TITLE: Blood Ties IV: Shredded Hearts(1/2)
AUTHOR: Dawn
EMAIL: sunrise@avenew.com
ARCHIVE: MTA, Xemplary, Gossamer – others are fine, just let 
me know
SPOILERS: Major for Paper Hearts and Beyond the Sea, minor 
through season 6
RATING: R -- for disturbing images and violence
CLASSIFICATION: XA, AU
KEYWORDS: MSR
SUMMARY: A serial killer mimicking the Paper Hearts murders 
pushes Mulder to the edge of a breakdown. When Skinner removes 
him from the case, Grey and Scully talk him into a trip to North 
Carolina to get his mind off the investigation. The killer, however, 
has other ideas…
DISCLAIMER: I know Scully, Mulder, and Skinner aren’t mine. 
They belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. However, if he 
is not going to play with them for SIX MONTHS, I’m forced to 
take matters into my own hands! Grey McKenzie is my own 
creation.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: This is part four in my Blood Ties universe. 
You don’t need to have read the others to enjoy this, but you will 
be missing some background information (like who the heck is 
Grey McKenzie?). You can find parts one through three at 
Xemplary and MTA. And as always, undying gratitude to my beta 
readers, Laurie and Donna. You guys truly contribute to each story 
in so many ways.
FEEDBACK: Remember that slogan, “A day without orange juice 
is like a day without sunshine? You get the idea.





Blood Ties IV: Shredded Hearts (1 of 2) 
By Dawn


Office of A.D. Skinner
Monday
3:43 p.m.


"Sir, you can't *do* this!" 
Walter Skinner fixed his gaze on the file lying on the blotter in 
front of him, teeth clenched and the small muscle along his jawline 
twitching. The undisguised anger in his agent's voice crossed the 
line from protest to insubordination, something Skinner's military 
background found intolerable. 
"Agent Mulder, you are overstepping your bounds," he growled. "I 
not only can, I have. You are off this case until further notice." 
"This is bullshit!" Mulder shot back defiantly. 
Skinner slowly looked up from the autopsy report, feeling his fury 
grow like a living thing. He barely heard Scully's hiss of 
reprimand, so intent was he on pinning Mulder with eyes that 
glittered dangerously. 
"What?" 
"I said it's bullshit! This is *my* case, it has been from the 
beginning. They aren't going to get anywhere without me and you 
know it!" 
As Mulder continued his tirade Skinner saw a flicker of movement 
and followed it to its source. Scully was surreptitiously squeezing 
Mulder's hand, and for the first time he turned his attention to her. 
She was unaware of his regard, completely focused on her partner. 
Skinner took in the small lines of worry, the teeth gnawing her 
bottom lip, before returning his gaze to the ranting Mulder. This 
time he looked deeper, attempting to see with Scully's eyes. The 
revelation quenched his anger like a bucket of icy water and 
reminded him why he'd made the decision which now had the man 
so outraged. 
Mulder's skin was chalky, deepening to dark, bruised shadows 
beneath his bloodshot hazel eyes. The expensive charcoal suit that 
he'd often seen the secretarial pool admiring was rumpled and 
hung off a frame gaunt with sudden weight loss. And the voice, 
though driven by rage on the surface, held a desperate note akin to 
unshed tears. Skinner abruptly understood Scully's deep worry and 
the reason she'd covertly approached him for help. Mulder was 
much more than exhausted, he was dancing on the razor's edge of a 
complete breakdown. 
"Mulder." 
His quiet, firm utterance of the name stemmed the flow of bitter 
words in a way that a rebuke never would. Skinner stood and 
moved around to lean against the front of his desk, folding his 
arms across his chest. Mulder glared at him, eyes narrowed and 
lips pressed tightly together. Skinner sighed and chose his next 
words carefully, feeling as if he were navigating a minefield. 
"Mulder, you need to step back. You've lost sight of what's 
important here, of what your priorities should be." 
"My *priority* is to find the butcher who is murdering little girls! 
Anything else is secondary!" Mulder snarled. 
Skinner regarded him calmly, compassionately. "That's exactly 
what I mean." When Mulder started to speak he held up a hand. 
"You're losing yourself to this maniac, Mulder. When was the last 
time you ate? Or slept for more than an hour or two? You were 
here all weekend, weren't you?" 
Mulder's long fingers clenched the armrests of his chair and he 
averted his eyes from Skinner's. Skinner shook his head, leaning 
forward just a bit to push the envelope and invade Mulder's space. 
"You don't have to answer, Mulder. I can see for myself. You look 
like shit." 
The words were spoken gently, without condemnation, but 
something snapped in Mulder and he thrust his own face forward, 
refusing to back down. 
"That's beside the point. For some unknown reason, this sick 
bastard is trying to impress me. I'm the only one who has a prayer 
of finding him, and I need to do my job. Nothing else matters." 
The implication of the statement tore at Skinner's heart, the more 
so because he knew how completely Mulder believed it. 
"It does to me," he said with quiet resolve. "*You* matter. This is 
not the damn ISU, Mulder, and I refuse to be cast in the role of Bill 
Patterson. You will *not* show your face in this building for one 
week. You will *not* call. You will *not* take the file home with 
you. If I find out you've violated any of my directives I will 
suspend you. At the end of the week I will assess your condition 
and determine whether you will be allowed to resume your spot on 
the team. Do I make myself clear?" 
Mulder's eyes were nearly black and for a moment Skinner was 
certain the man would take a swing at him. Wouldn't be the first 
time he thought ruefully, squelching the urge to rub his jaw. 
"Yes. *Sir*." Contempt dripped from Mulder's reply. "Are we 
finished?" 
Feeling suddenly weary, Skinner nodded. Mulder flung himself to 
his feet and stalked from the office, not even looking back to see if 
Scully would follow. Skinner removed his glasses and pinched the 
bridge of his nose, wondering if Kim had any Advil. Scully's 
voice, when it came, was softly apologetic. 
"Don't take it personally, sir. He's not himself right now." 
Skinner moved over to sink into the chair that Mulder had vacated. 
"Scully, you have a gift for understatement," he said wryly. When 
she tried to return his smile and failed, he sobered. "How long has 
he been like this? When you asked me to remove him from the 
case, I must admit I was afraid you were overreacting. But seeing 
him now..." He let the words trail off, feeling slightly ashamed. In 
truth, he'd feared that the change in Mulder and Scully's personal 
relationship had affected her objectivity. 
"It's been steadily building since he received the first heart. But 
since the shift in victims..." She swallowed and blinked rapidly. 
"It's tearing him up inside. He can't let go if it, even to eat or sleep. 
I'd heard the stories about how he'd get during a profiling case, but 
living it is different. I'm afraid for him, sir." 
Skinner sighed, vividly recalling when his agent had burst into his 
office unannounced eight weeks earlier. Mulder's face had been a 
blank mask, only the eyes communicating his horror. In his hand 
he'd clutched a fabric heart identical to those taken by the deceased 
serial murderer, John Lee Roche. In a deviation from Roche's 
M.O., however, this killer was mailing the hearts to Mulder with 
directions to the location of each body. The collection of hearts 
now numbered six, and Skinner had watched Mulder die a little 
with each new delivery. The last three little girls had all been dark 
haired and eerily reminiscent of his sister Samantha. 
"I knew he was working too hard," Skinner admitted, feeling more 
than a twinge of guilt at his complacency. "I just didn't realize he 
had reached this point. He's very good at hiding it, and we needed 
him so badly that I just didn't let myself look too closely. I'm sorry, 
Scully." 
Scully shrugged, but her eyes were still haunted. "You supported 
me, sir. You've let Mulder perceive you as the villain in this, and I 
appreciate that. If he knew the idea came from me he would view it 
as betrayal." 
Skinner reached out to briefly lay a comforting hand on her arm 
before they both stood. "Take care of him, Scully. You and I both 
know he's going to fight this. Keep him out of here, make him get 
some food and some sleep. I'll stay in touch." 
Scully cocked an eyebrow and for a moment he saw a flash of her 
dry humor. "Your confidence in me is inspiring, sir, I just hope it's 
not misplaced. I'll do my best." 
Skinner watched her square her shoulders a bit before exiting the 
office. Watching over Mulder in his present state of mind would be 
no easy task, but he had no doubts that she was equal to it.


Hegal Place
Monday
6:30 p.m.


The phone rang and Scully hastily scooped up the receiver, 
wincing a little at the noise. 
"Hello?" she said, keeping her voice as low as possible. 
Silence greeted her and she was just beginning to feel irritated 
when there was a tentative response. 
"Dana?" 
The smile felt alien on her face, an indication of just how tense the 
past weeks had been. 
"Hi, Grey! How are you?" 
"Can't complain. How 'bout yourself?" 
She couldn't disguise the slight hesitation. "Oh, hanging in there. 
It's good to talk to you, it's been a while." 
"Yeah, well, I've had an awfully hard time nailing down Fox. 
Every time I call lately I just get the machine. Hearing your voice 
kind of startled me. Is he there?" 
Scully gazed down at the dark head pillowed on her lap. Mulder 
was still deeply asleep, the lines of worry smoothed and his 
breathing deep and even. One arm was curled possessively across 
her knees and the other lay face up on the couch, the fingers 
slightly curled as if he were trying to grasp something elusive. 
"He's here, but he's asleep, Grey, and I'd really rather not wake 
him." 
She could almost see him checking his watch, feel his puzzlement. 
"Dana, it's six-thirty. He's asleep?" 
Scully's lips curved slightly at his obvious astonishment. "It's been 
a rough few weeks. Mulder's been working a profiling case that's 
become rather...personal. He's pushed himself to the point of 
exhaustion and Skinner just ordered him to take a week off to 
recoup." 
"I bet that went over real well," Grey remarked dryly. 
She found herself actually grinning and it felt wonderful. "He was 
less than gracious about it," she confirmed. "I finally managed to 
get him to lay down for a bit and he crashed hard." 
In truth, she'd tricked him into watching a movie, knowing he'd 
never last. Fifteen minutes past the opening scene his eyes had 
begun to droop. She'd pulled him down onto her lap, stroking her 
fingers soothingly through his hair in a manner she knew from past 
experience would relax him completely. Five minutes later he was 
limp against her and she'd switched off the movie she'd never 
really wanted to watch, in favor of a book. 
"You sound worried, Dana. Just how bad is he?" Grey's voice was 
probing, concerned. 
She just didn't have the energy to dodge the question, and she 
didn't really want to. Suddenly, she was the one in need of some 
support. "It's bad, Grey. He can't sleep without terrible nightmares, 
so he just doesn't sleep. And he hasn't been eating. Even when I 
manage to get him to consume something, half the time he winds 
up in the bathroom vomiting it back up." 
Grey was silent for a moment, considering. "You said that Skinner 
took him off this case for a week?" 
"That's right. After that he'll decide if Mulder has recovered 
enough to continue." 
"Think you could get him down here?" 
The question caught her completely by surprise. "What?" 
"Fox. Do you think you could get him down here for a few days? 
I've wanted him to meet my family for a while now but he's always 
too busy with work. Maybe getting completely away from 
everything for a few days would do him some good." 
A simple idea, but the more she considered it the better she liked it. 
In fact, it might just be the only way Mulder would survive the 
next seven days. 
"You sure you're up for that?" she asked, her mind still working 
furiously on the details. "What about work?" 
"I'll take a few days off. I've got plenty of time stored up and 
things have been amazingly quiet." Grey paused and she could feel 
him considering his next words. "I'd like to help, Dana. Fox and I 
have lost so much time that we can never get back. I want to be as 
much a part of his life now as I can." 
The naked honesty of his words brought a lump to her throat, but 
her heart soared. "I think it might be just what he needs, Grey. The 
hard part will be convincing Mulder of that fact." 
Grey chuckled quietly. "Yeah. He does tend to be a bit stubborn, 
doesn't he? Let me think a minute." 
Scully, amused by Grey's assessment of his brother (definitely the 
pot calling the kettle black), was content to wait. Mulder moved 
restlessly, his fingers twitching as he whimpered softly. She could 
see his eyes moving rapidly beneath the pale lids - a nightmare. 
When she murmured something softly reassuring and resumed 
threading her fingers through the thick dark hair he quieted. 
"You still there?" Grey asked, obviously having overheard. 
"Still here. Come up with any brilliant ideas?" 
"Tell him I need his help...building a shed. In the back yard." 
"That's your clever plan?" 
"It's the best I can come up with on such short notice," Grey 
replied sounding hurt, and she could almost see the protruding lip. 
Evidently pouting was a genetic trait in the Mulder family. "I've 
been meaning to do it for years." 
"You know, Mulder isn't exactly a handyman kind of guy," Scully 
said skeptically. "And do you even have the materials for a shed?" 
"I will by the time you get here." 
The laughter bubbled up without warning and she struggled not to 
disturb Mulder. "Sometimes you are so much like him. I think it's 
the whole 'fly by the seat of my pants' attitude." 
"I think I'm offended," Grey replied, fueling her laughter until the 
tears slipped down her cheeks. 
She finally got the giggles under control and sighed. "Thanks, 
Grey. You don't know how much I needed that." 
"No problem, darlin'. Can I expect you two sometime tomorrow?" 
"I'll do my best." 
Grey's voice was warm. "Then I'll see you soon. Don't you realize 
by now that Fox can't really deny you anything?" 
She hung up the phone and gazed down affectionately, her hand 
still rhythmically caressing silky strands. *Might as well give up 
now, Mulder. Between Grey and me you don't stand a chance. * 
The thought brought her a sense of peace she'd not felt in weeks.


