing quickly across his face. "Look at the corners, sir. I believe I might be close to something." Skinner tried to process the significance of the numbers 13, 11, 7, and 5, then realized they were the ages of the first four victims. Skinner suddenly felt a chill and his heart paused a beat. Suddenly, he knew, absolutely knew, with complete and utter certainty, that Mulder was, indeed, on to something. He wondered if this was how it felt for the younger man, this bolt of certainty out of the blue. Mulder was talking again. "I don't totally see it yet, sir. Still working on a couple possibilities." Skinner stared at the younger man, quickly calculating just how much sleep he'd had, or hadn't had, in the last three days. "Mulder, maybe it would be clearer after a few hours sleep. It might help to clear your head." Skinner waited, holding his breath lightly, hoping Mulder would get the hint. His agent paused, then nodded to him and stood, leaving the cards on the floor. "Yes, sir. I think you're probably right. I'll see you in the morning, sir." 'In the morning???', Skinner thought to himself. What the heck did Mulder think 2:45 a.m. was? He merely said, "Night, Mulder," though, and made his way back to his room, turning off a light on his way. When he got back to his room, he was reassured to see all the lights in the living room remained off. ************************* Thursday, 6:07 a.m. Minneapolis Their second full day in the Twin Cities started pretty much the same as the previous with the exception that Mulder took his run by himself, since Skinner didn't appear to be stirring quite yet. The day promised to be warmer than yesterday so Mulder wore a T-shirt and running shorts instead of sweats. He decided to push it a bit. He felt the need for some clarity of thought. Perhaps punishing the body would help clear his mind. They were missing something important. He felt it, knew it, but couldn't figure out what it was. It remained in the background, niggling his consciousness, teasing him. He hoped a full out run would enable him to bring the thought to the foreground. He was three and half miles out and had been running at about a six minute mile when his body chose to remind him of the fact that it had hardly slept or had nourishment in days. The lightheadedness hit, followed quickly by the nausea, at the worst possible moment. He'd gone beyond the park and was crossing a street when the assault on his senses caused him to fall hard in the road. He had enough control to tuck and roll, thereby avoiding any major injuries, but boy was he going to hurt today. Breath coming in gasps, muscles protesting from the abrupt strain, Mulder managed to raise his head enough to confirm that he wasn't in any immanent danger of being run over, then laid back in the road to assess his condition. He knew he had to move before he became roadkill, but it was so hard. Finally catching his breath, he rolled slightly on his side and propped himself to a sitting position. He checked for cars again, then finally managed to get to his knees, then feet. As he started towards the sidewalk, a familiar voice called out, "What happened Spooky, the aliens trip you up?" Crowley's unfriendly face was the last thing Mulder needed to see right now. He wouldn't have believed that even Frank Crowley was so petty as to leave Mulder on the road when he was obviously hurt. But, Mulder heard the man's fading snicker as he sank against the nearest wall for support. Blood dripped from his skinned knees and from a cut on his palm. How the heck had that happened? Must have been something in the road. He wadded his hand in the bottom of his loose T-shirt, hoping to staunch the flow of blood. Mulder tried to focus his thoughts on his situation and determine what to do now. He had no money for a cab so that would mean multiple trips up and down to the hotel room to get money and pay a driver, increasing the chances of others seeing him in this condition. He'd rather slip into the hotel quietly, when no other agents were around. He was starting to feel better and decided his knees were only skinned, nothing was sprained or strained, none of the injuries were really too bad. Mulder stood up and figured he could make it back to the hotel at an easy jog in a little more than a half hour, if he went back by the most direct route. With any luck, Skinner would be in the shower or at breakfast, and he could make it into the room without anyone noticing. It would be too embarrassing to admit the truth, after all. By the time Mulder was about a half mile out from the hotel, his body once again decided to remind him what had started all this mess in the first place. This time at least he was only jogging and was better prepared to handle the attack. Mulder quickly came to a stop and put his left hand on the wall of a nearby bank in support, his right still wrapped in the bottom half of his shirt. He closed his eyes, tried to breath deeply, and leaned forward to encourage the blood to flow to his head. That was supposed to work, wasn't it? Why was he still feeling so dizzy?? He stayed in that position for a full minute at least, before the weakness passed. When he opened his eyes, Mulder found himself looking down at his legs, which were now covered in blood, little rivulets still winding their way downward. Damn, between the legs and the hand, he'd scare Scully to death if she saw him like this. He could try to find someplace to get cleaned up, could possibly even use his T-shirt to get some of the blood off. Mulder finally decided that time was pressing, so he'd better head straight back and be prepared to lie, if necessary. He started a slow jog once again and almost felt like crying in relief when he saw the hotel just down the street. It was full light now, and he knew the other agents would be stirring. Mulder slowed when he approached the entrance, glanced quickly in the front door to see whether anyone was around, then dashed in and jogged to the elevators when he saw he was alone. He made it in and to his floor with no one the wiser. Now, if he could only make it to his bedroom. The hallway was empty and a moment standing by the door to the suite revealed no sounds inside. He opened the door slowly, walked in and headed for his room. He was five feet away from it when he heard Skinner say, "Mulder, we're meeting Scully for breakfast in ten minutes." Mulder didn't stop or turn, merely said over his shoulder, "Yes, sir, I'll be ready." The door closed on his final words. Damn, that was close. ************************* Thursday, 8:11 a.m. En Route to Minneapolis Bureau Scully walked next to her partner as they made their way to their command center in the local Bureau office. Every once in awhile, Mulder seemed to sort of stumble. It was quite odd, since he was generally quite graceful. Scully was trying to identify exactly what he was doing, when he asked, "So, Scully, are you meeting with Janice today?" Scully considered his question. What was going on here? He knew she was going to be interviewing the other pathologists and that Janice Anderson was accompanying her. They had just discussed it at breakfast. Was he intentionally trying to distract her? Scully stopped still, almost causing Skinner to run into her. She could hear his mumbled "What" in the background but was determined not to be put off. Mulder had continued a step or two forward and then had stopped when he realized he was partnerless. When he looked back, Scully was staring at him with an angry expression. Damn, she was good. "Mulder, what did you do?" Uh, oh. That was the tone he most dreaded. To lie, or not to lie, that was the question? Perhaps a half-truth. Mulder intentionally adopted his most pathetic don't be mad at me look and said, "Scully, I just had a little tumble when I was running this morning. That's all." He took his hands out of his overcoat pockets and raised them wide, as if to say, see, I'm fine, look at me. "It wasn't the first time, Scully, and it won't be the last." Now he looked and sounded slightly irritated. Skinner was confused at first, but quickly understood that Mulder had been trying to keep some sort of injury from his partner and his boss, unsuccessfully, it seemed. Skinner looked at Mulder closely but saw nothing amiss, until a flash of white caught his attention. Was that a bandage on Mulder's right hand? Scully had evidently seen it as well. She walked forward and grabbed his hand out of the air, refusing to let go even at his jerk. "Scully, we don't have time for this. It's a little cut, that's all. I washed it and bandaged it and I think I'll survive." His voice had steadily been increasing volume and the last words were spoken forcefully. He snatched his hand out of her grip, then became angry at himself when he saw her hurt expression. He was such a bastard sometimes. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathed deeply and attempted a weak smile. Mulder reached out with his right hand and took Scully's still raised hand in his. "I'm sorry, Scully, really. Okay?" She understood that what he was really asking was not only do you forgive me for speaking so sharply but also for not telling you about my tumble. She squeezed his hand lightly and nodded to him, forcing a smile. It was all she could manage. He had a tendency to minimize any hurts and she couldn't help being concerned that he was doing the same thing now. Scully had no choice but to trust him on this, as well. But she'd sure as hell be sure to watch him closely over the next couple days. Skinner had remained back, ignored through the entire exchange, and he was reasonably sure neither of his agents were thinking about him right now. They had turned, almost simultaneously, towards the bureau office and were now walking briskly down the sidewalk, quickly leaving him behind. Skinner started after them, his eyes on Mulder. He finally saw what Scully had evidently seen earlier. The occasional limp, almost looking like a stumble, but not noticeable unless you were looking closely. Damn Mulder any way, couldn't he do anything the easy way? ************************* Thursday, 11:57 a.m. Minneapolis Bureau The morning was a blur for Skinner. Mulder had asked him to spend time with the Commonalities team to make sure they were on the right track. His agent had been most concerned with finding the link between the victims that he was so sure existed. The team had subdivided and were diligently exploring every possibility of a connection, many of them ones that Skinner would never have imagined. Schools, teachers, sports teams, day care, doctors, hospitals, stores, salespeople, the list went on and on. Every conceivable way the children or the families could have been linked was being identified, prioritized, and explored. Skinner realized it was practically noon and decided to see what Mulder was doing, perhaps try to get him to eat. He found the younger man sitting alone in the command center, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up, all lights out except for a small lamp that had been placed in the far corner. It cast dim, elongated shadows across the room. Mulder was surrounded by children's clothes, the victim's clothes, some still in bags, some removed. Mulder sat with arms propped on knees, holding a little boys T-shirt in both his hands. He'd been facing the door and looked up as Skinner came in and shut the door again. "The guy takes their clothes off, sexually molests them, beats the crap out of them, strangles them, sometimes after days of God knows what. Dumps them someplace, but leaves their clothes, neatly folded." Mulder had been speaking in that dull, monotone voice that Skinner had come to recognize as a defense mechanism, a way for Mulder to remove himself from the horrors of the case. He looked at Skinner searchingly, obviously unable to understand, perhaps hoping his boss might have some insight he was lacking. "Mulder, I don't understand any of it. I'm sorry." Skinner felt the need to apologize to this man -- for not being able to provide understanding, but also for being unable to protect him from the case to begin with. Skinner moved closer to his agent and sat next to him with a weary sigh. He took off his glasses, rubbed his face, pinched the bridge of his nose. Mulder was staring at the T-shirt once again. Skinner put his glasses back on and also looked at the small shirt. Unbidden came the image of the child's mother, lovingly laying the shirt out one morning for her little boy, along with a pair of pants, socks, shoes, making sure they all matched. The tragedy of a life ended before it had really even begun hit him then. Skinner had to get out of this room, away from these reminders. Reminders not only of the lives lost, the families destroyed, but of the children still out there, perhaps next on the killer's list, whose fragile lives would soon be devastated if the killer weren't found and stopped. Skinner wanted to get away, to run from these reminders that made him feel so helpless. But Mulder was here. Mulder wasn't running. He had, in fact, immersed himself intentionally, absorbing the pain and the tragedy. Hell, he had lived the tragedy after his sister's disappearance. Skinner drew a deep breath and considered the thought that had just come to him. Was this what it was like for Mulder after Samantha's disappearance? A twelve year old boy, surrounded by reminders that he could do nothing to save his sister? That he was helpless to act, to change anything? Jesus. Skinner couldn't help his agent understand why the killer did what he did, probably wouldn't be able to help him come up with any answers at all, but he could do one thing. He could be there for him. Skinner propped his arms on his knees and leaned forward, head hanging down, eyes closed. Mulder leaned down and to the right, put the shirt on a pile, leaned farther down and picked up a little girl's dress, Missy's green and yellow spring dress, with a dandelion embroidered on the skirt. Scully found them three hours later. A secretary had directed her to the command center and told her that she'd been instructed to keep everyone out of the room. The woman knew better than to question Scully's right to enter. When she opened the door to the small conference room, Scully was surprised by the near lack of light. She arrested her initial impulse to flick on the overhead lightswitch. If they wanted more light than the small freestanding light provided, they'd have put it on themselves. As her eyes quickly adjusted to the dimness, Scully focused on Mulder and Skinner, sitting side by side across the room. She walked around the conference table and approached them. Skinner had been watching her progress. Scully had never seen him looking so forlorn, so helpless. It was disconcerting. She didn't understand at first what was happening. She searched out her partner's form in the dim lighting, stood still, and watched him for a minute. Mulder held a small tennis shoe in his right hand, the fingers of his left hand running absently up and down the empty tongue flap, up, down, up, down. The victim's clothes and shoes lay in piles around him. Scully began to understand. Skinner was still looking at her and she finally nodded to him and then moved towards her partner. She didn't know how long they had been there. Hours at least. It was time for a break. Besides, she needed to speak with Mulder about her morning. She took a breath which she was surprised to discover sounded shaky, even to her ears. Get a grip, Dana. "Mulder." He looked up at her and Scully realized he'd been aware of her presence. Scully unexpectedly became disoriented by a feeling of deja vu. She suddenly saw him sitting at his desk after he'd killed Roche, completely worn down, exhausted, ready to give up, feeling both helpless and guilty. As she had then, Scully moved to embrace her partner, one arm pulling his head lightly against her stomach, the other around his shoulders. He didn't resist. Perhaps he'd also remembered, because he wrapped his left arm around her and pulled tight for a moment, almost as he had during the Roche case. This time, though, he didn't let go quite so fast. He needed the human contact. He needed for someone to touch him, bring him back from where he'd been. Skinner had helped, just being there. But he needed Scully. She was his anchor. She hugged him back, ran her hand through his hair, then reached down and took the small shoe from his right hand. He loosened his grip and she moved back a little. "Are you doing Okay, Mulder?" She waited for the nod before letting him go. Mulder cleared his throat, realized he hadn't spoken in hours and hadn't had anything to drink all day. "Mulder, I just got back with Janice. I want to give you and AD Skinner an update. I didn't get any lunch though and thought I'd see if you were hungry. I'll buy. How about it?" Her partner didn't seem very interested in her proposal. "Come on, let's get out of here for a little bit." Scully turned to Skinner, who still hadn't moved or spoken. "Sir, have you eaten? Will you join us?" Skinner smiled at her kindly, appreciative of her concern. He stood, stretched his back and looked down at Mulder, who still hadn't moved. "Come on Mulder, I need to stretch my legs and find some food. Let's go." He watched his agent start to get to his feet, only to gasp in what appeared to be intense pain. "Mulder?!" Both Scully and Skinner were at his side, each holding an arm, as Mulder slowly straightened. He was obviously fighting to keep his expression neutral, but was failing miserably and looked to be on the verge of collapsing. "Mulder, are you all right?" Skinner's concerned voice finally cut through the fuzziness and pain and Mulder nodded, gasping out, "Yes, sir. Just tightened up a little from my fall this morning. I just need to stretch a little, that's all." Skinner was now looking at Mulder as if he were crazy. A little tumble didn't cause you to almost pass out when you moved. Scully wasn't buying it either. "Mulder sit down." Mulder looked exasperated. He'd just managed to get upright and now she was trying to get him to sit down again. Uh uh. "Scully, I just need some Advil or something. I should have thought of it this morning." "Mulder, you're right. You probably should have thought of a lot of things this morning, but now it's past three in the afternoon. Sit down." Mulder was trying to figure out if anything Scully had said made any kind of sense. One thing was sure, he'd better sit back down. Scully had pulled a chair over in front of her partner and now sat, her knees lightly touching his. She looked up to her boss and asked, "Sir, could you turn the lights on please?" Happy to have something to do, Skinner quickly walked around the table and flicked the lights on, blinking at the unaccustomed brightness. He then made his way back to his agents. Scully had cupped Mulder's left wrist in her right hand and was checking his pulse. "Okay, Mulder. Now, tell me what happened this morning." She stared intently at her partner, daring him to lie to her. "I was running hard, had gone three and a half or four miles out. I ...." Here Mulder paused, again thinking he might be able to get away with a half-truth, but Scully was still staring at him. She would know. "I got dizzy, nauseous, fell down in the road. Skinned my knees, cut my hand, got some bruises. That's it." Scully was still staring at him and he felt guilty even though he'd told her everything. "You were four miles out?" Mulder nodded, forehead creased, confused at why this was important. "How did you get back to the hotel?" Mulder now stared at her, mouth slightly open, unable to speak. "Mulder?" He closed his eyes, resigned to his fate now, then looked back at his partner. "I jogged back." He waited for the fireworks, but Scully only nodded after a moment's pause. "Did you experience any more dizziness or nausea?" "Once." She nodded again then took his left arm in her hands, raised it slightly, and began to feel along its length. "Uh, Scully, I'm pretty sure nothing's broken." She dropped his left arm, picked up the right, repeated the procedure, ignoring his comment. She then moved her hands to his left shoulder, across his collar bones, to the right shoulder. He winced slightly and she made a note of it. More winces accompanied her investigation of his ribs and back, on the right side, where he'd impacted the road on his fall. She sat back down in front of him and asked, "How bad are the cuts?" "Just scrapes, Scully, that's all. Really." His partner nodded at him, lightly squeezed his knee and then stood. "Okay, Mulder, it doesn't look like you've done any permanent damage and you're right. You should have taken some Advil this morning. It probably would have helped. I'll go track some down now. And then, Mulder, we're going to get something to eat and then you are going to then lie down on the couch and sleep for a little while." Mulder started to object, but Scully beat him to it. "Mulder, dizziness and nausea are signals from the body that something is wrong. I'm more worried about that then I am about any bumps and bruises you got from your fall this morning. You need food and rest. That's all there is to it. Now, just sit there until I get back." Mulder was too drained even to feel embarrassed in front of his boss. Skinner moved to lean against the table and was now looking at him, an amused expression on his face. His eyes flicked to the right and back where Scully was just closing the door behind her. "She's kind of hard to argue with, isn't she?" Mulder laughed. "Sir, she's a force to be reckoned with. I'd lay odds on Scully any day of the week." Scully wondered why both men were smiling at her when she returned but wrote it off as one of those male bonding things. She was pretty sure she didn't really want to know. ************************* Over their late lunch, Scully had filled the two men in on her activities and had shared with them Janice's impressions. Janice Anderson was sure that beatings and the sexual assaults were deliberate, in control, not done in anger or haste. It put a different spin on things, suggesting that these acts were done by necessity, to the killer's thinking. For some reason, he had to 'teach them a lesson'. Mulder had hypothesized that the children had perhaps failed a test and had to be punished, by a reluctant killer. This would account for why some children were killed almost immediately while others had been held for days, apparently well taken care of until the end. This idea opened new avenues of thought for Mulder to explore. After lunch, they walked slowly back to their command center, each lost in thought. Mulder excused himself to use the restroom and headed down a corridor to the right. He had just turned the corner when Crowley came out of an office directly in front of him. Crowley immediately set his sights on Mulder, smirk on face, and asked, "So, Spooky, what'd you do, crawl back to the hotel after your little spill this morning? Or did you catch a ride in a passing spaceship?" Scully and Skinner both turned upon hearing Crowley's spiteful drawl and were headed back towards the man. Crowley froze and noticeably paled upon seeing the AD and Scully bearing down on him. Scully won the race. "You bastard! You saw him fall and you left him there? You didn't even check to see if he was hurt? What the hell kind of agent are you? What kind of a human being are you?" Mulder was trying to sink into the floor but it wasn't cooperating. He had opened his mouth to call her off, when Skinner grabbed Scully by the arm, physically pulling her back at least a foot. He then moved his hand to her shoulder and squeezed in warning. "Agent Crowley, I assume you're supposed to be somewhere. Agent Mulder, we'll be in the command center." Skinner turned, dragging Scully around with him, then finally dropped his hand. When they'd gotten halfway to the conference room, he turned to her and asked quietly, making sure his words didn't go beyond the two of them, "Agent Scully, what the hell do you think you were doing?" He saw that she had reddened slightly and wouldn't look at him. "Sir, I wasn't really thinking. I'll apologize to Mulder." "I don't think there's any harm done. No one else was around, at least. We'll have to deal with Crowley, I've known that since the beginning. I've talked with Jenkins, Vickers, and Mulder about it. What's most important, is that Mulder not lose credibility in front of these people. Neither you nor I can appear to be making allowances for him in front of the team." Scully had dropped her head in mortification, making Skinner feel like a complete heel. Hell, he'd gone charging around that corner also. What would he have said if Scully hadn't spoken first? "I am truly sorry, sir. It won't happen again. It's just...." Scully looked up at Skinner then, obviously fighting for an elusive control. "I'm so worried about him. And there's nothing I can do." They were in the privacy of the command center, the door closed, and Skinner found himself doing something he'd never done before, never imagined himself ever doing. Somehow, though, these two agents had found their way into his heart. He wrapped his arms around Scully, just for a moment, and said, "I know, Scully, I'm worried too." ************************* Thursday, 6:05 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau Skinner was coordinating with Jenkins and the various team leaders. Mulder had not been as upset as Scully had expected. He understood and a part of him loved her for it. Mulder now lay on the couch, asleep for the past hour. Scully sat in a chair in the corner by the floor lamp, at the opposite end of the room, working on her portable computer. The overhead lights were turned off, and the secretary was again instructed not to allow anyone to disturb them. In just a couple hours, all team members would be meeting to report in. Scully was working on a report summarizing the impressions of the pathologists, with supporting forensic data. She was just putting the finishing touches on it when the door opened and her boss came in quietly, closing the door behind him. He looked to the right where Mulder slept peacefully then walked over to Scully, several files in his hand. Skinner sat down in the chair next to her and gestured to the files. "Scully, I just spoke with Vickers and Tresky. Tresky's team is about out of options. They haven't found any commonalities between the victims. There have been a couple links with at most 4 out of the 7 victims connected. Crowley's managed to swing a couple agents on the profile team to his way of thinking. They're using the lack of any identified commonality to support the original profile." Skinner shook his head before continuing. "I'm torn about this, Scully. I believe Mulder is right about a pattern. But I worked with Tresky's team for hours this morning, reviewed what they've done this afternoon. If there's a link between the victims I don't think we're going to find it, or at least Tresky and his team won't. We still have some time but we'll be feeling the pressure soon." Before Scully could respond, their attention was drawn to the far side of the room, where Mulder's voice could be heard, crying out in his sleep. No real words could be made out, except for the word 'no', which was repeated over and over amidst the indistinguishable ones. Scully quickly moved across the room to wake her partner. He was breathing heavily and his face was coated with sweat. His head jerked occasionally, as if trying to get away from something. She shook his shoulder, said, "Mulder" quietly but forcefully. He launched forward, gasping. Scully was prepared for his rude awakening, had seen it many times before. She gave him time to orient, then said, "Mulder, AD Skinner needs to talk with you about Tresky's and Vicker's teams." He nodded understanding and said, "Give me a minute, Scully." Scully went to the door and turned on the overhead light. She could hear Mulder muttering behind her. She then moved her files and computer to the table, where Skinner joined her. A minute later, Mulder wandered over and sat down heavily in the chair next to Scully. Skinner decided to get to the point. "Mulder, Tresky and his team haven't been able to come up with anything. They're pretty much out of ideas. I think it would make sense for you to coordinate with him. Maybe you can come up with some possibilities for them. And Vickers hasn't really been able to find much to support the new profile." Mulder took it all in stride, not even seeming surprised. He looked at his watch, did the math. "Okay, I'm going to see Tresky. Vickers' team can wait. I spoke with him earlier. We're all right at least until tomorrow. We need a break from the Patterns teams or from Tresky and the profile team'll fall in place." He stood, put his jacket on gingerly, straightened his tie, then ran his hands through his hair. "Could you check in with Halston and Brewster? See if they're making any progress?" Scully and Skinner both stood as he breezed out the door. Skinner was once again amazed at the man. One minute he's lying on the couch in the thrall of a nightmare, looking like nothing more than a frightened child, the next he's the consummate FBI agent, calm, cool, and completely in charge. An absolute enigma. ************************* Thursday, 7:56 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau "Did you go all the way back to birth?" Mulder was meeting with Tresky, reviewing the possibilities they'd investigated so far to identify a link between the victims. Tresky was feeling against the wall. He'd already met with AD Skinner and broken the news that they'd been unable to find a link between the victims. Now he had Spooky Mulder insisting a link existed if only they could work harder at finding it. But they'd exhausted every standard connection on the official list as well as some twenty plus other possibilities they'd dreamed up. "Okay, look Tresky, all I can say is that there is a definite link. There's got to be something we're missing." "Fine, Mulder, so tell us what to check. Give us some ideas here. 'Cause we're fresh out." Mulder was frustrated but understood where Tresky was coming from. There was no maliciousness on his part, merely frustration. His team had practically worked around the clock to check out every possible link that might exist between the victims or the families. They were exhausted and stymied. Mulder tried to be conciliatory. "Look, Tresky, just don't give up yet, Okay? I'll see if I can come up with something for you and we'll talk about it in the briefing tonight. Maybe someone else will be able to come up with some new directions then too." Tresky nodded at him and walked away. Mulder hit his fist against the wall lightly, wishing he could cut loose and put his fist through it. Time to get ready for the briefing. Mulder headed down the hall to the restroom. Surprisingly, he was the only one there. Everyone else must already be in the briefing room. He splashed water on his face with his unbandaged hand, rubbed his hands over his eyes, then through his hair, trying to straighten it. The door opened and in the mirror he saw Crowley enter the room, then stop on seeing Mulder. "I can't fucking believe this. It must be fate, don't you think Spooky?" Mulder didn't feel up to an encounter with this man right now. What the hell were the odds of running into this character yet again? Fate or the Gods, whichever, were obviously out to get him. Mulder leaned forward over the sink, placing both hands on the cool tile. He needed the support. "Crowley, give it a rest, please." Mulder was tired. He was aware that he was practically pleading with the larger man but couldn't help it. "Spooky, you don't know shit. While you're leading the AD around by the dick, getting him to do your dirty work, there's another kid out there gonna be dead in a week. You're wasting our time here, you bastard." Crowley's anger finally got the best of him and he shoved Mulder on the shoulder. He turned and charged out of the bathroom before seeing the results of his anger. Still exhausted and slightly weak despite the hour sleep he'd managed, Mulder was thrown off balance. He wobbled for a couple seconds, fighting a sudden onslaught of light-headedness, then fell sideways, cracking his head on the tiled sink. Mulder lay on the floor, looking up at the ceiling, wondering what next. He'd landed on his right side again and he was considering whether it was possible for bruises to get bruised. Damn, Scully wasn't going to be very happy with him. He was pretty sure he had a concussion. At least, the rolling in his stomach every time he thought about moving suggested that might be the case. Maybe he could just close his eyes for a bit. Speaking of which, what was that in his right eye anyway? One hand found its way up to his face and felt his forehead above his right eye. It came away covered in blood. Shit. Sorry, Scully, don't think it was my fault this time. Vickers found Mulder ten minutes later. When he hadn't shown for the eight o'clock briefing, a couple agents had gone searching. Mulder heard Vickers curse, as if from a far distance, then heard a muffled cry for a doctor. A few minutes later, he felt a cool touch at his forehead. He'd recognize his partner's touch anywhere, anyplace, eyes closed, even half dead. "Scully." It came out as a whisper. "Mulder, what happened? Who did this to you?" "No one, Scully, I fell." Skinner was angry, but trying to contain it. "Mulder, who did this? We need to know." "No one. Fell." Why wouldn't they believe him? It was the truth after all. Crowley gave him a little shove, but he certainly hadn't intended to injure him in any way, was just a bit upset. It wasn't the shove, anyway, it was the dizziness. It was his own fault for letting himself get so worn down so fast. "Just fell," he reiterated. He'd tried to convince them, couldn't do any more right now, so Mulder decided it was a good time for some serious sleep. Skinner and Scully could get things going tonight. "Mulder, open your eyes. Mulder, you can't go to sleep, you have a concussion. Mulder." It was the last thing he heard. He tried, but he was so very tired. Scully would forgive him. She always did. The paramedics arrived soon after. Skinner directed Scully to go with her partner, letting her know he'd be there as soon as possible. After all, by Mulder standards, this was a pretty minor injury. "Don't worry, Scully, he'll be fine. Go on, I'll see you soon." Scully nodded to the older man in appreciation and walked beside the stretcher, one hand on her partner's shoulder. Skinner looked around at the faces of the agents gathered outside the restroom, eyes narrowing for a heartbeat as his gaze rested on Crowley, then moved on. Crowley looked as shocked as everyone else. Maybe Mulder really did fall. ************************* Friday, 2:14 a.m. Minneapolis Hospital A little more than five hours later, Mulder woke to an epiphany. He knew, dammit, he was sure. He searched his memory, catalogued data previously considered unimportant. It was there all the time and no one had seen it. He hadn't seen it. Fuck. He felt hands on his right arm and looked over to see Scully asleep, leaning partly across the bed, her head resting against one arm. Something in him made him regret that he'd put her in this position so many times. He moved his left hand to stroke her hair lightly and then called her name, softly. She opened her eyes and looked at him sleepily. "Hey there, Scully." His partner gave him her patented Scully smile and squeezed his arm. "Hey, we were kind of worried about you." Something about the way she said 'we' made him look to his left. Skinner was fast asleep in a chair in the corner. Mulder looked back to his partner. "Scully, get me out of here. I have to talk with Tresky and Vickers. I know the link. I need to see them, Scully." Scully started shaking her head before he'd said five words. "Mulder, you not only have a concussion, but you are suffering from exhaustion and severe dehydration, as well as some very serious contusions. You're not getting out of here for a couple days, at least." Now it was Mulder's turn to shake his head. "Listen to me Scully, this is important. I know the link, do you hear me?" He had her attention finally, and Skinner's as well. The older man had awakened in time to hear Mulder's last sentence . He stood and moved to the side of his agent's bed. Mulder moved eyes back to his partner, beseechingly. "Scully, all the children, the victims, they're abused." Scully was confused, not understanding. "I know Mulder. He abused them before he strangled them." Mulder again shook his head but then froze at the rising nausea it caused. He closed his eyes, prayed the room would stop spinning, calmed his breathing, then tried yet again. "No, I mean they were abused before .... by their parents. That's the link. That's the victim pool. Gotta figure out who knew." Skinner was intrigued by Mulder's hypothesis. "Mulder, I've read every case file and there is no suggestion, by any one of the hundreds of people interviewed, that any of those children had been abused by their parents or anyone else." Mulder breathed deeply again, slowly turned his head towards Skinner. Wouldn't due to throw up on his boss, after all. "Sir, several of the children had been in the hospital for broken bones, bruises, even burns." "Yes, Mulder, but none of those incidents appeared to be unusual or out of the ordinary. They were all accidents." "No, they weren't." Mulder was fading out again, could barely keep his eyes open. "Tell Crowley - have team look into it. Talk parents, teachers, doctors. No one believed. Fell." Did they understand? Would it be enough? Skinner exchanged a confused look with Scully. The injured man had become so cryptic towards the end, Skinner couldn't make out what he meant. Scully looked thoughtfully at her partner, then back at Skinner. "I think he meant that no one believed him when he said he'd fallen, we insisted someone was responsible. Because that's always the typical response of an abuse victim to explain away injuries - 'I fell'." ************************* Friday, 10:32 a.m. Minneapolis Hospital It was half past ten in the morning and Skinner had returned to the hospital to check on his agent. Scully was at the bureau, coordinating efforts to reinterview neighbors, teachers, doctors, day care workers who were involved with the children and might have insights to their family life. If they could find any supporting evidence of abuse, even qualitative impressions, then they would go directly to the parents. Until then, they were hesitant to start accusing parents still reeling from the violent loss of their children of such a violation. Skinner walked quietly into Mulder's room and paused by the bed. His agent was asleep, seemingly resting peacefully. Skinner sat in the chair Scully had been in most of the night and leaned back, trying to make himself more comfortable. Mulder always looked so young when Skinner saw him this way, which seemed to be much too often, upon reflection. Skinner needed time to think, to regroup. He had been feeling out of control, the events around this case spiraling in directions unanticipated. Each of the five teams was looking at their own tasks now with the added possibility that the victims were part of a pool of abused children. Patterns, commonalities, profile, and forensics were all impacted by this new hypothesis. Scully would be joining Skinner at the hospital soon and they were going to plot out the afternoon's activities. Initial reports from the interviews would be coming in soon. All further actions depended on what they learned. Half an hour later, Skinner's musings were interrupted by the opening of the door. A nurse had been in just a few minutes before so he guessed it was Scully. He stood up when she stopped next to Mulder's bed. Scully nodded to him in greeting. "How's he doing, sir?" "He's fine, Scully, just taking the chance to catch up on some sleep, I think." Scully smiled and took the chair her boss offered her. He pulled up another from the corner so he could sit next to her. Skinner watched Scully carefully, unable to read the mix of expressions passing quickly over her face. She finally turned her head to look at him and broke the temporary silence. "Sir, it appears Mulder was right. Just before I left, we received preliminary reports from three different groups who'd been interviewing the teachers. All the teachers suspected the children had been abused but could never get enough confirmation to make any kind of official report, or even an unofficial accusation. The interview teams will be speaking with various doctors next, after they finish with all the teachers, but we're pretty sure this is the link." Skinner nodded his head and realized that Scully was working hard at appearing emotionless. It hit him then, suddenly. Just months ago she'd buried her own daughter, a child she'd only known about for days, but whom she'd come to love dearly. Emily had merely been a tool, a guinea pig, a victim, created to serve an agenda not of her making, and certainly not of Scully's. Skinner had read the report, even asked Mulder at the time how Scully was doing. He'd never spoken to her directly about the tragedy. Abuse takes many forms, Skinner realized. He'd been so used to thinking of Mulder's ghosts, he'd forgotten about Scully's. Damn. There were too many ghosts in this case. Skinner reached over and took Scully's hand in his for just a moment, squeezing lightly. She sobbed quietly, softly, no longer bothering to try to hide her pain or tears. She didn't know how, but Skinner understood. Skinner wished he could help both his agents. He could only pray they'd find contentment in their lives, and perhaps a little happiness. He was involved in their lives now, it was too late to pretend otherwise. Perhaps he could be their friend, in addition to their boss. A ringing disturbed their thoughts a half hour later, as they both sat in silent reflection, and Scully moved quickly to answer her cell phone. Skinner listened to the one sided conversation, picking up that the interview groups had confirmed that all the victims had been believed to have been abused by their parents. Whether it was a coincidence or a result of the conversation he'd just heard, Mulder started to stir. At first, Skinner thought he was waking up, but then realized his agent was in the throws of another nightmare. At least, it seemed like a nightmare. Mulder tossed his head slightly from side to side, saying 'No.' Scully realized what was happening and finished her call, closing her cell phone. She stood next to Skinner, who had risen at Mulder's movement. Scully was ready to shake Mulder's shoulder to wake him up, when she froze at his words. "No, Daddy, don't." Scully stood with her left hand hovering inches over his shoulder, finding herself unable to move. She had drawn in a quick breath at his words and now she was holding it, as if in anticipation. Skinner also stood frozen next to her. Mulder groaned slightly, then said in a whisper, "I won't do it again, I promise. No, Daddy." Scully took an abrupt step away from the bed, now breathing heavily. In all the times she'd sat by his bedside waiting for him to awake from one injury or another, in all the times she'd woken him from nightmares in hotels across the country, never had he said anything like this, ever even alluded to the possibility. Was this a memory or was he projecting? Had he gotten inside the minds of the victims or was this really him, a memory of a little boy pleading with his father not to hurt him? She didn't know what to do. Scully felt Skinner take her arm and start to pull her towards the door. She allowed herself to be led outside the room, where she leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling unable to stand without it. Scully looked up at her boss, who appeared as shaken as she felt. "Scully, do you know anything about this?" He was pretty sure he could guess the answer, based on the shock still so apparent on his agent's face. She shook her head now from side to side, eyes wide, denying the thought. Skinner wasn't sure whether he was talking to himself or his agent when he said, "He could be profiling, still. Profiling the victims in his sleep. I don't see how he could have gotten past all the Bureau tests and psychologists without something like that being known." He felt the need to reason through this new development out loud. A thought then occurred to him. This was Mulder, master at game playing, eidetic memory, IQ essentially off the charts, an Oxford trained psychologist. The man could run circles around any psychologist or psychiatrist the Bureau assigned him, had already done so in fact on numerous occasions. If Mulder wanted to keep something secret, he'd be able to do it. "Fuck!" Skinner saw Scully jump at his expletive and immediately felt ashamed. "Sorry, Scully." Both were leaning against the wall now, side by side, trying to calm their breathing and their thinking, working this possibly new information into their respective views of what made Mulder tick. "Sir, I'd better go wake him." Skinner nodded, then watched as Scully enter the room and headed towards the still distressed Mulder. The door closed then, cutting off anything further from his sight. Skinner came to a decision and reached for his cell phone. He needed Dave Jenkins to help him find some thirty year old hospital files. He could trust Dave. Scully wouldn't even have to know for now. Maybe Scully would never have to know. ************************* Friday, 5:03 p.m. Minneapolis Hospital Mulder was being difficult. It was five in the afternoon, Scully was at the command center and would again be joining Skinner at the hospital momentarily. Mulder kept insisting that he needed to be released. In fact, he was insisting that he had to be the one to interview the parents of the victims. Skinner had just told him that Tresky's team had confirmed by multiple sources the suggestion of abuse for each of the victims. They would start approaching the parents directly that evening. "Look, sir, I realize I'm not at my best here. I know that. But I also know that I have to be the one to talk with them. Tresky's a trained psychologist and is excellent at suspect interrogation. There's no one better. But he doesn't have the right touch for this. He won't be able to get them to talk. In fact, he'll probably scare them off. I know it, sir." Skinner stared at Mulder intently, taking in his agent's animation, his ease of movement. Mulder was in his own clothes, jeans and a light cotton black turtleneck. Skinner idly wondered if the jeans were always so loose on the younger man. Any aftereffects of the concussion appeared to have dissipated. In fact, Mulder seemed to be in better shape, and more rested than he had since he'd been assigned to the case days ago. Skinner considered the situation again, especially in light of his and Scully's new suspicions. Even if Mulder were physically able, was he sufficiently removed from the case details to be effective? Skinner shook his head lightly, hoping to clear his thoughts. He reminded himself then that profiling wasn't about removing oneself from the situation, but rather immersing oneself in it. It was the thing Mulder particularly excelled at, the ability that made him the best. Skinner decided to trust his agent's judgment on this, as long as the doctor agreed. "Okay, Mulder. If the doctor says you can be released, you'll do the interviews ..... with Scully and myself present. We've got a briefing with the team leaders at 6 p.m. We can discuss approaches then." Mulder was relieved. He'd been feeling the building pressure of the case and knew that this was the thing that could lead them to the victim selection pattern, the pool, and possibly the next victim candidate. Mulder knew that time was running out, perhaps faster than the rest of the team even realized. Skinner was talking on the phone with Scully. Mulder grinned slightly at the grimace that crossed Skinner's face, recognizing that his partner was probably lecturing their boss on the dangers of a concussion, a lecture he'd heard many, many times in the past. ********************************** Friday, 6:13 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center When Skinner and Mulder entered the command center at a little after six, the excitement in the room was almost palpable. The two had come straight from the hospital and Mulder still wore the casual clothes he'd left in. Oddly, he looked fresh and ready to work, compared with the rumpled agents around them. Jenkins approached the two and lightly slapped Mulder on the arm. "Well, Mulder, if I'd know all it would take was a concussion to make a break in the case, I'd of given you one the first day you were here." Gentle laughter filled the room at the ASAC's words and even Mulder smiled. He'd come to like this man over the last few days and had wondered to himself how he could have been so far off base with his original assessment. "How are you feeling, Mulder?" "I'm fine, sir. Thank you." Jenkins stepped back to give both Mulder and Skinner the room to sit at the table. Everyone quieted immediately. Skinner decided not to waste time. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, I think you're all aware by now that Agent Mulder's hypothesis has been confirmed. We now know that all these children were abused by their parents and we are reasonably certain that this fact is what ties them to the victim pool. It's now critical that we discover, as soon as possible, who knew about the abuse. Agent Mulder?" For the first time, Skinner had deferred to his agent in front of the team, making it quite clear to everyone in the room who was going to be calling the shots. Mulder nodded easily, stared at his clasped hands resting on the table in front of him, and quickly gathered his thoughts. Mulder then began outlining the approach he intended to follow that evening. Skinner didn't bother to wonder for long when Mulder had come up with these plans. He determined that he just wouldn't be surprised by anything the younger man did from now on. He focused on his agent once again. "....so we either need to identify the next victim within the next three days or find the killer. We all know this. The link is crucial not only in helping us identify the pool, but will enable us now to investigate concretely the possibility that the killer knew the victims personally, at least to some degree. I believe this to be a very strong possibility." Scully understood what he really meant. They had discussed it at great length in the past couple days. Mulder was positive the killer had interacted with the victims physically, at least superficially, but wasn't prepared to make unsubstantiated claims that might influence the team leaders, either in their own investigations or in the way they considered Mulder. "The parents provide our best possibility for identifying who might have been aware of the abuse within the families. I'll be interviewing the first two or three sets of parents tonight with Agent Tresky, Agent Scully and AD Skinner. Hopefully, we'll be able to get started with cross matching tonight." Mulder and Vickers had already generated multiple lists of thousands of names that fit different aspects of Mulder's profile. As soon as they could discover what people or groups of people might have had access to the fact that these children had been abused, they'd be able to cross match the lists to start narrowing the field of suspects. Hundreds would be manageable, tens would definitely be better. "Until we get preliminary reports to you, continue with the tasks that AD Skinner previously outlined for you." Mulder nodded to the group in dismissal, started to stand, and was interrupted by a question from Agent Anderson, causing him to arrest his movement and sink back into the chair. "Agent Mulder, you said we had three days. I thought we were looking at something closer to a week." Mulder saw other agents around the table nodding their heads at the comment, also looking confused. He had hoped they wouldn't have to get into this now. Perhaps it was time to share his thoughts with them. Maybe they could talk him out of his interpretation. God knew, he didn't want to be right. "Yes. I believe the assessment that he kidnaps on the same day of the month, give or take a day, to be incorrect. I believe he kidnaps them during the full moon, give or take a day. There's a distinction. Because last month had thirty- one days, the full moon is scheduled for four days from now, which is two days earlier than the date the team had targeted." Skinner could see the agents in the room move uncomfortably in their seats, a couple of them looking sideways at the agent next to them, before turning back at Mulder. Skinner could sense no disbelief, just mild shock and resignation. He was surprised that none of the team leaders questioned Mulder's 'beliefs' anymore. The child abuse link made them all believers in his leaps. "I believe this man is educated and a professional. I believe that his work necessitates travel every few months, which accounts for the two times the children were taken a couple days before the full moon. He needed to make sure he was done before having to leave town. If this is a month of travel, it's possible that we have only three days." Mulder looked at them, no expression on his face, features frozen. Only his eyes betrayed him. They were haunted, envisioning an eight year old girl with braids, asleep in her bed, the next victim on the killer's list. Did she have an older brother, he wondered? ************************* Friday, 8:04 p.m. St. Paul, Dawson Home They stood in the Dawson's family room. It was a little after eight. They'd taken just enough time after the briefing for Mulder to go back to the hotel to change. He once again looked the part of the bureau professional, despite the bandage on forehead and hand. Mulder had insisted on visiting these parents first. Tresky had argued, saying they should be among the last. The father was confrontational, the mother a space cadet, still in apparent shock even after months. Tresky insisted it would be a waste of time. Mulder just insisted. Mulder won. Jake Dawson gestured to the couch and chairs, making a small attempt at civility. Betty Dawson had not moved since their entry into her home. She still sat at the kitchen table, staring into the sunken family room, eyes occasionally focusing on a pile of children's books in a corner, alternately on an empty fish tank. Mulder recognized the signs and felt for the woman. She'd have to make peace with her own demons. Mulder wasn't there for her, though. He turned to face Jake Dawson. Mulder remained standing even though the other agents had taken seats. Dawson's eyes came to rest on him finally, sensing that this was really the only person he needed to deal with. Dawson was not tall, only about 5'7" or 5'8", but he was broad and muscular. He easily outweighed Mulder by forty pounds if not more. One side of his mouth upturned slightly when he recognized that Mulder was not going to sit, in fact was challenging him, trying to intimidate him by his closeness and superior height. Dawson was not so easily intimidated. He had recognized Tresky when the four came into his house, had talked with him before. These other three were new to him and this one in front of him now, Mulder, must have been called in on the case just recently. Dawson couldn't imagine why. The agent in front of him looked like he was barely capable of walking straight, let alone finding the killer of his son. The sneer on Dawson's face deepened. Mulder recognized the signs of derision in Dawson, knew exactly what was going through the man's mind, and decided to cut the legs out from under him quickly. Mulder's own growing disdain of the man would make this easy, even a pleasure. A matching sneer found its way to Mulder's features as well, and eyes narrowed slightly before he spoke, his voice low and intense, but demanding. "Did Davy cry when you beat him, Dawson?" Jake Dawson literally staggered - at the unexpected question, at the shock of realizing someone knew the family's dark secret. He moved back a step from the man he'd written off as no threat, his eyes wide, breathing labored. Mulder maintained his advantage, closed the gap between them once again, forcing Dawson to look up at him. He was vaguely aware of movement behind him and was childishly pleased that he'd shocked his boss and Tresky. He doubted Scully was shocked, perturbed with him perhaps, but not shocked. "Did he cry out - say he was sorry? Did he beg you to stop? Did he beg your forgiveness?" Mulder fired off the questions, one after another, not giving Dawson time to answer or react. "How did you feel when you stood over your son with your fist raised to hit him? Were you sorry? Did you regret it, Dawson? Did you try to make it up to him afterwards? Did you buy him presents? Take him fishing? Promise you wouldn't do it again?" Mulder found himself breathing a bit too hard, recognized his voice had become more strident, louder. He told himself to back down, back off. He'd rattled the man enough. The crack in his defenses was a fissure, the Grand Canyon of all fissures. Mulder moved back slightly, became aware of a hand on his arm, Scully's hand. She stood quietly beside him, then backed off when he did. Mulder nodded towards her without losing eye contact with Dawson, letting her know he was Okay, in control. He sensed her moving away. It didn't matter to Dawson, though, who stood rooted to the floor, oblivious to everyone and everything except Mulder, the man who'd just rocked his very foundations. Mulder dropped his voice, asked quietly, gently now, "Mr. Dawson, did you ever tell anyone? Did anyone ever find out? We have to know." Dawson was deflated, a shell of a human being. He shook his head as a tear made its way down his face. Mulder needed to be absolutely certain. "Mr. Dawson, we believe that the kidnapper picked Davy because he knew. It's absolutely crucial that we learn of anyone, anyone at all, who might have known or found out. A priest, a lawyer, a social worker, a colleague, anyone?" Dawson shook his head again, slowly, turned towards the kitchen and tried to search out his wife's eyes. They were focused on a small baseball jacket that hung over the rail dividing the kitchen and family room. Her eyes were still dull, unaware. "No one knew. No one." It came out as a muffled whisper. Mulder stepped back further, withdrawing from the tragedy that surrounded these people. He found he could no longer despise the man slumped dejectedly in front of him. Mulder just wanted to leave now. He had to get out of this house. He nodded at Dawson and turned, almost stumbled towards the front door, suddenly aware of how drained he felt. The anger that had sustained him to this point had leaked away. Skinner and Tresky could say the right things, make any necessary farewells. Mulder opened the door and pushed his way out into the cool evening, taking a cleansing breath. Scully was with him, had followed him. He was glad of her presence but could find no words with which to speak to her. He made his way slowly to the car, put his arms on the hood and leaned over it, hanging his head between them. Scully still hadn't spoken, but she was leaning back against the car, next to him, sharing the quiet night. Mulder finally stood straight, then turned and adopted the same stance as his partner. Skinner focused on his two agents immediately as he left the house with Tresky several minutes later. Mulder and Scully stood side by side, mere inches separating them, both leaning back against the side of the car, arms crossed. Posterboy and girl of the Bureau, presenting a united front.....against what? Him? Skinner and Tresky stopped in front of the two agents. "Agent Mulder, I'm not sure what you just accomplished in there." Although spoken as a statement, it was obviously a question. Skinner needed some reassurance that Mulder knew what he was doing, that he hadn't lashed out at Dawson for personally motivated reasons. Tresky stood quietly beside him, seemingly unsure of what to do or say. Mulder looked up at him and Skinner was struck by his appearance. In mere minutes the man had aged, started to collapse in on himself. Skinner almost spoke again then, thinking to suggest they go back to the hotel to rest, but Mulder's response cut him off. "Sir, I know it doesn't seem like we learned anything, but we did. I knew that of all the parents, the Dawsons were the least likely to have spoken to anyone or to have allowed anyone else to find out. We can pretty much eliminate three- quarters, even more, of the lists we'd come up with -- those that required the parents to have reached out to someone, to have initiated contact. I'm positive our answer will involve something much more serendipitous for the killer." Skinner glanced over at Tresky and saw the older agent nodding to himself. He was somehow reassured by this gesture. Before he could say anything, Mulder spoke once again. "I'd like to see Angela Harrison next. Scully called and she's willing to see us tonight." Even though Mulder was obviously tired, with the effects of his recent injuries visibly resurfacing, Skinner decided that he'd follow Scully's lead. If she thought this was a good idea, or at least wasn't objecting, then he'd go along with the plan. "All right, Agent Mulder. What do you hope to discover by speaking with her?" This time Skinner wanted warning if Mulder planned on being confrontational. His nerves were rattled enough without his own agent catching him flatfooted. "Sir, Mrs. Harrison filed for divorce six months prior to the abduction of her son and had been separated for months before that. My understanding is that she'd been pursuing sole custody. My guess would be that she filed for divorce when she discovered that her husband had hurt the child. I believe she'll be forthcoming and honest. She'll be able to provide us with possible directions to actively investigate, while the Dawson's allowed us to eliminate directions." Skinner was once again impressed with his agent. By choosing the two extremes of parental attitudes, they'd be able to almost immediately cut down their investigative avenues to manageable numbers in a matter of hours. "All right, let's go." Skinner nodded to Tresky, who headed for the driver's seat. Skinner silently prayed that Mrs. Harrison lived close by. He was starting to feel the years behind a desk catch up with him. The thought of his hotel bed beckoned. ************************* Friday, 11:12 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Conference Room It was slightly past 11 p.m. and they were back at the local bureau office. Mulder and Scully were working closely with both Tresky's and Vickers' teams to narrow the search limits for their killer. They'd managed to eliminate well over eighty percent of their original pool and were prioritizing the remaining possibilities. Mulder was hopeful that discussions with the rest of the parents the next day would help them to reduce the possibilities even further. He was concerned, though, since he still believed that the key was the pattern to the victim selection. Mulder was convinced that if they were to save the next child, they would not do it by finding the killer, but by identifying the next potential victim. AD Skinner had left his agents and now sat with Dave Jenkins in his office. Jenkins' expression was pensive, almost melancholy. "I have to confess, Walt, I didn't really understand what you were after at first. I didn't look at them in any depth but did glance through them." Dave Jenkins looked up from the thick set of files in front of him, picked them up and handed them to his long-time friend. Skinner's expression mirrored his own, the look of concern evident. "I hate to jump to conclusions here, but it seems pretty obvious when you look at them this way." Skinner had opened the file on top of the stack and began reading about the first concussion his agent had received at the age of four, after 'falling down the steps'. He moved on to the next accident which occurred at age five, a broken arm from a fall out of a tree. Then came the burn from grabbing something off the stove and spilling it on his chest, the bicycle accident, the baseball accident, the fall from the treehouse. Skinner felt the stab between his eyes, a sure sign tension was getting the best of him. He consciously loosened his grip from the files, closed them, sat back in the chair. His ten minute overview was cursory at best, but left little doubt in his own mind that his agent had more than a passing experience with the issue of child abuse. The question now was, what now? Should he involve Dana Scully? Should he speak with Mulder? Damn the man anyway for making everything so difficult. Skinner closed his eyes and shook his head softly, feeling ashamed for trying to assign any blame to Mulder. In truth, the man had managed to thrive despite the wreck of his childhood. Skinner's appreciation and respect for Mulder grew immeasurably with the realization. Skinner looked back to his friend to gain his insights. "Walt, I don't know whether this changes anything or not. The fact is that we've made more progress with Mulder on the case in just three days then we had in the previous several months. From our perspective, it's obvious we want him working this. What I don't know is whether it's best for him, what it'll do to him in the long run." Skinner nodded as Jenkins vocalized his own thoughts. "Perhaps I should speak with Scully about it. It's still possible these really were accidents, after all. I find it hard to believe that there was never any evidence of this in his file. Hell, the investigation into his sister's abduction should have uncovered this kind of information, if it were true. And a few years ago I did my own research into his family when his father was murdered and he was missing. Nothing like this ever turned up, there was no hint of it anywhere." "I don't understand it either, Walt. But it's very difficult to believe Mulder was that accident prone as a child. This is way outside the bell curve." Skinner nodded in acknowledgment but at the same time remembered Mulder's fall while running and then the concussion he'd just received by falling against the hard tile in the bathroom. He also recalled that Mulder's present medical file had to be at least four times thicker than any other agent in the Bureau, including his partner's who had a coma and cancer to her ledger. Maybe the man was just accident prone, or lacked a sufficient sense of self-preservation. Suddenly, Skinner's assumptions seemed too shaky. He knew he needed a medical opinion. Damn, he pretty much had to bring Scully into this. She'd never forgive him if he didn't. ************************* Friday, 11:49 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Conference Room Scully had been trying to figure out how to get Mulder to quit and finally decided on the direct approach. She stood, stretched out her back, her neck, rotating it right and left. Before she could take any action, however, muffled exclamations and the sound of chairs clattering caught her attention. Agents Salvatore and Crowley, of all people, had Mulder's arms and were half walking, half dragging him to a nearby chair. Scully hurried over to them and was somewhat relieved to see that her partner was aware and softly arguing with the two men, both of whom appeared to be ignoring him. When Scully reached them, Crowley looked up at her and flushed slightly before speaking. "We were just finishing drawing up the tasks for tomorrow when he started to keel over." While not surprised by the news, Scully still wished she'd managed to get Mulder out of there earlier so Crowley wouldn't have anything to use against her partner. Still, Crowley didn't seem particularly pleased by the turn of events, had even come across as concerned over her partner's welfare. In fact, he had seemed to have been avoiding Mulder and Scully as much as possible the entire night, as if he were embarrassed. Mulder's voice sharpened finally and cut through Scully's introspective musings. "Look, I'm fine. I just need to sit for a few minutes." Ray Salvatore snorted and looked at Mulder fondly. "Buddy, I've seen snow that wasn't as white as you are right now. Do us a favor, Mulder, and go to bed. We need you sharp tomorrow and you're not doing anyone any favors if you put yourself back in the hospital tonight." Skinner and Jenson had walked into the command center in time to hear Salvatore's comments. Both men immediately sized up the situation and Skinner decided it was time his position was put to good use. "Agent Scully, Agent Mulder, I think it's time we head out. In fact, I think it's time everyone headed out. Agent Salvatore's right, we all need to be sharp tomorrow." Scully had taken Salvatore's place and was now helping her partner to his feet once again and into his jacket. Crowley still had Mulder's right arm and was providing his own assistance. Skinner didn't know what to think of this turn of events, but made no comment. He put the stack of files he'd been carrying into his own briefcase, slung it over his shoulder and made his way to his agent's side. He nodded to Crowley in thanks and dismissal, nodded to Dave Jenson, then helped Scully with a reeling Mulder. Despite his objections, Mulder knew he needed the help. A haze had formed across his vision, painting everything a muted blur. His head, which had started to ache a couple hours ago, was now pounding so loud he was surprised no one else could hear it. He felt the sweat break out on his forehead and began to doubt that he could walk down the block to the hotel. He closed his eyes briefly while he fought down a sudden nausea, then opened them to place the nearest trashcan, just in case. Mulder was unaware of Scully and Skinner trading worried looks, but Jenson saw and understood. "Look, Walt, I'm heading out now. Why don't I pull up out front and I'll drive you folks to the hotel. It's on the way, after all." Skinner nodded to him in appreciation. "Okay, we'll meet you out front." ************************* Saturday, 12:28 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel Mulder was safely tucked in bed, with remarkably little argument. Skinner took Mulder's willingness as a sign that he must have been feeling terrible. Skinner and Scully sat at the table in the living area of the suite, several thick files spread out on the table in front of them. Scully had just completed looking through the first, from the Chilmark Hospital, and was starting on the second, from Quonaquatog. She hadn't spoken, hadn't really changed expression. Skinner was unsure whether this was a good sign or not. The pressure of waiting for a response was starting to get to him. "Scully? Can you tell anything?" Scully had almost completed her overview of the second file. She paused at one point, looked at her boss and opened her mouth as if to speak. After an interminable pause, she merely said, "One more minute please, sir," and continued with the files. After several minutes more she closed the last file, placed it neatly on top of the others, straightened in her chair, then looked up at her boss. "Sir, I find it incredible that Agent Mulder could have had so many serious accidents as a child, often the same supposed accident multiple times. I also find it incredible that no one ever questioned these injuries, several of which required hospital stays." Scully was furious, more furious than Skinner had ever seen her. It was a seething fury that threatened to erupt violently. He wasn't surprised when she pushed back from the table and abruptly stood, then started pacing in jerky movements around the room. "God damn it." As angry as she was, Skinner was glad to see she had the presence of mind to keep her voice down. This was not a conversation he wanted Mulder to overhear. Scully appeared to be cursing quietly and Skinner had no doubt of the focus of her ire. He stood slowly and moved to block her pacing, one arm raised slightly in front of him to get her attention. He needed her to be thinking clearly. "Scully, we need to discuss this. I need your opinion on how this changes things." Scully now stood in front of him, hands on hips. Skinner believed with all his being that the expression 'if looks could kill' had been written for this very moment in time. He had thought Scully was angry at Mulder's father, his parents, but now was suddenly concerned that perhaps she was angry at him for some reason. The passionate fury exuding from the small woman in front of him caused Skinner to actually take a small step back. "Scully." He spoke her name quietly, questioningly, was relieved to see that she no longer looked so angry. In fact, it appeared her anger had passed, leaving her with slumped shoulders and a resigned expression. "It's not right, sir. It's not fair. When I was growing up, the closest I ever came to being abused was when Bill, Jr. and Charlie wouldn't stop tickling me. Occasionally, my father would speak harshly if one of us misbehaved. It was crushing when that happened. He would look so disappointed when he had to raise his voice. But mostly, we were just happy. None of us kids ever doubted how much our parents loved us. They showed us with every hug, every kiss goodnight, every kind word." Scully had tears in her eyes, threatening to spill, tears at the memories of happy days long past, at a security that enabled and fostered joyous innocence, at the thought of such times that never were for her partner. "I know, Scully. I understand. It was the same for me." Skinner felt his own chest constrict, tried hard to control his breathing. Damn these two for doing this to him. Scully looked bereft and he found himself fighting the desire to hold her in his arms and offer comfort. She was his agent. He was her boss. He wasn't her father, he wasn't even her friend, at least at this point in time. But, why couldn't he be? "Sir, if his father weren't already dead, I think I'd kill him myself." Skinner couldn't help the weak grin this admission caused and responded, "Agent Scully, I believe I would've gladly helped." Scully had recovered her composure somewhat and now moved to sit at the table once again. Skinner followed her lead, sitting again across from her. Both stared at the pile of files which contained details on the numerous injuries Mulder had sustained throughout his youth. Skinner sighed and looked at his agent sitting across from him. "So, Scully, the question remains - what now? Does this change anything?" Scully felt like laughing, could feel the hysterical bubble of laughter fighting it's way up from her stomach. Does it change anything? Shit, it changed everything. Didn't it? Or did it? Just because this was information she was learning for the first time, didn't mean it just came to be, out of thin air. Mulder had lived with it all his life. Had been functioning quite well, in fact. He had a degree in psychology from Oxford, for cripes sake. Had worked with the VCS for years, handled hundreds of cases, a large percentage of which dealt with abuse of one form or another. No, this really changed nothing. Mulder was who he was. He did things the way he did things. This information, this knowledge which now took root in her psyche, would change nothing. Scully knew that Mulder would do the job here. Would solve the case if they all just got out of his way. And she and Skinner would be there to make sure he didn't fall apart. It was the best they could do. But nothing would really change. Not unless her partner ever wanted to discuss it, and if he ever did, she'd be ready. Scully felt calmer with the realization and could now look her boss in the eye, without doubt. "Sir, this changes nothing. Mulder will do the job and he'll be fine. We'll make sure he stays fine." Skinner nodded, reached across the table and quickly squeezed Scully's hand. He'd help her make sure. ************************** Saturday, 3:07 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel Skinner wasn't sure what had awakened him. He reached for his glasses, put them on, and read the time. 3:07 a.m. Damn, surely Mulder wasn't up already? He got out of bed, reached for his weapon, and quietly made his way to his door. He'd left it cracked after going to bed. As Skinner reached it and opened it further, he realized that the living area was still practically pitch black, so guessed that it wasn't Mulder moving around that he'd heard. He stood quietly, still not entering the living room, listening for anything out of the ordinary. There it was again. A noise, a voice, it was coming from Mulder's room. Damn, now what? Skinner slowly made his way across the room, using only the little bit of moonlight that found it's way in through a crack in the curtains to navigate. When he reached his agent's door, he paused again, wondering if he really had the right to intrude. A muffled cry decided him. Skinner opened Mulder's door slowly, trying not to alarm the younger man. It wouldn't due to get shot, after all. Wouldn't look very good in either of their official bureau jackets. Mulder lay on his back, wearing boxers and a T-shirt, sheets twisted around legs and arms, testament to an unsettling rest. A light sheen of sweat stood out on his forehead, made more obvious by the light reflecting from the muted TV across the room. As Skinner took in the man's restlessness, Mulder jerked, simultaneously crying out, "No, Daddy." Skinner was at a loss as to what should do. After another thirty seconds of torture watching his agent in the throws of either a nightmare or memory, he could stand it no longer. Skinner approached the bed, laid his service weapon next to Mulder's on the table, and knelt down. He reached one hand out to Mulder's shoulder and shook slowly, saying "Mulder, wake up." Skinner was unprepared for his agent's reaction. Still asleep, Mulder turned on his side, facing Skinner, and curled around his knees. His breathing was uneven, catching occasionally. Skinner realized that his agent was quietly crying, while still asleep. Skinner reached out once more and again shook the younger man's shoulder, a little more forcefully this time. "Mulder, it's Okay, you're just dreaming." Mulder only scrunched tighter at the touch and flinched at Skinner's voice. Skinner became aware that Mulder was talking, saying something, somewhat muffled because of his position. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I won't do it again. Please, Daddy." Skinner realized his agent was still asleep, caught up in a memory that wouldn't let go. Mulder sounded as if he were only a small child, and Skinner's heart broke at the thought of innocence so betrayed. Skinner decided to go where his agent was, in the hopes of bringing him out of the memory, or at least sending him into a more peaceful sleep. Keeping his voice low and even he said, "Fox, it's Okay. I'm not mad, Fox. It's all right. Just go to sleep now." Skinner held his breath for several seconds, prayed he'd made the right move, then continued his gentle words. The younger man started to calm somewhat, and the tears slowly stopped as Skinner continued his soft whispering. After a few shuddering breaths, Mulder's arms loosened from around his knees somewhat. "That's right, Fox. Just go to sleep now. Everything's all right. I'm not angry with you, Fox." The use of his agent's first name seemed to have done the trick. Although he still didn't look comfortable, at least Mulder lay reasonably straight and no longer cried out for forgiveness. Skinner breathed deeply, gently pulled the sheet up around his agent's shoulders, and couldn't resist smoothing the matted hair from the sleeping man's forehead. "Sweet dreams, Fox." Skinner whispered the words softly as he stood. He picked up his weapon and then made his way back across the room. Scully's earlier words came to him suddenly, 'if his father weren't already dead, I think I'd kill him myself.' Yes, indeed, Skinner understood exactly what Scully had been feeling. He paused at the door and looked back at his agent, who now rested peacefully. Skinner tried to understand these feelings that had been surfacing over the last couple days towards his two younger agents. He wanted to protect them, help them, keep them from being hurt. Damned if he wasn't feeling ..... paternal towards them. Walter Skinner had never had these feelings before. It was, in fact, a major sticking point in his marriage to Sharon. She had wanted children, but he couldn't see himself, by any stretch of the imagination, in a parental role. Now he began to question whether he had been hasty. Skinner took one last look at Mulder before closing the door quietly and going back to bed. Sleep was long in coming. ************************** Saturday, 7:04 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel Scully knocked at the suite a little after 7 a.m. and was surprised by the sight of a very scruffy and exhausted looking Skinner who opened the door. He looked like he'd had a rough night and Scully prayed her boss's sleeplessness wasn't related to her partner in any way. "Hello, sir. Is it still too early? I can come back in a bit." "It's all right, Scully, come on in. I'll be ready in about ten minutes. I'm pretty sure Mulder's up." With that, Skinner turned and made his way back to his bedroom, leaving Scully to close the suite door. She shocked herself by actually admiring her boss's physique. He wore shorts and an FBI T-shirt that hugged his muscled torso. While both Mulder and Skinner were essentially the same height, Skinner looked more like a body builder, while Mulder had the long and lanky body of a swimmer and runner. Scully tore her eyes away from the body of her disappearing boss and realized that Mulder stood in the door to his bedroom watching her. A grin was plastered across his face. Had Scully been closer, though, she would have seen that his eyes betrayed him, a slight frown taking residence, despite the grin. As it was, Scully felt herself redden, the heat on her face almost unbearable. She played it cool, though, unwilling to allow Mulder this round. She looked him straight in the face before asking, "So, Mulder, are you about ready for breakfast?" Her partner genuinely smiled at her then, decided to go along, and replied, "Yep, all set." Mulder moved into the room and started packing his briefcase. He'd gotten in a couple hours work this morning and had some new thoughts for the Pattern Dumping team. It was the one thing he hadn't put a great deal of thought into and he awoke that morning suddenly thinking the oversight would become important. He'd also spent a little more time on the victim pattern that he was convinced now involved the 3 x 3 matrix. He picked up the inevitable cards and put them in his right suit pocket. Mulder knew his partner was watching him, but refused to acknowledge the awareness. It was odd. He watched Scully peripherally as she watched him, and he wondered what she was thinking. Probably worried about him after last night. Mulder was determined that he'd keep any lingering affects of the concussion under tight wraps today. He'd have to pace himself. They were running out of time. ************************** Saturday, 5:21 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center "Look, it's a test. He gave them a test and some of them made it to three days before failing and some of them failed almost immediately." Mulder was trying to control his voice. He knew the profile team was still split in their thinking, even though Vickers had come around. Actually, he figured half of them thought he was insane while the other half thought him only mildly disturbed. Most of the profile group was gathered around the conference table in the command center. Several of them were on their feet, though, as was Mulder. The tension was mounting. "This man, this killer, does nothing without reason. He is smart, he's educated. He's following a set of rules. It's just that they're so complex, we don't understand them. It looks to us like there is no reason, no patterns. But there are." Mulder's voice was beseeching. He had to get the profile team to understand the killer's motivations before they could make any significant progress. Alison Murphy looked up from the table, exhaustion clearly showing on her features. "Look, Mulder. We're not trying to be difficult here. It's just that if we apply any standard profiling technique to this case, we get something totally different from what you're proposing. How can you expect us to throw out everything we've always known to be true, just on your say so." Mulder was not offended by Alison's comment. Actually, he was relieved. It was finally out in the open. The team had been skirting the issue of the contradictory profiles for days and now they were going to address it. Mulder stepped closer to the conference table and put both hands on it, leaning forward slightly. He then stood straight once again and looked around the room at the seven agents of the profile team. Vickers wore a look of chagrin. He had evidently hoped to avoid this. Crowley still had his perpetual scowl, but it was oddly coupled with confusion. No one was hostile, at least. "Alison, I fully understand the dilemma. Please remember that I was a profiler with the ISU in the VCS for almost three years." He didn't want them to accept his profile just on his say so, but Mulder felt it crucial to remind them, even tangentially, why he'd been asked to consult on this case in the first place. He'd been the Golden Boy for a reason, after all. "Profiling is not a science. It will never be a science. It will never be a science because science requires a body of laws that always hold, explaining why things happen the way they happen. But with profiling, we attempt to explain human nature, which almost by definition is unexplainable. The number of variables that would be necessary to ever truly capture a person's motivations and thought processes is almost infinite. And frankly, even if we could produce a reasonable model built on some subset of the variables that we believe to be the most crucial, interactions with those not in the model could completely skew any results." Mulder wasn't sure if they were following or not, was worried he was becoming overly pedantic, but he had their attention still. Some part of him was aware that Skinner had entered partway through his words and stood by the door. "This is not to say that attempting to define rules and procedures to aid in profiling is a waste of time. It's not at all. It's just that we must always recognize that there is a difference between a model which explains behavior after the fact and one which predicts it. It is for this very reason that the ISU continues to collect data, both quantitative and qualitative, from serial killers and other criminals. The additional data is continually added to the existing models to increase accuracy in the hopes that - someday - we might actually be able to make predictions with a high degree of accuracy and confidence." Mulder paused again, mentally reviewed the numerous discussions they'd had within the ISU at various times over this exact issue. This was one thing both he and Patterson agreed on. "So, what this means for us is that it's fine to use the standard approaches for profiling, but we should never," Mulder took extra care to stress the word so they would understand how important he felt the point, "never assume a profile generated by such means to be absolutely or even remotely correct." If anything, there was more confusion and concern on the faces of the agents facing him then there had been before. Mulder had to get this over with soon. "The ISU exists because we recognize these models to be non-predictive. So we have profilers, like Vickers, who have training in psychology, psychiatry, sociology ... training that gives them a special insight to the criminal's motivations and actions." Mulder pulled out a chair from the conference table and practically collapsed in it. It had already been a long day and the headache had come back in force. All he wanted was to go back to the hotel and collapse in bed. Mulder again looked around the room at the collected agents, pausing on Skinner for a second before continuing on. He took a deep breath and prepared to continue. It was time to ask for the leap of faith. "I know this isn't fair to you. I'm asking you to throw out everything you know here and trust me. But I swear to you, the man we are looking for is around 40 years old. He's educated, he's intelligent, he's a professional. He comes into contact with these children because of his job. He's most likely married with no children of his own. He does not live with parents. He has not killed before this. He appeared perfectly ordinary until something happened to start him on this journey of his. The kidnappings and killings were planned, thought out to the last detail. He chooses the children for specific reasons, I believe related to sex and ages. He knows beforehand what he's going to do with them if they fail the test. He researches them and their families and kidnaps them effortlessly, never leaving evidence, witnesses, or clues of any kind. He brings them somewhere - not his house - not the eventual dumping location. He tests them." Mulder's voice cracked as he said this last. He was fading fast. He knew it and had to get these agents on his side tonight. He took a sip of the cold coffee in front of him and went on. Amazingly, no one had interrupted him. He wasn't sure what it meant. "When they fail, as they all will, inevitably, he sexually assaults them, brutalizes them, strangles them. He doesn't enjoy it. It's a chore that has to be done. A punishment to be meted out and he's the one that has to do it, has been chosen to do it. He 's controlled, efficient, focused. Perhaps even saddened by the fact that yet another possibility failed him." Mulder's voice had become oddly monotone, seemingly even more calm, even while his features became more haggard. It was a contrast that worried Skinner, but he knew he couldn't interrupt. Every eye in the room was still on Mulder, who now sat looking intently down at his clasped hands. No one had moved a muscle for the past several minutes at least. "When he's done, he moves them, taking no care whatsoever about the bodies. They have, after all, failed him. But he folds the clothes, carefully, scrupulously, and places them at the dumping site, always to the left of the door, eight feet in and two to the left." Heads jerked across the room. This was new. Why hadn't they heard anything about this? And what in the world could it mean? "But the bodies, the victim's bodies, he doesn't care about any more. They're nothing to him. Failures don't count. They don't deserve consideration. Failures deserve contempt. They deserve punishment. It's what he believes, what he'd been taught." Mulder's breathing was ragged now and a rustling here and there throughout the room alerted Skinner to the fact that the growing concern on some faces wasn't necessarily related to the case. Mulder had closed his eyes and his head now dropped forward to his chest, almost touching the tightly linked hands on the table in front of him. His rasping voice could barely be heard now. "Then he goes home and looks at the name of the next child on his list. Thinking, perhaps this will be the one. Maybe ... this time. Maybe." A long thirty seconds made it evident to Skinner that Mulder had once again become lost in his own thoughts. Skinner cleared his throat and took a step forward, the movement drawing all eyes to him immediately, except for Mulder's. "Why don't we take a short break. We'll reconvene in fifteen minutes." Everyone understood it was a directive to get out. Vickers was the last to leave. He found himself consumed with guilt. He had known Mulder years ago, worked with him closely on numerous cases. He knew why Mulder had to get out of Violent Crimes. He went too deep, always did. If he hadn't gotten out of the VCS when he did, the job would have consumed him, like it had Patterson. Vickers silently cursed himself for getting Mulder into this and finally left the room, closing the door behind him. Skinner took the couple steps necessary to bring himself to Mulder's side and took the seat next to the younger man. He turned in the chair to look closely at his agent. Mulder sat still, breath uneven, perspiration dotting his forehead, eyes clenched shut. Every once in a while, a slight grimace crossed his face. Skinner lightly touched Mulder's arm and spoke his name. "Mulder." His agent immediately opened his eyes and turned quickly toward Skinner, wincing at the sudden movement. It dawned on Skinner then that this reaction probably had more to do with the aftereffects of the concussion than the case. "Mulder, you don't look very well. Is your head bothering you?" Mulder had to concentrate hard to understand what his boss was asking him. "A little, sir. I think I might lie down somewhere for a little bit. Maybe take some aspirin." Skinner nodded, recognizing that Scully should probably look him over as well. I'll tell you what, Mulder. Why don't you lie down in here. I'll have someone bring you some aspirin. I'll meet with the team out in the other conference room." Mulder nodded lightly at Skinner's words. He tried to stand and sank back in the chair, gripping the arms, while he attempted to get the sudden nausea and stabbing pain under control. He was unaware of his boss, who had opened the command center door and was barking orders at Vickers to get Scully, now, as well as water and aspirin. Skinner was then back at his side, Mulder not even aware he'd been gone. "Sir, I think I'll just sit here for a little bit if that's Okay." It came out as a whisper between clenched teeth. "That's fine, Mulder. Just sit and rest. I have some water coming, and some aspirin. Just relax, if you can, take it easy." Skinner gripped Mulder's shoulder to give the man some reassurance. A quick knock interrupted his thoughts and he was relieved to see Scully entering the room. Someone behind her gave her bottled water, which she brought over to the table and put down, along with her medical bag. She came prepared this time. Skinner realized his hand was still gripping Mulder's shoulder and he self- consciously dropped it. Scully looked at him enquiringly. He stood and backed away slightly, moving to Mulder's other side, giving Scully room to sit by her partner. "Mulder, Scully's here. I think she'd like to take a quick look at you." The younger man still hadn't moved, still sat with eyes closed tightly. Skinner had no idea what was going through his mind. Mulder's strangled reply gave him an idea. "Scully, I just need to rest for a bit. You shouldn't have been disturbed. You don't need to be here." Skinner caught the flush that spread across Scully's face. He understood that Mulder was embarrassed at what he perceived to be a sign of weakness in front of his partner. Skinner hoped that Scully would also understand. He needn't have worried. These two were partners, after all. Knew each other much better than he possible could. Scully leaned close to her partner, trying to get a good look at his face. She gently wrapped her fingers around his left wrist, to get a pulse. "Mulder, Janice and I finished up twenty minutes ago. I was already heading over here. I'm going to be meeting with the Forensics team in an hour, but until then, I'm free. I had kind of hoped to catch up with you and maybe grab some dinner. I was even going to buy. You're not trying to get rid of me, are you?" Scully was not overly concerned by her partner's rapid heartbeat, but wanted a better look at his face. He appeared flush and she couldn't tell if it was the lighting or not. Mulder had relaxed somewhat at her words and wasn't holding himself so tightly anymore. He still hadn't really moved position, though. "Mulder, I need you to turn towards me a little. Can you do that?" Scully wasn't sure what was happening here. Mulder had suffered enough concussions over the years that their respective responses were practically ingrained. This was something different, though. By all accounts, the concussion he'd received when he fell a couple nights ago, had been quite mild. It shouldn't be affecting him this badly now. Mulder still hadn't moved and Scully wasn't even sure if he'd heard her. She glanced at Skinner, a combined look of concern and confusion crossing her face. Skinner took a step closer and put his hands on the back of Mulder's chair to physically turn the man towards Scully. Before he started manhandling the younger man, he leaned close to his ear and said softly, "Mulder, Scully needs you to turn a bit. Come on, turn sideways, I'll help." With Scully holding his arms and Skinner moving the chair, they got Mulder turned somewhat in the right direction. Mulder appeared to be even more out of it and Skinner's concern grew exponentially. Scully could see now that the flush and rapid breathing were definitely not her imagination. Putting one hand lightly to Mulder's forehead, she felt the heat emanating even before making contact. Dammit. How does he do it? Why the hell does he have a fever? Scully quickly turned to her bag and pulled out a thermoscan. Placing it firmly in her partner's ear, she took a reading, then sat for a second wondering if it could possibly be right. 101.8. Skinner leaned over to glance at the reading and looked at Scully in alarm. That was way the hell too high for an adult. What the hell was going on? Concussions didn't cause a fever, did they? Scully put the thermoscan down and started a cursory examination of her partner to attempt to gain insight on this latest attack on his well-being. She felt around his head and was reassured that the cut was not infected and the bump had almost disappeared. Some good news at least, although the sweat dampened hair was indication of something terribly wrong. She continued down his shoulders, looked at the left arm, then the right. When she picked up his right hand, she started at the quick intake of breath the action generated in her partner. It was the first real response he'd made since she came in the room. Scully quickly took off the bandage on his right hand and sighed at the angry red and swollen palm. Of course, the cut was infected. Badly. This would require more than her skill. They'd have to get him to the hospital immediately. At least she could get him started on antibiotics. "Well, Mulder. You've got a nasty infection here. Unfortunately, on top of your other injuries, it's hitting your body pretty hard. We're going to have to get you to the hospital." Scully looked up from her partner's hand to discover his eyes on her. He seemed lucid, and ... appreciative. She smiled at him, touched his cheek gently, then stood to help him out of the chair. "Come on, partner. It'll be fast, I promise." She was relieved by the small grin that played around his mouth. "So, Scully, does this mean no dinner? I thought you were buying." "I'll owe you one. I have a feeling you might not really be in the mood to eat tonight." Skinner was staying out of the way, but keeping a close eye out just in case. Mulder managed to stand under his own power and was now struggling into his suit jacket. When he reached up to straighten the tie, he gasped at the pain in his right hand. Scully reached up and tightened it for him, straightened it and then buttoned his jacket. "Thanks, Mom." Scully only grinned in response and picked up her bag. "Come on. Can you make it on your own?" It was a stupid question, she knew. The reality was that he had to make it on his own. Outside the door was the entire profile team and God knew who else. He had to make it on his own. Skinner understood this as well, and decided to lead the way. Skinner opened the door and exited a couple steps ahead of Scully and Mulder. He caught Vicker's eye and gestured the man over, giving instructions to continue with the discussions until he got back. He also asked for him to arrange for a car and driver. He didn't tell Vickers where they were going. Let them speculate. It didn't really matter. It was already after dinnertime and all the teams had plenty to do without Mulder tonight. ************************** Saturday, 8:09 p.m. Minneapolis Hospital Luckily, Scully's assessment of a quick in and out trip to the ER was accurate. While the cut was infected and presently wreaking havoc on Mulder's system, the antibiotics were expected to kick in quickly. Scully was sufficiently reassured that she agreed to Mulder's plan to return to the bureau office to work for a few more hours. She knew, as did Mulder, that the days were short now. If the break didn't come tomorrow or the next day, it would quite possibly be too late. The three headed back towards the car. Skinner was not quite so convinced of the wisdom of Mulder's decision. He was surprised that Scully hadn't really argued the point and was considering bringing it up again, had opened his mouth to do so, when he realized Scully was looking at him, eyes begging him to trust her judgment on this. He closed his mouth and rethought it. Balanced the pros and cons. The truth was that Mulder was making progress. Even injured or sick, he was moving them in a direction that brought the team ever closer to both the killer and the next victim. Scully would be close by tonight, keeping an eye on her partner. Her eyes told Skinner she'd make sure he was Okay. Skinner nodded at her and opened the car door for her. The trip back was quiet, except for Mulder's light snoring. Skinner looked back at the man with amusement. Evidently he could fall sleep anywhere anytime. So how in the world was it possible he couldn't sleep more than four or five hours a night. An enigma. He glanced over at Scully then and realized she was also sleeping, or at least making a good approximation of it. They looked like bookends, each leaning against the corner made by seatback and door, heads back, mouths slightly open. He couldn't help but smile at the picture they made, then realized that the exhaustion that was the cause for these naps wasn't likely to be relieved any time soon. Skinner looked over at the young agent driving them and said quietly, "Could you pull through a drive-thru somewhere? We need to pick up something for dinner." Perhaps Mulder would be able to get something down. He knew Scully and he would be able to. He was starting to understand why Mulder was so thin. Skinner was pretty sure he'd already lost about five pounds so far. Long days and nights of continuous, stressful work and missed meals weren't exactly the way he'd normally choose to lose weight. ************************** Saturday, 9:23 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center Scully was looking at her partner with amazement and irritation. The man had an iron constitution. He had practically inhaled his chicken sandwich, had finished off his fries and was now eyeing the remainder of her sandwich. He looked at her suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. "So whatta ya say, Scully. You gonna eat that, or what?" Scully pushed the other half of her sandwich across the table and smiled in return. "You know I hate you for being able to do that." Skinner wasn't exactly sure what she meant. Actually, he'd been eyeing the rest of her sandwich, too, and was irritated that Mulder, who was supposed to have been too sick to eat, had gotten to it first. Oh well, he could always get something else later. Mulder mumbled something around the sandwich that sounded like a continuous stream of gibberish, "sowattidjanizay". To Skinner's surprise, Scully answered. "They've verified it for every scene now. They're somewhat chagrined they didn't catch it earlier. Still don't know what it means, of course." Mulder nodded and caught Skinner's confusion. Mumbled towards him around a mouthful of fries, "theplacementoftheclothes". That the AD somehow made out himself. Scully continued. "They're also insistent about the blood patterns. I checked myself and I have to agree. I don't think you're going to win this one, Mulder." Her partner merely shook his head, took a sip, then replied, "Doesn't make sense, Scully." He seemed offended that some piece of evidence was actually not fitting into his theory in the correct manner. "Gotta be an explanation, something missed somewhere." Implying 'not by me'. Scully wasn't about to tell him what was on her mind. That even Mulder could make wrong guesses that don't pan out in the face of the evidence. She knew better to say it out loud. Their boss, however, evidently hadn't yet figured it out. "What are you talking about, Mulder?" Skinner caught Scully's grimace and decided he might have just made a tactical error. Mulder turned in his seat to be able to better face his boss and explained. "Sir, the forensics team believes that the order in which the beatings occurred are random, each child's bruising and injuries different. I don't believe this to be the case. This killer, this man we're looking for, is procedural. He writes the script and then follows it. The team has verified that the beatings take place all at once, over a period of hours, not over days. He's following a script that means something to him. The order is important, just like the patterns are important. The order is dictated - not random." Skinner just looked at his agent, unsure how to respond. Then, despite Scully's small shake of the head, he ventured, "But, Mulder, if the blood patterns don't match, they don't match. There's no way around it." Mulder was shaking his head more emphatically now, wearing a look of irritation. "No, sir, there's an explanation. They just haven't found it yet." He turned to look across the table at his partner, so missed Skinner's version of a grimace. "Look, Scully, talk with Janice again. Look at it again and try to keep an open mind. I'm telling you, there's an explanation that makes sense." Scully's mouth dropped open slightly and she reddened at his suggestion to 'keep an open mind'. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Skinner was equally parts amazed and proud of her response, when it finally came. "Fine, Mulder, I'll make sure we keep an open mind and we'll check it again, try to come up with any possible way it could have happened differently. If....." Scully paused then and leaned forward slightly, as if this would help to make an impression on her partner. "If, Mulder, you try to keep an open mind concerning the possibility that in this instance, he might have acted with some randomness." Skinner saw Mulder's expression darken, saw his agent open his mouth as if to speak, pause, and then evidently reconsider. Following a martyred sigh, he said merely, "Okay, Scully." Mulder started clearing the refuse from his dinner and slowly stood. "I'm meeting with Tresky to see if they turned up anything else from the parents, then I'm meeting with Halston and his team. I think we're close on the victim selection pattern." Mulder looked up at Skinner and asked, "Sir, do you think you could see how Vickers and his team are doing. I think they've made quite a bit of progress this evening, but I'd appreciate your input. Also, if you could, check on Brewster. I gave his team some ideas this morning and haven't had a chance to touch base again." Skinner nodded, realized this meant another couple hours tonight at least and chose not to question whether Mulder was up to it. It was already speeding towards 10 p.m. and he couldn't help thinking Mulder belonged in bed. Oh, well, he'd continue to trust Scully's judgment on this matter. She'd certainly called it right for now. ************************** Saturday, 11:41 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Conference Room "Shit! Damn! He's Catholic!" Every member of the pattern selection team froze and looked at Mulder , who stood bent over the conference table staring at his arrangement of 3 x 3 cards. Halston finally moved to stand next to him and looked over Mulder's shoulder at the arrangement. 7 10 13 6 9 12 5 8 11 When Halston found no bells going off, he said, "I don't see what you're seeing, Mulder. Help me out here, huh?" Mulder still cursed quietly and Halston made out the phrase, "...can't believe I'm so fucking stupid." "Mulder, put us out of our misery here, huh? Tell us what you see." Mulder finally regained control, then leaned forward with his arms propped on the table. "It's the Genuflect .... Father, Son, Holy Ghost, but diagonal. Then he's making a cross, three down, then more across, except it's not clear whether he'll go for the 12 year old boy or the 8 year old girl next." Halston was again confused by the sudden discussion of sex of the victims. They had barely discussed this as a parameter due to the fact that only two of the victims had been girls so far. The team had basically written sex off as a pattern parameter, but evidently Mulder hadn't. The other agents were crowding around the table now, and Mulder could hear their mutterings and soft expressions of dismay as they saw the pattern, recognized it for what it was. He stood straight and pushed his way through the bodies, made his way to the door and exited. He needed some quiet to think this through. The first and last column were boys, the middle girls. The order went upper left to lower right (the Father, the Son), then lower left to upper right (and the Holy Ghost). Catholic. A safe bet. A Catholic with unresolved religious issues? Then the cross. Top, left, middle. But would he continue the line to the right and take the 12 year old boy next or would he bounce down to the 8 year old girl. Either pattern made sense. Damn! Even with the grid, it would be impossible to determine for sure. Mulder had made his way to the hallway and was wandering basically at random, not particularly paying attention to where he was going. He was surprised, then to discover he had wandered his way to the other side of the building where Dave Jenkin's office was. As he started to walk past, he noticed the door open and Jenkins sitting at his desk, a pile of papers in front of him. Mulder decided there was no time like the present to make his peace with the man, once and for all. He stuck his head in the door and said, "Hello, sir." Jenkins looked up and smiled when he saw Mulder. He stood and waved at Mulder to come in. He walked around his desk and stopped a couple feet from the younger agent. "So, Mulder, how are you? Did you need something? Would you like to sit down?" Mulder wasn't sure which question to take first, so he decided to answer in order. "I'm fine, sir. I just needed to think and sometimes I find that a little walk does wonders for achieving clarity. I just happened to wander this way and saw your door open. Thought I'd say hello." Jenkins looked honestly pleased at the fact that Mulder felt comfortable enough to stop by. "Sir, I wanted to....." All of a sudden, it didn't seem to be quite so easy to bring up their previous meeting. Jenkins saved him the need. "You know, Mulder. I never got a chance to thank you eight years ago. You were gone before I even knew it. You did a great job. I told Patterson he didn't deserve you. I was glad to see you got out of ISU when you did." Mulder was caught flatfooted. He finally readjusted the preconceived notions that had taken root eight long years ago. "Well, thank you sir. I appreciate it." "How have things been going today, Mulder? I spoke with the team leaders at different times today, but haven't heard any updates since about 8 p.m." "Well, sir, actually we added a little more insight to the profile and figured the pattern for the victim selection. Unfortunately, we can't do more than to narrow the selection to either a 12 year old boy or an 8 year old girl. We're still looking at other possible patterns. We've also made headway in the forensics area. I was just about to head over to see Agent Brewster. I want to investigate the possibility that the victim selection and dumping selection site patterns are related. It's something that hasn't been considered." Jenkins reached out and hit Mulder on the arm lightly, said with a smile, "Mulder, you juggle better than most circus performers. I'm heading out. Come on, I'll walk with you to Brewster's hide away." Mulder was pleased by the praise. It wasn't often anyone vocalized such thoughts, especially now that he was with the X-Files. Skinner certainly went out of his way on occasion to give them 'Atta-agents", but even then it was generally coupled with a criticism or caution. Mulder preceded Jenkins out the door and politely waited until the man had turned off the lights and gathered his belongings. Jenkins took the time to get another look at Mulder. He had heard from Walt about their latest ER experience and he was surprised that Mulder was still up and running flat out at almost midnight. The boy looked pale. Jenkins decided to talk with Walt or Agent Scully before heading out. This boy certainly needed looking after. ************************** Brewster's group was located just down the hall from Halston's victim selection team. As Mulder neared the small meeting room where Brewster and his agents were working, he heard his name called from down the hall. He turned to see Halston and Ruiz walking towards him. Angela Ruiz had a smile plastered across her face. Mulder was mildly confused. He seemed to recall that Ruiz had been assigned to the dumping pattern team. Both Mulder and Jenkins stooped and waited until the two agents approached. The greeting to Jenkins was perfunctory. It was obvious that both agents were excited about something. Mulder's interest was definitely piqued, as was Jenkins. "Sir, hello. Mulder, come on, Angela's holding down the fort for Brewster. He had to leave early tonight. Both pattern teams are in the large conference room. We have something to show you." Halston and Ruiz had already turned and were heading back the way they came. Mulder and Jenkins exchanged smiles and started after them. There wasn't much to get excited about lately. Mulder would take just about anything at this point. The conference room was packed with agents, way more than should have been there for just the two pattern teams. Mulder quickly saw that just about everyone was in the room. Evidently, someone had called an ad hoc meeting. Good thing he had started heading back when he did. When Mulder and Jenkins entered, a quiet expectation seemed to descend on the room. Mulder and Jenkins saw Skinner and Scully across the room and angled towards them. Jenkins broke the silence finally. "What's happening?" Skinner nodded to Mulder and Jenkins, then responded, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear him. "Mulder's breakthrough with the victim selection pattern also solved the dumping pattern. It's the same pattern. We've been able to identify the two regions wherein the next dumping site will be contained." Skinner then gestured at Angela Ruiz, who pointed at the skewed map of the Twin Cities fastened on the wall. The map was covered with an erasable plastic that permitted use of markers. Mulder immediately recognized a familiar pattern. "We've put up your 3 x 3 grid here, Mulder, to correspond with the victim selection pattern. We turned the map so the grid was horizontal and vertical. The locations fit perfectly with victim number." 1 5 4 6 7 ? 3 ? 2 Mulder nodded to himself. It was exactly the thought he'd wanted to share with Brewster's team. He was happy to see that someone from the victim selection team had thought about it and made the necessary walk down the hall to fill in the other pattern team. "We know now that the next site will definitely be in Minneapolis in one of these two regions. Unfortunately, the regions themselves are still somewhat large, but at least more manageable. Kilroy's got a digitized map of the city and is running a probability analysis right now to narrow the options in the two regions based on previous site selection location within the regions." Ruiz and her team, as well as the victim selection team members, were all looking at Mulder expectantly. He smiled at them all and congratulated them, spreading the praise liberally. Skinner was impressed yet again by the people skills his normally recalcitrant agent could implement when desired. He looked closely at the younger man and saw he was a bit green around the gills. This was probably the right time to call it a night for everyone. "Agents, I'd like to add my congratulations. Everyone made exceptional progress today. I think perhaps this is the perfect time to call it a night. We'll all work better tomorrow after a good night's sleep." The agents started drifting out, most of them looking pleased. Scully knew better. She knew Mulder knew better. Her eyes met her partner's and saw a matching pain. They both understood that the dumping site information would only be useful after the death of another child. ************************** Sunday, 12:53 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel Skinner was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. He sat in the living area of the suite at the table they'd turned into their command center. A single light shined over his shoulder onto the table. He had pulled out his set of cards, made the first night there, and had arranged them in the victim selection pattern. How had Mulder done it? From the first night, he'd been sure of the 3 x 3 pattern. He'd been sure of the 8 and 12 year olds that would complete the pattern. He almost had the pattern yesterday. And all of a sudden today, he saw the religious significance. Skinner didn't doubt the pattern. He didn't doubt that their killer was a Catholic or lapsed Catholic. He just wanted to know how Mulder did it. It wasn't that Skinner felt insecure. He was surrounded by agents who had skills far exceeding his in any number of areas. He understood that his job was to marshal that excellence to get the best work out of them as a team and as individuals. But Mulder seemed to be in a category by himself. It made Skinner wonder what would become of the man. No wonder the Consortium used him for target practice. Skinner stood and stretched, pushed the cards into a pile, then turned out the light. He had to get some sleep. Tomorrow would quite possibly be their last chance. ********************************* Sunday, 4:42 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Janice Anderson's Office Scully looked across the cluttered desk at Janice, an expression of incredulity dominating her features. Scully's friend shook her head in self-incrimination. "How the hell was this missed? I can't believe this." Scully looked down at the photo in her hand once again, using the magnifying glass to see the significant detail more closely. She then exchanged the photo with another one, again looking closely. Scully mumbled, softly, "Dammit, how does the man do it?" She wasn't really cursing at her partner. She was just amazed that he had once again been proved correct against what she would have said a day ago were staggering odds. Or if not correct, at least his theory was now plausible. Janice couldn't keep the disgust out of her voice. "I don't know Dana. I don't know now why none of us considered it. It just seemed so obvious to everyone what had happened. All the evidence was consistent. Until Mulder and then you insisted we look again......" Janice was angry at herself. She and her team had broken the first rule of forensic medicine and evidence gathering -- never assume. Let the evidence tell the story, don't fit the evidence to a story. "Janice, I did the same thing. Frankly, our assumptions were reasonable. This evidence was so obscure, it's not surprising no one saw it originally." Scully again looked at autopsy photos of the third victim that showed almost invisible indentations in the skin around the left shin, indicating the possibility of slightly restrictive material. It was now theorized that these children had been clothed at the initiation of the assault and beatings. Just not in their own clothes that they'd been kidnapped in and that were found at the crime scene. Mulder's insistence that the beatings occurred in a specific pattern was now indeed possible. The clothes and removal of the clothes would have affected any blood splatter patterns. Mulder was still batting a thousand. Scully put dropped the photos and the magnifying glance on the table in front of her and stretched. She looked at her friend again and smiled reassuringly. "Janice, your team did great to figure this out. I'm going to find Mulder and fill him in. I know he's been curious. He'll also want to know about the clothes. I'll see you later." ************************** Sunday, 4:49 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, ASAC Jenkin's Office Skinner and Jenkins were both trying to calm the police chief standing in front of them. The teams had narrowed the suspect lists to more manageable numbers and were generating information on each suspect, running cross-match searches, and attempting to eliminate as many names as possible. At the same time, they were arranging to have every deserted or empty house and commercial property in the two potential dumping site regions investigated. Unfortunately, in their zeal, they had evidently forgotten that the local police were not their errand boys. The chief, after hearing complaints from at least twelve of his detectives, decided to discuss the issue with the ASAC in person, even though it was Sunday. He'd always had a good relationship with Jenkins and had been open to working with Bureau in whatever way made sense. He'd made his people available on this Twin Cities Strangler case, but this was going to far. "The fact is we're close, Steve. We've got maybe a thousand suspects and we're narrowing the list incredibly fast. Every additional officer you can help put on the searches my agents have requested will get it narrowed that much faster. As far as dumping site, we're hoping we won't need the information, but we know the two regions that will contain the next site and would like to investigate possibilities now in the hopes of catching him preparing the site." Jenkins had adopted a conciliatory tone that seemed to be working. The police chief was no longer openly hostile, merely frustrated. "Steve, I'm sorry if my agents started dumping on your officers. I can only tell you that they've been working practically around the clock to prevent another child from being taken, which could happen as early as tomorrow. We're hoping it won't, but don't be surprised if you get that call. We've made tremendous progress, as I've been telling you. We're close." Jenkins paused and searched the older man's features for a clue on how his speech was going over. It appeared the chief had calmed. "Okay, Dave. I'll clear some more of my people for you. Who should I have them contact?" Jenkins smiled at the chief then glanced at Skinner, brow raised. "Have them ask for Mulder. He'll coordinate efforts." Jenkins nodded and filled the chief in on who, how, and where. ************************** Sunday, 4:51 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center Mulder sat in the command center alone. He had chased everyone else out over an hour ago, making sure they had tasks to keep them busy for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. The teams were on autopilot now. They didn't need him. As he had several days before, Mulder sat surrounded by boxes of evidence. He once again held a strand of shoelaces in his hands. Only the floor lamp in the corner was on, casting soft shadows across the room. Every small move was magnified in the dance of the shadows on the far wall. Mulder was oblivious to the play of light. He was consumed with a single thought, a single realization, a single truth. They had already failed. It was late afternoon and they didn't have enough puzzle pieces to prevent the next child from being taken. It was going to happen and he could do nothing to stop it. It was going to happen tomorrow. A little girl, 8 years old, wasn't going to make it home from school. Or a 12 year old boy wasn't going to make it to soccer practice. He raised his eyes when the door opened, then dropped them back to his hands again, as his partner entered the room. Scully closed the door behind her and walked around the table to sit next to Mulder. "Hey." She knew he didn't really want her company, but she wasn't going to leave him there, sitting in the dimly lit room, alone. He surprised her when he said her name. "Scully." It came out with such longing, such need, that she actually jerked in her seat, and turned her entire body to look more closely at him. "Scully, I don't know what to do. I don't know where to look anymore." Mulder dropped the shoelaces back into the box at his feet, then kicked it away from him. He leaned forward and propped his arms on his knees, hands rubbing his face. He shook his head as if to clear it, then dropped his hands and turned to look at his partner for the first time. His voice was rough with emotion. "Scully, do you feel it, too? Can you feel it?" Scully felt tears come to her eyes, and fought to control them. She then understood what Mulder had known for hours. That they wouldn't be able to find the killer or the next victim in time, unless something unexpected broke for them. Another child would be kidnapped, hurt, tortured. An image of Emily flashed through her mind and the tears spilled over, uncontrollable. Another child lost while she sat helpless, unable to do anything. Scully wrapped her arms around her body tightly, and bowed her head with the undeniable realization. She felt adrift, out of control. But suddenly she was aware of arms encircling her lightly and a voice telling her it was all right, everything was going to be okay. Scully knew that they would figure out something. They had to. ************************** Sunday, 5:58 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center Skinner found them an hour later. Scully was asleep on the couch and Mulder sat in a chair across the room next to the soft light. Skinner paused a moment when he entered the room, recognizing both a sense of deja vu mixed with disconnect. Role reversals. He stared at Scully for a moment and reassured himself that she looked well, then walked over to Mulder. The younger agent had been reviewing the case files again. In addition to the stack that sat on the chair next to him was a stack on his lap and another on the floor in front of him. Skinner nodded and pulled a chair over from the table. "Mulder, everything all right?" Mulder knew his boss was really asking 'is Scully okay?' He forced himself to sound as normal as possible when he replied. "Yes, sir. Agent Scully was .... a little tired. She's just taking a quick nap." Skinner nodded, looking closely at the younger man. Mulder's tie hung loose and askew, the top button of his shirt was unfastened, sleeves were rolled almost to elbows. His jacket lay draped over the chair next to him. The bandage on his right hand encased not only the entire palm, but his wrist and lower forearm as well. Skinner decided that despite the bandages and wan complexion, his agent seemed to be doing reasonably well physically. But, Skinner wasn't reassured by the beaten down, resigned image sitting in front of him. Mulder was looking down at a crime scene photo from one of the case files, one finger idly tracing the length of the body in the picture, up and down. Skinner decided it was time to fill Mulder in on his conversation with Jenkins and the police chief. "The police chief's committed another twenty of his people for the next couple days to compile data on our lists of suspects and to investigate the possible dumping sites." Mulder nodded, still not looking up from the photo. Skinner was pretty sure the man wasn't really seeing the image on the page. He didn't know how much more of this apparent apathy he could take. He didn't understand what was happening. "Mulder, what's wrong?" Mulder looked up at his boss for just a moment, still fighting to remain calm, to appear normal. "Nothing, sir. Just reviewing the case files again." Skinner was about at his limit. He'd been pulling strings and smoothing ruffled feathers for days, making sure the path was clear for Mulder to do whatever he needed to do. Now the man just sat there, apparently doing nothing. Skinner reached out and grabbed the case file from Mulder's lap, daring the younger man to ignore him. Mulder finally raised his eyes but seemed to be focusing on a point just beyond Skinner's shoulder. The younger man wouldn't look his boss in the eye. Mulder took a deep breath, but Skinner noticed the slight catch and the light shudder that followed. Mulder's face was impassive, but there was something compelling about his lack of expression. It spoke more loudly to Skinner than any obvious anger, frustration, or disappointment would have. Skinner was honestly concerned now, and wasn't about to be put off. Whatever was in his power, he'd do. He just needed to know what Mulder needed. "Mulder, what's wrong?" "Sir ..." Mulder paused as his voice cracked slightly. He fought for control and finally realized it wasn't worth the effort. There was no purpose. Skinner had proven over the years, and especially the last days, that he could be trusted. Perhaps he could even be trusted with Mulder's insecurities and shortcomings. This realization was such a relief to Mulder. The mask he'd been forced to wear in front of the team had taken it's toll. He and Scully had few masks left between them and now he was letting Skinner in, as well. Skinner watched as Mulder's entire body slumped. The younger man's shoulders dropped and his head sagged down on his chest for a span of ten or more seconds, his hands turned up slightly as if in supplication. Skinner waited the younger man out, knowing he would speak when he was ready. When Mulder did finally respond, his quiet voice was ragged with the emotions fighting for control. "Sir, the teams have made remarkable progress. They've done an excellent job. No one could have done any better in the time we've had here. But the reality is, sir, that there's nothing we've come up with that could possibly narrow the list down to anything sufficiently manageable to allow us to identify the killer." Mulder lightly gripped his hands on his lap, fought to raise his head, and finally looked his boss in the eye. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't have any more ideas, any new leads to follow. Another child will be taken. Maybe even tomorrow. It's inevitable." And Skinner understood in one epiphanous moment, that this man blamed himself. Would always blame himself. Mulder viewed this as his personal failure. Probably Scully felt she shared the blame. The two of them always took on more than their fair share of guilt, after all. Did Mulder actually think that Skinner hadn't known this likely outcome? He and Jenkins had discussed various gameplans days ago for what they believed would be this eventuality. But evidently Mulder, and probably Scully as well, had actually believed they would get to the killer first. Would accomplish in mere days what thirty plus agents hadn't been able to do in seven months. Skinner felt a vague sense of guilt at the recognition that he had doubted these two people. But perhaps, by definition, he had to be more grounded in reality than his two X-Files agents. Suspension of belief certainly helped in their work. But he was an Assistant Director. He dealt with reality. And the reality now was that his agent sat in front of him, nearly torn apart with the belief that because of what he perceived to be his failure, a child would be kidnapped, tortured, assaulted, and killed. No wonder the man had to get out of the VCS, if he took every loss so to heart, so personally. "Mulder." Skinner spoke with as much sincerity as he could muster, knowing the importance of the moment. "Mulder, this is in no way your fault. It's in no way Scully's fault. It's not the fault of Dave Jenkins or the team leaders or the team members. If another child is taken, the only blame rests with one sick man. You know that." Skinner eyed Mulder carefully, sensing that the man sitting before him was near a breaking point. He'd never seen Mulder so openly vulnerable. Right now, Skinner could almost care less about the case. All he knew was that he hated what it was doing to his agent. Skinner reached one hand out and gripped Mulder's upper arm. He needed to demonstrate his support in more than just words. "Mulder, I have come to respect you and your abilities more over the last several days than .... well, than I ever would have thought possible. You have brought this team, this team that had essentially given up just a week ago, to a point where we actually have a hope of catching this guy. And even if another child is taken, God forbid, we still have a chance to catch him before he kills again." Skinner squeezed his agent's arm once more and then dropped his hand. "But, Mulder, if we don't get him in time, which you have to know is a real possibility, it will have had nothing to do with you -- nothing." He could see the battle raging within his agent. When Mulder nearly collapsed forward, arms crossed on knees, head practically hidden in folded arms, it was obvious to Skinner by the lightly shaking frame that this man would never truly believe himself to be blameless. And in truth, Skinner himself was not really so hardened that he didn't feel guilt, didn't feel that he should have been able to contribute more in some way. Skinner sighed deeply and rested his hand on the younger man's back, letting him know he wasn't alone, that he had a friend. When the soft trembling gradually came to a stop, Skinner again dropped his hand and stood. Skinner decided that there was really nothing more to be accomplished by his agents tonight. He was going to get them both to eat a real dinner and hopefully get them in bed early. He believed Mulder to be right. He felt it too. Tomorrow was going to be the day. ************************** Sunday, 6:49 p.m. Minneapolis Restaurant Skinner had essentially ordered Scully to come eat with them. Oddly, Mulder had offered no arguments at all. They were seated at a table in the middle of a crowded yuppie restaurant, a sea of seriousness amidst the lighthearted chatter of those around them. Skinner ordered a beer, causing both Mulder and Scully to widen their eyes in surprise. Mulder quickly changed his iced tea order to a beer, as well, and Scully ordered a white wine. She couldn't help the smile that found it's way to her face at the speed with which her partner abandoned his no drinking while on duty rule. Of course, they weren't really on duty. And their boss knew best, right? Scully decided it was time to relax. She quickly and efficiently took of her jacket, threw it across the table onto the empty chair, and undid the top button of her dress shirt, looking in challenge at the two men sitting on either side of her. Mulder actually laughed out loud and Skinner had a grin that she'd never seen before in all the years she'd known her boss. Scully was pleased she'd managed to cause such reactions. They needed whatever levity they could dredge up tonight. Mulder adopted his most sultry voice and said with an exaggerated leer, "Scully, you're turnin' me on." She grinned at her partner, and the grin widened even further when she saw him remove his jacket and loosen his tie. Both agents turned to their boss expectantly. Scully was a bit unsure whether their usually rigid superior would join them in getting more comfortable. He didn't disappoint. With little fanfare, Skinner tossed his jacket on the chair and did Mulder one better by actually removing his tie and throwing it after his jacket. The now apparent holstered guns caused a few raised eyebrows, but these patrons were well aware and quite used to the FBI agents who frequented the restaurant. Just then, the drinks came and Skinner raised his glass in the air, saying merely, "Agents." Both Mulder and Scully raised their respective drinks, Mulder taking a long swig, Scully merely sipping appreciatively. Mulder relaxed a bit into his chair, realizing he had needed this release. He'd become so wound up over the last few days that he'd been having difficulty concentrating, keeping his emotions and thoughts under control. He'd been embarrassed initially by his breakdown in front of Skinner, but knew the man held him in no lesser regard because of it. Mulder really did trust and like the older man. Mulder took another long swig, practically draining the bottle. He hadn't even poured the beer into the glass the waitress had brought. Waste of time, after all. What was the point? It had been quite a while since Mulder'd had any alcohol. He wasn't a drinker usually, except in social situations, but for some reason he felt the need to get plastered tonight. Skinner had evidently decided the same thing for himself, because Mulder noticed his boss finish off his own bottle right after he did. In fact, Skinner was gesturing to the waitress for another round. Mulder looked over at his partner to try to gage whether she objected and was reassured to see her smile at him. She took another light sip while he watched, letting him know that she planned on staying sober, then reached over to squeeze his hand quickly. Mulder smiled back at her, and told himself once again that he didn't deserve her in his life. He sank even further in his seat and stretched his legs out to the side under the unused chair to the left of him. The waitress came back and they placed their orders. Skinner was relieved to see that both his agents were ordering something akin to real food. The drive-thru and take-out meals of the last several days had really been getting to him. Skinner tacked on an appetizer and asked the girl to rush it as much as possible. Alcohol was one thing, alcohol on an empty stomach quite another. Skinner was not planning on getting drunk and in fact would probably drink very little the rest of the night. He had never advocated drinking as a means of escape and wasn't planning on starting now. But, by God, Mulder needed to cut loose a little. The next few days were going to be hell. There certainly wasn't going to be time for relaxing any time soon. Skinner decided to open a conversation on a relatively safe subject. "So, Scully, how long have you known Janice?" Scully grinned suddenly, the memory of their first meeting flashing through her mind. "I've known her since med school, sir. Actually, since the very first day. We had the exact same schedule and for some reason kept ending up right by each other in all our classes. The last class involved lab work and we just looked at each other and figured it was fated, so we introduced ourselves and became lab partners. Actually, it was a good thing because I don't think I would have made it through the course without her." Scully took another sip of her wine, still smiling at the recollection. Janice had hardly been a knockout then and neither had she. Time solves many problems, she reminded herself. She looked up to find both her partner and boss smiling at her. An honestly smiling Scully was a pleasure to behold. "Anyway, we became pretty good friends and tried to be lab partners whenever our schedules permitted. After med school, I was recruited by the Bureau and Janice had planned to go back to her hometown to take up practice. But in one of the only truly unplanned actions of her life, she went to Venice Beach for a year and worked in an AIDS clinic. I never really understood why, never really asked, actually. Then the next thing I know, she called me up and told me she was going to be training at Quantico, that she'd signed up with the Bureau." Scully shook her head to herself, once again remembering the uncharacteristic move of her friend. Skinner interrupted her musings by saying, "She's a well-respected agent and pathologist. She's really found a niche in crime scene analysis." Mulder was content to let the conversation flow around him. He was on his third beer and was munching on sour cream and melted cheese laden potato skins, liberally doused with bacon bits. He never would have ordered them himself, knowing Scully's views on fat and cholesterol, but he figured he was safe tonight since his boss had done the dastardly deed. Mulder let his gaze wander around the room, noting the clone-like professionals surrounding them. Both men and women alike wore suits for the most part. They all seemed to have fake smiles plastered on their faces, and were engaged in fake conversations. Mulder wondered whether they were really fake or whether it was just a need of his to think that those around him were unhappy and discontent, mere actors in the play of life. *Jesus*, he thought to himself, *you're getting a bit maudlin, aren't you, Mulder?* He cursed himself for having such insipid thoughts and wrote it off to the beer. Speaking of which, where the hell was that waitress? ************************** Skinner had been enjoying his conversation with Scully. Neither of them had ever really had an opportunity to talk as acquaintances, outside of work. He noticed that Scully's eyes kept straying to the left. He couldn't blame her. He had been doing the same thing, after all, sneaking looks across the table to make sure Mulder was all right. The younger man was pretty much out of it. He'd eaten his meal, but had downed at least five beers, maybe even six. Skinner was surprised by his agent's reaction though. The man had just gotten quiet. He appeared relaxed, was slouched in his seat, arms resting comfortably on the chair arms, his legs crossed. He also seemed to be oddly alert, while being simultaneously unaware. A definite disconnect. It appeared to Skinner that Mulder sometimes listened in on Scully's and his conversation, sometimes focused on others in the restaurant. But it didn't really appear as if he were actually hearing anything or processing it. Skinner couldn't begin to guess what was going through the man's mind. Skinner was still nursing his second beer and Scully had only had a single glass of wine. Both had had the same thought. Skinner realized that both he and Scully had stopped speaking and were looking at Mulder. As they watched, the agent's head slowly fell back so that he was staring up at the ceiling. After several seconds, his eyes closed, in slow motion. Scully couldn't figure out what was keeping her partner in his seat. He was already so low that his rear end was practically hanging off the edge. She'd leaned around the table to look. Evidently the laws of physics had decided to give Mulder a break tonight. She looked over at her boss and raised her eyebrows and was delighted to see his easy smile in response. "Come on, Scully, let's get him home." Skinner looked around, searching for the waitress and flagged her over when he caught her attention. Scully and Skinner started putting on jackets and overcoats. Skinner stuffed his tie in a pocket and picked up Mulder's jacket. He stood for a moment debating what to do next. A look at Scully confirmed that she had no better idea. While no heavyweight, Mulder was still a good 170 plus pounds of dead weight, spread over a six foot length. He wasn't going to be easy to wrestle back to the hotel. Considering how often Mulder had surprised him in the past, Skinner decided to try something unusual. "Hey, Mulder, we're ready to leave, come on." He was only slightly amazed when Mulder opened his eyes, sat up straight, and stood, reaching for his jacket. Skinner relinquished it and passed over the man's overcoat as well. Scully was dumbfounded. Her partner had essentially drunk an entire six-pack, the first several on an empty stomach. He now seemed to be essentially unaffected. And how had Skinner known? Skinner actually looked chagrined that his ploy had worked. Scully was now observing her partner closely and realized he was on auto-pilot. He seemed to be following directions, but wasn't really aware of what was happening. They still weren't home free. "Come on, partner, we're not far from home." Scully took his arm and pulled slightly to get him started in the right direction. Mulder was concentrating hard, watching his feet, making sure they moved one at a time and in an orderly fashion. Skinner gave them room and gestured for Scully to precede him. He watched his two agents walking ahead of him and again his thoughts turned to their relationship. Every look that passed between them showed the love they had for each other. There was no doubt in his mind that Scully loved Mulder and Mulder loved Scully. Either one would readily kill for the other, would happily risk their own lives, already had on occasion, in fact. Somehow, these two fit together. Skinner was glad they'd each found someone they could trust so deeply. A small voice told him that this was what was missing in his own marriage to Sharon. He'd loved her. Hell, he still did. But he hadn't trusted her enough to fully let her into his life, and he was pretty sure she hadn't either. It was strange when he thought of it in that light. Mulder and Scully's partnership, which he was positive had never crossed any sexual lines, was a more honest marriage than his own had been. Skinner consciously cleared his mind of such thoughts and turned his attention to making sure they all got back to the hotel in one piece. He retrieved the car from the valet and stood at the driver's door until he was sure Mulder and Scully were in safely. Scully had maneuvered her partner into the back and then slid in beside him. Skinner doubted she was even aware that Mulder was holding her hand. Skinner smiled to himself and started the engine. Turning the lights on revealed the digital time on the dash. Only a little after 9 p.m. This was a first. It would feel good to get one full nights sleep for a change. ************************** Monday, 4:03 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel Skinner woke around 4 a.m. and after tossing and turning for a good ten minutes realized he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep until he'd checked on his agent. He heaved himself up out of bed, reaching for his glasses. This was a familiar path, so he didn't even turn on the light by his bed. He opened his door and was halfway across the room when he froze. Mulder's door was wide open and he could see that the TV wasn't on. Skinner had become used to the fact that his agent had the television on wherever he was in the suite, even while working. Skinner considered going back for his gun and then managed to convince himself Mulder had just gone to sleep without turning it on for a change. Skinner walked slowly across the room and quietly swung his agent's door open the last few inches. The sight that greeted him sent a chill down his spine. Mulder's bed was empty. The door to the bathroom was wide open. It was obvious he wasn't there. Skinner quickly walked back into the living area and turned on a light. As he turned to another one, he saw the note taped to the lamp by his bedroom door. He quickly crossed the room, turned on the light and grabbed the note. Sir, I had an idea I wanted to check out. I'll be at the Bureau. Mulder Damn, the man, anyway! He was supposed to be sleeping off a drunk, not traipsing around the town at 4 something a.m.!!! Jesus, 4 a.m. Skinner glanced into his bedroom and looked with longing at his rumpled bed. The soft sheets were still calling his name. The paper in his hand was also speaking to him, though. Skinner sighed, grimaced slightly, and then smiled. Life was certainly interesting around Mulder. His only real question now was whether to wake Scully or not. Hell, if Mulder could leave notes, so could he. Skinner headed into his bedroom to get ready for the day, planning out what he'd say in the note he was going to leave for Scully. He knew she had the patience of Job. He just prayed she had the compassion and understanding to match. ************************** Monday, 4:41 a.