Eagle Rock, NC
Tuesday
5:30 p.m.


Mulder was in his own world again, one that Scully couldn't enter 
and didn't really wish to. Though his eyes stared out the passenger 
window, the focus was inward, his brow contracted with troubled 
thoughts. She sighed and turned off the ignition but made no move 
to exit the car. 
"I miss you," she said quietly. 
She wasn't sure if her intention had been to startle him, but it did. 
He turned abruptly from the window to face her, his expression 
both puzzled and slightly irritated. 
"What?" 
"I said, I miss you." 
The quick, casual dismissal of her words in any other situation 
would have made her blood boil. "Scully, not only have we been 
working fifteen hour days, we're practically living together. How 
can you possibly say you miss me?" 
"You really don't see it, do you? You haven't been here, Mulder, 
not since you opened that first heart. You're like this, this...shell of 
a human being; I don't recognize you half the time." 
Anger, sharp and unrestrained, replaced his patronizing air. "What 
the hell do you want from me, Scully? It's the only way I know 
how to stop this bastard. It's what I *do*." 
She tamped down on her own irritation with difficulty, recognizing 
the defense mechanism. "I remember reading a story about a 
pioneer family when I was little," she said, ignoring his folded 
arms and pursed lips. "There were really bad blizzards, so bad that 
you could barely see your own hand in front of your face. If they 
had to go out in weather like that, say to feed the animals, they'd 
take a long rope and tie it to the front door of the house and hang 
onto the other end. That way, if they got lost in the storm they had 
an anchor, a means to find their way back." She blinked 
impatiently at the sudden sheen of tears that blurred her vision. 
"All I want is for you let me be that anchor, Mulder. Let me help 
you find your way back. Is that too much to ask?" 
The anger evaporated as quickly as it had come, and for the first 
time in weeks, his protective mask lowered to reveal the deep hurt 
beneath. "He's doing this for *me*, Scully. Little girls are dying 
because of some sick need to impress me. I have to stop him." 
The response was automatic -- one hand cupped the back of his 
neck and guided him closer so that she could plant a soft kiss on 
his forehead before resting her own against it. "I know that, love. 
You just don't have to do it all alone." 
Something like a shudder ran through him and his lips caught hers 
in a bruising kiss. When he finally spoke, his voice trembled 
slightly. "Bear with me, Scully. I'm still adjusting to that." 
She pressed her lips to his again before releasing him with a smile. 
"No problem, G-man. Now let's go before Grey sees us sitting here 
and comes up with one of those cute remarks he's so fond of." 
Mulder got out of the car, collecting their bags from the trunk on 
his way. Scully slipped her arm around his waist as they walked 
across the front yard to the door. She could feel the prominence of 
his ribs, the way his jeans hung loosely on his hips. Mulder lifted 
his hand to ring the bell, but paused. 
"I'll try my best, Scully. But I don't want to be here." 
She accepted the statement at face value, not as a reflection on his 
affection for his brother but an expression of his frustration with 
Skinner's mandate. 
"Look at it this way, Mulder. This is the ultimate chance for you to 
prove to me that you're a manly man in the full bloom of 
manhood." 
He snorted, but broke into the first genuine smile she'd seen in 
weeks as he pushed the button. A moment later the door was flung 
open by Grey, a potholder in one hand and a grin on his face. 
Scully saw his smile flicker a little when his eyes rested on his 
brother before he motioned them both inside. 
"Y'all made good time, did you have a smooth trip?" 
"Scully just has a lead foot," Mulder replied, wincing when she 
jabbed him in the ribs. 
"You can set your bags down by the stairs, we'll take them up later. 
Can I get you something to drink? 
"Iced tea would be great, if you've got it," Mulder answered, doing 
as Grey suggested. 
Scully watched his expression turn from startled to bemused as 
Grey pulled him into a quick hug and then leaned over to kiss her 
cheek. 
"Come on back," Grey tossed over his shoulder as he headed down 
the hallway. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Hope you two 
haven't eaten." 
The grimace slipped out before he could stop it. Scully linked her 
fingers with his and squeezed gently.

"Please try, Mulder." 
The kitchen shone brightly with the late afternoon sun, the air 
redolent with garlic and oregano. A large pot of something 
simmered on the stove and a loaf of bread browned in the oven. 
Grey placed a large glass of iced tea in Mulder's hand, the outside 
slick with condensation. Mulder took a long draught, staring out 
the sliding doors at the pile of wood near the back fence. 
"A shed, huh? How long did it take you to come up with that one?" 
Scully shot him a glare of supreme irritation as she accepted her 
own glass, but Grey's lips quirked in amusement. 
"Not long, really. It was a fly by the seat of my pants kind of 
thing." 
Mulder scowled at little, looking offended when Scully openly 
chuckled and Grey joined in. 
"So things have been pretty quiet around here?" Scully asked, 
pulling a chair from the table and sinking into it. After a moment 
Mulder followed suit, but his fingers drummed nervously. 
"To put it mildly. I'm even caught up on paperwork, and believe 
me, that's a first," Grey said dryly, stirring the contents of the pot. 
"At this point I could use a little excitement in my life." 
"Careful what you wish for," Mulder murmured, picking at the 
corner of his placemat. 
Grey paused in his task, eyeing his brother shrewdly. "Dana said 
it's a bad one." 
Mulder's shoulders stiffened and his lips compressed to a thin line 
but his eyes never rose from the table. "I don't want to talk about it. 
Sorry I brought it up." 
Grey, about to respond, caught Scully's slight shake of the head 
and clamped his mouth shut. He leaned over to pull the golden loaf 
from the oven, releasing a blast of hot air and the delicious smell of 
just baked bread. 
"Let's eat." 
Dinner was minestrone soup, savory with herbs and fresh 
vegetables and accompanied by the fresh bread. Scully sipped her 
wine, feeling the tightness in her chest loosen just a bit when 
Mulder managed to consume a slice and most of his bowl of soup. 
>From the corner of her eye she saw Grey inconspicuously 
observing with a look of satisfaction. With a burst of affection, she 
understood that he had designed the entire meal, from soup to 
wine, with his brother in mind. In his current condition, soup was 
possibly the only food Mulder could have kept down, and the wine 
would undoubtedly relax him. She sent Grey a look of gratitude 
and received a wink in return. 
"Go on into the family room," he urged, collecting Scully's bowl 
along with his own and depositing them in the sink. "I'm just going 
to put these in the dishwasher and I'll join you." 
Mulder stood and silently cleared his own dishes before moving 
into the next room. Scully looked about to help Grey, but he shook 
his head and inclined it toward the doorway where Mulder had 
disappeared. By the time she entered the room, her partner had 
already flicked on the television and tuned it to CNN. The 
conflicting emotions of anger, sadness, and frustration combined to 
form a large lump that lodged in the back of her throat. 
"Mulderrrr..." 
Mercurial as always, the hostility was back. "I have to know what's 
going on, Scully. Skinner won't let me call, what the hell do you 
expect?" 
"I expect you to let it go, which is what Skinner intended!" she 
snapped, her own weariness and anxiety catching up with her at 
last. "You are *off* the case, Mulder, and unless you play by the 
rules and give yourself a chance to rest, Skinner will never let you 
rejoin the team." 
She regretted the words immediately, not that they weren't true and 
he didn't deserve them, but because they only fanned the flames. 
"I can't let it go, don't you understand that? It's with me every 
second of every minute of every day! It's there when I try to eat, 
and God knows, it's there when I try to sleep. I can't just put it 
aside like a book I'll finish later. I have to at least know what's 
going on, Scully. I have to know if he's done it again!" 
He didn't even realize he was shouting until Grey appeared in the 
doorway, a dishtowel clutched in his hand. He couldn't meet his 
brother's troubled gaze, and Scully's face was a blend of anger and 
worry, so he dropped his head into his hands. 
"What are you going to do if he *has* taken another one, Mulder?" 
she asked quietly, and a part of him was composed enough to be 
grateful that it was uttered with compassion. "All it will do is tear 
you up inside. Punishing yourself will not help those girls or catch 
this monster." 
Before he could reply the anchorman's voice stole his attention and 
Scully and Grey slipped painlessly into the background. 
"...called Paper Hearts, named after a serial murder case solved 
over ten years ago. In what authorities feel is an attempt to copy 
deceased killer John Lee Roche, six girls between the ages of 
seven and ten have been systematically kidnapped and murdered. 
The case received its name because hearts were cut from the 
clothing of each of the murdered girls and mailed with instructions 
for finding the body. Sources say that someone inside the 
investigation has been the recipient of the hearts, though 
authorities refuse to confirm the rumor or reveal a name. As of 
today, there have been no new developments." 
Like a marionette whose strings have been severed, Mulder sagged 
visibly in relief at the words. His head pounded and he suddenly 
noticed that his hands were trembling. Clasping them firmly 
together beneath his chin, he tilted his head up to see Grey 
regarding him with a blend of sympathy and horror. 
"*That's* your case? The Paper Hearts case?" When Mulder 
nodded he ran one hand through his hair, then froze as a second 
epiphany struck. "*You're* the one he's sending the hearts to." 
Scully's small hand pressed gently against Mulder's thigh and he 
slumped back, letting his head drop against her shoulder. "Yeah. 
It's me." 
Grey turned to fling the dishtowel into the kitchen, then strode 
quickly across the room to snap off the television. "Geez, Fox, 
when were you going to tell me? That story has been plastered all 
over the newspapers and television for weeks, did you think I 
wouldn't want to know? No wonder you walked in here looking 
like death warmed over!" 
Perversely, he managed a small, sardonic grin at that. Scully had 
slipped her arm around his shoulders and drawn him closer, a 
gesture so simple in its mechanics yet profound to his spirit. 
"Death warmed over?" 
Grey's lips curved, though his eyes remained troubled. "Hey, don't 
knock it. That's my mother's expression. You looked in the mirror 
lately, little brother?" 
"You've got to admit, that description is eerily accurate," Scully 
intoned. 
"Ha, ha. If you're not going to let me watch the news can we at 
least put on a movie?" 
Scully abdicated herself from the choice and simply watched them 
haggle -- a spectacle far more entertaining than the sci-fi thriller 
finally agreed upon. Grey made popcorn and Mulder actually 
lasted three quarters of the way through the show before she felt 
his head grow heavier on her shoulder. She reached up carefully to 
run her fingers through his hair, grinning a little when he sighed 
and snuggled his face into the hollow between her shoulder and her 
neck. By the time the credits were scrolling across the screen the 
regular puff of his warm breath on her skin told her he was asleep. 
Grey rose to turn off the set and then returned to sit in the large 
stuffed chair that faced the couch. His eyes took in his bother's 
boneless sprawl and softened. 
"I wish you'd told me, Dana. Though I guess I understand why you 
didn't." 
"It wasn't something I wanted to discuss over the phone, Grey," 
she replied, keeping her voice barely above a whisper while her 
hand unconsciously began petting his hair again. "I never intended 
to keep you in the dark." 
"Why Fox? Why is this psycho sending him the hearts?" 
Scully closed her eyes but was unable to block out the images of 
nearly three years past: Roche's smug enjoyment as he held the 
final two little girls like poker chips, Mulder's face when Addie 
Sparks' father asked innocently if there were more unidentified 
victims, leaving him alone at his desk with the final heart clutched 
between his fingers, too afraid she'd cross the invisible line if she 
dared offer further comfort. 
"Mulder's profile was responsible for putting away John Lee Roche 
in the original Paper Hearts case. We think that the killer has 
fixated on Mulder -- sees him as a challenge and is trying to 
impress him." 
Grey leaned forward and dry washed his face with his hands. "No 
wonder Fox can't back off. The guilt must be eating him up 
inside." He stood slowly and stretched. "What are you going to do 
with him? You want me to help you get him upstairs?" 
She smiled and shook her head, tucking her hair behind one ear. 
"You go on up, Grey. He'll wake up before long and I'll take him 
up then." 
"You sure?" When she nodded his brow furrowed. "Dana, I can see 
he isn't getting much sleep, but what about you?" 
"I'm fine," she assured him, baffling Grey by smiling at her own 
words. "Don't worry about me." 
"Guest bedroom's to your left once you get to the top of the stairs, 
there's a double bed. That is, unless you need me to set up the cot?" 
He punctuated the question with a wicked grin.

Brothers. Scully rolled her eyes. "The bed will be fine, and do 
*not* go there." 
Unaffected by her warning, he gave her an exaggerated wink. 
"Good night, Dana. Sleep well." 
"You too, Grey. And thanks." 
Scully listened to his feet pad up the stairs before silence 
descended. She let her head drop back onto the cushion, relishing 
the sense of peace. Though little had changed to ease her worry, 
Mulder's body was warm against her own, and Grey's proximity 
reassuring. For now, that was enough.


Eagle Rock
Wednesday
6:05 a.m.


It took Grey's sleep befuddled brain several minutes to process that 
what had awakened him was the snick of the front door closing. 
Gazing at the glowing display on his clock, he groaned softly and 
buried his face in his pillow. This was supposed to be a day off, for 
Pete's sake -- he didn't even get up this early on a workday. His 
thoughts had actually begun to disengage and slip sideways into 
sleep when a clear image of his brother's pale, too-thin face neatly 
short-circuited the process and nudged him fully awake. 
Muttering under his breath about insomniacs and tranquilizers, he 
pulled on an ancient pair of shorts and a worn U of NC tee shirt. 
He padded along the hallway and down the stairs, noting that the 
guestroom door was tightly shut. As he'd suspected, Fox was 
leaning against the kitchen counter in sweat-stained running 
clothes and sipping a bottle of water. He appeared only marginally 
less exhausted than the previous evening. 
"Good morning." 
"You know, you're on *vacation* here, Fox. You don't have to get 
up at the crack of dawn," he observed grouchily, plugging in the 
coffeemaker and filling it with water. 
He regretted the edge to the words immediately when his brother's 
face went blank, an expression he'd already identified as 
"defensive mode." 
"Couldn't sleep. Sorry if I woke you." The words were granite, 
smooth and flat. 
*Damn*. Grey thought, irritated equally with himself and Fox. 
*Why does everything with you have to be so hard*? 
"Forget it," he said aloud. "You probably noticed by now that I 
don't wake up pretty." 
That got him a delighted grin and broke the tension. 
"Must be a genetic trait. Scully's no better though. We've learned 
to tread lightly and set up the coffeemaker the night before." 
Grey leaned back and folded his arms, favoring Fox with a raised 
eyebrow. "Things are still pretty new. How's it going?" 
His brother's eyes, normally cool and slightly wary, went 
amazingly soft and liquid. "Incredible. I don't know what Scully 
could be getting out of it, but I intend to treasure every moment 
while I can." 
Something about that statement disturbed Grey, and his eyes bore 
into Fox's. "You make it sound like it's temporary." 
The bland look was firmly back in place and Fox shrugged, 
suddenly fascinated with the brown stream that dribbled into the 
coffeepot. 
"Don't give me that crap, Fox! Why would it be temporary? You 
figure you'll get bored?" 
Like poking a rattlesnake with a stick, but it got results. His brother 
flushed and practically growled his response. "Are you crazy? 
What would make you say a stupid thing like that? Have you 
looked at her lately -- better yet, listened to her? Who could 
possibly get bored with that much brains and beauty all in one 
package?" 
"Then what? What's to stop you from being this way forever, from 
growing old together?" 
He gave a bittersweet smile at that, like a little kid with his nose 
pressed up to the window of a candy store with no money in his 
pocket. "*I* will." At Grey's mystified stare he continued. "I love 
her, Grey -- beyond reason -- beyond common sense. But I come 
with too much baggage, and one day Scully isn't going to be able 
to deal with it any longer. It's just a matter of time." 
It left him speechless. Anger, pity, sadness -- even a strange kind 
of amusement were all wrestling to take the upper hand. There was 
no self-indulgence in Fox's face, just resignation. Marveling again 
at how he'd been cast in the role of matchmaker, knowing that Kate 
must be laughing herself silly somewhere, he considered his next 
words carefully. 
"So that's it, huh? Dana's not capable of loving someone 
unconditionally. Or is it that you're just so astoundingly unlovable 
that she can't be expected to?" 
Fox gaped like a fish out of water. "I didn't...it's..." 
Grey zeroed in for the sucker punch. "It's bullshit. Dana loves you, 
baggage notwithstanding, and so do I. Your job is to get over 
yourself and do whatever it takes to make her happy." 
He wasn't used to vocalizing his feelings -- he was a guy, after all. 
But the look on Fox's face before he turned away, blinking rapidly, 
told him he'd better try more often. 
"By the way, you'd better brace yourself," he said dryly. 
Looking relieved at the change of subject, Fox's eyes narrowed 
suspiciously. "For what?" 
"We've been summoned to Mom's house for a cookout tonight. 
You're to meet the McKenzie clan. Think of it as a coming-out 
party." 
The panic was only half-feigned. "You're joking, right? This is to 
make up for all those years you didn't have a younger brother 
around to torment." 
"Mulder, your paranoia is showing," Scully said, entering the 
kitchen and crossing to his side, lips curved. "I made it quite clear 
to Grey that *I* am the only one allowed to torment you." 
She'd obviously just showered, her hair was still damp and her skin 
smelled faintly of soap and shampoo. Grey watched it spread 
slowly across his brother's face -- the smile that no one but Dana 
Scully could elicit. He glanced politely away when Fox murmured 
"good morning" and leaned down for a kiss, his own chest tight 
with the sudden sensation of loss. 
*Miss you, Kate. Every day*. 
Swallowing the grief like a bitter pill, he mustered a smile. 
"Coffee's ready. Any takers?"


Eagle Rock
Wednesday
2:47 p.m.