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center Mulder had been walking a path into the carpet in the command center. He wore running shorts and T-shirt, socks and running shoes. He hadn't shaved, and an even layer of stubble gave him a somewhat ruffian look. Hair pointed in all directions, the result of too many fingers pulling through the unruly mess. His knees and right elbow were visibly scabbed over and bruises of purple, black, green and yellow dotted his right thigh and shin. All in all, not the picture of the consummate Bureau professional. Mulder had moved all the chairs away from the conference table and pushed it away from the wall that held the photos of the crime scenes and victims. He needed the room. He had been walking the length of the room, at a distance of seven feet from the wall, for the past forty-five minutes or so. He walked slowly. When he reached the end of the photos, he slowly turned, eyes never leaving the wall, and walked the length once again. At the other end of the room, he'd repeat the process. Mulder was so engrossed in the photos that he was unaware of Skinner's light knock and then entry into the room. As Skinner pushed the door open, he quickly realized it was partly blocked by the conference room table, which had been pushed away from the far wall. He forced his way in, closing the door behind him. His eyes moved to Mulder and he froze. Not from the sight of the man's physical condition, which in itself would normally have given Skinner pause, but from the overwhelming feeling that Mulder was on to something. Skinner didn't know how he knew it, but the look was there. Skinner moved into the room a little further and quietly made his way to a chair at one end. He kept his eyes on his agent, wondering what it was Mulder was seeing. It was obvious that Mulder was intent on the photos. His eyes never left the wall. From the first victim to the last, the photos displayed overviews of all the crime scenes as well as close-ups of the victim's abused bodies. After thirty or so minutes, Skinner realized that his agent was pausing slightly, almost unnoticeably in fact, at the same place in his pacing ..... in front of the photos of the fifth victim. Each time, there was a slight hesitation, a fraction of a second, a foot fall delayed. Skinner sat straighter in his chair and watched more closely. After another five minutes or so, he recognized the pause to be significantly longer. Then his agent started walking faster and stopped to the far left, in front of the first victim's photos and information. He faced the wall head on. He then moved to the second victim, the third and on down the line, looking closely at each station. Once he reached the end, he moved back to the photos of the fifth victim. He then took a couple more steps back until he was leaning against the conference table. He swept his eyes from left to right, taking in the entire wall, then said, softly and quietly, "Fuck me." Skinner was as amazed at the fact that Mulder had uttered the word as he was at how it had been said. "Mulder?" His agent turned around so fast, it was obvious he'd been completely unaware of Skinner's presence. Mulder put one hand up to his chest for a second and leaned over the table, letting out a breath explosively. "Jesus, sir, don't do that." "Sorry, Mulder, I thought you knew I was here." Skinner checked his watch, realized he'd been sitting there for about forty-five minutes or so. He looked back to Mulder and saw that his agent had pulled over a chair and sunk into it. "Mulder, what is it? What did you see?" Skinner was surprised to see Mulder smile. The man looked feral, ready to attack, suddenly deserving of his first name. "He knew number five. I don't mean just knew her - I mean he really knew her." Skinner stood and walked to the wall of photos, stopping in front of those depicting the crime scene of the fifth victim, 10 year old Kirstie Sanders. He stared at the collection of photos, then moved to the right. When he reached the end, he turned and headed back again, much the same as Mulder had done earlier. When he had completed the circuit, he turned and looked at his agent, eyebrow raised. "What do you see?" If Skinner had really thought about his question, he would have realized how odd it was. They had both looked at the photos, studied them, but evidently only Mulder had seen. Skinner wanted to see it, too, whatever it was. "Sir, the sites used to dump the bodies have all been commercial properties, with the exception of site five. Site five was a house that was being prepared for remodeling. The family had temporarily moved out." Skinner nodded, but added, "Yes, Mulder, but each site was essentially unique, with little commonality beyond the fact they were deserted for at least a few days prior to the dumping. We talked about this and decided it wasn't really that unusual for one of the sites to be a house since it satisfied the criteria." Mulder was nodding at him, obviously anxious for his boss to finish so he could explain. "Yes, sir, I know that. Keep with me for a minute. All the other sites were commercial sites and all the other victims were just dumped with absolutely no care given to the bodies whatsoever. Number five was placed. She was on her back, flat. None of the others were. Most of them were partly on their sides, limbs falling wherever. But not number five." Skinner realized his agent hadn't actually said the little girl's name. It was somewhat disconcerting to hear Mulder talk about number five and to know that in reality this was a little girl, dead now for some three months. "Isn't it possible it's just a coincidence? That the victim just.....fell that way? And even if not, how does that mean the killer knew her?" "Sir, this man is procedural. He always does things the same way. The way he carried the victims, the way he .... disposed .... of them. It would always be the same. Except with number five, it's not the same. He did something different. He carried her differently. He placed her on the ground differently. It's something we'd recognized before, but hadn't put together with everything else." Skinner wondered what 'everything else' was. "You see, sir, all these other sites, the commercial properties, they all had hard floors. Here, cement, here, cement, here, hard wood, here, tile..... Always a hard floor. Except site five. Carpet." Skinner still gazed at Mulder, silent, not moving. Somehow, his agent had decided that a slightly different site with carpet and a body laying flatter than the others equaled some level of intimacy between victim and killer. Mulder saw Skinner shake his head slightly as if to clear it. He had to make his boss understand. This represented a huge break in the case. "Sir, number five failed the test early on. In fact, she barely made it through the first day. So he wasn't taking special care of her because he'd become attached over time. That doesn't follow. But he did take special care, had even set it up before hand. He made sure the surroundings were more pleasant than the others. The floor softer. Made sure she was 'comfortable' when he placed her there." Mulder was up and pacing the room, animated now. Skinner tiredly wondered to himself whether anything could keep the man down for long. "I need to talk with her parents myself. I need to visit with her teachers, with doctors. Absolutely any adult she may have had contact with. I need to revisit the site. I need to...." "Mulder, hold up." Skinner had to put the brakes on before his agent started pounding on doors at 5:30 a.m. Mulder had stopped in the middle of the room and looked at his boss questioningly. "Mulder, it's barely 5:30 a.m. You're in jogging clothes. You're a mess." It was almost comical to watch his agent glance down at himself, arms to the side and away from his body as if to get a better look, evidently having forgotten his state of dress .... or undress, as it were. "Look, Mulder. Why don't you head back to the hotel. Shower, dress, fill in Scully. I'll make some calls to a couple of the team leaders and to Dave Jenkins. Get things rolling. By the time you and Scully get here, we should be able to begin moving on some of these issues." Mulder was already heading to the door, accepting his boss' plan without argument. As Mulder clambered around the chairs to squeeze his way out the door, Skinner could only shake his head once again at his contrary agent. A damned enigma, that's all there was to it. Skinner stood and started pulling the conference table back to the middle of the room. Damned if he were going to keep climbing around it just to get in and out of the room. ************************** Monday, 8:55 a.m. St. Paul, Fifth Crime Scene Mulder, Scully, and Patty Sachs were at the fifth site once again. Although it had been almost three months since the body of Kirstie Sanders had been found in the house, it still sat empty, renovations never completed. A For Sale sign was in the front yard, indication that the owners had moved. It was only a bit before 9 a.m., but every team member had already put in at least over an hour of frantic work. The team leaders had scrambled their people quickly upon hearing of Mulder's breakthrough and each team had evaluated it's position based on the new information. Skinner had been coordinating information between the teams and keeping them all on track. Vickers and Anderson had latched onto the information most quickly, of all the team leaders. Janice Anderson had been the one to originally point out the difference between the fifth victim's body position and the others, but no one could confirm whether it was a fortuitous happenstance or a result of intent. She felt vindicated. Vickers had also been bothered by Janice's original observation since the profile they'd developed stated that the killer knew of his victims, was aware of and had access to personal data and history, but didn't actually know them personally. He and his team could now officially modify the profile to include the possibility that the killer would treat a known victim slightly differently than the others. Oddly enough, Crowley had seemed the most relieved by Mulder's news. He'd appeared to immediately accept the information, even though a few days ago he would have argued on principle alone. Now, Mulder and Scully were at the fifth site, hoping that the new information would somehow lead to further enlightenment. Mulder had placed every crime scene photo from the file in its appropriate location in the living room, where the fifth victim had been found. He wandered around the room, trying to envision what it had been like. In his hands, he held Kirstie's red and black plaid sweater. He stopped within inches of where Kirstie's body had been found and closed his eyes, imagining the way it was. The feel of the chill in the winter air, the smell of sanded wood, spackling, fresh paint. The only light shining in dimly from the street lamps through the front windows and from the recently full moon through the back windows. First the clothes were laid out - carefully, deliberately. They had a specific place. And then the body, adding new smells, of vomit, blood and urine. Smells from the killer, too. No sweat - there was no fear and he hadn't exerted himself overmuch. Kirstie was a small girl for her age. No, he smelled of aftershave and cologne. He wore his suit, his good navy wool suit, but he had his black overcoat on to prevent any mess from dirtying it. His shoes were shined to a high gloss. He'd scuffed the right one coming in and had left a small mark on the baseboard by the door. He'd get them shined again tomorrow. He wore gloves, wouldn't due to leave prints or DNA after all. He carried Kirstie's body out away from his own, attempting to keep himself clean. This was different from the others. The others he'd thrown over his shoulder and dropped. They were nothing, after all. Just failures. But he owed Kirstie something. She'd been nice to him. She'd even liked him once. He had felt a twinge of disappointment that she'd failed so early in the testing. Of them all, he thought she'd be the one. He had wanted her to be the one to make it, to keep him company. To be his friend ..... a part of his family .... his .... sister??? Mulder's eyes flew open and he gasped. Is that what this was about? Replacement for a lost sibling? But there were both boys and girls taken? How did that make sense? Had the man lost two siblings, a brother and a sister? Or was it that he didn't care about the sex of his 'new' sibling as long as they passed the test. The test his own sibling failed? Had a parent killed this man's brother or sister, leaving him alone? Did the sibling's failure cause him to be next in the testing or had he already passed the test? Or was he exempt from the test altogether for some reason? Scully saw her partner jerk, as if from a blow. He dropped the sweater he'd been gripping and ran out of the living room, before she could even move. A couple seconds later, both she and Patty Sachs clearly heard the front door slam. Scully looked over at Patty, requested that the younger agent gather the scattered evidence and then meet her by the car. Scully figured that would give her enough time with her partner to make sure he was all right. She had no idea what had caused his reaction, but she was definitely going to find out. ************************** Mulder couldn't breathe. He was gasping for air, fighting to draw it into his lungs, but his body wasn't satisfied. He heard his partner murmuring at his side and the words finally broke through to him. "Mulder, you have to slow down, you're beginning to hyperventilate. Slow it down, breathe as deeply as you can. Come on, partner, you can do it. Just slow it down, nice and easy. Deep breaths." Her voice was soothing, reassuring. Mulder finally felt himself begin to gain control once again. Unfortunately, the spots and lightheadedness weren't going away. He was scared he was going to pass out. Scully was again speaking to him, this time encouraging him to sit on the stairs and lean his head down between his knees. He allowed her to guide him, trusting her explicitly in this as in all else. Scully knew her partner was okay several minutes later when she saw him slowly raise his head and look at her, a self-conscious smile making its way to his face. "Sorry, Scully. Don't know what happened." Scully seriously doubted that. He knew exactly what had happened but for some reason, wasn't about to share it with her just yet. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she assessed whether her partner was able to be badgered just yet. She decided it was his lucky day and let it pass. Scully was worried. In all the years she'd known her partner, seen him in a multitude of stressful circumstances, she'd never, ever seen him panic. And it sure as hell seemed to her that he had just suffered a major panic attack. Maybe she wouldn't get it out of him right now, but this was definitely not a dead issue. "So, how are you feeling?" Mulder had the gall to say, "I'm fine, Scully." Scully was now irritated. She knew that number one - he wasn't, and number two - he did it just to get back at her for all the times she'd used the same expression ..... just as falsely. Damn it! And she couldn't even call him on it either. "Well, in that case, Mulder, we're ready to go. We're supposed to meet up with AD Skinner and Vickers at the Sander's house in fifteen minutes. We'll have to push it." Her partner nodded to her and stood up, not arguing with her supportive hand under his elbow. Patty Sachs was waiting at the car. Scully had come to appreciate the woman's discretion and wondered idly what she was thinking about this latest installment of the Spooky Film Festival. For Mulder's part, all he wanted was a few minutes in the car to close his eyes, to concentrate undisturbed, to banish the intrusive thoughts that had surfaced back to the dark recesses of his mind so he could move forward on this case. The thoughts were consuming him and he had to push them away. Parents and tests. Children and tests. Parents choosing their children for tests. Samantha or Fox, Fox or Samantha. He had to concentrate. He had to push the thought away, at least for now. ************************** Monday, 10:07 a.m. Minneapolis, Sanders' Residence Scully sat with Mrs. Sanders at the kitchen table. She made a pretense of drinking the unpalatable coffee that the woman had made. The men were in the back yard. If Scully leaned to the right slightly, she could occasionally catch site of them, as they moved about. Mulder had suggested the arrangement to her in the car. It had been much easier to accomplish than she originally thought it would be. "You really think we know him? That he knew Kirstie?" "We're pretty sure, ma'am." They'd already gone over this several times, but the woman seemed to be struggling with the notion that someone who might have been a friend of the family or a close acquaintance could have done this to her daughter. "We gave a full list of everyone to the police when it happened." "I know ma'am. I'm going to ask slightly different questions, though. A little more focused than the police. They didn't really have much to go on at the time." "Okay, I understand. Go ahead." "All right, ma'am. I'd like you to think only of those men whom you and your family know who wear suits. So these would be businessmen, professionals, or men who like to dress up." Scully saw the crinkle in the woman's forehead. This wasn't exactly a white collar neighborhood, after all. "A business type suit?" "Yes, ma'am. The type that the agents outside are wearing." "But we don't really know any folks like that. Our friends wouldn't wear those kind of clothes, except maybe to church or weddings ..... or funerals." "I understand, ma'am. The man might not be a friend, though. He might be someone you see professionally." The woman again looked confused and Scully found herself praying that Mulder and the others were having better luck with the husband. She went back to her questioning reluctantly. ************************** "So?" Her partner looked at her with raised eyebrows and a hopeful expression. "Sorry to disappoint you, Mulder, but I don't think I got anything. I made a list of some possibilities, but none of them really seemed right. I'm sorry." Skinner was incredibly frustrated. It had been a long time since he'd been involved in field work and he'd forgotten how difficult these types of interviews often were. No matter how well meaning people might be, they couldn't give the right answer unless the right question was asked and unfortunately, the agent generally had no idea what questions to ask. Skinner was pretty sure they'd gotten nothing here. He looked over at Mulder and Vickers, who were comparing notes with Scully. None of them seemed ready to give up. Skinner sure wouldn't either. He glanced down at his watch and saw that it was practically lunch time. Maybe he could convince these people to eat. Skinner was mildly amused at himself. All he seemed to think about lately was sleep and food. It's true, you never know how much you appreciate something until you no longer have it. And sleep and food had definitely been lacking continuity of late. Skinner approached the agents quietly, waiting for a break in their conversation. "Agents, it's about noon. May I suggest we get something to eat and head back to the Bureau?" Skinner was relieved to see that at least Scully smiled in response. Vickers also looked grateful, but it was obvious Mulder had other thoughts. "Sir, I really need to talk with the team leaders. Can you drop me off on the way?" Skinner knew immediately that it was a lost cause. If Mulder had to go back immediately, the rest of them would follow. "Okay, Mulder, we'll pick something up on the way. It'll be quick, I promise." Mulder finally acquiesced, although not particularly happily. Skinner gestured to the car and got in the driver's seat. He needed to do something to feel useful, even if it were chauffeuring his agents. ************************** Monday, 6:47 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Conference Room Late afternoon came and went and the tension in the command center escalated. Today was the earliest they had expected a child might be taken. All were praying fervently for more time. Even a day. They were so close to narrowing the list of suspects to something manageable. They were so close to narrowing the possible dumping sites. They were so close. They needed the time. They were all praying for the time. Mulder was in the large conference room adjacent to their command center. The room was noisy, with several smaller groups of agents discussing aspects of the case. Every once in awhile, a voice could be heard raised either in frustration or even anger. Everyone had learned to stay clear of Mulder and the thirty foot long path he'd been pacing for the past half hour. He had a cell phone to his ear and occasionally would put the free hand up to his other ear to block out the sounds in the room. At times, another agent would walk beside him, filling him on some new detail or asking his opinion on an issue. Sometimes, he'd be doing both at once. It was making Skinner tired just watching. He was working with Scully and the forensics group in the command center, but would look out the open door occasionally to see his agent pacing the room. They'd finally verified what Mulder had known all along. Had insisted on. They'd confirmed that fibers retrieved from the last five crime scenes were consistent with treated wool typically used in high quality men's business suits. Black fibers from two of the scenes matched and were consistent with material used in an overcoat, treated for water resistance. Skinner had already set the Commonalities team and the available police officers to searching for Dry Cleaners that might have cleaned a man's black overcoat within the weeks after each of the murders. The numbers of possibilities were staggering. Skinner sat discussing their next move with Scully and Anderson when Mulder burst through the door, causing every agent to stop what they were doing to look at him. The man remained oblivious to the attention as he strode across the room to stop at Scully's side. He placed his palms on the table next to her and rocked back and forth slightly, evidence of a restless energy barely restrained. "I got a call from the detectives checking prospective dump sites. They've targeted seven prime sites. I'm going to check them out. You want to come?" Scully glanced around the room, knowing that she couldn't afford to leave at this juncture. They had too many balls in the air. But she was worried about her partner and paused for a moment to weigh pros and cons before responding. "Sorry, Mulder. You're on your own this time. We're making quite a bit of progress here." Mulder nodded to his partner in understanding and stood straight. He stretched his back, leaning to one side and then the other. "So what've you found, Scully?" His partner filled him in on their latest developments. Skinner watched the exchange from the other side of the table. Mulder showed no obvious disappointment in his partner's refusal, but Skinner couldn't help thinking it was there anyway. Perhaps it was more than disappointment. Could it even be fear? And Scully appeared to hesitate a bit too long before answering, obviously concerned. Skinner had done all he could here and decided to invite himself along to the prospective sites. They were all carrying cell phones with local numbers so could be reached easily. He saw the younger man preparing to leave the room again and stood, effectively getting his attention. "Mulder, I'll go with you, if you don't mind. I'm finished here." It seemed his younger agent was pleased, but Skinner couldn't really be sure. "Of course, sir. I'd appreciate your input." Scully was relieved. After their experience this morning at the Sanders' house, she certainly would have preferred to accompany her partner. She'd spoken with him a few times since returning to the Bureau office and he'd easily deflected her questions, leaving the earlier episode still undiscussed. She knew Skinner would look out for her partner in her place. Scully watched them leave the room. Mulder was wired, practically bouncing off the walls. His hands were in continuous motion, fidgeting with his suit jacket, a pen, a piece of lint, a speck on the wall ..... who knew what. She'd seen him pacing outside the door, had seen it all before. And his suit appeared to hang on his frame much too loosely. Wasn't a whole lot she could do about that. Who could think about eating? Hell, her own suits were starting to bag. Scully turned back to Janice, who she realized was still looking at the empty doorway. Scully couldn't help the little surge of jealousy that passed through her. Janice turned back to her friend, coloring slightly. Scully wondered just which of the two men the woman had been watching so closely. And was it really any of Scully's business either way? ************************** Mulder was blinded by a flash of intense light as he exited the building. He was so surprised and shocked he put a hand up in protection and stopped in his tracks, causing Skinner to bump into him. A small part of his mind laughed at the image of the domino effect that had probably occurred behind him. He could see now and wasn't pleased. The photographer was continuing to take pictures, but luckily was no longer right in front of him. The reporter had a microphone stuck in Mulder's face, two inches from his mouth. He resisted the urge to grab it and stick it where the sun don't shine. He'd evidently been asked a question, but a search of short term memory could produce no meaningful recollection. Mulder pushed past the two, saying nothing. He heard Skinner behind him repeating the mantra, "No comment" to any and every question asked. Let the circus begin. ************************** Monday, 9:21 p.m. Minneapolis, Third Prospective Crime Scene Mulder had quickly eliminated the first two sites. Not officially, of course. Hard to justify a feeling. They fit the profile but just didn't have the right feel. That was all there was to it. They were now at the third and last of the possibilities that had been identified as the leading contenders in the first of the identified regions. They'd been sure to enter the location without being seen. Had parked a block over and had lookouts up and down the street to give them a heads up in the event of any activity. The last thing they needed was to scare of the killer when he was preparing his site. This one was promising. Skinner watched his agent move to the inner room and crouch down in the center, evidently studying the hard tile floor. Skinner looked around the outer room of the Laundromat at the rows of washing machines and dryers, standing at attention. One side of the room sparkled with newness, the other still awaited replacement of broken down and rusted machines. An odd dichotomy. Skinner wandered back to the smaller room that contained folding tables, soda machines, and chairs. Mulder was still crouched, elbows on knees, hands hanging between his legs. He looked up at Skinner, then slowly stood. "This might be it." Skinner nodded in acknowledgment to his agent. He could catch part of what Mulder was sensing and believed him to be right. Skinner turned abruptly, heading to the police detective who'd been showing them the sites. "Detective Rogers, I'd like you to focus your efforts on this one. I know we still need to see the four in the other region, but this is definitely the most likely site here." He watched Rogers head over to speak with one of his men, then make a call on his cell phone. Skinner realized Mulder was at his side and looked over at the younger man. His face was expressionless, frozen in typical Mulder fashion. Skinner asked, "Are you ready to see the other sites?" Mulder nodded to his boss and started moving forward, not exiting the door until getting the signal from the lookouts. It was now well past nine, almost ten, and he was starting to breathe a little easier. Mulder was pretty sure they'd gotten a reprieve. It wasn't going to happen today. He was almost positive it would have already happened if it were going to. Only one of the children had been taken from bed and that was around eight at night, right after he'd been put to sleep. Mulder sent up a silent prayer that parents everywhere were checking on their children, keeping them safe. Of course, none of these children were really safe anyway, living under the same roof with the parents who beat them or ignored the fact it was happening. Mulder cursed silently, reminded himself not to go down that path. It wasn't productive right now. They could deal with that later. ************************** Tuesday, 2:12 a.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center It had been a long day. The longest yet. Skinner had to pry both his agents away from the Bureau. He'd had to send just about everyone home in fact, a little after 2 a.m., including Dave Jenkins. Skinner had seen enough combat to know the dangers of sleep deprivation. Slowed reactions and sloppy thinking were the last thing they needed in the next couple days. He'd given them orders not to return until 8 a.m. at the earliest. There was really nothing that required their physical presence at this time. Labs technicians were working round the clock, police officers were searching records, computer simulations were running continuously. Until they got results from some of these sources, the team members themselves were essentially extraneous. ************************** Tuesday, 5:18 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel The man was hurting his sister. She was crying and screaming for help, but the man wouldn't stop. And he couldn't move. He was watching it, but he couldn't help. It wasn't his place. The man had told him to stay in his room. And she was the big sister. She looked out for him. But he'd left the door cracked and he could see across the hall. The man kept hitting her and hitting her. And she turned her head, blonde hair falling across her face, and yelled for him now, yelled out his name, beseechingly, begging for his help. And the man turned to see where she was looking. And then the boy could see it wasn't just a man. It was his father. And the girl's hair wasn't blonde any more, it was brown. And she wasn't older than he, she was younger. And his sister kept screaming, "Fox, help me." Mulder sat gasping for breath, pulling the tangled sheets from around his body. He was losing his mind. It was as clear as if it were memory, but he knew it wasn't. He knew it couldn't be. He had to talk with Scully. He had to talk with her now. Mulder practically threw himself out of bed at the thought, not bothering to put on clothes or even shoes. He was out the suite door in just his boxers and T- shirt not even stopping to pick up his door key. He pounded on her door and raggedly called out her name. ************************** It seemed that Skinner had just closed his eyes when he heard it, the noise of a door opening. Grabbing his glasses and gun, he was up and across the room in a heartbeat. He saw Mulder's door open and instinctively looked to the front door of the suite. The chain still swung slightly. Skinner moved to the door quickly and reached for the handle but paused when he heard Mulder's muffled voice and the knocking. Skinner put it together. Mulder was knocking on his partner's door, calling her name softly. Skinner rested his forehead against the closed door, silently praying Scully would wake up and finally breathed easier when he heard a door open and her voice ask, "Mulder, what is it? Are you all right?" Skinner waited until he heard the door close again and then turned back to his bedroom. His knew both agents would be fine. ************************** Scully took in her partner's shaking body and pale features and pulled him into her room without another thought. She led him to the unused bed and forced him to sit. Scully grabbed the blanket off her own bed and wrapped it around him. He was soaked in sweat, hair plastered to his forehead. Scully moved to the thermostat and quickly raised the temperature several degrees. The last thing her partner needed was pneumonia. She put her robe on, tying it closed and sat across from Mulder on her own bed. Placing both hands on his knees, she squeezed slightly, letting him know she was there. "Mulder, what is it? Was it a nightmare?" She was disconcerted by his expression and harsh laughter. He finally focused on her face. Scully couldn't follow the rapid play of emotions that crossed his features. "Scully." It was all he could manage right now. Mulder closed his eyes and concentrated only on breathing, on forcing his body to stop shaking quite so hard. His eyes wrenched open as the image found it's way to the forefront again. Dad and Samantha. Dad standing over Samantha, an evil smile on his face. God, he was going to be sick. Scully followed him to the bathroom and turned on the light, then moved behind her partner. She kneeled down on the floor next to him and rested one hand on his back, moved the other to his forehead, stroking her fingers gently. She moved closer so her entire body leaned lightly against his and she dropped her head down on the back of his still shaking shoulders. She was there for him, as he always was for her, and she hoped her physical presence would help to enforce that fact. When he calmed somewhat, she stood and wet a washcloth, grabbed a towel from the sink. Mulder sat against the wall now, legs stretched in front of him, arms hanging loosely at his side, looking just as pale, but somehow more in control. Scully knelt in front of him and was surprised when he didn't object to her ministrations. She was drying his face when she felt his hands grab her wrists. Scully glanced down, as if to confirm that he had indeed grabbed her arms, then looked directly into his eyes. "Scully." He said her name now with such depth of feeling that she felt tears well in her eyes. "What is it, Mulder? Let me help. Tell me." Her partner released her arms and leaned his head back against the wall, tilted to look at the ceiling. He nodded slowly, then struggled to stand. Scully reached out to give her partner some support, helping him up. She left him in the bathroom for a minute to freshen up and went back to her room to turn on some lights. A look at the clock told her she probably wouldn't be getting any more sleep tonight anyway. 5:34 a.m. At least she had managed almost three hours. Mulder came out of the bathroom a couple minutes later, feeling more like himself. He stopped at the foot of the closest bed and wrapped arms around his torso lightly, suddenly embarrassed by his lack of clothes. It wasn't as if his partner hadn't seen him in far less. It was just that he didn't need yet another reminder of vulnerability right now. Scully seemed to understand. "Mulder, come sit down and wrap this blanket around you. I don't want you getting chilled." He smiled and grabbed the blanket from his partner, draped himself in it, then sat down on the far bed, leaning against the headboard. Scully still sat on her bed, patiently waiting until he was ready to talk. "Yes, Scully, it was a nightmare ...... I think. But it almost seemed like a memory. Or some concatenation - a memory of my imagination." He smiled at his partner wryly, knowing before even looking that he'd find the upraised eyebrow. They'd had discussions of False Memory Syndrome on many occasions and she'd once used the expression 'memory of an imagination.' He'd laughed at the term then, but now wondered if it wasn't an apt description of what he'd dreamed. But what the hell part of the dream could possibly have been true. Scully saw her partner visibly pale again. "Tell me about it, Mulder." She watched her partner swallow, then lick his lips nervously. His fingers pulled at the blanket slightly, rapidly, without conscious direction. His eyes now flicked around the room. All-in-all, he made the perfect picture of a man wanting desperately to get away, while simultaneously knowing there was no better place to go. "Scully, I had a dream." She nodded in encouragement, wondering why he felt the need to state the obvious, but also recognizing it as an effective delaying tactic. "It was similar to dreams I've been having all along on this case. But different. I saw, very clearly, a man. He stood over a little girl, who was crouched on the floor. She had blonde hair. She was wearing blue jeans and a green striped shirt. She was ten or eleven maybe. She was trying to curl into a ball and she had her hands and arms above her head, trying to protect her face. He was slapping her and hitting her. Over and over and over. And she was crying and screaming. She kept begging him to stop, pleading with him. And ...." Mulder swallowed again against the dryness in his throat, tried licking parched lips. He had been staring down at a spot on the comforter but now needed to look at his partner. He needed to be sure she understood him and believed him when he said this seemed like a memory, as impossible as that was. "And she was my big sister. And I was in the room across the hall, looking through a crack in the door. And she turned and saw me and started screaming for help. Begging me to help. And she wasn't my big sister anymore. She was Samantha and she was six or maybe seven. And I was ten or so, but I didn't move. And the man turned when she started yelling for me and looked through the door at me. And it was my father. Scully, I swear to God it was my father." He was shaking again and then Scully was there, next to him, arms wrapped tightly around him. He tried to force himself to relax and dropped his head to her shoulder, knowing he could trust her in his weakness and vulnerability as he did with his life. "Jesus, Mulder, no wonder you were sick." She could feel his smile against her collarbone. Scully gave him another tight hug before releasing him. She ran one hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and cupped his cheek gently for a moment before dropping her hand. Mulder's smile widened slightly. God, Scully was incredible. She never ceased to amaze him. Hard as ice and soft as cotton, all at once. And she actually liked him. He knew she did. Actually liked the person he was. Could there be a luckier person on earth? "Mulder, you're a psychologist. You've been profiling both the killer and the victims, getting into their thoughts and feelings. You know you're projecting." Scully felt like she was treading on thin ice. She didn't know if she was up to the discussion they were about to have. She had thought she'd have more time to prepare. She wasn't a psychologist after all, and didn't want to do any more damage. But she also knew her partner. Knew that he would never see a counselor on his own. Ironically, he held many in the profession in disregard. "I know, Scully, but there was something about it. There was something that .... seemed real." Scully considered carefully then asked, "Mulder, was it possible you had a memory of your father punishing Samantha for something and your subconscious used the event in your dream, absorbed it into what you see happening with the killer and his victims?" Mulder's forehead crinkled as he thought about the possibility. When he spoke, it was hesitant, unsure. "I suppose so, Scully." He shook his head slowly before adding, "But my father never laid a hand on Samantha. Never would have, ever. I remember my mother spanked her a couple times. But ... she was my Dad's little princess." Scully saw his smile and knew there was no animosity or jealousy in the remark. He was evidently remembering the term of endearment with fondness. Scully nodded to him, wondering whether to ask the next obvious question. She decided there wouldn't likely be a better time to broach the subject. "Mulder, did your father ever hit you, maybe, if you were bad, or something?" It wasn't very eloquent. Scully's nervousness had caused the question to become somewhat jumbled, but she waited almost breathlessly for his answer, watching him closely. Mulder opened his mouth, fully prepared to say 'no', but found he couldn't. His jaw dropped slightly at the realization. He did have a vague recollection of being punished once or twice for something. And it was his Dad. He was almost positive. How could he have forgotten? He was supposed to have an eidetic memory for God's sake. Mulder felt the sweat start again at the realization that there were things about his own life he'd evidently chosen to forget. What else had he forgotten? "Mulder?" He jerked his gaze back to his partner, now feeling embarrassed for some reason. "Yeah, Scully. A couple times, maybe." The sentence ended as if in question. Perhaps her partner really didn't remember. Scully felt her breath quicken at the thought of what she was about to do. "Mulder, tell me what you remember about those times. Maybe there's something there that's being incorporated in your dream." She made sure to leave all blame or recrimination out of her voice. She definitely didn't want him to feel the need to hide from her. Scully watched her partner pull the blanket tighter around himself, his fists now clenching the edges. He seemed to be considering, or perhaps trying to remember the events more clearly. "I remember once I broke a window in the garage. I was playing basketball and was trying for a rebound and missed. Got glass everywhere." It was obvious to Scully that she wasn't going to get more without asking. "So, Mulder, how old were you? Was Samantha or anyone else there?" "Wha... huh? Oh, no I was playing alone. Samantha was still a baby. I was six, I guess. Something like that." Scully nodded to him, encouraging him to go on. Wasn't going to happen. "So, what happened, Mulder?" "Wha.... Oh, well, it was Sunday and Dad wanted some peace and quiet but I sort of interrupted him I guess. And made an incredible mess. Got glass everywhere." Hadn't he already said that? Scully decided to ask more pointed questions. "So, did you clean it up or what?" "Yeah, yeah, he... I cleaned it all up, even made sure it was all out of the fishing nets and the camping equipment." Her partner was lost in his memory so Scully spoke softly, prodding his answers, trying not to think about a man who would make a six year old pick glass out of a fishing net. "Then what?" "Well, he was mad, of course. I'd made a real mess. He told me before to be careful. He told me when he put the hoop up." "And?" "Well, he had to teach me a lesson so I wouldn't do it again." Mulder's voice was so soft, she could barely hear him. It was as if he'd self- hypnotized. She was straining to make out the words but wasn't about to distract him by bringing it up. "So he spanked you?" "Well.... yeah, he hit me .... a little. He had to make sure I understood what I'd done." Yeah, right, as if he wouldn't have known any other way. Her partner was defensive now, making excuses for the man. She'd caught the distinction -- Mulder hadn't said spanked he said hit. Scully reached up to tuck her hair behind her ears, working hard to control her trembling. She considered where to go next. "Do you remember any other times?" The silence stretched and she considered dropping it. What was the purpose after all? "Yeah. There was the time when Sammy was sick and I kept waking her up. She needed to rest 'cause she was getting over the flu." "How'd you wake her up?" "I ... I was playing with Scout in the backyard. He was barking." Huh, Mulder had a dog when he was a kid. It was hard to imagine. "How old was Samantha?" "Oh, she was four, I think." Making him just eight. Scully gripped her hands tightly in her lap. "So what were you and Scout doing?" "Oh, I was practicing my pitching. He'd fetch the ball for me." "And you woke Samantha up?" "Yeah, she was getting over the flu." Yeah, he'd already said that. "And what was your Dad doing?" "He was working in the study. It was starting to get dark." "So what happened when Samantha woke up?" "She started crying. Dad hated it when Sammy cried. It was my fault." Yeah, and if the moon left it's orbit that would be his fault too. "So what did your Dad do?" Mulder looked confused by the question. It was obvious after all that he'd been bad and had to be punished so of course that's what his Dad did, right? "Well, he .... he'd told me to keep it down and I didn't." "What happened?" "He ... hit me, told me I was old enough to know better. Time I grew up and took responsibility for my actions." Her partner was so matter of fact in describing these words. Scully decided to dig just a bit more before leaving it alone. "Do you remember any earlier times?" He was shifting gears, leaving one memory behind and searching for another. "I remember when Mom was in the hospital having Sammy. I was supposed to play quiet so Daddy could work. I kept interrupting him and he couldn't work. He told me to be quiet." "What happened?" "He hit me." Mulder said it such a way that Scully wondered if this had been the first time he'd been struck by his father. Scully could just about picture a precocious four year old Fox suddenly betrayed by the man he idolized. "I fell down the stairs. He didn't mean for that to happen. It was my fault. He read to me after and bought me a basketball. I was sick." Scully knew this must have been the time he got a concussion. Could imagine the little boy at the bottom of the stairs, trying not to cry, bruised, red mark on cheek from his father's hand, blood spilling from the gash on his forehead, nauseous. Scully felt sick herself and decided to stop this. She looked at the clock and decided she might be able to get her partner to sleep for another couple hours. She stood slowly and moved to his side. "Mulder, it's time to sleep for awhile. Lay down here. Just sleep and don't worry about anything. You need to sleep." Scully was surprised at how easy it was. Her partner immediately lay down and closed his eyes. She pulled the blanket tighter, then pulled half the comforter over him as well. She checked him again, turned off the light by the bed, then picked up her key and headed for the door. She needed to talk with Skinner. ************************** Tuesday, 6:17 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel She was surprised how fast he answered the door. Her boss was already dressed for the day and held a paper in his free hand. He'd evidently been reading. "Scully, you look like shit." He opened the door wider and stepped back, allowing her room to enter. "Gee, thanks, sir. You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself." Skinner threw the paper on the table and put his hands on his hips. Scully was very familiar with the stance. He wanted a report. She should have known he'd been aware of Mulder leaving. Scully stood a little straighter, pulled her belt robe a little tighter, then crossed her arms, hugging herself lightly. "Sir, I just wanted to let you know that Agent Mulder and I will be a little late this morning. I know you called a meeting for 8 a.m., but I think ...." Her voice broke slightly and she paused to get control again. "How's Mulder?" Scully closed her eyes and repeated the question to herself. "Scully?" She hadn't been aware that Skinner had moved closer until she felt his hands on her shoulders. She looked at him and tried to answer honestly. "He's sleeping, sir." Skinner nodded, trying to better gage what was happening. His agent was definitely reluctant to share it with him. He dropped his hands and took a step back before continuing. "Anything I can do, Dana?" Damn, he'd done it to her again. Scully suddenly wanted her father. She'd missed him so many times in the past few years, but never as much as right now. But she trusted Skinner in much the same way she had her father. And Skinner was here, now, in front of her. She took a step forward, head bowed in an attempt to hide her distress, and felt his arms encircle her shoulders. She let her own arms go around his waist, feeling safe and not so lonely suddenly. Skinner spoke to her softly, reassuringly. Scully was grateful, then, that her boss was a good man, understanding and kind. "It's okay, Dana. You're not alone. Mulder's not alone. I can help. You can trust me. It's going to be okay. Ssshhh. It's okay." Skinner had been shocked at Scully's appearance when she'd entered the room. She had looked almost as haggard as she had in the hospital several months ago. She was obviously exhausted, both physically and mentally, and the strain of being strong for not only herself, but her partner as well, had finally gotten to her. Skinner wanted to reach out to her immediately, but knew she preferred to maintain a professional distance. It was almost a relief now to hold her, to be able to tell her he was there and would help. He wanted to help his two agents. In the last week, he'd come to recognize that friendship was a two-way street. He needed them as much as they needed him. Skinner loosened his grip and held Scully at arms length. He ducked his head to be a little more even with her and said, "Let's sit down and talk for a little, okay?" Scully nodded, the sudden relief flooding through her actually making her weak. She sat where he led her and turned slightly so she could face him head on. "Sir, Mulder had a .... dream that caused him some distress. He thought perhaps there was some part of it that was a ... memory. He came over to my room this morning to talk about it." Skinner understood that most of the details were being sanitized. It was fine. He really did understand. Scully continued, expression intent. "He'd evidently forgotten some events from his childhood." Skinner nodded once again and decided they could be a little more frank. "He remembered his father beating him?" Scully took a ragged breath before replying. "Yes, sir." "And he hadn't before. I mean, he really hadn't remembered." Scully shook her head from side to side slowly. "No way, sir." Skinner was actually relieved. He'd been concerned that the man had knowingly lied. Omission, commission, no real difference in the big scheme of things. He thought he knew Mulder better than that and was gratified to discover he was right. "So, how is he? And how are you?" "I'm not sure about him, sir. He went straight to sleep. I don't know what's going to happen when he wakes up. He has an amazing capacity to forget things for a man with an eidetic memory. He may forget our conversation. He did seem half asleep. As for me, I'm just.... I'm tired, sir. I'm tired of men who take advantage of the innocent. I'm tired of being unable to do anything about it. I'm tired of having to watch it affect the people I ...." Skinner knew how the sentence was supposed to end -- 'the people I love.' He reached over and squeezed her shoulder again, took her hand in his. "I know, Scully. Look, it's about 6:30. Why don't you try to catch another couple hours sleep. I'll hold down the fort until you and Mulder come in. There's nothing happening that absolutely needs your presence or his." Scully nodded, relieved to have someone else giving the orders, just for awhile. She got up and started for the door. "And Scully...." She turned and looked again at her boss. "Scully, if you need me - for anything - just call." She smiled at him, nodded and turned again. She knew it. And she was glad of it. After his agent left, Skinner again picked up the folded newspaper he'd been reading. He opened it to the front page and looked once more at the photo of Mulder coming out of the local Bureau office. The caption read, "FBI sends crack profiler, Fox Mulder, from DC for Twin Cities Strangler case". Damn, it was going to be another long day. ********************************* Tuesday, 8:47 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel Mulder heard the beeping but couldn't figure out where it was coming from. It was damned annoying. He finally dragged his eyelids open minutely. They opened wider when he failed to recognize his surroundings. Where the hell was he? He sat up, looked around the room, finally stopped his searching as his eyes rested on his partner. Scully was fast asleep in the bed next to him, despite the alarm going off within a foot of her ear. He reached over and fumbled with the alarm, trying to be quiet. Not exactly how he pictured waking up next to Scully, but as close as he was ever likely to get. Mulder looked at the time and felt a shock. 8:47 a.m. Didn't they have a meeting at 8? And just what was he doing here? Mulder sat on the edge of the bed, realizing he hadn't actually been under the covers, had, in fact, just been lying on top with what appeared to be Scully's blanket wrapped around him. He looked back at his partner and was reassured that she didn't seem to be cold. He propped his arms on his knees and rubbed his face vigorously, trying to wake up and clear his mind. He was fuzzy. That was the only way he could think of it. He was used to being able to think clearly and sharply, to remember with definition and clarity. His thoughts had distinct, detailed edges. Recognizable stops and starts. But this morning he was fuzzy. Mulder shook his head from side to side, then smiled at himself when he realized he'd been trying to physically shake out the cobwebs. It was kind of a juvenile thing to do, after all. He breathed in deeply, closed his eyes, and consciously started working his recollections forward from the moment he went to bed last night. He inhaled sharply when it all finally fell in place. His eyes flew to his partner's face to discover she was watching him, had been watching him for a bit. He froze, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat. "Morning, Mulder. Do you think we could call in sick?" Scully was smiling at him. Same old Scully smile. Same old Scully humor. Same old Scully voice. Same old Scully-Mulder relationship. Nothing had changed. She wouldn't let that happen. Thank God for Scully. "Hey, Scully. No, actually, I think we need to get a move on." She ignored the slight shakiness in his reply, groaned at his words, and sat up finally. "Fine, but do you think we can get some coffee delivered? I don't think I can wait until we get to the Bureau." Mulder sat up straight with increased confidence and reached for the phone. He'd do better than that and order an entire breakfast. "Okay, Scully, but you better get moving. You know you always take longer than I do." Scully shot her partner a look of pure venom, meaning every ounce of it at that moment in time. She dragged herself from under the covers and rolled to the far side of the bed, then stumbled into the bathroom, closing the door soundly. She could hear her partner's voice requesting room service ASAP. Scully sighed to herself as she stepped into the shower, slightly disappointed at the parts they were forced to play. In a different universe, they'd be able to comfort each other through the night. To call in sick and find a way to rejoice in the little things that made life worthwhile. But they had a job that didn't understand excuses of the body, didn't appreciate bad moods or the shock of retrieving long-lost memories. The job had to come first, at least for now. ************************** Tuesday, 9:36 a.