Mulder used the back of his arm to mop vainly at the sweat 
dripping from his brow. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this," 
he groaned, flopping down in the shade of an oak tree. "I'm dying." 
"Don't be such a wimp. How far did you run this morning, 
anyway?" Grey asked, dropping his hammer to rest his hands on 
his hips. 
"Too far. Can't we take a breather? I need a drink." 
"All right, all right. You stay there, I'll get us a soda," Grey 
relented, grinning tolerantly. 
"Tell Scully I expect her to join us. I'm no chauvinist," his brother 
growled, stretching out on his back. 
Scully was contentedly ensconced in a patio chair underneath the 
sun umbrella, reading a medical journal and sipping iced tea. 
"Looks like you two are making progress," she noted when Grey 
approached. 
"Fox expects you to lend a hand," he replied. "I think it's supposed 
to be some kind of reverse discrimination thing." 
"Mulder frequently needs to lower his expectations," Scully 
returned wryly. "And I think it's more a case of misery loving 
company. How's he doing?" 
"Let's just say there's a method to my madness. I can almost 
guarantee he'll sleep like a baby tonight." 
She smirked, but there was a weariness lurking around the edges. 
"We could both use it." 
When he returned with the sodas Fox's eyes were closed, but they 
immediately cracked open and he hauled himself upright, hand 
extended. For the next few moments the only sounds were the hiss 
pop of the can opening followed by swallowing and a sigh of bliss. 
"So, if I must make this foray into dangerous territory, you could at 
least arm me beforehand. Who exactly am I meeting tonight?" 
"You're nice. Okay, let's see. Mom and Dad, of course. Mom can 
be counted on to fuss over you, she's been brutal about wanting to 
meet you ever since she heard you'd found me. Then there's 
Shannon -- she's just ten months younger than I am. Mom wound 
up getting pregnant right after... Anyway, she's married to Rob and 
they have two kids -- Patrick, twelve and Amanda, ten. Rob is an 
accountant and I think I mentioned that Shannon works for a drug 
company. With me so far?" 
"Barely. Your youngest sister is Kira, right?" 
"Yeah," Grey's face darkened just a little. "She's divorced, and it 
was a rough one. The guy used to get physical with her but she put 
up with it until he started to be abusive toward their daughter, 
Claire. She divorced him three years ago and hasn't seen him since. 
He just disappeared -- a sure way to avoid child support. Claire is 
seven, now." 
He looked up to see Fox was far away. "That's why Mom finally 
divorced Dad," he murmured. "She put up with the booze and the 
verbal abuse. But after the second time he took a swing at me she 
tossed him out." 
Grey went very still, afraid to break the spell. Fox so rarely talked 
about his years growing up, and had never so openly admitted his 
father's abuse. He couldn't help wondering if this new openness 
was due to Dana worming her way more deeply into his life. 
"I'm sure that took a lot of courage," he finally said, feeling his 
way like a man in a dark room. "I know it hasn't been easy for 
Kira." 
"She never said it aloud, but I couldn't help feeling that she blamed 
me somehow. Like if I'd been a better son, Dad wouldn't have... I 
don't know. Scully always says I have an overdeveloped sense of 
guilt." He actually smiled a little at that. 
"Just don't let them all overwhelm you, Fox," Grey warned 
ruefully. "We tend to be kind of a touchy-feely bunch. Don't let it 
put you off." 
Fox rolled his eyes. "No problem. Scully's family tends to be the 
same way -- at least, Mrs. Scully. Bill's kind of touchy-feely would 
probably be to wrap his hands around my throat and squeeze." 
Ah, yes, there was the problem of Dana's older brother. Grey 
recalled a vague reference to Bill's less than charitable description 
of his brother. Grey got to his feet and held out a hand, pulling Fox 
up after him. 
"Okay, you had your break. I figure we can get another couple 
hours in before we need to get ready for dinner." 
"Geez, you're a tyrant! What did you ever do before you had me to 
order around?" Fox's voice was longsuffering but tempered by a 
mischievous grin. 
"Why do you think I went into law enforcement?" Grey 
deadpanned. "Now pick up that hammer and get to work!"


Bailey, NC
Wednesday
7:12 p.m.


"You're hiding. Are we *that* bad?" 
Startled, Mulder looked up into the laughing brown eyes of Kira. 
Grey was off somewhere with his brother-in-law, Rob, and when 
last seen Scully was deeply engaged in a decidedly technical 
conversation with Shannon about resistant bacteria. Left to his own 
devices and a little overwhelmed by the boisterous crowd, Mulder 
had retreated to the small gazebo near the back of the McKenzie's 
two-acre yard. 
"More like your brother wore me out building that shed of his," he 
replied, gesturing for her to take a seat. 
Kira rolled her eyes. "*Please*. He was talking about that shed 
when Kate was still alive. Wonder what finally lit the fire under his 
ass." 
Mulder chose to keep his suspicions about *that* to himself, 
watching as Kira plopped down into the lawn chair and brushed 
her long, curly brown hair behind her shoulders. 
"Grey says you hate to be called Fox. This must be your worst 
nightmare," she noted, her grin exposing a set of matching 
dimples. 
"Not even close," Mulder said ruefully. "I can't help it if I haven't 
embraced my parents' folly the way Grey has, though." 
"Don't let him snow you. He went through most of high school 
resenting his name. Most of his friends called him 'Mac.'" 
"Oh really? That's very interesting. Thanks for the info, Kira. 
Obviously I should've been talking to you sooner." 
"Hey, what kind of sister would I be if I wasn't willing to expose 
all his dirty little secrets?" Kira laughed merrily, and Mulder was 
abruptly struck by how pretty she was. She sobered a little, but her 
eyes were still twinkling. "So, FBI, huh? Grey explained a bit 
about the X-Files. Pretty interesting stuff." 
Mulder felt himself tense, then fought against it when he identified 
genuine curiosity on her face. "And your mother still invited me? 
Most people find my job a little ... disconcerting." 
Kira grinned. "Yeah? Well, I guess most people haven't seen every 
horrible B horror and science fiction movie known to mankind." 
"You?" 
"Me." 
Mulder clapped a hand to his chest. " Ah, a woman after my own 
heart!" He cocked an eyebrow. "Do your students know about this 
dark side of you?" 
She blew out a small puff of air and chuckled. "Fox, I teach eighth 
graders. Anyone over the age of twenty is on the dark side to 
them!" 
Mulder aborted his reply when Claire stormed up to the gazebo, 
her small face screwed up in distress and a bat and softball 
clutched in her hands. 
"Mommy! Patrick and Mandy are playing baseball and they won't 
let me play too!" 
Kira shot Mulder an apologetic look before taking her daughter's 
hand and drawing her gently closer. Claire's brown eyes brimmed 
with tears and her lip trembled. 
"Honey, maybe they were already in the middle of a game," Kira 
suggested gently. "I'm sure they'll let you play in a little while." 
"That's not what they said," Claire said, her voice quavering. "They 
said I can't play 'cause I'm no good. I can't throw the ball straight 
and I can't hit either. They said I'm too little." 
Mulder carefully suppressed a smile, vividly recalling countless 
battles with Samantha over the same issue. Never one to be easily 
put off, his sister would simply dog his every move until he gave in 
or managed to ditch her. Come to think of it, that was where he 
refined the technique he'd eventually used on Scully. 
"I'm sorry, sweetie. I know how hard it is to be the youngest, 
believe me," Kira sympathized. 
"I'll *always* be the youngest and I'll *always* be the worst," 
Claire wailed. "It's not fair!" 
"That's not true, you know," Mulder spoke up solemnly. "Well, the 
part about always being youngest is. But that doesn't mean you 
can't be as good as your cousins someday. You just need to 
practice." 
Claire scowled. "But how am I going to practice if they won't let 
me play?" 
Mulder pretended to frown in deep thought. "Hmm. I see your 
point. I suppose you'll just have to find someone else to practice 
with you." 
Claire considered this, then lit up like a light bulb. "What about 
you, Uncle Fox? Do you know anything about baseball?" 
Momentarily caught off guard by the form of address, Mulder 
quickly pulled himself together. "Me? Well, I suppose I know a 
thing or two." 
"Would you play with me? Please?" 
A person would have to be made of stone to resist that request. 
Mulder reflected that Kira was going to have her hands full in 
about another eight years. When he stood up, Claire squealed in 
delight, tears forgotten. Kira eyes shifted from her daughter's 
happy face to Mulder's. 
"Thank you." 
"No problem." 
Mulder took the ball that Claire offered and backed off a short 
distance, waiting for her to shoulder the bat. When she was ready, 
he lobbed the ball gently toward her. Claire, her tongue sticking 
out of the corner of her mouth in concentration, swung wildly and 
missed. Kira abandoned her role as observer and jogged over to 
collect the ball and toss it back to him. 
"Okay, Claire, just relax a little and don't try so hard," Mulder 
urged. "Just let the ball come to you." 
When she nodded, her face eager, he pitched the ball again. Claire 
was closer this time, but still swung too soon. Determination 
turned instantly to frustration and tears welled in her eyes again. 
"See? They're right! I can't do it," she lamented. 
Mulder caught the ball that Kira threw back to him, but rather than 
attempt another throw he trotted over to where Claire stood. He 
crouched down in front of the little girl so they were at eye level. 
"Don't give up," he admonished her gently. "You can do it, but not 
if you quit. Let's try something a little different." He looked up at 
Kira. "Think you can take over for a few pitches?" 
"If you don't expect anything fancy." 