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Conference Room Skinner was pleased to see his agents arrive just after 9:30, both looking refreshed and ready for the day. Mulder and Scully were halfway across the room when Skinner heard Crowley's unmistakable drawl. "Here he is, the Bureau's crack profiler." At least the man hadn't spoken with spite. Both Mulder and Scully paused, looking confused. Crowley tossed the folded paper across the several feet separating them and Scully plucked it out of the air. She opened it wide, immediately grimacing at the sight of Mulder on page one. Skinner could hear Mulder's more vocal complaint, complete with descriptive profanity, from across the room. Scully folded the paper again, handed it over her shoulder to her partner and said, "Here you go, Mulder. Another keeper for your album." Agents around the room smiled in appreciation of the light-hearted humor. They were relieved to see that Mulder wasn't a publicity hound. Skinner's cell phone rang just as his agents stopped in front of him. He put one hand up to keep them there and answered. "Skinner." Mulder knew immediately. Not from anything his boss said, but by the way he looked at both Mulder and Scully, eyes narrowing slightly, brow furrowed. "We'll be right there." Mulder spoke while Skinner was still disconnecting. "Who?" "Robby Andrews, age 12, never made it to school. They found his bike lying by the side of the road a few blocks away." Mulder had dropped his head and stood with shoulders slumped and eyes closed. Skinner gripped his forearm for a moment, empathizing. He got the impression Mulder wasn't really prepared for this, even though he'd been the one to insist it would happen earlier than they all had originally expected. The room had gone silent as, one by one, agents realized that something critical was happening. Skinner looked around the room, prepared to brief them when Dave Jenkins burst in, several pages of a fax in hand. Evidently, he'd also been notified. He focused on the three DC agents and walked over quickly. "You heard?" Skinner nodded and decided it was time to fill everyone in. "Agents, we've just heard from the St. Paul police. A twelve year old boy, Robert Harrison Andrews, was taken this morning on his way to school." Skinner looked around the room at the stricken faces, all fighting for composure. "This isn't the end by any means. You've all made remarkable progress this past week and now you'll make more. We most likely have a day at the minimum and, hopefully, much longer. We've got an excellent chance at getting this guy. ASAC Jenkins will be giving you assignments." Skinner nodded to Jenkins as the man handed him the faxes, then turned back to his agents, speaking softly. "Let's head out. They're holding the scene for us. Janice and her team as well as the profile team will be out right behind us. I'll arrange for a driver." While Skinner headed towards Patty Sachs to request her services once again, he glanced down at the fax and stumbled a step at the face of the boy staring back at him. Fuck, it could have been Mulder at that age. He shook his head slightly, rearranged the pages so the picture wasn't so visible, and continued towards Agent Sachs. He'd deal with the fax later. Scully moved closer to her partner. She looked up into his face for the first time. It was unreadable. Mulder wore his stoic face. She knew what would come after their visit to the kidnapping scene. Then would come the interview of the parents. And her partner would insist on doing it himself. "Mulder, Vickers could go straight to the parents while we go to the scene." Scully knew he wouldn't go for it, but she thought ... maybe. "No, Scully. No." Skinner was gesturing for them to follow. Patty Sachs didn't seem too distressed to have become their personal driver to the crime scenes. Besides, she was the resident expert on all the crime scenes so had to view this one as well. She smiled tightly at them in greeting, obviously not pleased at the circumstances which necessitated her involvement this morning. Skinner led the way followed by his two agents, with Patty bringing up the rear. This time they were more prepared as they exited the building. Except the crowd of reporters had grown. Someone must have found out about Robby Andrews. Skinner was practically overwhelmed as he forced his way through the crowd, trying to clear a path for the agents behind him. Once they reached the car and he saw Mulder and Scully safely inside, he turned to the reporters and cameras. It looked like the television stations had finally taken notice, too. One reporter's voice suddenly cut through all the others. "Sir, sir. Are you Assistant Director Walter Skinner from the Washington DC FBI office?" Well, that was an easy one. And relatively safe. "That's right. Now ladies and gentlemen, if you'll excuse us, we're needed elsewhere." As he entered the car, the questions could be heard clearly. "AD Skinner, is it true another child was taken this morning?" "Sir, has Agent Mulder made any progress in finding the killer?" "What's the name of the child taken this morning? Is it a boy or a girl?" Their questions went unanswered, but Skinner knew he'd have to talk with them soon. He pulled out his cell phone and called Dave Jenkins, asking him to arrange a press conference for late afternoon. He was surprised to hear Mulder interrupt him from the back seat. "What? Hang on a second, Dave. What was that Mulder?" "Sir, if you schedule it for early afternoon, the print media will be able to run the story in the evening edition." Skinner was confused. He knew Mulder wasn't looking for publicity. It wasn't his style. Skinner looked at the man questioningly, waiting for an explanation. "Sir, by then we'll have visited the crime scene, spoken with the parents, and possibly run preliminary cross-matches. It's likely we'll be able to narrow our search parameters significantly. We might be prepared to release some information to the media by then. To get citizen involvement, sir." Skinner nodded, chiding himself at not doing the math earlier. Even if they weren't prepared to solicit their help in early afternoon, they could release whatever information they had that was appropriate. They could always release more details at a later time, if necessary. They would plan for the best as well as the worst. Skinner nodded again and returned to his call. "Yeah, Dave, I'm back. Make that early afternoon. Around 2 p.m. We'll definitely be back by then." Skinner was silent for a moment, listening to the other end of the conversation. "Yeah, I'll tell him...... Okay, bye." Skinner turned in his seat once again. "Mulder, Jenkins wanted you to know that Vickers is heading straight to the parent's house just to do the general preliminary questioning. He won't do anything else until you get there. He's sending a couple of his team members to the site in his stead." Mulder nodded in understanding and went back to looking out the window. It was such a nice day. The sun was as bright as he'd seen it in weeks. The flowers were in bloom and everything looked so colorful and hopeful. It was ironic. Actually, it was more than ironic. It was a sham, a travesty. There should be a rule that the sun couldn't shine so brightly on days when a child had been kidnapped. He turned to Scully and said quietly, "It should be raining." Scully didn't have to wonder what he meant. Her own thoughts had been following very similar lines. Skinner also heard the comment. Understanding did not come so quickly for him, but it didn't really matter. ************************** Tuesday, 10:19 a.m. St. Paul, Crime Scene Even more reporters awaited them at the crime scene. Scully didn't even wonder how they found out. Between police scanners and cell phone interceptors, word spread fast. So fast, the reporters already knew who the two men in the car were. Scully didn't feel jealous. After all, her partner had been somewhat famous in his own right when he was in the VCS and Skinner was an AD They waited until the cop had cleared their car through the mass of people and pulled behind an unmarked police car. Mulder was the last to exit and stood looking at the surroundings for a while before moving to join the three other agents. It was the perfect road for a kidnapping. Quiet. Two lanes. Nothing but trees on either side for at least a mile. No major roads intersecting it anywhere in the vicinity. Mulder stood with hands in his pants pockets, kicking lightly at the dirt under feet, his suit jacket and overcoat open and pushed back behind his arms. He looked down and saw his footprint in the soil beside the road. Perhaps their killer had been sloppy and had left some evidence for them this time. Mulder searched for a familiar face, and finally saw a flash of auburn hair. He moved towards his partner, knowing she'd be in the thick of it. He walked past Skinner who stood speaking with a St. Paul police detective, one hand on hip, the other gesturing towards the cordoned off zone to the left. Mulder noticed Patty Sachs, notebook in hand, speaking with two uniformed officers -- evidently the officers who first reported the kidnapping. Scully stood by herself, abutting the yellow tape protecting the crime scene. Mulder stopped next to his partner and looked around the zone created by flapping yellow police tape. Janice Anderson and her team were just arriving and Mulder motioned them to hold for a minute. He turned to his partner and raised the tape slightly so she could slip under more easily. He then followed her under, stopping again to look where they stood. Both agents pulled on latex gloves before moving further. He trusted Scully to tell him where they could walk to avoid contaminating the scene. He wasn't about to screw up the evidence, but he had to see it for himself before anything was touched or moved. Mulder followed his partner gingerly, completely aware not only of his footfalls, but also the scene in general. They stopped next to the discarded bicycle. It was a Huffy mountain bike, 15 speed, K-Mart special, green and black swirled paint, green water bottle, black saddle bag under the seat. It was a couple years old at least and had obviously been used extensively. It showed the wear common for an active boy. There was also a small amount of blood on the cross bar, in a pool in the dirt next to the bike, and a drop on the seat. The soft dirt clearly showed evidence of the struggle that Robby must have put up. Skinner had handed Mulder a recent photo of the boy on the way over. It was a basketball team photo from the just completed season, slightly blurry because it had been faxed. The boy was obviously in that gangly youth stage, but showed promise of the man he'd be. Would maybe be. Mulder had handed the photo to his partner silently. He could guess what was going through her mind. Robby could have been Mulder's little brother, they looked so similar. This was hitting way the hell too close to home. Mulder touched nothing, merely looked from bicycle to the surrounding area, then down the road in one direction, then the other. He finally turned and walked back, making sure to step in the same prints as before. He jerked off the gloves when he left the cordoned off area, dropping them on the ground without a thought. He shoved his way through the numbers of bodies standing around and made his way quickly back to the car. He heard Skinner calling for him, but couldn't talk right then. Scully would talk with him. Skinner had been keeping a close eye on his agents. When Dave Jenkins handed him the faxed photo of the boy just before leaving the Bureau that morning, he'd almost had heart failure. Robby Andrews looked remarkably similar to the young Fox Mulder in the photo found in Cancerman's apartment - - the young boy who stood grinning with his little sister in front of a tree some twenty plus years ago. And in a basketball jersey. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This had to be a coincidence. It was only a coincidence. Skinner had continued to tell himself that all morning. Skinner watched Mulder and Scully stand in silence for some five minutes, viewing the abandoned bike and surrounding area. Then Mulder turned and walked decisively back, heading toward the car. "Mulder. Mulder, hold up." Skinner was pretty sure his agent had heard him. He chose not to be too irritated when the man walked on past. Scully came over to stand in front of him, arms crossed protectively across her chest. "Scully. Anything?" "There was a definite struggle, sir. Whatever he'd done in the past to pacify his victims evidently took awhile to kick in here, or didn't work at all. There's blood trace. Most likely the victim's. It had to have taken several minutes. I'm surprised no one saw anything, regardless of how deserted this stretch of road is." "The St. Paul police are canvassing the area now, hoping to find someone who might have seen something that will help us. We were lucky this morning. Normally we wouldn't have even heard about this until late this afternoon, but the two officers were alert. When they saw the abandoned bike and got close enough to see the blood, they immediately backed off and called it in. They were able to narrow it to Robby almost immediately because he'd been racing a friend to school. Each of them took a different route to see who'd get there first. When Robby didn't make it, the friend immediately told his teacher, who in turn called the police. They were able to get a description of the bike from the friend, so knew almost immediately who was taken." Scully was nodding as various of her questions were answered. It had seemed strange that they'd been able to identify the victim so soon. She looked back up at her boss, when he'd finished. "Sir, I believe Agent Mulder and I are going straight to the parent's house now. Would you like to accompany us?" "No, Scully. I'm here for the next couple hours at least. Please keep me informed of any important developments." Scully understood what he didn't say. 'Call me if you need any help with Mulder.' She nodded again and made her way to the car. She saw her partner, standing silently, with his back to the crime scene. He was staring down the road, unaware that he was presenting a perfect photo op for the horde of reporters some thirty or forty feet away. He definitely wasn't seeing them, though. His eyes were unfocused, his face lacking in expression. "Mulder, Skinner said they're canvassing for witnesses. Robby's friend reported him missing this morning and a couple cops saw the bike on the side of the road at almost the same time. They put everything together quickly, which is how they were able to determine who the victim was so fast." Mulder tore himself away from his reverie and focused on his partner, noting her concern beneath the professional words, loving her all the more for it. "Let's go, Scully. There's nothing more we can do here." Scully nodded in acknowledgment and started looking around for Agent Sachs. Patty was already walking towards them, a uniformed officer in tow. "Sir, ma'am." Patty nodded to both agents. "I'll be here for a few hours yet. This is Officer Bredlow. He's volunteered to drive you to the boy's house." Mulder merely nodded politely, then slipped in the back seat. Scully decided to leave him alone with his thoughts and claimed the front passenger seat. "Excellent, let's go." ************************** Tuesday, 11:43 a.m. St. Paul, Andrews' Residence Mulder was in agony. He'd been talking with this idiot for going on an hour and he wanted nothing more than to put his fist through the man's face. Howard 'Howie to his friends' Andrews was an asshole. That was all there was to it. Mulder had found nothing of redeeming value in the man's attitude, words, or overall demeanor. Mulder had caught sight of the mother off and on. She was still tightly gripping her 7 year old daughter, as if in fear that if she let go, she'd lose yet another child. The father had picked Kerry up from school on his way to the house. Scully sat with the mother and little girl, occasionally asking a question or encouraging discussion. She had been trying to get Kerry out of the room so she could question the mother more openly, but was having little success. She finally gestured to a female officer and whispered in her ear, then turned to Judy Andrews. "Ma'am, this is Officer Chase. She'll sit with Kerry in her room while we talk for a little bit. Okay?" Mrs. Andrew's eyes grew wide and her grip tightened, causing the little girl to whimper slightly and squirm in her hold. "Mrs. Andrews, I must speak with you and I think it would be better for Kerry to be elsewhere." Scully gestured for the officer to take the little girl and was relieved to see Judy Andrews loosen her grip finally. The Officer was speaking kindly to Kerry, asking if she would show her room. Scully and Mrs. Andrews followed the two with their eyes until they were lost from sight. Scully then turned back to the woman. "Mrs. Andrews, we are positive that this man who took Robby either knew him personally, knew you or your husband personally, or at least knew of your family. He knew Robby's age, he knew where you lived, he knew ... personal information about your family." At this, the woman's face blanched slightly and she looked away from Scully to stare at her tightly gripped hands. Scully decided to steer clear of anything to do with possible abuse and limit her questions to the woman's knowledge and interaction with professional businessmen. Mulder had decided fifteen minutes back that he'd get nothing from the father. When he saw the police officer take the little girl up the stairs, he leaned over to Vickers and told him to take over, then excused himself politely. Mulder headed for the stairs. He wanted to talk with the sister. Only two other victims had siblings. In one case, an older brother by five years and in another, a younger sister by two years. This little girl was five years younger than her brother. Still, even though the likelihood that she would know anything was small, Mulder felt a pressing need to speak with her. Kerry was sitting on her bed, gripping a doll, legs hanging over the side. She was in a yellow dress with a white ruffled collar and puffy sleeves. She wore white tights and tennis shoes with flowers. The female officer sat a couple feet from Kerry towards the end of the bed, holding another doll. The woman was speaking to the little girl so softly that Mulder couldn't make out the words. He watched them for a moment more before knocking lightly. Mulder adopted his most relaxed posture and smile before walking closer to the two. He nodded to the officer, then squatted down in front of Kerry. "Hi, Kerry, my name is Fox Mulder." Kerry ducked her head and squeezed her doll more tightly. Mulder wasn't sure if it was shyness, the stress of the situation, or the fact that he was male. He caught the officer's eyes and gestured for her to stay where she was. "That's a pretty doll. What's her name?" Mulder still wasn't bothered by the nonresponsiveness. It was pretty typical behavior given the circumstances. "I bet her name is.... Doodles. No, wait, I think she looks more like a Quigley. Or maybe a Cheekerbee." Kerry giggled softly and looked at Mulder from under her bangs. He was starting to make progress. "No? I didn't guess right? Well, you're going to have to tell me then. What's her name?" "Angel." "That's a pretty name for a pretty doll. I bet she's a good friend." Kerry nodded to him slightly, looking up at him once again, this time raising her head slightly to do it. "Does she go to school with you? Does she go outside with you when you play?" Kerry giggled again and shook her head. "What do you like to play, Kerry? What's your favorite thing?" "House." Mulder smiled at her broadly and sat down on the floor, spreading his legs in front of him, with a groan. Kerry giggled again and Mulder decided she was going to be a heartbreaker in a few more years. "I'm getting old, Kerry. It's hard to move anymore." Kerry laughed out loud at his funny expression. "I used to play house with my little sister. Her name was Samantha. But we always used to fight over who was going to do the cooking." Mulder and the police officer both smiled at Kerry's response. "Does Robby ever play house with you, Kerry? I bet he trades you one game of house for one game of GI Joe." "Robby doesn't like to play but he does for me. He's the daddy when we play." "And I bet you're the mommy. Is Angel the baby?" "Uh huh. And Robby never drops her." "Well, that's a good thing." Mulder paused a moment, glanced at the police officer to gage her reaction, then decided to continue along the same track. "Robby's a pretty good brother to play house with you. I bet he loves you a lot." Kerry scrunched up her nose and said, "Yeah, but he calls me a pest sometimes." Mulder genuinely laughed, thinking about the twelve year old brother being badgered by his seven year old sister to play house. Not exactly the way Mulder wanted to spend his afternoons at that age. "And I bet you called him something back, right? But it doesn't mean you don't love him." Kerry looked shy again and nodded in agreement. "Kerry, did you ever go places with Robby? You know, like to the store or to the movies, anyplace with just you two?" Kerry seemed to be concentrating hard, before responding. "We get ice cream at the drug store. And Mommy drops us off at the movies. And sometimes we go to the park. And ...." Kerry was again searching her memory for anything they did alone. "And sometimes Robby takes me to watch him practice basketball." Kerry smiled at Mulder, obviously proud for remembering so many times. "That's great, Kerry. I bet you have lots of fun when you go places with Robby." The little girl nodded to him again. "Kerry, do you remember ever going anyplace with Robby, and maybe even your Mommy or your Daddy were there, too, where there was someone dressed sort of like me? In a suit with a tie?" Mulder gestured at his outfit with one hand, still leaning back on the other. Kerry again thought hard, one hand moving up to twirl her hair around a finger. Mulder watched, fascinated, wondering if this was an instinctive gesture for all little girls or whether there was a hair-twirling training school somewhere. "Well, the doctor wear's a suit. And our principal at Open House. And the dentist, sometimes. And the man in the clothes store where Mommy made Robby get his suit that he didn't want." Kerry took a deep breath, still obviously thinking hard. She was looking at Mulder intently, studying how he was dressed, trying to remember any other times she'd seen someone looking this way. Mulder didn't want to interrupt the little girl. She was doing great. "Mommy had to take us both to get certified for sports. That man wore a really nice suit. He wasn't our doctor but he acted like a doctor. Mommy said he was special just for sports. I play soccer and Robby plays basketball and baseball. Mommy promised I can take ballet next year." Mulder felt his stomach flip. He had to fight from jumping up and racing out of the room. He forced a smile and said, "I bet you're going to be the greatest ballerina ever, Kerry." He started moving then, standing slowly so as not to startle the little girl. He bent over and held out his hand then, saying, "It was very nice to meet you, Kerry. I had fun talking with you." Kerry shook his hand and smiled up at him. It was the first time an adult had ever shook her hand this way. "Pleased to meet you, too." She was obviously proud of her well-mannered response and Mulder smiled in earnest when he dropped her hand. Nodding to the officer, he turned and left the room. He had to speak with the mother immediately. Mulder nodded to Vickers as he passed through the living room and headed straight for Scully and Judy Andrews. Scully caught her partner's face as he headed towards them. He was on to something. The forcefulness of his presence stopped her in the middle of a sentence. She quickly turned back to Mrs. Andrews again and gestured to her partner, who had come to a stop to her left. "Mrs. Andrews, this is my partner, Fox Mulder." Judy Andrews was slightly confused and once more on the defensive. Scully looked up at her partner, trying to send a silent message. Whether he got it or not, he at least relaxed somewhat and pulled out a chair so he wouldn't tower over the two women. When he spoke, Scully was relieved he'd adopted a gentle tone. "Hello, Mrs. Andrews. I'm very sorry this has happened to you and your family. We're going to do everything we can to get Robby back to you, quickly and safely." Judy Andrews was reassured by his words and seemed to relax once again. "Mrs. Andrews, I know Robby played basketball. He was on a team, right?" "Yes, he played for in the city league this past year. They just finished their season. His team placed third. Robby was the center." "That's great, Mrs. Andrews. It sounds like he's only going to get better next year." Mulder tried to reinforce the idea that Robby would be back safe and sound, once again doing all the things he would normally do. "Mrs. Andrews, did Robby have to pass a physical to play for the team?" "Yes, he had to get a sports certificate. Kerry, too. She plays soccer." "Did you get the certificate from their doctor?" "No, they'd already had their yearly physicals and I didn't want to pay for a doctor's visit. A friend recommended a doctor who specializes in sports injuries and has a discounted rate for sports certificates." Mulder was nodding now, consciously telling himself to breathe slowly and evenly. He flicked his eyes to his partner's face, recognizing that she knew what was happening, had quickly reviewed past cases and remembered all the children had participated in some sort of organized sports program. "Mrs. Andrews, as part of our investigation we're trying to get information on just about every adult the children might have come in contact with. It's very important that we're thorough. Could we get this doctor's name, perhaps? And the address of the clinic you went to?" "Well, yes, of course. I don't have his name. I don't really remember it. It's been a while. But I set up the appointment through the Women's and Children's Health Clinic on Roosevelt. They might have a record. And I suppose it would say on the certificates, wouldn't it?" "Yes, Mrs. Andrews. Thank you. You've been very helpful." Mulder again fought the urge to race out of the room. He knew how important it was to maintain good relations with the parents at this point. After they got Robby back, then social services could intervene. Right now, he needed them on his side. Mulder stood and held out his hand to the woman, again speaking gently. "Mrs. Andrews, good bye for now. We'll inform you of any developments immediately." He left the room and headed for Vickers, knowing Scully would be along as soon as she made her farewells. Mulder caught Vickers' eye and nodded towards the door. Vickers wrapped up his conversation with the father and stood to join Mulder and Scully at the front door. He could see from their expressions that something had happened. They got something. Safely outside, Vickers looked around to make sure no one could hear and asked, "What've you got, Mulder?" "Last fall, the boy was seen by a doctor at a clinic for a sports certification so he could play basketball. All the kids played on various teams. We never thought it was important because they were all different sports and had different doctors. But what if they all went to this guy for a special sports certification?" Vickers was already moving to his car, phone at his ear. He turned back slightly to the two agents to say, "Meet you back at the Bureau." He collected the other agent who'd come with him, leaving instructions for the other to stay with the family in case of a phone call. They all knew there would be no call, but procedures still had to be covered. Mulder and Scully nodded to the police officer who'd originally driven them there from the crime scene and asked him to bring them back to the Minneapolis Bureau. Both agents headed for the back seat, knowing they needed to flesh out the ramifications of their hypothesis. Scully pulled out her phone and dialed a number, whispering 'Skinner' at her partner's questioning look. "Hello, sir, this is Scully. I thought you should know we're heading back. We might have a lead. Vickers has his team checking into in now. We'll fill you in as soon as we get there...... Yes, sir..... Okay, sir." Scully turned in her seat to face her partner as she closed her phone and returned it to her purse. "Mulder, Skinner says they've processed the crime scene. The blood belonged to Robby. Nothing obvious right now that might have belonged to the kidnapper." Mulder acknowledged the news and slouched down in the seat, splayed knees knocking into the front seat. He put his head back and closed his eyes, thinking about whether a doctor who specialized in sports certifications fit the profile. He opened his eyes, rolled his head slightly, said, "It fits, Scully. It's him." Scully was nodding in agreement, but wasn't prepared to completely trust the theory without proof. "We'll find out for sure pretty soon, Mulder, but I think you're right. It would certainly fit the profile. He would have had access to all the right records, as well as to information regarding the abuse. Vickers will probably know something by the time we get there." ************************** Tuesday, 1:26 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau Mulder was out of the car and up the steps before Scully had time to thank the police officer. He flew through the reporters so fast they didn't have time to even ask him anything. Scully ran after him, not willing to miss out on Vickers' report. Her partner was waiting for her just inside the doors, looking slightly sheepish at ditching her yet again, even if it was only for a minute. They were unaware of the fact that the young police officer had been swamped with reporters on the way to the door. He'd only been on the force for a few months and had been assigned to play gopher for the past two days. Driving these agents around had been the most exciting thing that had happened to him yet on the force. Being swamped by reporters had even topped that. They'd all been briefed on the case. He knew not to talk. But some of the questions were harmless. What difference did it make if he answered a couple of the easy ones? Officer Bredlow wasn't aware at that moment that he'd just ended his career with the St. Paul police force. It took a couple hours for complete comprehension to set in. Long before then, the damage had been done. The excitement was hard to resist and Mulder and Scully found themselves jogging to the command center. As they burst in the outer conference room, they were met by a cacophony created by the frenetic agents working throughout the room. They'd obviously gotten the word. Vickers converged on them at the door, a broad smile on his face. "You were right, Mulder. We've confirmed with five of the mothers so far." Mulder was almost afraid to ask. "A name? You got a name?" "Not yet, but soon. Don't worry, we'll have it soon." Mulder realized Skinner was at his side, with Dave Jenkins. "Mulder, we've got the press conference in an hour. What do you recommend we give out?" "Not a word of this, sir. It might scare him off." Mulder turned to Vickers and asked, "Will we have it by then?" Vickers nodded, said merely, "Definitely. An hour at the outside." Mulder nodded again, taking the information in and planning what the next move should be. He took a deep breath and turned to Skinner and Jenkins. "Sirs, we need to meet with as many of the team leaders as we can gather and plan out various strategies depending on what Vickers' team comes up with. We need to be ready to move in the next hour at least." Dave Jenkins was already moving to gather the right people. Mulder, Scully and Skinner headed towards the command center. ************************** Tuesday, 2:11 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center "We got it!" Salvatore crashed into the command center, quickly tossing sheets of paper on the table to be passed around. He handed a few directly to Mulder who passed the extras to Scully. Skinner and Jenkins had left for the press conference just fifteen minutes before. Mulder had been officially put in charge in their absence. Mulder quickly surveyed the sheet in front of him, stood and said, "Get your teams together ASAP. We'll be going with Plan C." Mulder turned to Salvatore and gestured him nearer. "Have you found another property?" "No, sir, not yet. Agent Vickers told me to tell you he expects they'll have reviewed all records in the next fifteen minutes. He's anticipating they'll turn something up." Mulder nodded in dismissal and turned back to Scully, a frown clearly evident. "What do you think, Scully?" "I don't know. There's no way he's got Robby at his house unless the wife's involved and she doesn't seem the type from what it says here. I can see her oblivious, but not really murderous." Mulder continued looking at her intently, waiting for the rest. "I agree that there has to be another property where he keeps them while he's testing them. He doesn't have his own office, only the shared clinic, so we know that's not an option. His house is out, for now at least. There has to be an apartment or house somewhere that he's had access to for the past seven months at least." Mulder's eyes narrowed in concentration. Something Scully had said provoked a stray thought. They still hadn't figured out what even had triggered the killer's behavior. Maybe the other property was related to the event. Mulder pulled out his cell phone and raised a finger to Scully, gesturing to her to hold a minute. "Vickers, where are you?" Mulder turned and headed out of the command center, waving Scully to follow. "Scully and I are on our way. Stay there." Mulder picked up the pace and said over his shoulder, "What if a parent or sibling died and left it to him? It would fit, right?" Scully was practically jogging and had to stop quickly as they reached the office Vickers had claimed as his own command center. "Find out whether he had a parent or sibling die seven to eight months ago then find out whether he was left any property." Mulder could barely stand still but the room was too small to accommodate any pacing. Mulder stood instead with arms tightly gripping his torso, fingers white from the strain. Scully stood equally strained beside him, watching as Vickers flipped through papers in front of him. "Bingo. You're battin' a thousand Mulder. Brother died eight months ago. He committed suicide. Left a house in the Deerwood region. That's fuckin' it. It's gotta be." Mulder nodded, recognizing the feeling of surety within himself. He looked down at his partner who smiled at him. Scully was sure too. "Okay, let's get AD Skinner and ASAC Jenkins involved in this immediately. If they're still in the press conference, interrupt them. They can find a reasonable excuse. We need them." Mulder turned back to Scully and nodded towards the doorway. They headed back to the large conference room at a slower pace than they had left it a few minutes ago. They discovered that the team members had been gathered. Everyone quieted when they entered. Mulder quickly walked towards the head of the room and addressed them. "We've identified the suspect and the location where we believe he has Robby Andrews. I've got a team quietly scoping out the house and another trying to track down the suspect's present location. AD Skinner and ASAC Jenkins are on their way. As soon as we receive word from the investigative teams, we'll be moving on Plan C, on which you've already been briefed. Start preparing for departure within the half hour." Mulder had just finished his briefing when a young agent came into the room, coloring slightly as all attention turned on him. He quickly crossed the room to Mulder and Scully. "Sir, ma'am. I think you better turn on Channel 4 immediately." Mulder frowned at the man for a heartbeat, not sure what could be important enough to interrupt them, but then moved immediately to the television set. Turning it on to the right station, he increased the volume and stepped back. "...once again, we have confirmed reports that the FBI have narrowed their search in the Twin Cities Strangler case, and have possibly identified a suspect. Reportedly, Agent Fox Mulder, the FBI profiler who arrived last week from Washington, DC, with partner Dana Scully, identified the connection between the victims this afternoon." Tape of Mulder standing by the car at the crime scene staring down the road flashed on the screen followed by another of him and Scully racing up the steps of the local Bureau office. Mulder was speechless, then furious. He turned violently, searching the faces around the room. "What the fuck is this? Where did they get this from?" Skinner and Jenkins had caught the tail end of the report, but were slightly more prepared for it. They'd been asked direct questions at the press conference that made it evident there was a leak somewhere. Skinner's voice was cold, not matching at all the look of hot fury radiating from him. "If someone here made a hasty comment the press picked up on, we need to know .... now." Skinner panned his gaze around the room and only saw agents in shock, upset by the possibility of losing the suspect this close to the end. He was pretty damned sure none of these agents had anything to do with the leak. Evidently Mulder had arrived at the same conclusion because he had backed off. He stood staring at the now blank screen, hands on his hips, head hanging to his chest. Scully took a step closer to him, put one hand on his arm, and asked, "How does this change things, Mulder?" Her partner took a deep breath and raised his head, stretching his neck one way, then the other, before looking over to her. "I'm not really sure. I think we have to move on the house immediately. We can't wait to locate the suspect. If we do, something might happen to the boy." Mulder looked to Jenkins and Skinner for confirmation. They understood what he was saying. If they moved on the house without knowing the suspect's location, they could scare him off and might never find him. If they waited, something could happen to the boy. There really was no choice. They had to get to Robby Andrews as soon as possible. Skinner looked to Mulder and Scully and said, "Then let's do it." Mulder turned to the group of agents and said, "We're going. Five minutes - in the garage." He turned to his partner and raised his eyebrows slightly. "You ready, Scully?" "For anything, Mulder." Scully strode past the three men and headed for the door. Mulder grinned at her retreating back and then waved to Jenkins and Skinner as he turned to go after her. "See you soon, sirs. Wish us luck." ************************** Tuesday, 3:28 p.m. Minneapolis, Deerwood Region The team was ready, everyone wore their vests and were in place, waiting for the signal from Mulder. There had been no movement in or out for the past half hour, at least. There was no evidence that the killer was there. Interviews with neighbors suggested he had left the house that morning around 10:30 a.m. It was fast approaching 3:30 p.m. now. Mulder reviewed last minute instructions and nodded to Scully. They were going in the front door. All other doors were covered, with agents prepared to enter. Mulder gave the signal. Agents simultaneously burst through the four doors in the house, yelling 'Federal Agents.' But there was no one visible to hear them. Mulder and Scully headed for the stairs, Mulder climbing first, Scully just behind. In the background they heard, "First floor clear." Mulder gestured to Scully that he'd go left and she nodded understanding, preparing to go right. They reached the top of the stairs and Mulder counted a silent 1, 2, 3. They burst onto the landing, each kneeling, guns aimed straight in front of them. There was complete silence for a good thirty seconds as they froze, listening for any sound. Scully heard it finally, down the hall to the right. It was a soft sound, quiet, intermittent. She signaled Mulder and they moved slowly down the hallway. The door at the end of the hall was closed. Mulder grabbed the knob lightly, attempting to turn it, but it was locked. He signaled Scully to stand to the side, and kicked once, twice, and then the door jamb shattered, allowing the door to fly inwards. Scully rolled into the room under her partner's gun, then quickly pointed her own gun up towards the ceiling to avoid any possibility of hurting the little boy lying against the far wall. Both Mulder and Scully moved forward after confirming the room to be clear. Robby lay against the wall, dressed in a baggy coverall and socks. He seemed unable to sit, barely able to move, but he was still struggling, as if trying to get away from them. Scully squatted down beside him, speaking softly, trying to calm him. "It's okay, now, Robby. My name is Dana Scully and I'm a police officer. You're going to be fine now. We're going to get you out of here in just a few minutes." Mulder was in the hall, instructing the agents to secure the scene and bring in the paramedics. He returned to Scully's side, kneeling down to avoid frightening the boy any more. "Hi, Robby. I'm Agent Mulder. We're going to take you to the hospital to make sure you're okay. Your Mom and Dad will meet you there, okay?" He was relieved to see the boy nod slightly, evidently able to follow the conversation. Mulder reached out to squeeze his arm gently, still worried about scaring him, then moved away, leaving Scully to care for him. He headed out of the house and pulled out his cell phone to call Skinner. Now all they had to do was locate this son of a bitch and they could finally go home. ************************** Scully squeezed Robby's hand once more before the paramedics took him from the room. Suddenly, she was hit by a wave of dizziness that caused her to rest one hand on the wall for support. The adrenaline rush had long since passed, leaving her weak and shaky. She realized that Mulder wasn't the only one being affected by sleep deprivation and lack of food. And if she was hit this bad, he was probably worse. Scully decided to head outside to see how her partner was doing. He was sitting on the steps, leaning against a hand rail, evidently trying hard to ignore the police officers and federal agents around him. Scully pushed her way through the bodies and sank down beside him, turning her head to get a good look. Yep, she'd guessed right. Mulder looked like he was going to keel over at any second. "Hey, partner." "Hey, Scully. How's the boy?" "He'll be okay. He was drugged. We'll know more when they run the tox screen. It'll be something that dissipates with no trace after 24 hours and was probably ingested or inhaled. We know that much already." Scully leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees, resting her head on top. "Maybe chloroform." She could hear her words dragging. She sounded exhausted even to her own ears. "Scully, you sound tired. Why don't you head back to the hotel for a bit?" Scully grinned wryly, once again lifting her head to look at her partner. "Yeah, Mulder. If you will, too. I might sound tired, but you look terrible." Mulder hadn't moved. Didn't really have the energy. He knew she was right, but they still had work to do. But damn, it was hard to even think about moving. Skinner found them there ten minutes later. He took in their washed out appearances, the fact that neither moved when he approached, and recognized imminent collapse. " Scully, Mulder, good work. The boy's fine. His parents are already on the way to the hospital." Skinner cleared his throat and rocked from one foot to the other. Mulder sensed something was up. Their boss was afraid to tell them something. Mulder dragged his head up, tilting it to look at Skinner. "What? What's happened?" "Nothing, Mulder. Tresky and Vickers are handling the search for Brandon. They'll call as soon as anything breaks." Scully was looking up at Skinner now as well, having sensed the same thing as her partner had. "Sir? What aren't you telling us?" Skinner looked sheepish, turned away for a second, then looked back at his agents. "The press is here in force. I want you to talk with them for a minute. Play nice." He had to finish the words over his agent's joint groans. "It's important, Agents. We're also ready to release information on Brandon. I want his picture plastered everywhere. After the interview, we're heading back to the hotel for a few hours. You both look like you're about to drop." Skinner was observing his agents with honest concern, now. "Seriously, do you think you can talk with them for just a minute?" Mulder glanced over at his partner, raising his eyebrows. "Come on, Scully. Get prettied up for the cameras. You need to lose the vest, brush you hair, put on some more make .....Ouch, that hurt, Scully." Mulder dragged himself up, rubbing his left arm, and then reached down to give his partner a hand up, grin on his face. "We'll be fine, sir. Let's go, Scully." Mulder and Scully both started towards the street, shedding FBI jackets and vests as they went. Skinner gestured to a young cop who retrieved them and headed off. Skinner was slightly amused at the sight of Mulder and Scully simultaneously straightening suits, refastening buttons, and running hands through hair. Still walking, Mulder turned to his partner and gestured down at himself. Not breaking stride, Scully leaned towards him, reached up and pulled at the knot of his tie, then nodded to him. He pushed a stray strand of hair from one side of her head to the other, then said, "You look good, Scully." He was rewarded with a smile that went far to brighten up his day. ************************** Tuesday, 5:51 p.m. Minneapolis, En Route to Center Hotel Skinner thought the impromptu press conference went well. Mulder and Scully looked like pros in front of the cameras. They knew just what to say, how to say it, and looked good doing it. Right now, Elijah Brandon's photo was being broadcast on every channel in the Twin Cities area as well as on the national news. Mulder and Scully were heroes, with kudos going to the St. Paul and Minneapolis police forces, as well as the local bureau and all the agents working on the case. He looked back at his agents, both of whom were again fast asleep in the back seat of the car. He'd instructed the driver to take them back to the hotel. Skinner knew the case was far from over with Brandon still on the run, but his agents needed sleep and food. The young agent who'd been lucky enough to pull driver duty pulled in front of the hotel and cleared his throat nervously. "Here we are, sir." Skinner got out of the car slowly and opened the back door, making sure no body parts fell out as he did so. Mulder's body started spilling through the opening, forcing Skinner to grab at his knee and shoulder. "Mulder, wake up. We're at the hotel." Mulder pulled his knees and arms in close, turning to the left in the car's seat, still fast asleep. "Come on, Mulder. Mulder." Skinner was a little more forceful in shaking his agent's shoulder. "Wha..?? Whazzit??" "We're at the hotel. Wake up. And wake up Scully, too. Come on." Mulder could barely move. He groggily looked up at his boss through sleep clouded eyes, wondering why the man couldn't just go away and leave him alone. It finally sunk in. They were in a car. They were in front of the hotel. Hotel equaled bed. Bed equaled sleep. Sleep equaled possibility of feeling human once again in the near future. He forced himself to sit straighter, then turned to his partner, rubbing her arm lightly. "Hey, Scully, rise and shine. We're at the hotel. Come on, Scully, wake up so we can go to sleep." Well, it made sense to him. And it made Scully smile. She dragged one eye open and squinted at him with it. "Come on, AD Skinner's waiting for us." "Okay, okay, Mulder. Let me scoot out." Mulder finally dragged himself out of the car, keeping one hand on the car's door frame for support. He leaned down and into the open door and offered his partner his other hand. Spots danced in front of his eyes as he stood straight once again. For her part, Scully was happy for the help. She wasn't sure she'd be able to make it out of the car without it. Skinner was becoming more concerned by the second. He knew they were exhausted, but this was really stretching it. His agents seemed unable to perform the most simple tasks. Maybe they needed to be checked out by a doctor. He decided to make sure they ate some of the dinner he'd ordered before letting them sleep again. Skinner had to laugh at himself. If anyone had told him a month ago that he'd be playing mother hen to Fox Mulder , he'd have laughed himself silly. Yet here he was, playing surrogate parent to both Mulder and Scully. But damned if they didn't need someone taking care of them. And it wasn't such a stretch, after all. They trusted him, he knew that. He was pretty sure they respected him - most of the time. "Mulder, Scully, let's go to the suite. I called in an order for food. It should be there already." Both his agents grimaced at the thought, but said nothing. "Consider it an order. You haven't had anything since breakfast and I'd prefer you not pass out on me. We're still going to have a full night ahead of us." They were at the suite door. Mulder leaned against the wall and Scully leaned against him. Neither seemed shy at the fact that their boss stood with them. Skinner finally got the door open and was relieved to see a cart with several trays sitting on it. He held the door open and physically guided Scully and then Mulder through it and over to the dining room table. They were basically on auto-pilot, following his instructions, going where he directed them. Skinner put a plate in front of each of them and said, "Eat," then pulled over a plate for himself. He passed beverages around the table and was relieved to see both his agents eating without argument. No one spoke, too exhausted to waste the energy on such an unnecessary function. After some ten minutes, Skinner noticed that Mulder hadn't moved in awhile. The younger man had his right arm propped on the table, loaded fork held about three or four inches from his face. His left elbow was also on the table, his head propped on raised fist. Mulder's eyes were closed and his mouth was open slightly. Skinner was pretty sure he was fast asleep. It was the damnedest thing he'd ever seen. Skinner turned to Scully and saw that she'd done the more expedient thing. She'd pushed her plate back slightly and had laid her head on the table. A few stray auburn strands lay in uneaten mashed potato. He looked back and forth between the two of them, a small smile on his face. Skinner took a last bite of his dinner, swallowed down the rest of his water, then pushed himself away from the table carefully. He stood and surveyed the situation for a heartbeat before deciding to take care of Mulder first. He leaned over his agent slightly, removed the fork from his right hand, took his arm and said, "Mulder, stand up. We need to get you into your bedroom." Some small part of the younger man's brain must have still been processing input because he made it to his feet, still never opening his eyes. Skinner half carried, half led his sleeping agent to his room, and sat him down on the bed. After removing the man's jacket, gun and tie, unfastening several shirt buttons, and taking off his shoes, Skinner pushed Mulder down flat, raised his legs to the bed, and pulled a blanket up over his shoulders. Skinner stood and looked down at his sleeping agent for a moment, making sure he lay comfortably, then returned to the front room. Scully was a different matter. Skinner wasn't quite so confident about manhandling her. He knelt down beside her, a hand on her arm, and spoke softly. "Agent Scully. Dana. Let me help you across the hall to your room." Scully jerked upright, was immediately alert and aware of her surroundings. "Sorry, sir. Didn't mean to fall asleep on you. Where's Mulder?" "I already put him to bed, Scully. Now it's your turn." Skinner colored a deep red when he realized what he'd said. Scully laughed softly, understanding the intent of his words, and stood slowly, stretching out stiff muscles as she did so. "It's okay, sir, I think I can make it on my own." "Ummm, Agent Scully?" Scully turned to look at him, curious as to why he seemed so uneasy. He had a napkin in his hand that he kept gesturing with, awkwardly. "Yes, sir?" Skinner couldn't take it any more. The mashed potatoes and gravy in Scully's hair were driving him crazy. He finally just took a step forward, raised the napkin to her hair and mumbled, "You fell asleep in your mashed potatoes, Scully." Scully couldn't help laughing as he evidently got the last of it out. She was pretty sure she'd never fallen asleep in food before. She gripped his arm in silent thanks and pulled her key out of her pocket. "Thank you, sir. I'll see you in a few hours." "Sleep well, Scully. I'll wake you both up when you're needed back at the Bureau." Scully nodded to her boss and headed to her room, thoughts of warm water, clean hair, crisp sheets and soft beds filling her thoughts. ************************** Tuesday, 9:09 p.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel The phone was ringing. It wouldn't stop, no matter how much he ignored it. Mulder opened an eye and glared at it. It still wouldn't stop. He reached out a hand and grabbed it off the hook, holding it to his ear. "Ya?" "Mulder, it's Vickers. We're gonna need you pretty soon over here. We're trying to figure out where this character might have gone and we're striking out. We could use you, buddy." "Okay, give me a half hour...or so." Mulder tossed the phone onto the table, not even bothering to hang it up, and looked around. He was lying on top of the covers (again) with a blanket draped over him. His shoes were by the side of the bed, his tie was laid out on the table next to his gun, his suit jacket was draped carefully over a chair. Huh. Not his style. Too neat. Mulder sat up, stretched out protesting muscles carefully, and looked blearily at the clock. 