As he'd done with Scully not so long ago, Mulder positioned Claire 
in front of him and bracketed her small hands on the bat with his 
large ones. 
"Okay, Claire, we're going to hit that ball together. You're going to 
step forward and swing, and you're going to remember one thing 
when you do." 
"What?" The eagerness was back in the little girl's voice and Kira 
was watching, her smile a little wistful. 
"Hips before hands. Like this." 
He guided Claire through the motion, half of him remembering the 
way Scully had felt in his arms that night. How she'd giggled -- 
Dana Scully had actually giggled! He'd come so close to telling her 
everything, pouring out his heart and soul, consequences be 
damned. Later, lying on his couch in his apartment and aching with 
loneliness, he'd told himself that everything had turned out for the 
best. That a relationship with him would only cause her pain. That 
she didn't love him the way he loved her. Thank God he'd been 
wrong. 
Mulder suddenly realized that he'd let his thoughts drift, and both
Claire and Kira were watching him expectantly. 
"So, what is it?" he asked Claire. 
"Hips before hands," she piped up, the mirror image of her mother, 
right down to the dimples. 
Mulder nodded to Kira and she tossed the ball. The bat made 
contact with a satisfying crack and Claire whooped with triumph. 
"I did it! Mommy, I did it!" 
Kira caught the ball and pitched it again, and again the little girl 
connected. This time the ball flew past her mother to land several 
hundred yards away. Claire dropped the bat and fairly danced with 
joy. 
"Good job, baby," Kira called over her shoulder as she jogged out 
to retrieve it. 
"And you said you couldn't hit. Gonna have to start calling you 
Claire Sosa," Mulder teased, grinning at the child's enthusiasm. 
To his shock, Claire threw her arms around his waist in a bear hug. 
"Thanks, Uncle Fox." 
"Should I be jealous that you're giving another woman batting 
lessons, Mulder?" 
He turned to see Scully standing behind him, lips curved with 
amusement and arms folded. Claire released him and smiled at her 
shyly. 
"Did you see me hit the ball?" 
"I sure did, and it was a beauty," Scully assured her. "Your 
grandma sent me to tell you dinner is ready and you should get 
washed up." 
"All right! I'm starving!" Claire bubbled and set off for the house at 
a run. 
Scully chuckled and Mulder slipped an arm around her shoulders, 
brushing his mouth across hers in a quick kiss. "You can have 
another lesson any time, babe," he murmured. "I've got a few 
moves I didn't show you last time." 
She pursed her lips and cocked an eyebrow. "I bet you do. But 
since Kira is headed our way and considering our present location 
I'd suggest you give 'em to me later, stud." 
Mulder threw back his head and laughed, delighting her with the 
unrestrained sound. When he saw Kira hesitate, an odd look on her 
face, he swung his arm in a beckoning movement and tilted his 
head toward the house. 
"Scully says dinner is served." 
Kira fell in beside them as they turned back to the house. "That 
explains it. I wondered why Claire was willing to stop playing so 
soon." 
Mulder noticed the slight reserve to her speech but chalked it up to 
the fact that Kira had spoken very little to Scully. They walked the 
rest of the way in a silence that gave way to the babble of 
organized confusion when they reached the large deck off the 
McKenzie's kitchen. They joined the others who were already in 
the midst of loading their plates with grilled chicken, potato salad, 
watermelon, corn on the cob and a spread of other dishes. The 
three children took their plates and climbed up into the small play 
fort to eat while the adults gathered around a large picnic table. 
Mulder found himself with Scully on one side and Kira on the 
other, his brother seated just across the table. He listened to the 
others chat easily about children, home improvements and 
vacations, feeling slightly surreal. Remembering Scully's talk of a 
"normal" life, he glanced down to find her looking back at him, a 
Mona Lisa smile on her face. Grinning, he leaned down to whisper 
in her ear. 
"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Dorothy." 
She'd just moved her hand to give his a small squeeze when the 
conversation jumped to include them. 
"So, Fox, is there anything you'd like to know about Grey?" 
Shannon asked, grinning evilly. "You know, stuff he wouldn't 
voluntarily admit to?" Though equally as pretty, Shannon was the 
opposite of Kira in looks -- straight blonde hair and green eyes. 
"Shannon," Grey growled in warning. 
"Hmm. Well, Kira already let me in on the fact that he hasn't 
always been so enamored of his name," Mulder said thoughtfully, 
fixing his brother with a baleful glare. "Which is interesting, 
considering he lectured me on the same subject." 
"That's nothing! We can tell way more interesting stories, can't we 
Kira? Like the time he took Jenny Pritchard parking and forgot his 
headlights on and..." 
"SHANNON!" 
Grey leaned over her threateningly as she attempted to fend him 
off, laughing wildly. 
"Later," Kira promised, shrinking back when her brother turned 
from Shannon to her. 
Mrs. McKenzie rolled her eyes and shook her head. "It's a good 
thing the kids aren't here. Honestly, you three will never grow up." 
"In an attempt to save my wife, I'll change the subject," Rob said 
wryly. "You and Dana must get to some pretty exotic locations. 
What's the farthest you two have ever gone on a case?" 
Mulder glanced at Scully, saw she was going to let him do the 
talking, and answered. "Well, the truth is that most of our cases are 
domestic, though we do a large amount traveling. But we did wind 
up in Antarctica last year." 
Of course, it got a reaction. Grey's parents looked stunned and Rob 
gave a low whistle. "Wow. You just exceeded my expectations." 
"What kind of a case took you all the way down there?" Shannon 
asked, cupping her chin in her hand and leaning forward in 
fascination. 
A little sorry he'd mentioned what had been a very dark time, 
Mulder shifted uneasily in his seat. "Um. I guess you could say it 
was a retrieval mission." 
"Am I just obtuse, or are you being deliberately cryptic?" Kira 
asked dryly. 
He couldn't help grinning at that, relaxing a little. Scully evidently 
took pity on him because she finally spoke up. 
"What he's not saying is that he was retrieving *me*. I'd been 
kidnapped and taken there. Mulder came after me." 
Grey's father frowned. "Kidnapping I can understand. But why 
Antarctica?" 
"I think there's a lot about the job that Fox and Dana can't go into," 
Grey inserted, coming to the rescue. "Details that are confidential." 
"Then I suggest we stop pressing them about it," his mother said, 
smiling warmly at them both. "I've waited this long to finally get 
Fox here for a visit, I won't have the rest of you chasing him away 
with your questions. Anyone want more? Fox? You look like you 
could stand to put on a few pounds." 
"Oh God, look out now," Kira murmured in his ear. "When Mom 
starts worrying about your health you know she's officially adopted 
you." 
Mulder couldn't help joining in her soft laughter. When he looked 
back he found Scully watching him, an unidentifiable look on her 
face. 
"You okay?" he asked, concerned. 
She nodded, but her gaze was still speculative as it followed Kira 
when she stood to clear her plate. He scooped up Scully's plate as 
well as his own and carried them in to the kitchen, returning to 
help Grey's mom as she began bringing in the leftover plates of 
food. 
"Fox, don't be silly, I can handle this," she protested. "Go and 
relax." 
"I'm relaxed, Mrs. McKenzie. And it's the least I can do after you 
gave us such a terrific meal," he replied, carrying in a platter that 
had once held the chicken breasts. 
He found himself thrown off balance yet again when she turned to 
lay her hand on his cheek. "Thank you, and call me Linda, Fox. 
Your mother taught you well, she must have been very proud of 
you." 
He couldn't recover quickly enough -- she must have seen 
something in his eyes. Removing the plate from his grasp and 
setting it down on the counter she took his hand in her own. 
"Fox, Bill and Teena were our closest friends. I loved them dearly 
and I would have done anything for them. Taking Grey was both 
the most wonderful and the most terrible thing I've ever done. I'll 
never forget Teena's eyes when I took him from her arms. And I'll 
also never forget walking into her hospital room after your birth 
and seeing you fill those arms again. Whatever else happened, 
whatever ways they may have let you down, never doubt that she 
and Bill loved you very, very much." 
Impulsively, surprising himself this time, Mulder blinked hard and 
leaned over to place a quick kiss on her cheek. "Thank you." 
She squeezed his hand before releasing it. "Now go enjoy yourself. 
I can finish up here." 
He was on his way back outside when a sound caught his attention 
and he followed it into the next room. Rob was seated on a couch 
in the family room, television on and the remote clutched in his 
hand. He looked up guiltily. 
"Shannon will be pissed if I watch T.V. so I'm just checking the 
score." 
Anything else he may have said fell on deaf ears. He didn't 
remember sinking down onto the floor, or Rob running out to find 
Scully. All he could see was a little girl's face. All he could hear 
was the anchorman's grave voice. 
"...eight-year-old Samantha Thomas, discovered missing from her 
home in Rockville at seven-thirty this morning. The pattern fits 
that of the man dubbed the 'Paper Hearts' killer, and police have 
instituted a statewide hunt for..." 
He didn't realized he'd dropped his head onto his knees until he felt 
Scully's soft hand run through his hair and settle warmly on his 
shoulder. He looked up and saw the concern and confusion in her 
warm gaze. 
"Mulder? What's wrong?" 
Her eyes followed his own to the screen and he saw 
comprehension and sorrow flood them. 
"He's done it again, Scully. Oh, God, he's done it again."