9:12 p.m. He must have slept for two hours or so. It seemed like moments. He must have really been tired. Mulder dragged himself off the bed and headed into the bathroom to freshen up. ************************** The outer room was empty, as was Skinner's room. Mulder figured his boss was at the Bureau already. He picked up the phone and dialed Scully's room, then wondered if perhaps she was also at the Bureau when she hadn't answered after twenty rings. Maybe she was in the shower. Mulder was just about ready to head out when the door opened and his boss walked in. Skinner smiled slightly on seeing his agent up and functioning, and said, "Agent Mulder, how are you feeling?" "I'm fine, sir. Still a little tired, but at least I can stand straight." Skinner had bent down to pick up a package that had been slipped under the door. Mulder's name was on it. He held it out to his agent, and said, "This is for you, Mulder." Mulder had been distracted and hadn't really noticed what Skinner was doing. He was again trying to get Scully in her room and was still having no luck. As Mulder walked across the room to retrieve whatever Skinner had for him he asked, "Sir, is Scully already at the Bureau?" Skinner immediately frowned at the question, then looked confused. "No, she's still in her room." Mulder's hand was inches from the package when Skinner's words hit him. Something was wrong. He looked down at the large envelope being held out to him and noticed his name - Agent Fox Mulder - written in a messy cursive scrawl. Mulder felt his stomach clench and his insides flip. "Sir, could you place it on the table, please?" Skinner was confused. He sensed that something was wrong, that Mulder had tensed, but wasn't sure why and what the envelope could have to do with it. He placed the package carefully on the table. "What, Mulder? What's wrong?" Mulder shook his head, wondering to himself whether he was being overly paranoid. "Sir, will you please check on Scully? If she doesn't answer the door, have management open it. But make sure you don't touch anything without gloves." Skinner was now even more disturbed at these instructions. Just what did Mulder suspect? Mulder removed latex gloves from his briefcase and sat at the table, pausing before touching the large envelope. He prayed he was again being overly paranoid, then slowly undid the clasp, opened the flap and looked inside. He gingerly took one corner of the paper inside and slipped it out, careful not to smudge any prints that might be on it. When he saw the note, he knew he wasn't being paranoid at all. Mulder sank back in the chair, stunned. In the background he heard Skinner entering the suite, a babble of voices coming from the hall. The man had his cell phone to his ear and was speaking intently as he approached Mulder. He flipped the phone closed and looked from Mulder's face to the table where the note sat on top of the open envelope. In the same cursive script as was on the envelope was written, Agent Mulder, You had no right to take Robby from me. I want him back. He belongs with me, not with those people he calls his parents. They can't love him like I can. When you give me Robby, I'll give you your partner. Elijah Mulder sat unmoving, stunned, absolutely white, face drained of all blood. Skinner gripped his shoulder tightly, trying to let the younger man know he was there, he understood what this meant, and he'd do everything in his power to make it right. Skinner cleared his throat, not sure whether his voice would be steady or not. "Mulder, Janice is bringing a team over immediately to canvass the scene. I've got the manager pulling out all video surveillance tapes from the last 24 hours, starting backwards from now. Tresky and Vickers are sending teams to review them and interview staff and guests. We'll get her back, Mulder, don't worry." Skinner's heart skipped a beat at the wretched expression Mulder now wore. The younger man looked up at him, partly in confusion, partly in anguish, eyes blurry with unshed tears. Probably wondering when it would all end. "Mulder, I'm sorry. I should have thought, I should have ...." "No, sir. How could you have guessed this would happen? I'm supposed to be the behavioral specialist and it never occurred to me." Skinner was relieved that Mulder wasn't blaming himself. At least not yet. He sighed deeply and sank into the chair next to Mulder, resting his arms on the table in front of him, but making sure not to touch the envelope and letter. "Okay, Mulder, what's next?" Mulder pushed the chair back away from the table, put both hands up to his face and scrubbed almost violently, trying to clear his thoughts. He had to be sharp - he had to be sharp for Scully. "I need to get to the bureau office. He'll go somewhere. Somewhere he knows, where he feels safe. He'll take Scully there. I had the computer analysts checking on something for me earlier. It might help now." Mulder looked over at his boss, weariness seeping away as he turned his attention to the issues at hand. "Sir, I'd like you to stay here to run things, if that's okay. It has to be done right." Skinner nodded to his agent, feeling oddly gratified that Mulder had placed such trust in him. "I'll meet you at the command center as soon as we're done here. Call me if you need anything or find out anything." Agents were coming in the open door, quietly and reserved, appreciating the blow of Scully's abduction on the two men sitting at the table. Crowley and Salvatore stood to one side of the door, waiting to be noticed, a couple of more junior agents standing behind them. Mulder looked over at them, then back at his boss, stood and moved to put on his overcoat. He pulled out his gun, checking to make sure it was loaded -- a totally unnecessary action, but one that reassured him in some way -- then pushed it securely back in its holster. Skinner had no doubts what was going through the man's mind. Mulder looked at his boss and said, "I'll call, sir. And I'll look forward to hearing what you find here." Mulder nodded to his boss and the agents at the door as he breezed past, once again inscrutable. ************************** Tuesday, 10:28 p.m. Unknown location It was cold and dark. Scully felt sick. She tried to remember what had happened, where she was. The last thing she could recall was leaving the suite to go to her room. Then this. Scully tried to sit and was immediately sorry. She fought to avoid being sick and finally felt her stomach settle slightly. She tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness, hoping to eventually make out something of her surroundings. Gradually, she was able to make out undefined shapes, boxes, shelves. She decided she was in a basement or a cellar. No windows were apparent, but the soft light was coming from somewhere. Scully pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Resting her head lightly on her knees, she tried to gather her scattered thoughts. It was all confused. She knew she must have been drugged in some way. Then, a flash of a hand in front of her face, cloth in palm, intruded in her thoughts. She was starting to remember. It had to be Elijah Brandon. It was his MO She had just confirmed that he used chloroform to subdue Robby and now she was a victim of it herself. Scully attempted to reason out what her partner and AD Skinner would be doing. It was most likely three or so hours since she'd been taken. By now they would have discovered her missing. Would they put it together? Would they figure out it was Brandon? Scully couldn't count on their making that leap. She would have to get herself out of this mess. She lifted her head from her knees and looked around at her surroundings more carefully. She tried to envision what this place could be. After all, the house where Robby had been kept and Brandon's own home were no longer in play. Where could this be? Scully decided she was strong enough to stand so she released her knees, put one hand on the floor and tried to move herself upright. She eventually managed the feat, grabbing a shelf to help maintain her balance. She decided the first order of business was to determine where the faint light was coming from, since that might actually provide an avenue of exit from her dungeon. Even better, she decided to look for a light switch. Scully started feeling her way around her prison, gradually identifying what was what. The entire room felt old. She couldn't really explain it. There was a smell of mustiness, of disuse. The shelves were, for the most part, barren. The boxes were mostly empty and what they did contain was of no worth and provided no clues as to where she was. There was an eclectic mix of old sports equipment, books, clothing, and toys. She established that there was no electricity after flipping numerous switches around the room on and off. Scully found the door, but no knob. There was no obvious way to open it. After spending about five minutes trying, she decided to come back to it, once she'd completed her circuit. After an hour of searching the room, trying the door, feeling for alternate exits, Scully was exhausted and discouraged. She needed to rest for just a little while. She lay back down on the floor, curled on her side and drifted to sleep. Her last thought before finally falling asleep was that she missed her partner. Scully wasn't aware, an hour later, of the man who entered the basement and then moved to stand over her, motionless for several minutes. He finally turned and walked away, his right hand carrying Scully's gun. He decided he liked the way it felt in his hand, the smoothness, the texture, the weight. There was an elegance to it. It seemed so natural, he wondered why he'd never gotten a gun before. ********************************** Wednesday, 1:17 a.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center Mulder threw the file across the room, scattering papers in a fluttering white arc. None of the four agents in the command center spoke. No one dared to speak. Mulder stood in front of the photos of the fifth victim, Kirstie Sanders, and wondered again whether it was important that Brandon had known her personally. Had lived down the road from her and her family, in fact. Had it been just yesterday that he'd made this connection? Was it even important anymore? There was too much to consider and Mulder was having a hard time wading through it all, prioritizing. He was frustrated and angry. Angry at himself for not getting to know the suspect earlier. He should have been acquainted with ever aspect of the man's life by now. He should know where Elijah Brandon took Scully. It was well past 1 a.m. and Mulder needed a break. He turned to the older of the four agents in the command center and said, "Listen, Jacobs, I'll be back in about a half hour, maybe an hour. If anything turns up on the childhood angle, let me know. Also, push with the church aspect. I don't care what the they say, they need to release that information to us. Go to Skinner if they won't cooperate. Get someone to the Cardinal's house personally if necessary, but get it done. You can reach me on my cell phone if you need me." Skinner was working in the larger conference room, providing direction to the forensics team and reviewing the information gathered by Vickers' and Tresky's people. He saw Mulder walk through the room, and head out the door. He couldn't help but wonder where his agent was headed at one in the morning. Skinner thought about what he was about to do, considered pros and cons, and then decided Mulder could live with it. Skinner flagged one of the younger agents over who'd been essentially playing gofer and whispered softly to the man. Billings looked slightly shocked but nodded in acknowledgment and headed out the door after Mulder. Being instructed by the Assistant Director to keep an eye on Spooky Mulder was something he probably wouldn't broadcast to his buddies, but it was bound to be interesting. Mulder remembered where he was going from a directory he'd seen on one of their first days in the Minneapolis Bureau. He headed for the first floor, then followed the corridor around to the back of the building. He went through the doors to the gym, hoping no one would be around. He needed some quiet time, time to free his mind from its rut, loosen the grip of the mundane, allow it to roam unencumbered by restrictions. Mulder walked to the center of the gym and turned in a circle, finally spotting the light controls. Shedding his jacket as he walked, he flipped on the switches, satisfied by the sudden glare of overhead lights shining brightly on the basketball court. He took off holster and gun and hid them under his discarded jacket, emptied his pockets, removed his tie, unfastened several buttons, and then picked up a stray basketball. He took some practice dribbles, passing from one hand to the other easily, then moved out on the court. He took a shot, sinking the ball cleanly, then ran over to retrieve it. He felt the need to sweat, to work his body to the exclusion of all else. He dribbled to the center of the court and then prepared for a lay-up, all the while playing as if imaginary opponents were out to steal the ball from him or prevent his shots. Billings wasn't sure what to make of this. The man's partner had been kidnapped, was quite likely being molested and tortured like those children, and Spooky was playing basketball, in his work clothes, his dress shoes, by himself. Billings occasionally caught a glance through the window in the door and acknowledged that Mulder was pretty good. But what the hell was he doing? Skinner had given Billings instructions to keep an eye on Mulder and let him know if the agent seemed to be in trouble in any way. Did cracking up constitute trouble, Billings wondered? After half an hour, he decided to let Skinner know where Mulder was and what the man was doing. It wasn't Billings' place to decide whether Mulder had lost it. Skinner arrived ten minutes later and waved the young agent away. Billings seemed quite happy to leave. Skinner looked through the window for a full minute before moving. Mulder had been at it for a good forty-five minutes and was still going strong. Skinner decided to enter the gym and sit down. He doubted Mulder would be any more aware of him and at least he'd be more comfortable. Skinner opened the door quietly and moved off to the right to sit against a side wall. He decided to let Mulder go. Maybe he needed this release. Skinner had heard about Mulder's outburst just before leaving the command center and understood the younger man was walking a thin line. Even without Scully's disappearance, Mulder had been on the verge of collapse. After another fifteen minutes, Skinner could tell that Mulder was slowing down fast. In fact, he stumbled occasionally and missed almost every other basket. It was time to end this. Skinner stood and prepared to approach his agent, when Mulder went flying. Whether he tripped or just fell from shear exhaustion wasn't clear. What was clear was that he was lying flat on his stomach, legs sprawled awkwardly, head on one arm, after rolling and sliding a good ten or fifteen feet across the hardwood floor. Skinner ran over to his agent and knelt down beside him, gently placing one hand on his agent's trembling back. He was afraid to do any more damage. "Mulder, are you okay? Mulder?" Skinner wasn't totally sure what to do. He knew he had to determine whether Mulder was hurt. He might need to call emergency services. "Mulder, you have to tell me if you're okay. Can you hear me?" Skinner finally grabbed Mulder's shoulder and gently rolled the man over on his back, so he could better access potential injuries. Mulder's entire body was shaking and Skinner finally realized he was crying, silently. Mulder now lay on his back, legs wherever they'd ended up, one arm across his face, covering his eyes. The other arm lay across his chest, hugging himself, hand in a tight fist. Skinner sank down on the floor beside his agent, laying a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder, at once relieved and concerned. This was much worse than Mulder's loss of composure a couple days ago in the command center. He'd never seen Mulder like this. In fact, he had never even imagined the man capable of such raw emotions. Every time Skinner thought he'd figured his agent out, another facet of his personality jumped out to prove Skinner really knew nothing. After five minutes, Mulder started to calm, his tense body slowly relaxing. After another five minutes more, he dropped his arm from his face, and used his sleeve to wipe away any remaining tears. He was embarrassed, but didn't have the energy to make excuses or cover up in front of his boss. Besides, Skinner understood, more than anyone else could -- except Scully. The thought of her was torture. "Scully." It was an agonized groan. The image of Scully in Brandon's hands was painful. It gripped his stomach, forced his breath out in an explosive burst. Mulder was practically paralyzed with his impotence. He managed to roll over on his side, hands gripping around his stomach, face a mask of anguish. "Scully." He wanted her here so badly, beside him. He needed her beside him, always. Skinner understood how important it was to reassure the younger man, get him to calm somewhat. Mulder had to hold it together if they were going to get Scully back. "Mulder, listen to me. We're making progress. We're going to find Scully and we're going to find Brandon. He'll pay, Mulder. I promise you, he'll pay. For every child he took and hurt, for Scully and for you. He'll pay, Mulder. But you have got to hang on. Scully's going to need you when we find her. Scully will need you to be strong for her. Do you hear me, Mulder?" Skinner felt like a shit, using Scully against her partner in this way. But Mulder was still their best chance. Skinner understood that Mulder's profiling gift, his intuitive leaps, were going to be necessary to get Scully back. Mulder had to pull himself together. But at the same time, all Skinner wanted to do was to try to help him, to let him go to sleep, to tell him it would be all better in the morning. But he knew even Mulder wouldn't fall for that fairy tale. Even Mulder's belief could be suspended only so far. Mulder was quieting again from the rollercoaster of emotions he'd been subjected to. He still lay on his side, curled slightly. He loosened his arms from their death grip. Skinner could hear his muffled words amidst the struggling breathing. "I keep seeing Scully, like one of the crime scene photos of the victims, dumped in some abandoned building, alone, covered in blood, dead. I can't get rid of the image." Mulder drew in a deep, shaky breath and opened his eyes slightly. "I don't know what I would do without her, sir. She's ...." Mulder couldn't finish, but it wasn't necessary. Skinner understood, perhaps more even than Mulder did. Skinner once again tightened his grip on Mulder's shoulder for a few seconds, before replying. "Mulder, there's no reason to believe he'll do anything to harm Agent Scully. And she's a strong and headstrong woman. Don't sell her short. I wouldn't be surprised if we get a call from her telling us where we can come to retrieve Brandon." Skinner was relieved to see a ghost of a smile cross Mulder's face. "Right now, though, it's crucial that we not give up hope. And I know you, Agent Mulder. I know that you're not the kind of man who would ever give up on your partner. Ever." Mulder was feeling stronger now, strong enough to nod at his boss' words and to roll to a sitting position, albeit slowly. "No, sir, I won't give up on her. I could never give up on Scully." Mulder rested his head on one raised knee, face turned away from his boss. Then Mulder did something he never would have believed he could do. He admitted his weakness to Skinner. "But sir, I'm so tired. I can barely think straight. I'm terrified I'll miss something important. Something that will be the break we need. I'm so scared I'm going to screw this up and the price will be Scully's life. She keeps having to pay for my mistakes. I can't let it happen again." The final words came out as a whisper. A whisper betraying the buried secrets of a tortured soul. Skinner pulled his agent to him slightly for only a moment, in a brief hug meant to let the younger man know he wasn't alone. "Mulder, I know you're exhausted. And you're right to be frightened, but I have faith in you. And Scully has always and will always have faith in you. I know it's a tremendous burden and it's not fair to put these expectations on you. But I believe you will find her. I know you will find her, safe and well." Skinner spoke with such assurance that Mulder raised his head and looked towards him, through bloodshot eyes, swollen from heartfelt tears. Skinner's faith made him believe. Mulder took a few shaky breaths, trying to ready himself for what was to come, then nodded to his boss. "Thank you, sir. I'll do my best." "I know you will, Mulder. And I know it will be enough. Now, come on, I'll help you up. I think we should head back to the command center, make sure everything's under control, then go back to the hotel. You didn't really have much sleep last night and it's well past 2 in the morning already." Skinner stood easily and reached a hand down to his agent. Mulder looked up at his boss and a feeling of friendship unlike anything he'd ever experienced swept through him. He honestly liked Skinner, looked up to him as a mentor, even a father figure. Hell, the man had looked out for his health and well-being far more aggressively than his own father ever had or would have. "Mulder, are you okay?" Mulder realized he'd been staring and shook his head to clear it, mumbled that everything was fine, and took the offered hand, allowing himself to be pulled vertical. He continued to grip his boss' hand for just a second, saying, "Thank you, sir. Really. Thank you." He wasn't just thanking his boss for the hand up. "No problem, Mulder. Glad to help." ************************** Wednesday, 2:24 a.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center Mulder looked like shit and no amount of cold water splashed on his face or run through his hair was going to change that. He finally gave up trying to make himself presentable and figured the other agents could just live with it. No one commented on Mulder's red eyes, sweat-soaked clothes or wet hair. They were just relieved to see him back in the command center, and at least sounding more like himself. He quickly outlined several new avenues of exploration, organized individuals and teams appropriately to accomplish the tasks he'd outlined, and then presented his desired timeline for completing the tasks. He was efficient and organized and everyone assigned to work through the night felt better for his input. They had all come to trust Spooky Mulder and his insights. No one doubted that he'd get his partner back. ************************** Wednesday, 2:49 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel The hot water beat on his skin, and he imagined his sins washing away, circling down the drain. Mulder leaned on arms propped on the wall in front of him, head hanging down towards his chest. His right hand throbbed at the pressure, but it was right that he should be feeling pain. The water hit his head, his shoulders, his neck when he leaned forward just so. Mulder had pointed the team members working through the night in the right directions and then left. He hoped he could get at least four hours sleep. It would be enough to keep him going. He needed it. He knew he needed it. But his mind wouldn't turn off, no matter how badly his body wanted the rest. Mulder finally turned the water off and grabbed a thick towel off the nearby shelf. The wave of dizziness that hit him while rubbing his hair dry reinforced that he needed to rest. With one hand against the wall to steady himself, he quickly dried off and dressed, dropping the towel on the floor by the tub. He made his way to the bed, careful not to move too quickly. Mulder thought to himself that playing hard core basketball for an hour while already exhausted was probably not the brightest thing he'd ever done. He yanked the covers back, collapsing into the bed almost simultaneously. The light was still on and he couldn't force his arm up to turn it off. Mulder lay with eyes closed, aware of various parts of his body that were literally shaking. It was a feeling he recalled easily from his time in the VCS. Physical limitations were never a consideration to Patterson. The job had to be done so you did it. Patterson didn't want to know about the flu you were getting over or the fact that you hadn't slept for three days. There was no trade-off between short-term and long-term benefits. You did the job Patterson told you to do, day in, day out. Mulder's thoughts turned to then Skinner, as they had many times over the past week or so. He couldn't help contrasting the two men. Skinner was honestly concerned about both Mulder and Scully as people, about all the agents serving under him. He had seen this concern surface many times before, had realized it was there even when Skinner was chewing him out for something. But this past week had been unusual. Their working relationship was totally different on this case, allowing Mulder to see new sides to his boss. Mulder thanked God the man was here. He didn't know how he could get through this without the support and friendship of the older man. Mulder's last thoughts, before he drifted off to sleep, were of his partner. Instead of counting sheep, he repeated the mantra, 'Please God, let Scully be all right,' over and over. It eventually proved effective. ************************** Wednesday, 3:02 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel Skinner was exhausted and knew that his agent had to be even more tired than he. He decided to give Mulder another ten or fifteen minutes before checking on him. Skinner heard the water turn off about ten minutes ago but saw that the light in Mulder's room was still on. He knew that didn't necessarily mean anything. Mulder seemed able to sleep with lights and sound on quite easily, although never for long. Skinner sighed to himself, thoughts turning to his other agent, missing now for over eight hours. He hadn't told Mulder, figuring the man had enough to deal with, but he'd called Scully's mother, and told her about her daughter's abduction. Margaret Scully had been collected in her questioning of the events that led to the situation, but obviously worried for her daughter. Skinner was impressed by the woman's demeanor, as he had been on the numerous other occasions he'd met her. He knew that Scully got more than her looks from her mother. Skinner was even more impressed by the woman's worry for Mulder. She seemed to be honestly concerned about how Scully's disappearance was impacting him. It was a rare individual who could be so unselfish with their emotions in such a time of stress. Skinner tried to reassure her that he was keeping an eye on Mulder, watching out for him. The last thing he wanted her worrying about when her daughter was missing was her daughter's partner. It dawned on him at some point during the conversation that Mulder was somehow more than that to this woman. It wasn't clear to Skinner just how Margaret Scully considered the man, whether adopted son, prospective son-in- law, or best friend of her daughter. Whatever it was, Skinner could tell there was genuine and deep affection. He wondered whether Mulder knew that he had people who cared about him so much. His agent seemed too often alone. Skinner dragged himself out of bed and headed towards Mulder's room. He cracked the door open slightly, and looked towards the bed. When he saw Mulder fast asleep, he opened the door more widely and entered the room, approaching the bed. The younger man looked totally washed out, his features strained even in sleep. Skinner had noticed the man's pants hanging from his frame while playing basketball, even with his belt in the tightest notch. Mulder had to have lost a good ten or more pounds since the case started. Skinner was angry at himself for letting it happen, but knew he could do only so much. He wasn't Mulder's father or mother, although God knew the man could use a parent who actually cared about him. Skinner recognized that Mulder would be completely dismayed if he perceived that his boss was even having such thoughts, but couldn't help it. It was those damned paternal stirrings, over which he seemed to have no control. Skinner pulled the blanket up over Mulder's shoulders, turned out the light, and then left the room, leaving the door open part of the way. He sent a prayer to whatever Gods might be listening to watch over his two agents and bring them safely together once again. ************************** Wednesday, 7:51 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel Skinner had checked on Mulder at 7:30 and discovered the younger man had apparently not moved the entire night. After checking in with the night team leader, Skinner decided to give his agent another half hour of sleep at least, before waking him. The teams that had worked through the night had generated a significant amount of data, but lacked the ability to fuse the various streams into anything helpful. Skinner knew Mulder would be able to do this. The younger man would never forgive him if he let him sleep too long. Skinner ordered room service and started flipping through the latest report that he had paper on, delivered that morning at 6 a.m. He'd already read it twice, but decided third time was the charm. It at least gave him something to do while waiting on Mulder. He'd already exhausted the potentials of the newspaper for keeping him occupied. Actually, the front page photo of Scully, with Mulder standing beside her, sent his stomach flipping when he'd opened it. So he did the expedient thing and ignored most of it. Skinner was about half way through the report when he heard movement and the words, "Sir? Any developments?" He looked towards Mulder's room to see his agent leaning against the door frame, rubbing his face vigorously, then running fingers through his hair, white bandage on his right hand providing a stark contrast against his hair. "Mulder, I was just getting ready to wake you. Yes and no. I've got some preliminary reports from a few hours ago. I just checked in with the team - they're switching shifts now - but I got a verbal update. We need to get over there soon to start looking at some of the data they've been generating and the information that's been dug up on Brandon. They don't really know what's important. I'm afraid I haven't been able to help them with that too much." Mulder merely nodded to his boss, pushed himself away from the door frame, then turned back into his room. "Okay, sir. I'll be ready in ten minutes or so." ************************** Wednesday, 10:49 a.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center Skinner was working with Mulder and Vickers' team. They'd been pouring through the results of the past nights search of records pertaining to Brandon's childhood, family, and history in general. Mulder was certain the answer to where he'd taken Scully lay in the man's past. He was convinced that something had happened in Brandon's early years that had laid the foundation for the testing he put the children through. They'd been attempting to determine whether a sibling had died or been killed, perhaps by a relative or parent. Unfortunately, the thirty plus year old records were in disarray, a result of a move of the police headquarters some twenty years ago. Simultaneously, they were searching all records of charges brought against men for murder, attempted murder, sexual assault, or kidnapping of any children between the ages of 5 and 13 during the same period, under the assumption that Brandon's sibling might have been a victim. Mulder also had a team searching into the family's ties to the Catholic Church. He was certain that the suicide of Elijah Brandon's brother, Jacob, some eight months before was the trigger for the kidnapping -murder spree. Mulder knew the answer was here somewhere if they could only find the right answers to the questions about Brandon's past. They'd been working for several hours straight when Skinner looked up to see Margaret Scully in the doorway, a young agent gesturing towards him and Mulder. Skinner's rapid movement must have alerted Mulder that something was up. Mulder stood straight, turned to look in the direction his boss was looking and visibly blanched. He staggered slightly, dropped the paper in his hand, whispered, "Scu...." For a fraction of a second, Mulder thought it was Scully who stood in the doorway. His brain finally caught up to his eyes, and processed that it wasn't Scully at all, but her mother. "Mrs. Scully?" Mulder was still shocked and the shakiness in his voice betrayed the fact. He'd been unaware that Scully's mother was coming. In fact, he guiltily realized that he hadn't even thought of her at all. Mulder turned to look at Skinner for a moment, still fighting confusion, then finally crossed the seven foot span between him and Scully's mother. Mulder felt fear grip at him. What must Margaret Scully think of him? He'd allowed it to happen again. He'd allowed Scully to be taken, right out from under his nose. He forced himself to walk up to the woman, not knowing what he'd do once he got there. Margaret Scully answered the question herself by reaching one hand up to cup his cheek and asking, "Fox, how are you?" Mulder thought he was going to break down, right then and there. He fought the shudder that went through him, closed his eyes tightly to keep any tears where they were. He couldn't do this now, here, in front of all these agents. He struggled internally, clenching his jaw, then felt Skinner's grip on his right arm, giving him a much needed support. Skinner understood. Margaret's hand disappeared from his cheek. He heard his boss' voice, as if from a far distance, say, "Mrs. Scully, I'm so sorry about Dana. We're doing everything in our power to get her home safely." Mulder opened his eyes to see his boss holding onto Margaret Scully's hand with his free one. Her voice was steady when she replied. "I know Mr. Skinner. I know that you and Fox will find her." She was looking at Mulder again and now it wasn't so painful. He'd gotten past the shock of seeing her. Mulder cleared his throat before speaking. "We'll get her, Mrs. Scully. I'll find her." Margaret knew he hadn't even been aware of the switch in responsibility. In one fell swoop he'd gone from 'we'll' get her to 'I'll' get her. Margaret had been shocked at his appearance when she saw him. He looked like he'd been hurt and was now on the verge of collapse. It frightened her to think that all her hopes for finding her daughter and bringing her back safely were resting on this man's shoulders. Her heart did a flip when she realized that he was also at risk. He'd been driving himself, obviously pushing himself to his limits and beyond to find her daughter. She was frightened for him, for his mental and physical well being. Margaret Scully had come to appreciate this man in so many ways since she had first met him. He had been a constant in her daughter's life and, by proxy, in her own, ever since Dana started working with him so many years ago. He'd never given up hope on Dana. Not when she was missing for three months, not when she was returned in a coma, not during her battle with cancer. But Margaret had never seen him so exhausted, so worn down. Her heart had broken at his reaction to her words to him. He looked calmer now, more able to control himself. "I know you will, Fox. Thank you." Margaret reached out to him once again, this time wrapping her arms around his stiff form. It was okay that he couldn't give in to her embrace. She didn't mind. What was important is that he knew she was worried about him and cared about him. She stepped away after the quick embrace and turned again to her daughter's boss, giving the younger man the time to gather his composure. "Mr. Skinner, I know you're busy and I don't want to take you or Fox away from the investigation. Is there someone who could perhaps give me some details? Perhaps let me know what's happening?" "Of course, Mrs. Scully. Actually, I'm not really necessary right now. Let's sit down for a few minutes and I'll tell you what we know." Skinner turned to his agent, and said, "Mulder, we'll be down the hall. I'll be back in a bit." Mulder nodded wordlessly, and stared at them both as Margaret allowed herself to be led away by Walter Skinner. When they had disappeared from view, Mulder forced his body to start operating again. He returned to the table and the piles of old records that related to Brandon's life. Sinking into a chair wearily, he started reading once again. ************************** Wednesday, 11:25 a.m. Minneapolis Bureau Office Skinner had gotten them both coffee and led them to an empty office. After closing the door, he'd briefed Margaret on the high points of everything that had happened, leaving nothing of importance out. He saw no reason to keep this woman in the dark. She wouldn't be speaking to the press and she, of all people, knew the importance of discretion. He tried to explain what their present theories were and what approaches they were taking to get Scully back. Margaret nodded occasionally, asked clarifying questions a couple of times, and finally thanked him for explaining it all to her. She then broached the other subject that had been on her mind ever since seeing Mulder. "Walter, how is Fox? He looks so ..... so drained." Skinner sighed deeply, slightly unprepared by the question. "Margaret, I'll be honest. He was practically on the verge of collapse before Dana was taken. We'd been working practically around the clock. I had thought that retrieving Robby would give him a chance to regroup, catch his breath. Now, .... Well, I've been keeping an eye on him. But the truth is that he's Dana's best hope. Mulder has the ability to - to sort through incredible amounts of what appears to be totally unrelated pieces of information and somehow come up with the right answer to what it all means. If anyone can figure out where Brandon's run to, where he has Dana, it's Mulder." Margaret's forehead was creased, her features betraying her obvious concern for the younger man who'd come to mean so much to her daughter and herself. "But, Walter, Dana wouldn't want her own release at the price of Fox's health. Neither would I." Skinner was again filled with admiration for Scully's mother. "I know that, Margaret. But I also know that Mulder would never forgive himself if he didn't do everything in his power to find her." Skinner and Margaret both smiled slightly at the realization that both these headstrong youngsters loved the other so much that their own health and welfare was of secondary consideration. Friends or lovers, it didn't really matter. "Walter, have you called his mother?" Skinner was slightly confused by her question. "I'm sorry, Margaret, I don't follow." "I've gathered from what you said that parts of this case hit rather close to home for Fox. That he's had trouble handling it." Margaret didn't need his verbal acknowledgment. She could tell by the way he turned his head from her, looking at the floor intently, that she was correct. "It doesn't seem right that Fox should have to be dealing with all this without support of family, and his mother is the only family he has left. I know that if Dana were in a similar situation, I would want to be there with her, helping her to work through it." Skinner thought about the suggestion seriously. He could see how a woman such as Margaret Scully would be a steadying influence in such a situation, but he wasn't as convinced about Mulder's own mother. From what he knew of the woman and Mulder's relationship with her, she was the type of person who took rather than gave. He knew she'd knowingly kept information from Mulder, information related to his sister's disappearance. And that lack of that information had threatened his very life. Would she really be a steadying influence on him now, or would she drain him of further energy and spirit? Besides, Skinner wasn't at all convinced of her ignorance in any abuse that might possibly have occurred during Mulder's childhood. Skinner looked back at Margaret Scully, the indecision plainly written on his face. "I don't know. I'm not sure she would help, Margaret. His family ....." Skinner shook his head at the thought of the disaster passed off as Mulder's childhood. "I don't know that his mother would really help him. She's ... not what you normally think of when you think of a mother." Skinner was trying to be kind, trying not to be too critical of a woman whom he really didn't know. Margaret Scully now looked at Skinner in confusion, unable to comprehend a mother who would not immediately rush to her child's side in this situation. "Well, perhaps a call, just to be sure. And if I can help in any way, I hope you know that I will. Fox is very special to me. Partly because of how much he means to Dana, but also because I care for him." Skinner smiled at her, knowing that she would, indeed be there for Mulder, however or whenever he might need her. He would think about her suggestion, perhaps give Tina Mulder the benefit of the doubt and call her, give her the chance to do the right thing. Skinner stood and offered his hand to Margaret Scully, helping her to stand. "Have you found a hotel, Margaret? I can make arrangements for you." "That would be very kind, Walter. I came here straight from the airport." Skinner led her out of the office to help her get settled and to check on the team's progress. It was only a little before noon, but it felt like he'd already put in a full day. ************************** Wednesday, 2:21 p.m. Unknown location Scully was getting pissed. She'd investigated ever crevice of her prison and had been unable to get herself out. She was an intelligent person. She was not without certain skills. She was creative. She should be able to get herself out of a basement with a door, even if the door had no handle. Unfortunately, the hinges were on the outside and it appeared to be locked or barricaded from the other side. She'd searched every box, every shelf, every container for something to use as a tool and had come up empty. She'd had way too many hours to stew about it and she was just plain angry. She could take two approaches from here - either wait until Brandon decided to take notice of her or make enough noise to force the issue. The only advantage to forcing the issue was that she might be able to surprise him or at the least, talk some sense into him. If she waited though, it would give Mulder and Skinner more time to find her. The thought grated, but she knew it to be the wiser choice. She would wait and try to either overpower Brandon or talk him out of keeping her when he showed up. Scully settled down again on the palette she'd created, and began making contingency plans. ************************** Wednesday, 4:36 p.m. Minneapolis, Jacob Brandon Residence Mulder was at Jacob Brandon's house, where just the day before he and Scully had found Robby Andrews. The suicide of Brandon's brother eight months before had indirectly launched Elijah Brandon on his course of action. Mulder had to understand the family history and dynamics, but they'd been completely unsuccessful in finding that history. Mulder walked through the empty house, hoping that something would make sense, would strike a chord within him. He was having no luck. Earlier in the afternoon he'd made the same circuit through Brandon's home. The man's wife was in shock, still not believing that her husband could possibly be involved. She provided some hints, some insights into Elijah Brandon's nature and background that helped slightly. But for the most part, Mulder was still lacking the critical data, the critical information that would tell him where Scully was. At least the man's wife had confirmed one theory. The Brandons had been raised Catholic but fell away from the church for some reason many years ago, long before she and Elijah Brandon married. When Jacob committed suicide, the church had denied Elijah Brandon's request for Catholic burial. Evidently Elijah had not been pleased. This still didn't help them, though, or if it did, it wasn't yet apparent. Mulder stopped in the empty kitchen, looking at the pristine white cupboards, the white tile floor, the white counters. Even without the lights on, the room shone brightly. White, white, everywhere white. Living room, dining room, kitchen, foyer, bedrooms, bathrooms. White walls, white carpet, white everything. Why? Why white? The color of innocence, the color of purity. Lack of color really, lack of sin? Perhaps Jacob Brandon sought purity in his surroundings to avoid acknowledging the lack within himself. Mulder shook his head sharply and returned to the living room. He took out his cell phone, flipped it open, and called a now well-ingrained number. He needed to know if there had been any progress on tracking down those old files from the Catholic Church the Brandon family had attended. He heard Skinner's voice answer somewhat distractedly, "Skinner." "It's Mulder, sir. Any word from Tresky about the church?" "No, not yet. They're still working it. Mulder, we just got a call. You need to get back here. He wants to talk with you." "On my way, sir. Fifteen minutes, twenty at the outside." Mulder was already running to the door. He gathered up the driver on his way and gave instructions to get him back to the bureau office as soon as possible. They were quite possibly in major trouble. Brandon was obviously unstable. He actually believed they would trade Robby for Scully. The team leaders, Mulder, Skinner, and Jenkins had discussed strategies for an hour before finally deciding to wait for any call and then let Mulder talk with him. The negotiating team was on call to work with him if it became necessary. It sounded like it was going to be necessary. ************************** Wednesday, 5:03 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Conference Room Mulder ran into the large conference room, momentarily breathless from his race through the building. Skinner had notified him a minute ago by cell phone that Brandon was again on line for him. Mulder made it from the curb to the second floor conference room in record time. Agents immediately dropped back to get out of his way, clearing a path to Skinner and Jenkins. Skinner had the phone to his ear and nodded to his agent, letting Mulder know Brandon was on line. Mulder took deep breaths as he made his way across the room, mentally reviewing what he would say and how he'd handle the man. The man who had taken his partner. The man who held Scully captive. He cleared his mind of these negative thoughts and took the phone from Skinner, grasping it in his left hand, exchanging looks as he did so. He could tell that Skinner was nervous, worried about how this would pan out. Mulder could feel the worry oozing from the man. Mulder wished he'd keep it to himself though. He didn't need to deal with his boss' anxiety on top of his own. He took a last deep breath before speaking finally. "This is Mulder." "Agent Mulder, where have you been? I called earlier and you weren't there." "No, I was out. What can we do for you, Dr. Brandon?" Mulder was fighting the urge to ask about his partner. He had to play it cool, nonchalant. He didn't want Brandon to know just how much he'd give to get Scully back. Sweat coated his forehead and a drop made it's way down his right temple. He brushed at it with hand, wincing slightly at the still healing cut on his palm. The sharp stab of pain helped to clear his mind and focus again on the objective of the call. The negotiation team stood next to him, the leader listening in on the call. They would guide him if he went astray. "You know what you can do for me. You took Robby from me. I'm better for Robby than his parents could ever be. You need to give him back and then I might consider returning your partner." Mulder scrunched his eyes tightly, knowing that it would come to this, but praying that it wouldn't. "I'm sorry, Dr. Brandon. It's too late for that. Robby is in the hospital and social services is investigating the family. You're quite right in saying he doesn't belong with them. We'll protect Robby from them, just like you were doing." There was silence on the other end of the phone and silence throughout the room. Mulder counted slowly to ten, then fifteen, before breaking the silence. "Dr. Brandon, are you there?" Mulder closed his eyes, concentrating hard. He could hear the loud breathing and for one crazy moment couldn't tell whether it was his or Brandon's. They were breathing in tandem, in concert. In, out, in, out. They were practically one. Mulder felt his stomach heave at the thought, opened his eyes and looked around him somewhat wildly. Skinner grabbed his arm and shook it, causing Mulder to look at him. He whispered, "Okay?" Mulder nodded shakily and focused again on what he should do. Before he could speak, Brandon said, "But it's not your place. It's my job. You shouldn't have interfered. Who do you think you are? Just because you have a badge and you wear a gun, you think you can interfere in people's lives this way?" The sweat was running more freely now, faster as Brandon's voice became ever more strident and angry. Mulder cursed himself silently. He'd made the man think he was trying to take over, to do what Brandon had been doing, only better. It was the wrong approach. He had to fix this fast. "No, Dr. Brandon, that's not it at all. Sir, are you there? Are you listening? I'm not trying to take over your job. I could never do that. I know I couldn't. You are the only one who could do it. In fact, I didn't even have any say in the matter. Neither did my partner. We just go where we're directed. We were told to get Robby back and then they took over. Scully and I were just following directions." The negotiating team leader was nodding at him, letting Mulder know he approved of the shift in blame. It was important that Brandon not blame Scully or Mulder. Mulder was aware of someone whispering to Skinner. "He's on a cell phone, moving. We're attempting to triangulate. Try to keep him talking." Mulder nodded to his boss to let him know he heard. He gripped the phone even tighter at Brandon's next words. "I don't believe you, Mulder. I saw the news reports. I read the paper. You're the one. You took him from me. No one else. You have to pay now. It's not right that you interfered and now you need to be taught a lesson. It's your turn to lose." Mulder heard the slam of the phone but wasn't prepared to believe it. "Brandon. Brandon. Are you there? Brandon." He dropped the phone and almost fell backwards a step. "Shit. Fuck." Mulder put one hand on the table to help support him, suddenly unable to catch his breath. He looked at the negotiating team leader. "You couldn't have gone any other way, Agent Mulder. The only thing the man wants is the thing we absolutely can't give him." He felt sorry for the young man in front of him, obviously consumed with guilt at the thought that his words had in some way put his partner in greater jeopardy. The reality was, there wasn't much to say in this situation. Brandon was a nutcase and he'd probably end