Eagle Rock
Wednesday
9:30 p.m.


Somehow, they'd made their excuses and left. Grey's family had 
been more than gracious in despite the slight shock of learning that 
Mulder and Scully were so deeply involved in "that" case. Grey's 
mother had been particularly solicitous, fussing over Mulder in a 
way reminiscent of Margaret Scully. Even Kira had gone out of her 
way to give his arm a gentle squeeze, murmuring that she was 
sorry and hoped to see him again soon. 
Scully had reappeared at that point, back from saying her own 
farewells, and had linked her arm in his. Mulder would have been 
amused at the possessiveness of the gesture if he hadn't been so 
preoccupied with the news of the latest kidnapping. He'd allowed 
Scully to steer him out to Grey's car and badgered his brother until 
Grey had given in and tuned the radio to an all news station for the 
trip home. 
When they stepped into Grey's house, Mulder turned abruptly to 
pin Scully with an intense and anguished stare. "I want to go home. 
Now." 
*Here we go* thought Scully wearily, and the battle was joined. 
"Mulder, there is no reason to go back. Skinner has removed you 
from the case, and if he finds out you've disobeyed that directive 
you *know* he'll suspend you." She tried to keep her voice calm 
and reasonable, disturbed by the wildness in his eyes. 
"Scully, he's taken another one. It's only a matter of time..." 
"That doesn't change anything, Mulder. Skinner's orders were very 
clear." 
Outrage, desperation, fury -- all combined to sculpt Mulder's 
features into an expression that made her flinch. "*Doesn't change 
anything?* How can you say that? It changes everything! Who do 
you think is going to open that next heart?" 
"I don't know. But someone will. Skinner will take care of that. 
You're on the edge, Mulder. You need to pull back and regroup 
before you can continue. I agree with Skinner on that." 
He stared at her with narrowed eyes, then suddenly went slack 
jawed in astonishment. "It was you all along. *You* put Skinner 
up to this. *You* told him to pull me off the investigation." 
Scully wanted to deny it but she'd never been a good liar and the 
guilt on her face was almost palpable. "I was worried about you. 
You weren't eating, weren't sleeping -- you were beginning to look 
like a walking corpse!" 
"So you went behind my back to Skinner? How could you do that 
to me, Scully?" 
The betrayal that she'd feared when she asked Skinner to keep her 
involvement a secret was all she could see in his eyes. "I love you. 
I didn't know what else to do. Whatever you may think, I did it for 
you." 
"So what -- I'm suppose to be grateful?" Mulder sneered. "Forgive 
me if I can't find it in my heart to thank you right now, Scully. It's 
a little hard when you've got a knife in your back." 
Scully could only stare after him, open-mouthed, as he stomped up 
the stairs to the guestroom and the door shut loudly behind him. 
Grey winced, seemed about to reach for her, then dropped his hand 
back to his side. 
"He was out of line, Dana. He's not thinking straight." 
Part of her was angry, part just hurt. "Yeah. That's supposed to 
make it all right, I guess." 
Grey frowned. "No, not all right. Just...comprehendable." 
She laughed, but it was a bitter, jagged sound. "Well, you can't 
fault me for not knowing him. I told Skinner he'd go ballistic if he 
found out I was the one behind this little vacation." 
The sound of a door opening and Mulder came down the stairs 
dressed in running clothes. "I'm going running," he said 
unnecessarily, avoiding Scully's eyes. "I'll be back in while." 
"Hang on a minute, I'll go with you," Grey said. 
He actually had a foot on the first step before Mulder's empathetic 
reply stopped him. 
"NO. I need some time alone, not company." 
He didn't wait for acknowledgement or acceptance, just 
disappeared out the front door and shut it firmly. Grey looked 
taken aback, then his lips curved slightly. 
"Now, see that? It's not just you he's mad at, it's everyone." 
Scully managed a genuine smile, shaking her head ruefully. "I feel 
so much better." 
"Come on, I'll buy you a drink," Grey chuckled, heading down the 
hall to the kitchen. "You know him better than I, is he going to be 
all right?" 
"Diet Coke, please," Scully said when he'd opened the refrigerator 
and looked at her inquiringly. "And the answer to your question is 
yes and no. He'll run until he's worked the anger out of his system -
- or at least until he has a better handle on it. Running has always 
been one part exercise to two parts therapy for Mulder. But he's not 
really in the kind of shape for that kind of exertion right now, so 
he'll most likely come back completely wiped out." 
Grey sipped his own soda, just mulling over her words for several 
minutes. "Dana," he finally began hesitantly. "I don't want to pry, 
so feel free to tell me to butt out if necessary. I just can't help 
feeling like there's something more about this case that you're not 
telling me. I understand Fox's pain over these murdered little girls, 
and that the ties to his old case make that pain even more acute. 
Still..." 
Scully sighed, but her lips quirked. "You Mulder brothers and your 
damn intuition. No, it's okay," she hastened to add as Grey began 
to backpedal. "You're right. There *is* something else about this 
case that presses Mulder's buttons." Another sigh, and she searched 
for the right words. "You already know that Mulder's profile put 
away John Lee Roche, the original Paper Hearts killer. At the time 
Roche had confessed to thirteen murders, but Mulder was always 
skeptical, always wondered if there were more little girls we didn't 
know about. About three years ago, Mulder had a ... a dream that 
lead him to the location of a body. It was another little girl, and her 
clothing was missing a piece of fabric in the shape of a heart." 
Grey's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "A *dream*? Okaaay. 
So I take it that Roche had killed that little girl as well?" 
Scully nodded, grimacing a little at the memories that battered her.
"We found Roche's stash of fabric hearts and there were sixteen, 
including one for Addie Sparks, the little girl Mulder dreamed 
about. Mulder hoped we could convince Roche to come clean 
about the last two girls so we went to see him in prison." 
"That must have been pleasant," Grey noted dryly. 
"He basically jerked us around, but that wasn't the worst of it. He 
inferred that one of the two remaining victims was Samantha." 
Grey closed his eyes. "Shit." 
"No kidding. Mulder lost all perspective. He became convinced 
that Roche had killed his sister, and finding out that Roche *had* 
been in New England in 1973 and *had* sold his dad a vacuum 
cleaner only supported that belief. See, that's how Roche chose his 
victims -- selling vacuums door to door." Scully paused and 
massaged her temples in a vain effort to quell the headache that 
was building. 
"Roche wouldn't tell Mulder where Samantha was supposedly 
buried -- said he had to *show* him." 
*I can't wait to see your face*... 
Scully grimaced again, recalling the look on Mulder's face at those 
words, her own fury. "Mulder signed Roche out of prison without 
Skinner's permission and Roche ended up getting away from him. 
He kidnapped another little girl before we could track him down 
and was holding her hostage. Mulder had to shoot him." 
Grey ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. "So Fox 
never knew for sure if Roche was telling the truth?" 
"One victim is still unidentified," Scully said softly. "I think 
subsequent events have shown Mulder that Roche was lying. But I 
also think there will always be that one small kernel of doubt." 
Grey didn't speak at first, just finished his drink. "Thanks, Dana. I 
appreciate you filling me in. It all makes more sense now." 
Scully set down her own empty glass and rose to her feet. "I think 
I'll call Skinner. Maybe he can give me something that will 
reassure Mulder a little. It's worth a try." 
She made her way up to the guestroom and dug her cell phone out 
of her suitcase, still unable to shake the memories of Roche. 
Mulder had nearly lost his job over that incident. She was 
determined to see he didn't make a similar blunder now. 
Skinner was still at the Bureau, his voice gruff with barely checked 
impatience. "Skinner." 
"Sir, it's Scully." 
A short pause, she could almost hear the wheels turning. "How's he 
taking it?" 
Part of her wanted to smile at his perceptiveness, part to weep at 
the need for it. "Not good." 
"Can you keep a leash on him?" 
Her lips twisted in the parody of a grin. "I'm not sure. I'm not very 
high on his list right now. He figured out I was the one who 
convinced you to pull him from the team." 
Skinner cursed softly. "I'm sure that went over really well." 
"What's the status, sir? Do you have anything I can give him to 
pacify him? Anything at all?" 
Skinner's sigh spoke of too many cups of coffee and too many 
sleepless nights. "I wish I did, Scully. But so far we've come up 
empty-handed, and the next heart will be due in less than twenty-
four hours." She could almost see him pinch the bridge of his nose. 
"Be straight with me, Scully. Is he going to hare out on you like 
last time?" 
A spark of irritation flared at his words. Resentment of being cast 
in the role of Mulder's keeper once again. Most of the time she 
didn't really mind, but today it had been a thankless job. 
"I'm doing my best to avoid that, sir." 
Skinner obviously detected the sharpness in her tone, since his 
voice turned distinctly apologetic. "I know you are, Scully. You're 
probably the one person who can." 
It eased the tension, and she smiled. "I've got a little help this time. 
Grey will sit on him, if necessary." 
Skinner actually chuckled at that. "A Mulder against a Mulder. 
Now why didn’t I think of that? Keep me informed, Scully." 
"Yes, sir." 
Scully was just tucking her cell phone away when she heard the 
front door open and the sound of laughter. Puzzled, she descended 
the stairs to see Mulder standing in the front hall with Kira at his 
side, both bearing several plastic containers. Grey had just 
emerged from the kitchen. 
"Hey, Sis, what brings you to this neck of the woods?" he asked, 
smiling. 
"Y'all left so quickly, Mom didn't have time to give you any of the 
leftover food. I told her I'd drop it off on my way home," she 
explained. "I saw Fox and gave him a lift back." She grinned. "He 
looked like he needed it." 
Mulder grinned back, all traces of his former anger missing -- a 
fact which irritated Scully. "She's right. I was hurting." 
"You know I never turn down free food. Bring it on back, do you 
want something to drink?" Grey offered. 
Kira shook her head and handed him her offerings. "Thanks, but 
Claire is asleep in the car and I have to get her home to bed." She 
grasped the doorknob but paused. "See you tomorrow, Fox?" 
Mulder cheerfully nodded. "Guess so, if you're sure." 
"I'm positive. Good night, everyone." 
Grey locked the door, turning to his brother with a question on his 
face. "Tomorrow? What's she roped you into -- talking to her 
students?" 
"Bingo," Mulder confirmed, wiping his sweaty brow with the hem 
of his shirt. "They've been studying different professions and she 
thinks the kids would be interested." 
"Yeah. She talked me into it last year. Have fun little brother, the 
Q&A session can get...interesting." Grey said wryly. 
"Great. I'm going to hit the shower," Mulder replied, and Grey 
relieved him of his own containers. 
Scully was still standing halfway down the stairs, her brain trying 
to process his mood swing, when Mulder reached her and stopped. 
Grey immediately made himself scarce in the kitchen. 
Mulder's expression was contrite. "Scully, I shouldn't have said 
what I did. I'm sorry." He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and 
continued past her. 
She was abruptly furious. The anger came on several different 
levels -- several different flavors, you might say. First, was the 
bitter taste from a brief apology that was supposed to magically 
erase his hurtful words spoken not an hour before. Then there was 
the sour tang from his easy laughter with Kira -- again, not an hour 
after he'd basically accused *her* of disloyalty. They formed a 
very unpleasant combination. 
She stomped up the remaining stairs to find him stripping his 
clothes in preparation for a shower. The sight of his ribs, so much 
more prominent than normal, gave her pause for a moment but she 
bit back her sympathy. Not even attempting to be diplomatic, she 
let him have it with both barrels. 
"Kira has a crush on you, Mulder." 
He gaped. Scully knew the pattern by now -- Sheila Fontaine, 
Karin Berquist. For some reason, Mulder seemed unable to accept 
the simple fact that women were attracted to him. She folded her 
arms across her chest and glared at him, daring him to deny her 
words. Mulder's answering scowl appeared within seconds. 
"What the hell are you talking about? She's Grey's *sister.* I'm like 
another brother, for Pete's sake! Her daughter calls me Uncle Fox." 
"Be that as it may, she *does* have a crush on you," Scully 
snapped, out of patience. "You'd better be very careful." 
He stared at her for a moment before adopting the expression she 
could only call his "smartass" look. The one that said she knew 
nothing while he, on the other hand, was an authority on 
everything. It made her crazy. 
"You're jealous, Scully. And while I find that flattering, it's not a 
very nice way to treat Kira. Now, I'm going to take my shower." 
Scully wanted so badly to slug him her fingers actually curled into 
a fist. Instead she forced herself to try again. 
"You're the one that needs to take a look at how you're treating 
Kira, Mulder. You're going to wind up hurting her if you don't." 
Anger replaced amusement. "Drop it, Scully. I'm not discussing 
this with you any more. Whatever problem you may have with me, 
there's no excuse for taking it out on Kira. You only sound 
vindictive." 
Mulder stalked into the bathroom and shut the door, cutting off any 
chance for reply. Bewildered, hurt, and very angry, Scully was left 
standing dumfounded in the middle of an empty room.


Eagle Rock
Thursday
5:48 a.m.