up killing this man's partner unless they tracked him down first. Not one of the agents in the room had moved, they'd barely even breathed, in fact. All of them were frozen not only because of the intensity of the phone call, but also because of the obvious agony Mulder was in. Anyone who had doubted the man could feel, had no doubts now. They had only to look at his expression of torment. Mulder pushed himself violently away from the table and stumbled through the surrounding agents to the command center, slamming the door behind him. Skinner decided to let him go and get everyone working once again. Mulder needed a couple minutes. Hell, Skinner wished he could take a couple minutes himself. He wiped the beads of sweat off his own forehead and began giving directions to the various teams. ************************** Wednesday, 5:17 p.m. Unknown Location Scully knew something was wrong. She heard a loud banging coming from one or two floors above her, repeated but not regular in nature. It sounded like something was being thrown, perhaps against a wall or a door. It was the first time she'd heard any noise at all during her captivity. She thought about calling for help, but quickly decided against it. She was certain it was Brandon above her, acting out in anger. She prayed he would work his anger out against the wall, before coming to see her. The noise went on for an hour before silence once again reined. Scully was hungry and, most of all, thirsty. She wouldn't last much longer without something to drink, at least. With these thoughts, she lay down once again. In her mind's eye, she saw herself and Mulder, walking side by side down the corridor in the FBI building in DC. She tried to make herself believe she was there with him now, safe and bored, waiting for an X-File to pique their interest. ************************** Wednesday, 5:43 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center Mulder heard the knock but chose to ignore it. He didn't want to talk with anyone, didn't want to see anyone, didn't deserve any human compassion or companionship. He was too hard on friends and family, after all. Couldn't manage to keep them around very long. Mulder sneered at himself for such self-pitying thoughts. It had never been his way and it still wasn't. The knock came again and this time he responded. "Come in." He dragged his eyes to the door and sat up straighter, unconsciously, when he saw Scully's mother. He forced himself to stand when she entered the room. She had closed the door behind her and this made Mulder nervous for some reason. He cleared his throat noisily. "Mrs. Scully, how are you doing?" Margaret Scully stopped in front of Mulder, grabbed his hands in hers and squeezed lightly. "I'm fine, Fox. Walter explained to me what's happening now." Mulder jerked slightly at her words, prepared for the incriminations. He wasn't prepared for Margaret Scully to lead him to a chair, force him to sit, then sit next to him, still holding his hands in hers. He would never understand this woman, perhaps no more than he would her daughter. He didn't deserve either of them. "Mrs. Scully....." He couldn't say anything else. The words just wouldn't come. Mulder dropped his gaze, unable to look her in the eye any longer. Margaret Scully let loose of one of his hands and raised her hand to his cheek, as she had that morning. It was past dinnertime now and Fox looked even worse to her. She understood why Walter had suggested she check on him. "Fox, there was nothing you could have done differently. That man, Brandon, is sick. You couldn't trade a child's life for Dana's. Everyone knew that but that man." Margaret Scully wiped away the lone tear that rolled over her thumb, then took away her hand. She wanted to wrap her arms around this man who was so important to her daughter, but she knew he wouldn't appreciate it just now. Her presence was enough. And perhaps her words. She had to make sure there was something left of Fox for Dana to come back to. "Fox, I'm worried about you. I think you need to take a break. Eat something. Perhaps even rest." She saw his shaking head, knew he was just as stubborn as her daughter. "Fox, I haven't eaten yet, either. It's been a terribly long day for me, as well. I would appreciate it if you would keep me company while I had something to eat." It was the right approach. Fox always responded to guilt. Margaret began to better understand Walter's words regarding Mulder's own mother. He looked around for a second, as if searching for escape, then finally sighed slightly and nodded his head. "Thank you, Fox. I always know things will work out right when you're here with me." Mulder looked at her in amazement. How could she place so much faith in him? It was because of him that Scully was gone. And because of him, she'd probably be killed. The Scully women were indeed forces to be reckoned with. Margaret stood, saying, "I'll be right back Fox. I think Walter wanted to join us." Mulder just nodded, still in a slight daze, and watched her walk calmly to the door, open it and lean out. She was obviously talking with someone, probably Skinner. She turned after a minute and came back to sit beside him once again. "Fox, I know you might not believe this, but I know that Dana will be all right. I know it because I know this is not the way she's meant to die." Mulder looked at Scully's mother, curious at her words despite his concern. He shook his head a little, to let her know he didn't follow. Margaret Scully settled back in the chair more comfortably, acknowledged Walter Skinner's entry into the room, laden with bags, then turned her attention to Mulder once again. "Fox, I know you'll think this is silly. But I had a dream. You were in it. And so was Dana. And you were both much older. And you were both so happy." Mulder's expression lightened slightly at the thought that flashed through his mind, the thought of him and Scully, still friends years in the future. It was reassuring. He wanted to believe in it. Margaret knew Walter Skinner had sat down next to her but was still focused on the younger man in front of her. "So you see, Fox, I know Dana is safe. And I know you'll find her. You have to so that you can grow old together." Margaret and Skinner both were relieved to see the smile that lit up Mulder's face. His eyes were unfocused, staring at a point beyond Margaret's shoulder. She knew what he was seeing. He saw himself and Dana, together, forever, where they belonged. ************************** Wednesday, 8:39 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau, ASAC Jenkins' Office Yet another sun had set during this accursed case and Skinner was feeling the strain. He wasn't cut out for this kind of continuous stress with hardly any sleep. Once again he thought of the men and women in the VCS who operated in this environment day in and day out. He decided to keep a better eye on that department in the future, making sure there were appropriate avenues for relieving the stress. Skinner stood and stretched. He and Dave had been trying to move mountains with the Catholic Church and had discovered just how difficult this could be. The expression 'separation of church and state' had never been understood more keenly by Skinner than in the last two days. They were finally making progress, though. The threat of leaks of duplicity to the press had finally begun to work and Skinner silently hoped he wouldn't go to Hell for blackmailing priests. Dave had just gotten off the phone with someone who swore the information they'd requested was going to be faxed to them within the half hour. Skinner decided to check on Mulder and Margaret Scully. He shook his head a bit at the thought of Margaret. The woman would have made a damn fine agent, herself. He smiled at the recollection of Margaret forcing Mulder to lie down on the couch and rest after dinner. It had been almost two hours and Mulder hadn't surfaced, so she'd evidently been able to keep him there. But Skinner would need him soon -- as soon as the information from the church came in. Skinner opened the door to the command center slowly, so as not to surprise anyone inside. He quickly scanned the room, noting that Mulder still lay on the couch, asleep, and Margaret sat next to him, eyes closed, evidently resting herself. He closed the door behind him and made his way to them, pulling out a chair from the table. Margaret opened her eyes at the small sound and smiled at him. "Hello, Walter. Any news?" Margaret spoke softly, unwilling to wake Fox yet. "We're expecting some information to come in by fax any moment. We're hopeful it will give us some insight on where he took Dana." Skinner paused and looked at his agent for a moment, forehead creasing at what he saw. Mulder lay on his side, curled slightly, arms hugging himself as if he were cold. His face was far from relaxed. In fact, his entire body seemed tense. His face was incredibly pale, the scar on his forehead from his fall several days before standing out starkly. Black circles had found their way under his eyes and his entire face was sunken, obviously exhausted. Although the room was comfortable, sweat stood out on his forehead. He was either fighting illness or caught once again in unwelcome dreams. Skinner looked back at Margaret with concern. "He had a nightmare a little while ago. He .... he called out. I tried to wake him. He ... eventually slipped back to sleep. Walter, I think maybe .... maybe you should have a doctor check him. He seemed warm to me and he doesn't look well." Skinner tried to understand what she wasn't saying. He had become quite familiar with the types of dreams the man had been experiencing during this case. He had guessed what had happened that had sent Mulder to Scully's room the other day. He could guess what had happened with Margaret. But was she worried about his mental state now or his physical state? Skinner looked back at Mulder and decided that based on looks alone, the deterioration of his physical state in just the past two days was severe. Perhaps there was more going on than just lack of sleep. Skinner nodded to her and stood. "I'll have Janice check on him. I'll be right back." Margaret was reassured somewhat. She had been sitting at the other end of the room when Fox's cries brought her to his side. His pleadings were heartbreaking. When she shook him, trying to wake him, he had flinched as if hit and curled himself around his knees more tightly. She talked to him soothingly, brushing his hair off his forehead. He felt warm to her, as if he were running a fever. His eyes had opened slightly and he asked, "Mom?" Margaret knew he wasn't really awake, was in some in-between state of waking and sleep. She responded the only way she knew how. "It's okay, Fox, I'm here. Close your eyes and go back to sleep. Everything's all right. Your safe and I'm here with you. I won't go anywhere. It's okay, baby, go back to sleep." He was suddenly one of her own, sick and scared and in need of the mothering only she could provide. She'd evidently done the right thing because Fox had immediately closed his eyes, relaxed his body, and drifted off again. Margaret's recollections were interrupted by the entry once again by Walter Skinner, followed by a young woman about Dana's age. The AD gestured to the woman and said, "Margaret, this is Janice Anderson. She and Dana went to medical school together." Skinner still spoke softly to avoid waking Mulder until it was absolutely necessary. He backed off to allow Janice plenty of room. She pulled a chair right next to the couch and sat, putting her bag on the floor in front of her. She nodded to Margaret Scully and said quietly, "Hello Mrs. Scully. I'm sorry to meet you like this. But I know Dana will be so happy to see you." Janice then turned to take a good look at the man lying on the couch in front of her. The standing lamp had been brought partway down the length of the room, to offer muted lighting. She asked Skinner to bring it a little closer, wanting to avoid the starkness of the overhead lights. She was then able to see Mulder more clearly and immediately frowned. Janice gently unwrapped his left arm from his self-imposed hug, finding the pulse at his wrist. The frown deepened. She placed the back of her hand against his cheek, then forehead. Reaching into the bag at her feet, she pulled out a thermoscan. Leaning forward again, she placed it in Mulder's ear, quickly recording a temperature. Somewhat elevated, but not alarmingly so, at least not yet. She noted that he hadn't moved during her ministrations, a sign in itself of the exhaustion that had brought him to this state. Skinner had assumed a matching frown as he watched Janice's expression and movements. He recognized that she was concerned. He watched as she unfastened a couple of his agent's buttons and slipped a stethoscope under his shirt, after blowing on the end to warm it. Skinner appreciated the act and the consideration behind it. He saw the frown deepen once again as she moved from heart to lungs. She then sat back in her chair, motionless for a moment, as if taking in the entire picture. She leaned forward and refastened the buttons, then moved her hand down to Mulder's waist, stopping at his belt buckle. She grabbed hold of the buckle gently and pulled away from his body slightly, noting the couple of inches of excess material that resulted. Janice sighed deeply, scowled and then began putting equipment back in her bag. She took out some anti-bacterial creme and a new bandage and set to work on Mulder's right palm. She quickly and efficiently removed the old bandage, generously applied ointment, and rewrapped it with the new bandage. It looked good, was healing nicely. Evidently Mulder had been taking his anti-biotics. When finished, she gently replaced his arm where it had been lodged, then pushed her chair back and stood. Mulder had still not reacted to her ministrations. Janice gestured for Skinner to follow her and walked to the far end of the room. Both Skinner and Margaret Scully had followed her and now looked at her with concerned expressions. Janice addressed her remarks to Skinner. "Sir, quite frankly, under normal circumstances, I'd insist he be in a hospital. There's no question he's suffering from exhaustion and probably dehydration. His systems are strained. I doubt he ever really recovered from his experience several days ago. He's playing with borderline pneumonia. My guess would be that if he hadn't been taking the anti-biotics for the hand, he'd be full-fledged right now. I'm going to prescribe something a little different that will work for both hand and pneumonia more effectively. That should stave off anything nasty. We have to keep him from losing any more weight. He's down pretty drastically now. Losing that much that fast can weaken the body pretty seriously. That's the last thing he needs right now. It'll just make him more susceptible to any bug that comes along. He's got to eat regularly and keep it down." Skinner and Margaret Scully exchanged alarmed looks, neither having been aware of the seriousness of Mulder's condition. Janice looked back and forth between these two before continuing. "Sir, as I said, under normal circumstances I'd insist on a hospital. But I know that is not the best course of action right now. Besides the fact that Mulder would escape at the first opportunity, I recognize that he's needed here. So, since I understand that he has to be here, then we should continue to force him to sleep whenever possible, make sure he eats and drinks, fluids are particularly important, and most of all, make sure he avoids any strenuous activity. That includes running or basketball, and .... pacing. It drives me crazy when he does that." Skinner smiled slightly at the agent, recognizing the fondness underlying her words. "All right, Agent Anderson. I believe I can even make these things orders if necessary." Skinner's expression turned serious once again. "I need to wake him soon. We've got some information coming in that he needs to see." It was really a question. Skinner wanted to know what harm would come of Mulder's involvement. "I understand, sir. Just keep an eye on him. I will, too, whenever possible. He has to do what he has to do, though. Then Dana can be the one to badger him into sleeping and eating right." Janice grinned at Skinner and Margaret Scully. She'd seen the glances between her friend and Mulder, knew they were closer than friends. They were partners and would look out for each other no matter what. God help anyone who got in their way. ************************** Wednesday, 10:03 p.m. Minneapolis Bureau He didn't know why, didn't know how, couldn't explain it, but somehow knew the church angle was important. Mulder awoke with a start and practically threw his body off the couch in his hurry to talk with Vickers and Tresky. He was halfway to the door when he realized his name was being called. He turned quickly to find Margaret Scully looking at him in alarm. "Fox, what is it? Is everything okay?" "Mrs. Scully. Yes, yes everything's fine. I just realized something. I need to meet with a couple of the team members." Mulder was relieved to see Mrs. Scully nod, evidently reassured by his words. "All right, Fox. Please let me know if there are any new developments." "Yes, ma'am. I will." Mulder turned and started once again to the door, putting his jacket on while walking. He was out the door in a flash, searching the larger conference room for the faces he needed. Not finding them, he pulled out his cell phone and called Vickers. "It's Mulder, where are you?" Mulder headed out the room and towards Dave Jenkins' office at the response. "Okay, I'm on my way." He closed the phone, put it away and reviewed again his hypothesis. He knew he was right. He was positive. They just had to get the damn church to agree. Minutes later he was entering Jenkin's office, not surprised to see Skinner there as well. He nodded all around, then got to the point. "Vickers, have you got anything yet?" "Yeah, Mulder. We got a fax in, twenty-four pages, and have been going through it." Mulder's forehead crinkled, partly in vexation at the realization they hadn't woken him. He decided not to pursue it just then and reached out for the pages Vickers was handing him. Mulder scanned the pages quickly, then returned to the third page, flipping the stapled pages so it lay on top of the packet. He laid the whole packet on Jenkin's desk, right forefinger pointing to a particular piece of information on the page. "This is where he's holding Scully." Mulder backed off, feeling a sense of urgency tempered by an awareness that he required their support and most of all, their agreement. Vickers looked for a moment at the information then stood straight, nodding in confirmation. He turned to Mulder and said, "That's it. It makes sense." Jenkins and Skinner felt like they were scrambling to catch up. They saw the information about the long abandoned church, but neither man completely understood why Mulder was so adamant, so sure. Skinner looked at Mulder questioningly. "They went to that church. That's where both Elijah and Jacob Brandon were choir boys. Somehow, they were tested, perhaps along with others there, by someone affiliated with the church. Probably not a priest, I doubt it could have been covered up so completely. But something happened there to both of them. They had a sister. We still don't know what happened to her. We haven't been able to track down the records. It's possible something happened to her, as well. Whatever it was, however it happened, that church figured prominently. Moving to a different part of town didn't manage to erase the memory of it. It's not that Brandon feels safe there. Not at all. It's that it owes him. He wants justice, now." Mulder knew he had them, that they understood the leap of faith he'd made. Of all the places the Brandon's had lived, had gone to school, and even to church, it was this particular place that Mulder thought to be so important, knew to be crucial. Skinner looked back at the page, nodded to the men in the room, and said, "Let's do it. This time, though, Mulder, you'll be with me." Mulder was ready to argue, had his mouth open to insist he be on the team, leading the team, when Skinner continued on. "Mulder, listen to me. You're in no shape right now. You know I'm right. For Scully's sake, you'll stay out of it. Not totally out of it. We'll be in the command truck, we'll see it on live feed." Mulder knew his boss was right. There was no point in arguing because he had no point to argue. He nodded in agreement, then looked to Vickers. The composition of the assault team would be important. They had to make plans immediately. ************************** Wednesday, 11:41 p.m. St. Paul The neighborhood was quiet, with most lights long turned off. Scully had been gone some twenty-eight hours now, and Mulder and the other agents present were all feeling the time pressures. They had converged on the site quickly and quietly, the team dispersing like silent ghosts in the night. Mulder was sure no one would be aware of their presence. They had searched through architectural plans of the long abandoned church and had identified most likely locations where Brandon would be holding Scully. Agents were stationed around the church at all possible entryways. Crowley and Salvatore were on either side of the heavy oak doors in the front, staying well clear of the windows in the doors until it was time. Mulder had a bad feeling. All of a sudden he knew something was wrong. Something. What? What had they missed. He knew this building was important. He knew it figured into Scully's abduction. But now he was wondering if they'd misjudged how it figured in. Mulder grabbed a headset and said, "Everyone hold. Hold positions." He could see Crowley and Salvatore both stop their movement toward the door handles at his words. Crowley put his hand up to the headset and asked, softly, "What is it? We're all set here." Skinner had stood and moved next to Mulder. "Mulder, what? They need to go soon. They're all in position. The longer they hold, the greater the chance he'll be alerted." "Yes, sir, I know that. But something's wrong here." Mulder stood straight, as if posture would be enough to convince Skinner of his convictions. "Sir, I know that this site is important. I'm sure of that fact. But right now, we need to pull those men back. Something is wrong. I can't explain it. I don't know how to explain it. But, sir, it's crucial we pull them back now." Skinner was completely torn. He'd trusted his agent's judgment throughout the case and the man had been consistently correct about every hypothesis, every wild leap he'd made. But Skinner knew his agent wasn't a hundred percent right now. Hell, he probably wasn't fifty percent. All the men heard Crowley's voice come over the comm unit once again, scratchy, impatient. "Please advise. We are in position. We are ready to move." Skinner picked up the headset and said authoritatively, "Hold for a moment 'til you hear my order." He looked at Mulder again, searchingly, asking himself whether Mulder at fifty percent should still be taken completely at face value despite the evidence to the contrary. "Mulder, this might be Scully's life we're talking about here. I'm pretty sure we got them there quietly enough to not alert anyone inside. But if we pull them out now, the odds of his discovering the team go up dramatically. We might lose any opportunity we have." Skinner could see the indecision on his agent's face. Mulder looked back to the monitors, forehead creased. He shook his head, said, "I have to see it. I have to get closer." Mulder moved past Skinner without another word, opened the back doors of the truck quietly, and jumped down. He moved silently to the wall that ran the length of the church property. He knew Skinner was right behind him. Mulder bent low and followed the wall around to the side where a break allowed access to the church building itself. He paused at the opening, searching the site carefully. His eyes moved from window to window, from door to door, looking for some clue as to why he felt this to be a trap. He felt Skinner's hand on his arm, heard the whispered words. "Mulder, they have to go and they have to go now." Mulder turned to look at Skinner then back to the front doors, doubting himself. He was only about fifteen feet from Crowley and knew the man saw him. Crowley lifted one hand, palm upraised, obviously curious as to what was going on, why they'd been told to hold. He heard Skinner speak into the headset, saw Crowley and Salvatore nod. Then, as if in slow motion, he saw Crowley reach towards the door. And suddenly he knew what was wrong. Mulder was up and running, yelling for them to clear away from the doors. Salvatore had backed off but Crowley was so focused he hadn't heard Mulder, hadn't seen the man running towards them. His hand was on the door knob, was turning it as Mulder's body hit him full force, throwing him out of the way of the explosion that would have killed him. Skinner had been several steps behind and ducked at the blast, throwing his arms over his head protectively, before being thrown to the ground. He was aware of wood, glass, pieces of metal flying through the air and landing around and on him. His last thoughts before he lost consciousness were that neither he nor Mulder had been wearing a vest. ************************** Wednesday, 11:58 p.m. St. Paul "Sir, are you all right? Sir?" Walter Skinner opened his eyes to find Mulder leaning over him, worried expression on his face. Wait, he thought to himself, isn't that my line? Skinner collected his scattered thoughts and tried to focus on his surroundings. "Mulder, what happened? Is everyone all right?" Mulder sagged back in relief when he realized Skinner was lucid. "Everyone's fine, sir. You were in direct line of the doors when they blew. They dug you out from under a beam. Crowley and I are a little singed, couple cuts, that's all. None of the other bombs were triggered. SWAT has a bomb removal team working on them now." Skinner sat up, looking around, finally noticed the team of paramedics working on Crowley, became aware that he was on a stretcher, covered by a blanket. He looked back at Mulder and saw blood on his agent's forehead and neck and immediately recognized that Mulder had told them to care for the others first. Skinner sighed to himself, started removing the blanket that covered him. He looked back at his agent. "Scully?" Mulder shook his head decisively. "She's not here. I'm pretty sure she was at one time, but not now. It dawned on me finally. The last phone call with Brandon, he talked about punishing me. It had never been about punishment before. But now he wants justice and revenge. Blowing up this building and catching me in the explosion would have given him both at once. But he still doesn't blame Scully. He would have moved her." Skinner stood, slightly shaky, thankful for Mulder's grip on his arm, offering him additional support. "So, we're back to ground zero. We still don't know where she is." "I don't know. Not necessarily. I know what he's thinking now. I need to review the files the church sent over in more depth. It's there. I know it. I just need to understand what he wants." The paramedics were at their side, looking between Mulder and Skinner. The older of the two broke the silence. "Sirs, we need to get you to the hospital. You, too, Agent Mulder, and before we go, we still need to dress those cuts. You need stitches on at least one of them and that bump on your head might be serious. AD Skinner, you really should be lying down. You received quite a blow and we need to get a CAT scan at the hospital and also make sure there are no internal injuries." Crowley had moved over with them and stood holding his arm gingerly. It was encased in a bandage, covering a slash made from flying glass and metal. He had been shaken by the suddenness of Mulder's body slamming into his followed by the explosion. He hadn't totally recovered from the realization that he'd been moments from a fiery and painful death. The paramedics had insisted he go to the hospital and he'd brushed them off. He now had to smile a bit at the stubborn expressions both Mulder and the AD wore. He knew what their answer would be also. Mulder was the first to speak. "Just patch it up for now, I'll get stitches later if necessary. Or just do it now. I don't have time for a hospital." The paramedics were at a loss. They knew who these people were. Knew what case they were working on. The older, evidently more senior of the two, reached a decision. "Okay, sirs. We'll do what we can here, but you should take it easy at the least, and get checked out with a doctor when you can." He turned to Mulder and gestured to the back of the ambulance. "Agent Mulder, if you'll sit here, I should be able to stitch you up now." Mulder nodded and sat willingly. Anything to avoid the hospital. Skinner leaned against the back door of the ambulance, and watched as the paramedic attended to Mulder. He noticed for the first time the blood on his agent's shirt. The cause became more apparent as the paramedic helped the younger man remove it, then cut away the undershirt. Mulder had matching gashes on his back and down his ribs on the left side. He had more minor cuts on his neck and forehead. His right side was still slightly bruised from his fall running earlier in the week. All in all, the man was a mess. Skinner was starting to reconsider not going to the hospital. Not for himself - he knew he was all right. He'd only received a slight bump on the head. But with Mulder's already worn down condition, the younger man's injuries were all the more serious. Skinner had his mouth open, ready to suggest they go with the paramedics, when he realized Mulder was staring at him intently, expression determined. Skinner shut his mouth, knowing it was futile. Crowley paled further upon seeing Mulder's injuries. He'd heard the man instruct the paramedics to see to AD Skinner and to himself earlier. Crowley saw the silent communication pass between Mulder and the AD and his admiration for Mulder grew further. He had to admit to himself that he'd misjudged the man more than he would have ever thought possible. Crowley was ashamed of himself. He'd come to realize that Mulder was an outstanding agent and now recognized the extent of the man's compassion. And no one doubted Mulder's feelings for his partner after the events of the last day. Crowley resolved to make it up to Mulder if he could. In the meantime, he prayed God above that Scully was still alive. ************************** Thursday, 12:26 a.m. Unknown Location Scully didn't know what was happening. She couldn't guess at Brandon's motivations anymore. He seemed to be operating way out of character. He had finally appeared earlier that day and had forced her to tie her own legs at gun point. Using her own gun. He had tied her wrists and then put a cloth bag over her head. He then had picked her up easily, carried her up the steps and through passageways, not being particularly careful of her protruding arms and legs, and thrown her in the back of a car. He had covered her with a blanket and then disappeared for a good thirty minutes before starting the car and taking off. They had driven for something like thirty minutes when Scully had heard the garage door close behind the car. She hadn't been surprised when he jerked her out of the car and picked her up once again, eventually depositing her here, in this second floor bedroom. She was still securely tied but he had removed the bag from her head and even brought her water at her request. Scully was still working on untying the knots to the ropes around her feet. Her hands were a lost cause, but she had managed to maneuver herself so she could at least have a chance at getting out of the leg ropes. She'd been working at it for an hour and was finally making progress. She could feel the slickness that was her blood. She had ripped off at least one fingernail, possibly two, in her efforts to untie the restraints. Scully thought to herself that the blood should actually act as a good lubricant. She froze for a moment at the sound of a door slamming, then started again when there were no footsteps leading upstairs. She had to get away. She couldn't trust anything about Brandon. He had completely lost it. There was no telling what was going through the man's mind. Scully figured that Mulder and Skinner had somehow gotten close, forcing Brandon to move. She prayed they'd figure out this next move he'd made, and soon. She wanted to go home. In the meantime, though, she'd try her damnedest to get herself out of this mess. ************************** Thursday, 1:31 a.m. Minneapolis Bureau, Command Center Skinner and Mulder looked like cornered beasts. They both sat as far back in their seats as possible, hands gripping their chair arms, defensive looks on both their faces. It would have been comical if it the situation weren't so serious. Janice Anderson and Margaret Scully stood in front of the two men, sporting matching stances with hands on hips. Janice had just completed a four minute harangue on the idiocy of men in general and these two in specific. Margaret Scully had added her own views, which basically reinforced the exact same concept. Janice took another breath, possibly to start another lecture, when Skinner finally found his missing backbone and interrupted. "Look, Agent Anderson, you weren't there. It's not like we intended to get blown up. It just happened." Skinner was feeling righteous indignation now and used it to spur his words. "We weren't wearing vests because we weren't supposed to be anywhere close to any crossfire. It just happened. Now, I don't really see the usefulness of this conversation. What's done is done. I am fine, Mulder's fine, Crowley's fine." Some little part of him wanted to broaden any blame these women might be handing out and Skinner found himself throwing the other two men's names into the mix. "If you really want to help, you can back off and let us review this information in peace without all this .... this hassling." Mulder groaned to himself. It was obvious Skinner hadn't dealt with female agents on a daily basis. The man had just thrown the gauntlet down. They were really in for it now. Mulder dropped his head and raised one hand to cover his face, closing his eyes. He didn't want to see this. Skinner swallowed at the look on Margaret Scully's face. He looked more closely at Janice Anderson and felt a chill. He was pretty sure he should have handled things differently. A glance at Mulder's now slumped form confirmed this. Janice crossed her arms and stood even taller, looking down her nose at the AD. Her eyes had narrowed dangerously and Skinner realized he'd hate to be facing Janice Anderson in a dark alley. Not that this was any better really. "Sir, I am going to pretend that you didn't say that. Here's the deal. Agent Crowley is going home and will stay there until tomorrow at least. You and Agent Mulder have thirty minutes to set things in motion for the night. You will then drink what I set in front of you and eat what I tell you to. Then I am going to accompany you to your hotel and check both of you out before you go to bed for the night. And you will go to bed. I will allow you to be called during the night if anything develops that can not be handled without you or if there are any breaks that require your immediate presence. I will stay in Mrs. Scully's room down the hall and will be available if needed. Tomorrow morning, I will again check you out and will determine, at that time, whether you are able to return here or whether further bed rest is necessitated. Is there any part of this you do not understand?" Mulder couldn't help the laugh that escaped. Jesus, no wonder Janice and Scully were friends. That could have come straight from his own partner's mouth. Mulder turned his still dropped head slightly, looked over to his boss through splayed fingers, anxious to see the man's reaction. Skinner was an interesting shade of red, but remarkably calm other than that. He somehow continued to look like he was in charge when he replied, "No, Agent Anderson, I think I understand." Skinner looked back at Mulder, who was gratified to see the slight twinkle in the older man's eyes. Both men appreciated the good will behind the harsh words. Janice looked between the two, relaxed her posture slightly and said, "Okay, then. I'll see you in half an hour." She then turned to Margaret, smiled, raised her eyebrows and walked out. Margaret followed after saying, "I'll see you both soon." ********************************* Thursday, 2:57 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel Agent Jackson was nervous. He knew he was doing nothing wrong, not really, but he'd heard what had happened the night before and he was worried. He walked down the hotel hallway, trying his best to be quiet. He glanced at his watch, noting the time. 2:57 a.m. When he reached the right number, he slipped the large manila envelope under the door, having to push slightly, turned and then left. Mulder owed him for this. Big time. ************************** Thursday, 5:09 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel Skinner jerked at the knock on his door. He groaned slightly at the headache pounding behind his eyes, then said, "Yes?" He was already reaching for his glasses and the lights. He saw Mulder standing in his doorway, dressed in sweats and a T-shirt. The man was holding something in his left hand. Skinner cleared his throat, sat up straight and looked at the time. A little after five. He looked back at his agent, wondering what in the world could have happened that hadn't put him in the loop first. "Sir, I think I know." Skinner immediately moved to get out of bed, pausing for a moment at the slight dizziness that accompanied the motion. When he had faith in his ability to maneuver without doing damage, he started for the living area. Mulder had already turned on lights around the room and now sat at the table. Skinner sank down next to him, wearily, looking at the papers spread out on the table in front of him. It dawned on him that these were copies of the fax received earlier, as well as new reports he had never seen. Skinner looked over at his agent, one eyebrow raised. Mulder looked slightly guilty, then smiled, suddenly looking inordinately self- satisfied at his accomplishment. He said, "I used my thirty minutes pretty effectively, sir. Threats and bribery work wonders when you're desperate." Skinner laughed lightly in appreciation then said, "Okay, so what did your bribery and threats turn up?" Mulder waved to the sheets of paper covering the table then started to explain. "These basically show the progression of Brandon's childhood, outlining major events and locations where they occurred. This, this, and this," Mulder pointed to three of the sheets, "outline some new information that was just turned up a little bit ago. The sister was killed by the janitor at the church, when the 'testing' evidently got out of hand. The man, Cary Ulrich, was disturbed. One of the priests had gotten him the job when he'd been released from an institution. He was relatively young when this all happened, just out of his teens. His family was influential in the church. The priests had no idea what was going on, of course. But once it came to light, the time being what it was, things were hushed up. It seems that was also the Brandon's choice, for whatever reason. The janitor was quietly shipped back to the institution and the Brandon's moved away, one child dead and the remaining two affected for life." Mulder paused slightly, recognizing the tragedy for what it was. The parents weren't responsible, except for believing it would all go away if they ignored it. It never went away. Mulder knew, it never went away. He cleared his throat and pointed to another page, the last in the set of twenty or so. "Cary Ulrich was released from the very same institution a year ago. He lives alone, in a house that was left to him by his deceased parents. He's fifty-four years old. He's in Minneapolis. I believe that Jacob Brandon found out, maybe even tried to talk with this man, and ended up unable to handle it, then killed himself. Perhaps he told his brother what he was going to do. I don't know. But Elijah Brandon has changed his rules now. It's no longer about finding a replacement sibling. It's about finding revenge. He got a little taste of it and now he'll want more. He doesn't blame Scully. He blames me for taking Robby away from him and he blames Ulrich, for his brother and sister. Whatever happens next, he'll use Scully to get what he wants." Mulder paused and considered once again what he believed to be true. He was so exhausted he could barely even think anymore. This all made sense in a bizarre kind of way. He was certain about one thing, though, Elijah Brandon was becoming ever more unstable. They would have to end this soon before the man totally lost any grip on reality. Mulder dragged his head up and looked over at his boss to gage his reaction. He saw that the older man was nodding in comprehension. "So what do you recommend, Mulder?" "I don't think we can go charging in there. He might have the house rigged. Maybe ...." Mulder took a deep breath at the realization of what he was considering. But it seemed the best approach to him just then. "Maybe we should call him there." Skinner was shocked at the suggestion, caught completely off guard, and turned, without thinking towards his agent. "Excuse me?" Mulder was expressionless now, carefully controlling his thoughts, breathing, demeanor. "He wants me. Let's give him what he wants ..... for Scully." Of course. Skinner understood the suggestion now. Didn't think any more of it than he had before but at least he understood. He looked at his agent kindly before replying. Skinner considered the real meaning behind his agent's words, the suggestion of surrender that Mulder was probably not even aware of. "Mulder, there are always alternatives. We need to find one. Because I am not going to trade one agent for another." After a slight pause, Skinner tried to insert a small degree of levity. "Besides, Scully would kill me if I did." Skinner saw the younger man start to fold in on himself and this time, wasn't surprised by the tears that started. Mulder leaned forward, putting both elbows on the table in front of him, and put his hands in front of his face. After a moment, he folded his arms on the table and dropped his head to them. Skinner heard the muffled words then. "I can't take much more of this. I want it to be over. I want Scully back safe. I want to go home." Skinner knew that with every blow to his agent's physical health, the younger man's ability to handle the psychological blows became that much harder. Mulder had possibly not slept at all the previous night or if he had, it had been for a couple hours only. He was exhausted, hurt, and feeling alone and abandoned without his partner. The events of the last week and a half and the way his agent had dealt with them had raised Skinner's estimation of this man ever higher. He could think of no one else who would still be functioning after what Mulder had gone through. This small crack in his agent's defenses tore at Skinner's heart, but he knew Mulder was strong. Strong enough to get through this. If it had been Dana Scully sitting here, Skinner would have held her in his arms and told her it would be okay. He wanted to do the same for her partner, but understood that Mulder had never known the affection of a father, the desire of a father to hug his son. He'd known only the slap of a heavy hand against his face. And Skinner felt like Mulder had become the son of his spirit. So instead of holding him in his arms, Skinner stood and put both hands on the younger man's shoulders, gripping tightly, and tried to convey what he couldn't say in words. Skinner bent close to Mulder's right ear. His voice was soft, gentle when he replied finally. "I know you do, Mulder. I wish I could make it happen for you. I know you're exhausted and in pain and you miss your partner. I miss her, too." Skinner moved next to his agent, knelt beside him, but left one arm draped over the younger man's shoulder, the closest he felt he could come to an embrace. "Mulder, I want you to listen carefully, so you don't misunderstand anything I say now." Skinner felt the shoulders under his arm tense slightly. He put his other hand on Mulder's arm, before continuing. "I'm going to call Vickers, Tresky, and Jenkins. I'll have them come here, and get their teams ready to move in a couple hours. I want you to go to bed and get some sleep so that when we move, you'll be in shape to be there." Mulder's entire body had tensed at the suggestion of sleep, but started to relax again at Skinner's last words. He still lay across the table, head on arms. Skinner couldn't tell if he were still crying or not. Couldn't tell whether the trembling was from tears or shear exhaustion. "Mulder, I'll tell you honestly that I am worried about you. I'm worried about your health. In any other situation, you'd have been confined to bed days ago. And I think that if you don't give yourself these next couple of hours, you'll drive yourself into the hospital -- at the very least -- and possibly endanger others along the way. I want you to get some sleep now. Do you understand?" Skinner waited for a moment, relieved to see Mulder's head nod eventually. Skinner stood and once again took Mulder's right arm, this time to help him up. Mulder raised his head, dragged it up really, fighting against gravity. He allowed his boss to pull him upwards, his legs feeling ready to give out on him at any moment, and didn't argue at the arm that slipped around his waist and the other that held his right arm. Skinner sensed the imminent collapse and pulled Mulder's right arm around his own neck. He had to practically carry his agent into the other room. It was obvious the younger man had hardly any energy left, even to walk. Skinner gently lowered him to the bed, and helped to get him under the covers. He then turned off the light and, still leaning slightly over the bed, put one hand on Mulder's forehead, pushing back the unruly hair. Mulder didn't object, even seemed reassured by the light caress, in fact. Skinner said softly, "Go to sleep, Fox," and was pleased to see the younger man close his eyes immediately. Skinner wiped away the tears then with one hand. He pulled the covers tight one last time, then stood straight, feeling weary. The thought came to him suddenly, clearly, that maybe Margaret Scully was right. He would call his agent's mother, Tina Mulder. However things played out today, one thing was clear. Mulder would need the support of family and friends during the upcoming weeks, as he recovered from the physical hardships he'd suffered, as well as the psychological ones. After a last look at his sleeping agent, Skinner made his way back to the living area, closing the door behind him. He paused quietly for a minute, praying that this case would end today, with both his agents safe and sound. He moved to the phone and started putting things in motion, then went to shower and get ready for the day. He would call Tina Mulder after he was dressed. ************************** Thursday, 7:04 a.m. Minneapolis, Ulrich Residence Elijah Brandon was not pleased. He saw the report on the early morning news. Mulder was injured slightly, along with two other agents, but that was it. They'd defused his bombs. No one died. No one had paid yet. Well, that wasn't completely true. He glanced around the living room, at the sparse furniture, the drawn drapes and shades, then at the body that lay on the floor where it had fallen. That one had paid, at least. He'd used the gun on that one and it had felt good. So good. He'd use the gun on Mulder, too. It was right. Live by the sword, die by the sword. He smiled at the thought. Live by the gun, die by the gun. They'd be coming here. He had to make sure Mulder would come. He had to plan it right. ************************** Thursday, 7:17 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel "Hello, ma'am, this is Assistant Director Walter Skinner. Your son works with me." He had finally gotten the nerve to call and now stood in his bedroom, door closed to avoid the noise of the agents in the other room from distracting him. He waited, almost breathlessly, for a response from the woman at the other end of the line. "Is Fox hurt?" At least the woman seemed concerned. Skinner rushed to reassure her. "No ma'am. That is, nothing serious. That's not really why I've called ma'am." "Then I'm afraid I don't understand. What can I do for you Mr. Skinner?" Skinner swallowed nervously, wiped at the sweat on his brow. Why did he feel he was being called into the Principal's office? "Ma'am, Mulder, that is, Fox has been working on a case with me and with his partner in the Twin Cities." "Yes, I've seen the news." Tina Mulder's voice sounded flat, expressionless. Skinner started to wonder if perhaps this was where his agent had gotten that little talent he displayed so regularly. "Mrs. Mulder, perhaps you've heard, then, that Fox's partner, Dana Scully, was taken by the suspect two days ago." "Yes, I heard that." Skinner paused for a moment, assuming more was coming. Evidently not. "Ma'am, Fox has been working on this case almost around the clock. He's been profiling both the suspect and the victims. Certain ... aspects of the case have caused him great distress. And, on top of this, his partner's abduction has hit him very hard. I thought perhaps you would like to know. That perhaps ...." Skinner licked his dry lips again and prepared to continue, although he suddenly wished he had never called. "You think I would be able to help him if I were there?" Skinner couldn't respond. The woman sounded angry. Why would she be angry? "Mr. Skinner, the last time I spoke with my son he accused me .... well, let's just say it was not a very pleasant meeting. I don't believe I could be of much help to you -- or to him. I doubt very much he'd want me there. Good day, Mr. Skinner." Walter Skinner stood staring at the phone in his hand, disbelief coursing through him. It was a long time later that he finally felt ready to face the men in the other room. ************************** Thursday, 8:09 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel The man was hurting his sister. The man told him the testing was important. He had passed the test and his brother had passed the test, and now his sister had to pass the test. In order to go to heaven, they all had to pass the test. He had cried when it had been his time to be tested, but he would go to heaven now because he had passed. Emmy had to go to heaven, too. He couldn't be without his sister for all eternity. He told her to pray during the testing but she hadn't listened and now she was crying out loud and calling for him. He was on the steps, looking through the slightly open door to the basement storage area. He shook his head at her, put a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet. She kept crying and the man was hurting her again. Why wouldn't she do what she was supposed to? He didn't know what to do. He wasn't sure what would happen if she failed the test. He didn't know what failure meant to the man. The man was hurting his sister. The man told him he couldn't interfere. But she was calling his name. She needed him