Seriously considering the idea of inflicting bodily harm, Grey 
swung his legs off the side of the bed and scrubbed at his face with 
both hands. He padded past the closed guestroom door and down 
the stairs, not really surprised to find his brother sipping water in 
front of the television this time. Tuned to CNN, of course. 
"Don't you ever sleep?" he growled, starting the coffee. "And how 
often do you run, anyway?" 
"Good morning to you, too," Fox said, never pulling his eyes from 
the screen. 
"I'm serious, Fox, you're in no kind of shape right now to be 
running so much. You've already dropped too much weight. Dana's 
going to be pissed." 
Fox muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously 
like "so what's new?" Grey dropped into the recliner, noticing for 
the first time that the afghan was unfolded and the couch appeared 
to have been slept on. Uh oh. 
"You *did* patch things up with Dana last night, didn't you?" he 
demanded, brows drawn together. 
"Back off, Grey. This is none of your business," his brother 
warned, still not meeting his eyes. 
"You were a jerk, Fox. If you can't see that ..." 
"Just shut up!" Fox snapped, springing to his feet and taking two 
quick strides forward. 
For a moment Grey actually flinched, certain that he was about to
receive a more physical expression of his brother's anger. Fox only
flicked off the television and turned to glare at him, hands on hips. 
"What goes on between Scully and me is *our* business. Leave it
alone." 
Grey heard the whisper of sock feet on tile and Dana stepped into 
the kitchen. Her hair was rumpled and a white terry bathrobe 
shrouded her small form. Dark circles beneath her blue eyes 
attested to a less than restful night. Grey watched as her gaze 
wandered to Fox and then skittered quickly away, a combination of 
anger and hurt darkening her expression. His brother visibly 
stiffened, jaw clenched. 
"Morning, Dana," Grey greeted easily. "Coffee should be just 
about ready." 
"Thanks, Grey." 
Grey got up and ambled into the kitchen, sensing his brother just 
two steps behind. Scully pulled two mugs from the cupboard and 
filled both with coffee, silently handing one to Mulder. He 
accepted the offering, the brittleness of his mood softening and his 
lips curving slightly. Mulder's fingers snagged Scully's after he'd 
taken the mug, and entwined with them. 
"You look tired," he said softly. 
Scully moved closer and leaned into him, looking up into his eyes. 
"I didn't sleep so well last night. I was cold." 
Sharp enough to realize she wasn't indicating she'd needed a 
blanket, Grey opened the refrigerator and busied himself with 
extracting English muffins and jam. From the corner of his eye he 
saw Fox reach out to cup Dana's cheek, murmuring words he 
hoped were some form of apology. 
The next few minutes were spent in a fairly comfortable silence 
except for the sounds of the toaster popping and the refrigerator 
opening and closing. When they had seated themselves at the table 
Mulder fixed Scully with a penetrating stare. 
"I checked CNN. Samantha Thomas is still missing." 
Grey tensed, prepared for a burst of anger that never came. 
"I'm not surprised. I talked to Skinner last night. He wasn't 
hopeful," Scully said quietly. "Mulder, I know what you're 
thinking ..." 
Mulder's grip on his mug was white knuckled. "You mean like 
there's no way in hell that it's a coincidence this one's name is 
Samantha? Or that she's already dead and discarded somewhere, 
waiting for us ..." His voice caught and he took several ragged 
breaths before continuing. "For *someone* to come dig her up? 
Like an object, a ... a prop whose only purpose is to continue this 
bastard's sick ego-trip while I sit around pounding nails and 
proving I'm no Bob Villa? Because if that's what you know I'm 
thinking, then you're absolutely right." 
"I know you're frustrated, Mulder," Scully replied, an edge 
creeping into her voice. "But driving yourself to the point of 
complete physical and emotional collapse won't help those little 
girls." 
"And this will? I'm sorry, Scully, but I just can't accept that!"
Mulder pushed away the plate that still contained half of a muffin 
and stood, his chair scraping noisily against the floor. 
"Mulder, please! At least sit down and finish eating," Scully said, 
worry masquerading as irritation in the small line between her 
eyes. 
"I need to shower. Kira's picking me up at 7:30." 
The small line became more pronounced. "So you're actually going 
through with that? Since when have you been so eager to talk to a 
bunch of middle-schoolers?" 
Grey watched as his brother, who'd carried his plate to the sink, 
spun around with his face twisted in a snarl. "What do you want 
from me, Scully? You're on my back about not pursuing the case 
but when I try to do something to take my mind off it you give me 
grief! Make up your damn mind!" 
When Fox had stomped out of the kitchen, Grey turned, expecting 
matching fury from the woman beside him. What he did see left 
him startled and fumbling for a response. For just an instant Dana's 
face bore a naked, vulnerable expression of hurt until she seemed 
to feel his gaze and the cool mask slipped into place. 
"You've been getting a ringside seat lately, Grey," she said wryly. 
"Sorry about that." 
Still feeling as if he were nearsighted and operating without 
glasses, Grey smiled reassuringly. "I'm not exactly shocked, Dana. 
Kate and I had our own share of brawls, believe me. And don't 
worry about Fox. Kira will take good care of him, and those kids 
won't leave him with any time to get into trouble. In fact, I'm sure 
she wouldn't mind if you came along too." 
Dana's lips quirked but there was no humor in her voice. "I'm sure 
she'll manage just fine without me. Anyway, I have some 
paperwork I can catch up on." Her dishes joined the others in the 
sink though her exit was far less dramatic than Mulder's had been. 
Grey sat alone at the table with his now-cold cup of coffee, trying 
to figure out what had just occurred. Dana's expression when he'd 
mentioned Kira had been decidedly strained. And though things 
were already tense, Dana's reaction over Fox talking to Kira's 
students seemed unfair, almost ... Grey shook his head when the 
word popped into his mind. Jealous? Dana Scully was an 
extremely confident and secure woman, nearly impossible to 
picture in the role of possessive girlfriend. If she'd reacted that way 
to Kira, she must have seen something he'd missed. He was still 
replaying the events of the last twelve hours through his mind 
when the front doorbell rang perfunctorily and Kira let herself in 
with her key. 
"Hey you! I know I'm early, but Claire was itching to get to 
daycare and I figured Fox and I could ..." She trailed off, puzzled 
by her brother's intent expression. "What?" 
Inspiration struck, and Grey leaned back. "Nothing. You can have 
a cup of coffee if you'd like. They should be ready soon." 
Kira's bright smile faded, causing his gut to churn with 
disappointment and sympathy. "They? But I thought just Fox ..." 
She stopped abruptly this time, reading the emotions in her 
brother's eyes. 
"Kira. What do you think you're doing?" Grey said, his voice a soft 
rebuke. 
"What do you mean, what am I doing? I came to pick up Fox! I 
just wasn't expecting Dana to come along." 
"She's not. I just said that to see your reaction. It told me all I need 
to know, Kira." 
Kira's chin came up and her eyes blazed. "I don't know what you're 
talking about! I just asked Fox to help me because I thought the 
kids ..." She lost steam and her shoulders slumped under his steady 
gaze. 
Grey stood up and pulled her into his arms. "I know you're lonely, 
Kira. You think I don't understand that? But this isn't the way, and 
you know it." 
His sister clutched his tee shirt in her fists and buried her face in 
his neck. "I really like him, Grey. He's sweet and it seems like we 
actually have some things in common. And he was so good with 
Claire. Do you know how many men turn tail and run when they 
find out I have a child?" 
Grey reached up to stroke Kira's curls, struggling around the lump 
in his throat. "I understand, Mouse. He's a good man, and God 
knows you deserve that. But believe me when I say that I have 
never seen two people who belonged together more than Fox and 
Dana. You'll only hurt them and yourself unless you accept it." 
Kira stepped back, blinking back her tears. "I told myself there was 
nothing special between them," she said huskily. "I wanted to 
believe that." 
Grey smiled ruefully, remembering his brother's drugged 
confession. *She's everything to me.* "I gotta hand it to you, 
Mouse. When you're wrong, you're wrong." 
Kira mustered a wisp of a smile, thin and unsubstantial. "I'm sorry, 
Grey. I just didn't want to be alone any more. Is that so wrong?" 
The lump became a fist, squeezing until his voice was little more 
than a whisper. "If it is, I'm right there with you." 
"You think we have a chance, that maybe the right person is out 
there somewhere?" 
Grey thought about Kate -- the laughter, the tears, the love. It was 
inconceivable that he'd already received his allotment of that kind 
of happiness -- happiness Kira had yet to experience. 
"God, I hope so, Kira. I'm counting on it."


Eagle Rock
Thursday
11:52 a.m.


Kira pulled into the driveway and put the car into park, still 
laughing softly. 
"Well you can't say that Grey didn't try to warn you," she said. 
Mulder snorted, running his fingers through his hair. "Yeah. He 
said the questions could get 'a little rough.' Major understatement." 
She grinned. "Come now, Agent Mulder. They weren't *that* bad. 
I think you handled yourself very well." 
"Sure until that kid, Mike Pervert." 
Kira snickered. "Purvis." 
"Whatever. How am I supposed to answer when a fourteen-year 
old kid asks if I get to use my handcuffs at home?" Mulder's voice 
was righteously indignant. 
"You have a dirty mind. He probably meant it very innocently," 
Kira said sternly, but couldn't keep up the façade and collapsed 
into laughter again. 
"I'd better let you get back before your entire lunch hour is over," 
Mulder said when they'd regained some semblance of control. He 
reached for the door but was stopped by Kira's hand on his arm. 
"Fox, wait a minute. There's something I need to say to you." 
Puzzled, he released the handle and looked at her expectantly. Kira 
took a deep breath and slowly let it out, gathering her courage. 
"Fox, I ... I think maybe I've caused trouble between you and 
Dana." 
He frowned and shook his head, holding up one hand to stop her 
from continuing. "Kira, please don't worry about that. Scully just 
has this strange notion in her head, but she'll get over it." 
"She's right, Fox. She had every reason to be jealous." 
Mulder's jaw dropped and he blinked. "What? What are you 
saying?" 
Kira ducked her head, reddening. "I'm saying that my motivations 
for asking you to talk to the kids today were not exactly pure. I like 
you, Fox, and I'd hoped ..." She looked up, still blushing but her 
face composed and determined. "Anyway, I didn't realize the depth 
of your relationship with Dana -- or didn't want to. I'm really sorry. 
I hope you understand and forgive me. And I really hope Dana 
can." 
Still thunderstruck, Mulder grasped for a response. "Kira, I ... I 
don't know what to say. I'm flattered. But I also hope that I didn't 
do anything to make you think ..." 
Kira impulsively laid her hand on his arm and shook her head. 
"You didn't. You were fun to talk with and very sweet to Claire. I 
saw only what I wanted to see." 
Mulder's shock was suddenly subordinated by the memory of 
Scully's warning and his own insensitive comeback. He winced, 
then looked at Kira. 
"Thank you for telling me, Kira. I know this couldn't have been 
easy for you to say." 
Kira's lip trembled slightly, but she shrugged. "I think I owed you 
both than much. Now I guess I'd better get back to school." She 
paused. "I hope we can still be friends, Fox." 
Mulder smiled. "I'd like that, Kira." 
He stood on the driveway long after she'd driven out of sight, 
feeling a bit shell-shocked. Finally he wandered around the side of 
the house to the backyard, figuring that Grey would be working on 
the shed. His brother was nowhere in sight, but Scully was laying 
on a chaise lounge, enjoying the late September sun and filling out 
an expense report. She eyed him blankly and dropped her eyes 
back down to the papers. 
"Have fun?" 
Her voice was cool, face expressionless and her walls firmly 
locked into place. Mulder's stomach clenched. 
*I am an idiot, and this calls for some serious groveling*. 
He walked over to the chair and sat on the edge, ignoring her grunt 
of irritation. 
"Move over." 
"*Move over?* In case it's escaped your keen, analytical mind, 
Mulder, this chair was built for one -- ahhh!" 
Scully shrieked in surprise as he slid his body more securely onto 
the webbing and reclined, rolling her so that she was neatly 
stretched against his side. Scully, now furious at being manipulated 
like an oversized doll, struggled to sit up, but he calmly pulled her 
back down until her head rested on his chest and was tucked 
beneath his chin. 
"Mulder, I don't know what you think you're doing, but ..." 
"Trying to come up with an adequate apology for being such a 
bastard. It isn't easy for me, even when I know it's true." 
Scully stopped squirming and went very still. She could hear the 
rapid thumping of his heart, feel the tension thrumming through his 
limbs. This was no casual request for forgiveness. 
"Go on." 
"Kira asked me to tell you she's sorry for any trouble she caused 
between us. She admitted to me that she...um ..." 
Scully took pity on him. "I get it, Mulder. You don't need to draw 
me a picture." 
"I don't know what to say, Scully, except that you were right. I just 
hope you believe me when I say that I never meant to do anything 
to make Kira feel that way." 
She couldn't help smiling a little at the bewildered note to his 
voice. "I know that, Mulder. Just like I know it's remotely plausible 
for someone to think you're hot." 
He laughed softly at that, and she could feel the anxiety seep from 
him. His fingers began to comb gently through her hair and she 
sighed, feeling the knot in her own chest loosen. 
"I'm sorry too, Mulder." 
The hand in her hair froze and he tilted her head up so that her eyes 
met his own. "You? What do you have to be sorry about, Scully?" 
She ducked her head back down but tightened the arm thrown 
across his chest. "I could've handled things better. I may have been 
right about Kira, but I was also jealous. I'm still trying to adjust to 
the change in our relationship, and I guess sometimes I feel a little 
insecure about my place in your life." 
He tilted her chin up again and she was overwhelmed by the 
unguarded love on his face. "You're in the same place you've been 
for the last six years, Scully. At the very center, touching every 
part of me. That hasn't really changed." He grinned mischievously. 
"I just get to do this now." 
He tugged her closer and his lips met her own, softly and tenderly 
at first, then with increasing passion as her mouth opened and the 
kiss deepened. With an impish smile of her own, Scully abruptly 
shoved him backward so that she was essentially on top of him. 
She braced her arms on his chest and set about exploring every 
inch of his mouth, her tongue twining with his one moment, her 
teeth nibbling at his bottom lip the next. Mulder moaned softly and 
plunged his hands into her hair, attempting unsuccessfully to hold 
her still long enough to regain the upper hand. 
"Glad to see you two worked out your differences," Grey drawled, 
startling them both so that Scully nearly toppled off the lounge. 
They shared a smile, still breathing heavily, before Scully carefully 
moved over so that Mulder could stand up. With a smirk, he 
handed her the crumpled expense report that had become situated 
under his right thigh. 
"That's the second time you've done that," he said to his brother, 
eyes squinted in annoyance. "Did you ever consider just turning 
around and coming back later?" 
"Where's the fun in that?" Grey replied innocently. "Anyway, I just 
got the mail and there's a letter for you. Must be from work, the 
postmark says D.C." 
To Grey's surprise the color drained from his brother's face and the 
hand that reached for the letter trembled. Scully was on her feet 
and at his side in one quick movement. 
Mulder's fingers shook so badly it took two attempts before he'd 
loosened the flap. Before he could reach inside, Scully's hand shot 
out to stop him. 
"Mulder, wait!" 
She reached down to fumble in her briefcase, finally holding up a 
pair of latex gloves. Understanding flooded Grey's face and he 
swallowed hard. After donning the gloves, Mulder pulled out a 
single sheet of white paper and unfolded it very carefully. He 
gently lifted the heart -- soft cotton fabric decorated with tiny 
pictures of Winnie the Pooh, Eeyore, and Piglet. Mulder's gloved 
thumb reverently stroked the surface before he moved it aside so 
that they could all see what had been written on the paper. It was 
one sentence, composed of letters that had been cut from 
newspapers and magazines and glued to form words. The message 
was brief, but chilling. 
*I'd come back if I were you.*


Eagle Rock
Thursday
1:11 p.m.