and he kept sitting there, watching. She yelled his name and looked at him. Samantha was being hurt. Daddy was hurting Samantha. "Fox, help me." She screamed his name. His father turned then too, and laughed at him, at his impotence, at his helplessness. He had failed her, again. "No." He lurched awake, gasping for breath, eyes frantically searching the room, trying to figure out where he was. He jerked as the door flew open, saw the towering figure, and put one hand up to protect himself, shrinking back on the pillows. He felt disoriented, sick to his stomach. What was happening? What was going on? "Mulder? Mulder, it's me. It's Walter Skinner." Skinner hadn't considered what his sudden presence in the door would do to his abruptly awakened agent. He realized his mistake and thanked the Lord Mulder's first reaction hadn't been to go for his gun. But at the same time he was disturbed at what his agent's reaction had been. Skinner stepped into the room slowly, noting that the younger man had dropped his arm and now held it across his stomach. Mulder suddenly rolled out of bed and stumbled to his bathroom, closing the door behind him. Skinner groaned internally, in sympathy and concern. He turned on the bedside lamp, then left the room, quietly shutting the door to give his agent privacy. Nodding to the agents gathered around the table, he moved to the phone and dialed Margaret Scully's room. He needed to speak with her and Janice Anderson in private. ************************** Both women were dressed and Skinner noted the breakfast cart in the corner of the room. "I'm sorry, did I interrupt your breakfast?" Margaret waved him in further and replied. "No, we had just finished. Walter, what is it? Has something happened?" Skinner sat in the offered chair, waiting for both women to sit. He had already decided to let Margaret know what was happening with Brandon. Now, he decided to let her also know what was happening with Mulder. "Yes, actually. We know where he has Dana. We're going to be moving in about an hour. We're finalizing plans now. We're pretty sure that he's expecting us and will be demanding Mulder as a trade for Scully. He blames Mulder personally for derailing his plans." Skinner paused and turned to Janice then. "I'm worried about Mulder. He was up most of the night. He's the one that made the connection that allowed us to locate Brandon." Skinner saw Janice Anderson shake her head, noted Margaret Scully's look of concern. "I didn't find out until after five this morning. He practically collapsed when I put him to bed. He went straight to sleep but just woke up. Tresky, Vickers and Jenkins are working with me in the suite. He scared the crap out of all of us with a scream that took a year off my life. He's been having nightmares since the beginning on this case but this was different. He's probably still in his bathroom loosing everything he's eaten in the last day." Skinner paused again, and cursed himself for what he was about to ask. Cursed the fates at the situation which made it the only thing to do. "Janice, we need him today. We need him if we're going to get Dana back." Skinner's eyes flicked to Margaret Scully briefly, then back to Janice, pleading silently for her understanding. "I need you to check him out. Then I need you to do whatever necessary to get him on his feet. He has to keep it together for just a few more hours." Janice hadn't changed expression, but Margaret inhaled sharply, and he saw her shake her head from side to side. Janice's voice was kind when she answered. "AD Skinner, I understand. I'll check on Mulder. As long as I concur that no permanent physical damage will result, I'll make sure he can function for the next several hours." Skinner noted the stress on the word physical. He knew where Janice was coming from. She wouldn't be responsible for any lasting mental or psychological damage. That would be solely his responsibility. He nodded and stood, then realized Margaret Scully was also standing. "No, Walter, I don't understand this. I don't understand at all. He needs to be in a hospital or at least at home in bed with someone to care for him. You can't expect him to go out there like that. He's injured, he's exhausted." Her words finally came to an end as she realized, looking from one grim face to another, that she could never do this job. She could never make these kinds of decisions, these kinds of sacrifices. She felt the tears spill out of her eyes, but couldn't summon the energy to wipe them away. Instead, she closed her eyes and prayed to her Lord to watch over Fox and to bring him to her daughter in safety and health. ************************** Thursday, 8:47 a.m. Minneapolis Center Hotel Mulder heard the knock at his door and said, "Come." "Morning, Mulder." He was surprised to hear a woman's voice. He'd expected Skinner. He turned quickly from the mirror on the closet door and saw Janice Anderson, standing stiffly in front of the now closed bedroom door. She held her medical bag in her right hand and Mulder didn't have to wonder at what she intended. He turned his back to her without a word, moving once again to put on his tie. He decided that if he ignored the woman she might just go away. Unfortunately, she and Scully shared the trait of persistence as well as so many other things. He could sense her irritation building behind him. "Agent Mulder, don't bother with that just yet. In fact, please take off your shirt. I need to see your injuries from last night." Mulder continued with his strategy of ignoring her. Ignore her long enough and she'll go away. He pulled the end of his tie down and through the knot, then pulled the two tails together, making sure they were straight. He heard Janice clear her throat behind him and grimly reminded himself to ignore her. "Agent Mulder, AD Skinner will not allow you out of this room until I have given my okay. I suggest you cooperate." Janice saw him freeze then for a full ten seconds, both hands still on his tie. Then she saw his shoulders slump and arms drop to his side with the realization that he couldn't win this one. Mulder turned, finally, to look at her, expression blank. He lifted his arms slightly, as if in supplication, and said, "I'm fine, Janice. I feel just fine." Janice smiled lightly at him before replying. "Well, then this should go pretty quickly, shouldn't it?" She gestured at his clothes. "Lose them, Mulder." Janice watched closely as he removed the just fastened tie, then unbuttoned his dress shirt, removed it, then pulled his undershirt off slowly, gingerly. She saw the guarded look, the occasional grimaces, the fight to keep his features frozen. He angled his body in the right direction, then raised his left arm slightly so she could get easier access. He stood motionless, then, patiently waiting for her to do whatever she needed to do. Janice pulled the bandages away, checking the stitches and saw they were healing reasonably well. She removed the bandages altogether, put ointment on his various gashes and cuts, then applied clean bandages. When he moved to put his undershirt back on she gestured for him to wait. "Hang on, Mulder, I want to check you out. Could you sit on the bed, please?" She ignored the look he gave her and watched him move to the bed and sit. All in all, he was moving pretty well. She could see the forced control, the lightly shaking muscles that were evidence of exhaustion. Still, she was surprised at how good he looked, considering what AD Skinner had told her. She pulled a chair over to sit in front of him. Janice first checked his pulse and recognized it to be quite fast. Given that he was pissed as Hell at her right now, that wasn't so unusual. She checked blood pressure, listened to heart, had him breathe deeply for her. She nodded to him, then felt his face for warmth. He seemed to be okay, but she pulled out the thermoscan just to be sure. Only slightly elevated temperature. Nothing to worry about overly much. Janice sat back in the chair and looked at the man before her critically. Without his shirt, she could see every rib, evidence of the excessive weight loss. She looked back at his face, once again noting the glare of defiance. Janice smiled at him kindly to let him know she wasn't his enemy. "Okay, Mulder. I've got some vitamins for you and I want to give you a shot that'll help give you a little more energy this morning. You'll crash hard this afternoon, but it'll help you get through the next few hours. You need to eat this morning. I'll give you something to help keep it down." Janice saw Mulder relax and decided it was as good a time as any to break the news. With a grin she said, "Stand and drop 'em, Mulder, I need a cheek for this one." The wide eyes and look of shock was priceless. Then his expression altered, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Mulder evidently didn't trust her completely. She couldn't help the laugh that took hold. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm not lying to you. The arm won't do it." He heaved a sigh, stood and turned, started unbuckling belt and pants, then turned to look over his shoulder at her, obviously waiting for her to prepare the shot before he dropped his drawers. She smiled at him and reached into her bag, pulling out the already prepared syringe. Removing the plastic tip protector, she pushed slightly at the plunger, sending a small stream of fluid flying. She held her right hand up and gestured to him. With a quick pull on his boxers she had bared the hip, swabbed a spot with alcohol soaked cotton, and jabbed in the needle, then suppressed the plunger efficiently. She yanked out the needle, then pulled up his pants, saying, "All set, Mulder. You're good to go." Janice stood, picked up her bag, and then swatted him lightly on the rear end. She was out the door before he could react. ************************** Thursday, 10:04 a.m. Minneapolis , Street of Ulrich Residence They had stopped several houses down. Another SWAT van was in the alley that ran behind the house. Teams of agents spilled out of the vans and melted against the nearby houses. The teams were gradually working their way to Ulrich's house, to fully surround it. The street had been closed off long ago, all nearby houses quietly emptied. Mulder had his vest securely fastened, with a light windbreaker jacket over top proclaiming him clearly to be FBI. Skinner was beside him in the van serving as command center, similarly arrayed. Everyone was in place. They were ready to make the call. The phone was picked up at the other end but no one spoke. Finally Mulder said, "Dr. Brandon? It's Fox Mulder." "Hello, Agent Mulder. I've been waiting for you. What took you so long?" "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Dr. Brandon. I'm here now. How's Agent Scully?" It was too early in the conversation to ask it, but Mulder couldn't wait. He had to know that she was all right. "She's here. She's fine. She belongs to me right now. But I'll trade her ..... for you." Mulder looked over at Skinner. So far, everything was what they expected. They had to get Scully out in the open. Then they could take Brandon. "Dr. Brandon, we can talk about it. But I'm not calling the shots here. I tried to explain that to you the last time we spoke. The Assistant Director is here. Perhaps you'd like to speak with him." "No. I don't want to hear any of that crap, Fox. May I call you Fox?" Mulder swallowed, looked nervously to Skinner again, then replied. "Yes, you can call me Fox. Should I call you Elijah?" Mulder wiped the sweat of his forehead with one hand, wondering where this was going. They were off script way too early. "No, I would prefer if you didn't, actually. I hate the name." "Well, in that case, why don't you call me Mulder?" Mulder couldn't help it. This guy was getting to him. They could hear Brandon laughing, as if he'd just heard the greatest joke of the year. The negotiating leader sat back in his chair and shook his head, as confused as Mulder. This guy was difficult to peg. The negotiator grimaced at Mulder and raised his hand, gesturing slightly. Mulder was on his own for now. "So, Brandon, let's talk. The best I can do is run any suggestion you might have past the Assistant Director." Brandon's voice was hard now. "No more of that shit. I'm dealing with you. You deal with me." Mulder licked his lips nervously. The man had blown every possibility they'd had. Mulder closed his eyes for a moment, then replied. "Okay, Brandon. You got me. Now tell me what you want." "Why, Agent Mulder, what do you thing? I want you, of course. You know that." Mulder nodded before answering. "Why, Brandon? For what purpose?" There was silence for a moment, then a harsh laugh. "Because you ruined everything. You ruined it all and you have to pay." "What did I ruin, Brandon? You mean that I stopped you from killing and torturing more children? From abusing them? From hurting them in ways they never deserved?" Mulder heard his voice becoming strident, demanding. He consciously told himself to back off, not antagonize the man. He realized Skinner had placed his hand on his right arm. "No! Their parents were the ones who hurt them. I was going to take them away from all that. All they had to do was pass the test and they'd be fine. But they all failed. Robby wouldn't have, though. Robby was different. And you took him from me. You did." "You tortured seven innocents, Brandon. You tortured them and then killed them. You hurt them." Mulder decided to take a different track, to take a visit to the past. He had to get Ulrich's mind off the present, off the fact that Mulder was responsible for stopping the man's little test. "Is that what Ulrich did to Emmy? Did Emmy deserve it, Brandon? Did she deserve to die?" Mulder's breathing had quickened. He had to concentrate on slowing it down. Skinner's grip tightened even more. They could hear Brandon on the other end of the line, also breathing heavily. Then there was a noise, a crash. Everyone in the van jerked, wondering what had happened. Mulder was on his feet, ready to run out the door if it came to it. Skinner was also up, making the van seem incredibly crowded all of a sudden. A shot echoed but Mulder couldn't tell whether it came from outside or from in the house. It was an echo over the phone line. He was looking around the van wildly, hoping someone would tell him what was happening. "Brandon? Dr. Brandon? What is it? What's happened? Are you there?" Mulder couldn't take this. He had to know what was happening, whether Scully was all right. He put the phone down and had taken a step to the door when he heard Brandon on the line again. He sank into the chair once again and picked up the handset. "I'm here. What was it? Was that a gunshot? Where's Scully?" "Your partner's feisty, Agent Mulder. She almost managed to sneak up on me. Good thing I had her gun, huh?" Mulder was on his feet in a flash. "You hurt her, Brandon, and I'll kill you myself, I swear to God." Skinner was next to his agent, gripping his arm, whispering to him. "Mulder, no. Don't threaten him. Don't antagonize him." Skinner knew this wasn't going well, but had no alternative approaches to offer. He had to trust Mulder and his instincts. "Brandon, where's Scully? Where is she?" "Don't worry, Agent Mulder. She's still safe. She'll be fine. Just as soon as I see you at my door. I'm going now, Mulder. If you're not here in five minutes, your partner's dead." The click was decisive, causing Mulder to jerk, the phone dropping from his hand. He turned to Skinner, somehow hoping the man would know what they should do. He saw the same indecisiveness as was on his own face. Mulder pulled out his weapon, checked it and snapped it back in his holster. He checked the straps on his vest, then closed the jacket over it, hiding it from view, but still making sure he had easy access to the gun. He was already wired for sound and now inserted an earpiece. He looked over at Skinner, saw the worried expression. He couldn't deal with it right now. He had to concentrate on getting Scully back. Mulder grabbed the doors of the van and threw them open. He stopped when he felt the hand on his shoulder and turned back to his boss. "Mulder, be careful. Remember, Scully won't be very happy with you if you end up dead or wounded. And she'd be really pissed at me." Mulder smiled at him, recognizing the affection behind the words. "I'll be careful, sir." Mulder jumped out of the van and strode down the sidewalk quickly, stopping in front of Ulrich's house. He spoke softly, wanting to make sure they were picking him up in the van. "Can you hear me all right?" "Loud and clear, Mulder. Remember, I don't want to have to explain to Scully if you get hurt." Mulder held his arms out to his sides, showing anyone who might be watching from in the house that he wasn't holding a weapon. He looked around the house, noting the agents surrounding it, all eyes on him. Mulder started walking slowly, straight up the front walk towards the house. He could see no movement in any of the windows, nothing that would suggest he was being watched from inside. He stopped at the foot of the stairs that led to the front porch. Raising his voice, he yelled out. "Brandon, I'm here. Now do what you said you would and let Scully go." Mulder stood now, not moving, prepared to wait Brandon out. He didn't have to wait long. A muffled voice from inside cried out. "Come up on the porch, Agent Mulder. I don't like having to yell through doors." Mulder bit his lower lip, flicked eyes to right and left again to access the readiness of the waiting agents, then slowly climbed the stairs, stopping at the top. He heard Skinner's voice in his earpiece, telling him not to go in the house, no matter what. He nodded, knowing the man would see. His arms were shaking from fatigue now. He had to lower them. "Okay, Brandon. This is it. I'm not taking another step until you send Agent Scully out." The door opened a crack and Mulder caught a flash of auburn hair. He felt his breath catch in his throat. He whispered, "Scully," unable to keep it back. "A step for a step, Mulder. You take a step and I'll let her take a step." Mulder couldn't help himself. He had to see Scully's face. It was worth getting a step closer to danger. He took a step and saw Scully, finally, through the door. She was staring at him, eyes wide. A bruise shown clearly on her right temple, but she looked okay for the most part. Mulder could tell her hands were tied behind her back. He still couldn't see Brandon, didn't know where he was in relation to his partner. Mulder dropped his hands slightly more, positioning his right hand within inches of his weapon. He stared at his partner, trying to understand what she was attempting to tell him with her eyes. Mulder's throat was so dry he couldn't swallow. He wasn't sure how this was going to play out because he still didn't truly know what Brandon wanted -- or what he thought he wanted. Did he want to play with Mulder? Torture him? Or would he be content with a quick bullet? If it were the latter the man wanted, he could get his wish right now, right here. Mulder was certainly close enough. Brandon's voice, disembodied, came through the door once again. "Another step, Mulder, another step for a step." Mulder's eyes never left his partner's. He saw her shake her head, urging him not to do what the man had said. He heard Skinner's voice, telling him not to do it. He took another small step forward, relieved to see Scully standing clearly in the doorway, now. She'd been pushed from behind, by Brandon. Mulder still couldn't figure the man's game. He tried to gage how close Scully was now. How difficult it would be to grab her and throw her out of the way. It would take another step, at least. Two agents stood within feet of him now, on either side of the door, but back far enough to be out of sight. But oddly, he wasn't reassured. Mulder moved his right hand yet again, to within an inch of his gun, then took another step forward. Scully was thrown at him and he had to move his hands to catch her. He grabbed her and swung her around, pushing her towards the agent to the left of the door. Unfortunately, he'd had to turn his body to the side, unwillingly presenting an easy target for the man inside. Before Mulder or anyone else knew what had happened, his arm had been grabbed and he was yanked in the house hard and thrown against the far wall. Mulder's head met the brick wall with a dull thud and he fell to the floor in a heap. He heard a distant yelling but couldn't make it out, knew only that it was Skinner's voice. Blood was in his eyes as he tried to get to his knees. It was so difficult to move, but he'd promised Skinner he'd be careful. Scully would be mad at him. He had to get back to her. Mulder felt something at his waist, felt something taken from him. It took him a moment to realize what it had been. Brandon now had his gun in addition to Scully's. Mulder stopped moving, stayed on the floor in a heap, huddled over his knees. His head was pounding from the crack against the wall and he was just so tired. He was vaguely aware of movement, but wasn't completely sure who it was or what it meant. He wanted to sleep, to close his eyes and block out all the noise, the insistent voice in his ear. There was a scuffle by his head and he cracked open an eye briefly to see the toe of a shoe, three inches from his eyes. Then there was another noise and this time he opened his eyes to the view of a knee. Brandon shoved him, forcing him to roll over on his back. Mulder thought his head would explode at this new experience and couldn't prevent the cry and accompanying groan that escaped. He fought for control over his surging stomach and finally managed to open his eyes for more than a second at a time. There was blood in the right one and he lifted a hand to wipe it away. He saw Brandon, finally, kneeling over him, an intent expression on his face. Mulder wondered what the man was thinking and then realized he probably didn't want to know. He didn't feel at all well. Mulder closed his eyes and decided to take a nap. Maybe things would be looking up when he woke again. ************************** Scully was furious. He'd done it again, ditched her. Granted, these circumstances were slightly different than the usual, but still, the fact remained that he'd gone off somewhere that she couldn't follow. By her rules, that was ditching your partner. She knew she wasn't really being fair. After all, she was pretty sure he hadn't intended on being grabbed. And by the muffled cursing she heard from the two agents stationed by the door she was pretty sure they hadn't intended it either. She'd been quickly led around the side of the house where her arms were freed, cut ropes falling to the ground. She was then taken out of the yard, through two other house's yards, and finally to the door of a SWAT van. The doors opened and AD Skinner stepped down to greet her. "Dana, I'm glad you're well. Come on, I'll help you up." Skinner made no suggestion of a hospital. He had rapidly taken in her disheveled appearance, the bruise on her temple, the bloodied hands, and written them all off as minor. If she made it here on her own feet, she could last a little longer. Besides, he had a feeling he'd need her to get Mulder back. He was back at the control board, headset on. He gestured for Scully to sit, turned to her and said, "Brandon must have thrown him against the wall. We're pretty sure he's been hurt again. We have him wired for sound and he's wearing an earpiece. Don't know if it's still operational." Scully looked at him, mouth slightly open, trying to process what she'd just been told. One thing stuck out. "Hurt again, sir?" Skinner realized then that Scully didn't know about the church. Damn. Of course. How would she know? "Yesterday we hit the church where you'd been held. It was wired with explosives. Mulder figured it out in time and managed to prevent a disaster. In the process he got a little banged up." Skinner decided to sanitize the story slightly. There was nothing they could do right now, after all. He was worried that they hadn't heard from Mulder in over three minutes. He needed to know what was going on. He spoke into the mouthpiece of the headset. "Mulder, Scully's here. She's safe, Mulder. Can you hear me?" Skinner turned to the operator in the van and asked him to get another headset for Scully, then turned to her. "Scully, listen to me. We need intelligence that only Mulder can give us. We can't rush the house without it. And he's not responding to me. Maybe he'll respond to you. Try to get him to tell us where Brandon is, what weapon's he has, whether the house is wired with explosives, what he's doing, anything that'll give us an idea of what we're dealing with." Scully nodded and sat shakily. With blood-streaked hands she put on the offered headset and took a deep breath. "Hey, partner, what are you up to in there? I thought we agreed you wouldn't go ditching me again." There was nothing but rustling coming through the static. "Hey, Mulder, can you let me know if you hear me? I've missed your voice. Can you acknowledge in some way?" Skinner and Scully exchanged quick glances at the groan that seemingly came in response to her request. "Mulder, are you hurt badly?" There was a groan again, with a clearly negative sound to it. Skinner sighed heavily, realizing Mulder was playing it safe, avoiding talking or appearing as if he were lucid. He turned to Scully and grasped one arm. "I don't think he can talk now. Don't ask him any more questions just yet. Let him know we're here and working on getting him out, but he might have to try talking his way out of it." Skinner took off the headset for a minute, stood and took a step to the rear of the van. He looked out the cloudy window and tried to think unclouded thoughts. He heard Scully talking softly to Mulder, making reassuring sounds. It was clear to Skinner that they had only two options. Rush the house or get Mulder to talk his way out. The disadvantages of the first plan were obvious and extensive. Not only could Mulder get shot by Brandon, he could also get caught in cross-fire by their own people. Worse, the house was brick and cement, perfect candidates for ricochets. Even if Mulder were across the room from Brandon he could get hit. The second plan had it's own problems, not the least of which was that Mulder was now past the point of collapse that Janice had predicted, and injured, perhaps badly, on top of it. Skinner doubted his agent could string a sentence together, let alone a cogent argument for surrender. The critical question was whether there was a drawback to the second plan that would prevent them from using it as a first step. It depended primarily on just how badly his agent was injured -- whether he needed medical care immediately. Skinner decided to see how Mulder managed with Brandon. Then if he failed, they could still charge the house. Skinner quickly gave instructions to the team leaders. He turned and sat down by Scully again, replacing the headset. He gestured to her that he wanted to speak and heard her tell Mulder he was coming on line. "Agent Mulder, the situation is this. We don't want to take the house unless absolutely necessary. I want you to try to talk with Brandon and get him to surrender. You know him, Mulder. You know what he's thinking. There's got to be a way to get through to him." Skinner closed his eyes at the loud, shaky breathing he heard, knowing his agent was exhausted, hurt, in pain, and worse of all, alone. He finally heard a rustling that suggested movement, accompanied by a groan. Mulder must have moved to see Brandon better. Skinner glanced over at Scully, not surprised by the hand she reached out to him. He gripped it in his, happy for the contact. They both jerked slightly as Mulder's disembodied voice was heard echoing through the van. It was shaky and barely above a whisper, but it was focused and intent. "Brandon, what happens now? What about your wife? What about your practice? All the children who count on you? Are you going to desert them?" It made Mulder sick to use children as an excuse, but he was desperate. He didn't know how much longer he could hang on. He'd dropped off for a couple minutes earlier only to awaken to his partner's voice. It was a good thing to wake up to. Mulder had to struggle now to keep his eyes open. He wanted to end this. He needed it ended. Brandon was out of his sight and he couldn't move. He tried to get an idea of where the man was and what he was doing, but he could hear nothing to give him clues. A kick in the small of his back answered his question. Mulder gasped and cried out involuntarily at the suddenness of the shooting pain that made it's way up his spine, settling like a knife in between his eyes. He managed several shaky breaths, then forced his head to turn so he could track Brandon. He couldn't help the slight whimper that forced its way through his clenched jaw. He hoped Scully and Skinner wouldn't think too badly of him. God, he wanted this over with. He'd do anything to have it end. "What do you want from me, Brandon? Why don't you just kill me? Just kill me." Mulder didn't know who was more surprised at the words, Brandon or himself. He realized that there must be a part of him that did want it to be over that badly. Scully was not happy with his words. She was screaming at him, cursing at him. "God damn you Mulder. Don't you dare say such a thing to that bastard. Don't give him any ideas. Do you hear me, Mulder? You work to get out of there -- alive. If you let him kill you, Mulder, so help me God I will kill you again, just for good measure. Then I'll haunt you through all eternity telling you how stupid you were." He couldn't help the smile. He couldn't help the feeling of warmth that rushed through him. She had just reminded him that he had everything to live for. He had to focus on Brandon. He had to get out of this, alive. Mulder decided Brandon looked crazed, pacing from dining room to living room, gaze moving from side to side. Every once in a while, Brandon's gaze would find its way to Mulder before flicking to other points in the room. Mulder tried to reason out what was happening. He couldn't understand why Brandon hadn't just killed him. He would have to make the first move, again. Mulder cleared his throat, tried to lick his lips, before speaking. "Dr. Brandon, the man who was responsible for Emmy's death and for Jacob's death is gone now. You got justice finally." Brandon froze at the mention of his sister and brother, his face suddenly a portrait in pain. Mulder had to close his eyes for a second and remind himself of all the victims this man had created. Mulder couldn't afford to feel sorry for him. Not right now. Maybe later. He was surprised by the violence in Brandon's voice and couldn't help jerking at the bitter words. "What kind of justice? Ulrich didn't suffer." Brandon was towering over Mulder, face contorted in fury. "He didn't suffer for thirty years. He didn't have parents who blamed him. He didn't have police, like you, who didn't believe him, didn't help him." Brandon's fury erupted and he once again aimed his foot at Mulder's middle. Mulder managed to turn slightly in the hopes of protecting his left side and the injuries sustained the previous night. It wasn't enough. He could feel the stitches tearing apart with the kick. Mulder's vision started to go black as he fought the new onslaught on his senses. The pain was incredible. He wanted it to end. He heard something finally, through the noise of his raspy breathing and the rushing in his ears. He heard an angel's voice, speaking to him softly, soothingly. It was telling him to hold on, that she was there and that he'd make it through this. It was Scully's voice and he had to believe her. He wanted to believe her so he could be with her again. Brandon had been pacing jerkily and now focused his sight on Mulder once more, taking up where he'd left off, as if nothing had happened between the last sentence and the present. "He didn't lose a part of himself. Two parts. Jacob was lost to me when Emmy was, he was never the same again. Ulrich took them both from me and I .... " Suddenly Brandon's voice dropped, turned soft as he continued. "I did nothing. I did nothing. She cried for me to help her and I did nothing. You couldn't possibly understand." Mulder knew he had to keep himself separate from Brandon. He couldn't empathize. He couldn't lose himself in the man's emotions. It could mean his life. But if he could get Brandon to trust him, surrender was a possibility. It was worth the risk. "Dr. Brandon, I know how it feels to lose a sister. My sister Samantha was taken from me. She was just eight and I was twelve. I was watching her. She was my responsibility. I couldn't help her. She called out to me and I couldn't move." His voice cracked, both from exhaustion and the pain of the memory. He needed to stop for a moment. In the command center, Scully raised one hand to her face to wipe away her tears. The tears mixed with the dried blood on her hands and left a streak of red across her cheeks. As new tears followed, they turned red, making it appear that Scully cried bloody tears for her partner's pain. Brandon was on the move again, this time coming towards Mulder quickly. Mulder couldn't tell whether he was angry, couldn't guess what the man intended. He was relieved when Brandon stopped a couple feet away. The man bent on one knee and looked down at Mulder curiously. "Was she taken for the testing, too?" Mulder could hear the twin intakes of breath in his ear. Both Skinner and Scully must have been surprised by the question. Mulder wasn't. He'd half expected it. "Yes, she was taken for testing. It was supposed to be me but they took her instead." He could only manage a ragged whisper now, and Brandon had to move closer to hear him. "You were supposed to be tested, too?" Mulder realized the man was empathizing with him and he suddenly felt even more ill at the thought they had something in common. He managed a "Yes" and closed his eyes tightly, fighting for control for just a little longer. Brandon asked, "Did your parents protect you from the testing?" Mulder almost cried at the question. He wished he knew the answer. He knew nothing, even after all these years. "I don't know. It's possible they .... chose Samantha instead of me." Mulder closed his eyes, tried to think of anything but the image in his mind. Of his mother and father arguing, a young Cancerman standing off to the side. Arguing about what? "Then you understand? You really understand?" Mulder opened his eyes and looked into Brandon's, willing himself to be able to lie boldfaced to this man who held his gun in one hand and had Scully's at his waist. "I understand, Dr. Brandon. I do understand." Brandon searched his face, looked into his eyes, then pushed himself back, away from Mulder, standing as if he were dizzy. Maybe he was. It looked as if he'd lost some anchor or as if a sudden change in perception had caused his world to tilt. And then Mulder did understand. And it made him sick that he did. "You're not alone, Dr. Brandon. I understand." Brandon sank to his knees and tears started spilling down his face. Mulder sensed a change. Perhaps surrender really was possible. He heard Scully speaking to him softly, relaying advice from the hostage negotiator. "Mulder, Baker says you have to give Brandon something to hope for, something that would make him willing to give up." Mulder considered the suggestion. Tried to imagine what would make Brandon so willing. Finally thought of one thing. "Dr. Brandon, you need to give yourself up, now. There's nothing more to prove. No more justice to be taken. It's time to rest." Mulder took a deep breath before going on, fighting off the blackness, the pain, the despair. "Dr. Brandon, you need to think of your wife. She loves you. She's worried about you. She wants to see you again." Mulder saw Brandon sink to his knees, Mulder's gun loose in his hand, but still pointing at the man lying motionless on the floor. Brandon shook his head, slowly, from side to side, then raised his gaze to meet Mulder's. "No, I can't let her see me like this. I can't. She never knew. She didn't know about Emmy and Jacob .... and me." Mulder tried to move, to roll so he could sit up. It was impossible. He managed to turn his head so he could see Brandon more comfortably. "Dr. Brandon, sometimes we try to protect the ones we love. We try to keep things from them because we think it's for their benefit." Mulder was gasping out the words. Speaking was becoming ever more difficult. Brandon leaned forward, seemingly captivated by what the agent was saying. "But we do them a disservice because it means we don't trust them. Sometimes .... sometimes we don't say what we should say. We waste the opportunities. We lose the chance." Mulder had to pause again. He kept a picture of Scully firmly in his mind. It gave him hope. It gave him faith to keep trying for surrender. But it also made him say what he'd never planned on saying. "Sometimes, we should just tell them. Should tell them that we love them and trust them. Should say ... I love you." Mulder could hear Scully crying, softly. He hadn't meant to make her cry. But in case something happened, in case things didn't go right, he didn't want to miss the opportunity. Now, though, he had to make this about Brandon again. Mulder opened his eyes and looked at the man once again. Brandon looked confused. "Maybe you should try trusting your wife, Dr. Brandon. If she loves you, she'll understand, too. She's waiting for you. She wants to see you again, Dr. Brandon." Mulder saw the man nod. "You need to give yourself up. You need to surrender so you can see her and explain." Brandon nodded again. No words, no other movement. Just a nod. Mulder had to sit, to stand. He had to walk out with the man, make sure nothing went wrong. But he was in agony. Every movement sent him nearer to the edge of consciousness. He had to fight it for just a couple minutes more. Mulder started struggling to a sitting position and was finally able to lean against the wall. Each breath came in hard bursts, accompanied now by involuntary whimpers. He could do this. He had to do this. Scully was waiting for him. He heard her voice telling him she was waiting for him. "Dr. Brandon, let's go outside. Okay, Dr. Brandon? Are you ready?" Brandon again nodded his head, watching as Mulder struggled to his feet. Mulder's body was sending him all sorts of signals that he probably shouldn't be standing. But he knew it would only be for a couple of minutes and then he could sleep. He could hold Scully's hand, touch her fiery hair, make sure she was okay, then sleep for a week. He only needed to get through the next couple minutes. The sharp pain in his side and the wet stickiness reminded him yet again in no uncertain terms that Brandon had opened the stitches along his side. Mulder ignored it, as he ignored all the other hurts. He had to focus on walking out the door with Brandon. Then it would be over. Scully was waiting for him. "Dr. Brandon, you have to give me the guns. Sir, I need the weapons. You can't leave here with them." It was obvious to Mulder the man wasn't going to give them up, for whatever reasons. Perhaps they gave him a sense of security. Mulder stood slumped against the wall, barely upright, and tried to add some forcefulness to his fading voice. "Dr. Brandon, give me the guns." Brandon stood, back to the living room wall, hands clenching the gun tightly to his chest. He looked like a cornered animal, terrified. Mulder knew he wouldn't be able to get the weapons. "Okay, Dr. Brandon. But you need to hold your hands in the air when we go out. Otherwise, the police might think you're going to shoot at them." Mulder didn't know what to do now. He couldn't tell if Brandon understood him. But he knew he wasn't going to last beyond the next five minutes, one way or the other. His legs were shaking so badly, he didn't even know if they'd continue to hold him. Mulder decided he had to get them both out of the house, now. "Come on, Dr. Brandon. You need to go first, with your hands raised." Each word was a forced whisper, but even so Mulder knew they'd heard him over the microphone. Mulder heard Skinner shouting orders to the teams through his earpiece. He knew they were being given instructions not to shoot as long as Brandon's hands were raised. He was also reassured by the notice to the agents and officers that one of their own would be following the man out. Mulder dragged himself the three steps to the door, using the wall as a prop as he moved along. He rested his head against the front door for a moment, marshaling his resources, gathering the last of his remaining strength. He whispered raggedly, "Scully, we're coming out," and was happy to hear her voice reply, "I'm waiting for you, Mulder." Mulder rotated his head slightly to see Brandon beside him, still looking confused and dazed. "Dr. Brandon, please give me the guns." Mulder gave up trying, turned the door knob and slowly opened to door, gesturing for Brandon to go first. "Dr. Brandon, raise your hands in the air as high as you can." Brandon took a step out, then another, his hands in the air. In the right hand he still held Mulder's gun. There was a noise to the right and Brandon turned in response, dropping his arms without thinking. Mulder saw it happening, knew it didn't have to, and couldn't help himself. He threw himself out the door, grabbing Brandon around the waist, the momentum causing them both to drop to the ground. Skinner and Scully saw it on the monitors, heard the twin shots echo out before the shout to hold fire, then the yell for the paramedics. Someone was hit. They were both out the door of the van and racing to the house, no thought for whether the area was cleared or not. They had to check on Mulder. Skinner got there first, saw that Brandon was being led away and Mulder was lying on his back on the porch, unconscious, two agents hovering over him. He knelt by the younger man's side, looking for blood and was reassured by his initial assessment. He heard Scully then telling the agents to back away, she was a doctor. At her direction, Skinner helped her gently remove Mulder's jacket. Two holes were clearly apparent in the vest, along Mulder's right side, along the ribs. Skinner prayed the vest had stopped the bullets from doing any further damage to his agent. They got the vest off and both Scully and Skinner paused at the blood that was then horribly obvious, coating Mulder's shirt and dripping down his left side. A quick investigation of the inside of the vest showed no bullets had penetrated. Then Skinner understood. The stitches must have torn open on the gash on Mulder's side. Scully had pulled away her partner's shirt to reveal the wound. She quickly applied pressure then looked over at Skinner. "A little banged up, sir? That's what you call this?" Skinner colored slightly at the recrimination in her voice. He really didn't have anything to say. He looked back to Mulder, noting again how pale the younger man was. Seeing the bloodied forehead, recognizing signs of yet another concussion hard on the heels of the first. "Is he okay, Scully?" He looked back to Scully to see her sway slightly, then guiltily remembered she'd been held for close to two days, put through God knew what, and had injuries of her own. He helped her to sit then and was relieved to see the paramedics taking care of Mulder. He gently wiped the still damp blood off her cheeks. "Are you okay, Dana?" Scully was dizzy all of the sudden. The last several days, Hell, the last week was catching up to her. Once she had reassured herself that her partner would be all right, the rush of adrenaline had departed, leaving her on the verge of collapse. She felt Skinner's arms around her, heard his soothing voice, and decided it was safe to leave things in his capable hands. ************************** Friday, 2:37 a.m. Minneapolis Hospital Scully's first thought on waking was that she felt clean. She smiled slightly, opened her eyes, and took in her surroundings. Hospital white. She turned her head to the right and saw her mother, asleep in the chair by the window. Huh, her mom was here. She turned her head in the other direction and saw Skinner's face, barely visible on the far side of the bed next to her, also asleep in a chair. She then turned her head a little more to look at the person in the next bed and let out the breath she'd been unconsciously holding as she saw her partner's face. She heard movement then and saw Skinner standing, looking over Mulder's form at her face. He moved around the bed quietly and came to her side, gingerly picking up her left hand in his own. It was swathed in bandages that continued partway up her forearm. He smiled at her, obviously pleased that she was awake. His question was a soft whisper. "How are you feeling?" Scully took in a deep breath, surveyed her body from head to toe and smiled back at him. "I'm fine, sir. I feel good. How's Mulder?" Skinner saw her trying to look around him so he moved farther down the length of her bed and turned to glance at Mulder who continued to sleep undisturbed by their whispering. Skinner had to smile to himself. He was pretty sure Mulder would continue sleeping even if a conga line came through the room. "He's doing good. Just catching up on some sleep. I don't expect him to wake for a bit yet. They're intentionally keeping him under to give him time to heal and rest. Maybe day after tomorrow they'll let him wake up for a bit. Maybe let him eat a real meal." Scully didn't look that reassured. Her forehead was creased in concern, eyes still categorizing her partner's numerous injuries and the various displays on the beeping equipment to which he was connected. She looked back up at Skinner, eyes questioning. "He has another concussion. Evidently when Brandon pulled him in the house he got slammed against the brick wall. CAT scan showed no problems. He has a gash in his forehead, several stitches. He has bruised ribs where Brandon evidently kicked him. Unfortunately, that also pulled all the stitches from his side. He has thirty-seven stitches along his left rib cage. Cuts on his back and neck, as well, resulting from the explosion at the church. He's generally run down. They're slightly worried about pneumonia so have him on an aggressive treatment of antibiotics." Skinner was fascinated by the fact that with each piece of data, which added up to an overall mess, Scully actually seemed more reassured. Her doctor's eye was evidently able to recognize that, while numerous, none of the injuries were life-threatening. "He basically needs to rest for a bit. And so do you." Skinner was pleased to see her smile again at him, then close her eyes. With head still turned towards her partner, Scully drifted to sleep once again, smile lingering. Skinner put her hand back down over the cover, patting it before letting it go completely. He then turned to Mulder and walked the step necessary to get to his side. He pulled up the covers as he had so many times in the past day, then straightened Mulder's arm, making sure the IV tubing was clear of entanglement. He brushed the younger man's hair back from his forehead, letting his hand linger for just a moment. Skinner decided it would be a good time to check in with Dave Jenkins and make sure everything was under control. He also needed to check in with the DC office. Had it only been a week and a half that he'd been gone? It seemed like a month at the least. Skinner was unaware of the smile on Margaret Scully's face as he left the room. She had witnessed his tender ministrations to his two agents. She was happy they had such a caring man looking out for their interests. ************************** Sunday, 3:52 a.m. Minneapolis Hospital Scully awoke to find both Skinner and her mother gone finally. After two days of their nearly continual presence, she was relieved at the solitude. She had been genuinely touched at Skinner's concern and had felt reassured to wake up in both her mother's and his presence. It made her feel safe and protected in a way she hadn't felt since she was little. But she was going to be released tomorrow and Mulder would be waking up at any time. She missed him, missed talking with him. Scully sat up and swung her legs over the bed, put on slippers and robe, then made her way to her partner's side. She had gotten over the shock of his haggard appearance pretty quickly the first day, adjusted to the black and blue marks covering half his face, his swollen eye, his hollow cheeks. Now, she just wanted him awake. It felt good to stand and Scully was pleased that there was no one there to yell at her. It was a little before four in the morning and it felt as if only she and Mulder were alive in the world. Silence reined supreme. She heard his slight snore as he breathed in and out, was reassured by this audible reinforcement that things would soon be back to normal. Scully leaned against her partner's bed slightly, resting both hands on his right arm, as she had so many times over the past five years. She ran her right hand down to his fingers and grasped them lightly, careful not to disturb him. She was shocked when his fingers curled around hers. Scully jerked her head to look at his face and saw his eyes open, a small smile playing at his lips. "Hey, Scully, I missed you." He sounded horrible, voice barely above a whisper, but he was lucid and he was smiling. Mulder was smiling at her and it was the most wonderful thing Scully'd seen in weeks. "You missed me? Mulder, you've been asleep for going on three days." She said it jokingly, not wanting to cause him alarm. At his widened eyes she said, "I missed you, too, Mulder." Scully moved to get her partner a glass of water, but he wouldn't release her hand. She looked back at him, one eyebrow raised. "Don't leave." "I'm not going anywhere, Mulder. I was just getting you a glass of water." He was shaking his head at her. "No, I don't need it. It can wait. Stay here with me." Scully gave him an even wider smile, and in a spur of the moment decision, dropped the rail of his bed and climbed on board. She lay down next him, careful of the various lines leading from his arms and turned on her side, resting her head at his shoulder, barely touching him. She took his right hand in both of hers and closed her eyes, falling asleep almost immediately. Mulder was happy. Happier than he'd been in a long while. Scully was with him. She was okay. She'd be here when he woke up. He leaned over far enough to kiss the top of her head and then lay his head down, closed his eyes, and fell asleep, a lingering smile lightening his features. ************************** Sunday, 7:26 a.m. Minneapolis Hospital Walter Skinner and Margaret Scully found them that way several hours later. The hospital staff had let them be, despite violations of various regulations. Margaret made her way to Mulder's bed and stood for a silent moment, reflecting on the power of the friendship between these two people. Skinner had moved around to Scully's bed and now brought a blanket back to cover them both. He smiled, legitimately happy that his agents were together again and turned to Scully's mother. "Margaret, I think they'll be just fine for an hour or two. Can I buy you breakfast?" The older couple left the room, lighthearted for a change, knowing that for the next couple days at least, Dana and Fox would be safe, well, and happy - together. ************************** The End