Scully watched as Mulder paced the length of the kitchen, turned 
sharply and repeated the movement in the opposite direction, cell 
phone pressed tightly to his right ear. Skinner was doing most of 
the talking at this point, Mulder only injecting soft grunts of 
acceptance and an occasional sentence or two of clarification. 
Their boss was apparently handling him very carefully, since 
Mulder had remained relatively calm and reasonable. Still, she 
could see that his grip on the phone was white-knuckled, his jerky, 
uneven gait at odds with his usually graceful stride. She glanced 
across the table to see Grey watching his brother, his brows drawn 
in concern. Grey felt her gaze and regarded her questioningly. 
"Think Skinner's going to let him come back?" 
Scully pursed her lips, then smiled ruefully. "Since Mulder hasn't 
resorted to screaming or profanity so far, I assume that the answer 
to that question is yes." 
Grey didn't return her smile, his frown only deepening so that he 
looked even more troubled. "I'm not sure how I feel about that, 
though I know Fox will be glad. I'm afraid all I can see is that he's 
going back into the fire, and in no better shape than when you 
arrived here two days ago. I'm worried about him, Dana." 
Scully leaned across the table to lay her hand on his arm. "I know. 
I am too. But it wouldn't be any different if Mulder were to stay 
here, Grey, he would only continue to tear himself up wondering 
what was happening back home. This monster knows enough 
about Mulder to realize that he won’t back down from a 
challenge." 
Her eyes darkened, and Grey was startled to recognize fear in 
them. "What? What are you thinking?" 
She shrugged, but her face was still grave. "I guess that I'm going 
to be relieved to have Mulder in a more controlled environment. 
This killer has fixated on him, and I don't think anyone knows the 
full implications of that." 
Before Grey could comment, Mulder thrust the phone in Scully's 
face. "Skinner wants to talk to you. I'm going to pack up our 
things." 
Scully put the phone to her own ear, her eyes tracking Mulder as 
he exited the kitchen. "Sir?" 
"Scully, Mulder has filled me in on the ... suggestion he got from 
the killer. I, in turn, informed him that we received instructions for 
locating Samantha Thomas's body. I'll need you to do the autopsy 
as soon as you get back."

"Yes, sir. I'd anticipated that." 
Silence, broken by Skinner nervously clearing his throat. 
"Sir?" 
"I haven't told Mulder everything. I could sense the killer's note 
had upset him badly, and I thought it best to give him a chance to 
calm down." 
Scully closed her eyes, a chill running up her spine. She was very 
sure that she didn't want to hear whatever Skinner had to tell her. 
"Go ahead, sir." 
"Scully, the directions to Samantha's body contained a heart, and it 
matches the clothing she was wearing. I can only assume that 
Mulder's heart belongs to another victim." 
Several choice swear words she'd learned during life on military 
bases flitted through Scully's mind, but she chose to remain silent. 
Dread writhed and churned in the pit of her stomach -- both for the 
child sentenced to certain death and for Mulder, who would 
certainly find a way to shoulder the responsibility. 
"Scully?" 
Skinner's voice was anxious, prompting a response. 
"He's escalating," she said quietly. "From the warning he sent 
Mulder I'd imagine it's calculated to bring him back onto the case." 
"I agree." The words were spoken in a manner that told Scully her 
boss was suffering from his own feelings of guilt. When he 
continued speaking, however, his tone was tight with anger. 
"That's the *only* reason I'm allowing Mulder to rejoin the team. 
I'm beginning to believe Mulder is right; we aren't going to be able 
to catch this lunatic without him. Just don't tell Mulder I said that," 
he added dryly. 
"He's packing right now, so I'm sure we'll be on the road soon. I'm 
also sure that he'll want to go straight to the office once we hit 
town," Scully predicted, wishing she'd gotten more sleep the night 
before. 
"Report to my office then. I'll be here. Would you like me to break 
the news?" 
Scully thought it over, longing to let Skinner be the one to deal 
such a blow. Unfortunately, she knew Mulder would never forgive 
her for withholding the information during the drive home. He'd 
had trouble enough accepting her involvement in removing him 
from the case, she wasn't certain the trust between them could 
survive a second hit. 
"No. I'll take care of it myself. Thank you for giving me some 
advance-warning, sir. He won't take this well." 
Skinner made a choked sound of amusement. "He never does, 
Scully. See you soon." 
Scully pushed the disconnect button and stared at the dead phone, 
chewing her lip. She'd actually forgotten Grey's presence until he 
spoke. 
"Another child's been taken?" 
She walked slowly over to replace the phone in its cradle, allowing 
herself the extra moments to collect her thoughts and emotions. 
She could feel Grey's steady gaze on her, following each 
movement and cataloguing it. Finally she leaned back against the 
counter and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 
"That heart that Mulder just received did not belong to Samantha 
Thomas. Skinner and the team already have that one, along with 
the location of her body." She hated the cold, calculating sound of 
her voice even as she realized that it was a defense mechanism. 
"Who?" 
"That hasn't been determined. I'm sure Skinner is working on it as 
we speak." 
"Working on what?" 
Mulder's reappearance could not have had a more dramatic effect 
on Scully if he'd jumped out and shouted "Boo!" She jerked and 
spun toward the kitchen doorway, her right hand reflexively 
reaching for the small of her back. 
"Don't shoot me, copper, I surrender," Mulder said, both hands 
raised and a smirk on his face. 
"Don't sneak up on me like that!" Scully groaned, sinking back 
against the cabinets. 
Mulder raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. "Sorry. 
Didn't realize I was sneaking. Working on what?" 
Leave it to Mulder to stay on target and not forget the original 
question. From the corner of her eye Scully saw Grey quietly stand 
and then squeeze by his brother to leave the kitchen. She fought 
the abrupt sensation of disappointment and betrayal that washed 
over her. Realizing that there was no way to pad the corners, she 
met her partner's eyes squarely. 
"Mulder, Skinner didn't tell you something important." Scully saw 
his eyes narrow and his brow contract, and quickly raised a hand to 
forestall any outburst. "Wait a minute! He's not trying to hold out 
on you, he just didn't want to burden you with this right away. He 
was giving you time to decompress." 
"My patience for this overwhelming need you and Skinner have 
for protecting me is starting to wear thin, Scully. I'm a big boy and 
I'd appreciate it if you'd just give it to me straight." 
The words were meant to be spoken in irritation, but Scully knew
Mulder well enough to recognize armor donned in anticipation of 
bad news. She ignored his scowl and proceeded cautiously. 
"Mulder, a heart was included with the instructions for locating
Samantha Thomas's body, and it matches her clothing." 
She watched his expressive face as he processed the information 
and quickly came to the heartbreaking conclusion. His pain 
transcended even Mulder's substantial ability to feign detachment. 
Scully fought an intense inner battle in a matter of seconds, 
instinctively wanting to put her arms around him yet knowing how 
important it was for him to maintain composure. Giving in to 
intuition, she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his 
waist, laying her head on his chest but not speaking. 
After only a moment's hesitation, Mulder's arms came up and 
around her shoulders. Tiny tremors coursed through his body so 
that it felt as if he were shivering, and Scully could hear his heart 
thumping rapidly. Her own fluttered in a sympathetic response and 
she ran her hands in abstract patterns over the rigid muscles of his 
shoulders and back. 
"Who *is* he, Scully?" Mulder whispered in a voice liquid with 
unshed tears. "What does he want from me?" 
"He's a maniac, love. He probably doesn't even know what he 
wants," Scully murmured, pulling back so that she could search his 
face. 
Gratitude met her gaze, but it was coupled with disbelief. "I 
disagree. I think he knows exactly what he wants, we just haven't 
figured it out yet. That's what scares me." 
"Mulder, promise me you'll try to keep your perspective. You can't 
get sucked in too far or you'll drown." 
Annoyance again, which Scully actually found an improvement 
over the hurt. "I know my job, Scully. I only do what's necessary to 
get results." 
Scully reached up to cup his cheek, attempting to soften the 
harshness of her next statement. "You say that, Mulder, and I know 
you believe it. But you can't see yourself. Before Skinner pulled 
you off the case you looked like you were going under for the third 
time." 
Mulder's eyes were pleading. "He's escalating, Scully. And we 
both know what triggered it." His voice broke and he took a deep 
breath before continuing. "The only way I can live with myself 
right now is to put everything I have into catching this guy." 
Scully blinked at the moisture in her eyes. "I understand that, love, 
I really do. But I'm selfish. I refuse to lose you in the process." 
Grey chose that moment to slide around them and re-enter the 
kitchen. He was carrying a duffel bag that he plopped down onto 
the tile before folding his arms. 
"I'm packed. Who's driving?" 
Both Mulder and Scully were rendered speechless for several 
seconds before Mulder gathered his wits to reply. 
"Huh?" 
Scully pressed her lips together to smother a grin. "I second that 
somewhat less than eloquent response. What do you think you're 
doing?" 
Grey rolled his eyes in a "well, duh!" look. "What does it look 
like? I'm going back to D.C. with you. I've got the rest of the week 
off anyway, and if I stay here I'll just wind up finishing that damn 
shed all by myself." 
Scully smiled, communicating appreciation, relief, and affection 
with her eyes. Mulder, however, pulled away from her embrace, 
shaking his head adamantly. 
"No way, Grey, you can't do it. It's too risky." 
Grey looked at him, his expression bland. "I'm not the one being 
stalked by a killer, Fox," he said calmly. "You're the one at risk 
here, not me." 
"That's not what I mean, and you know it!" his brother growled, 
frowning. "It's one thing to come up for a visit and hang around my 
apartment, but this is completely different. You'd be in the middle 
of a major investigation involving police and FBI, and swarming 
with the press. There's no way to remain low profile." 
Grey stubbornly thrust out his lip and Scully had to bite her own to 
keep from laughing. Sometimes the similarities between the two 
brothers were amazing. 
"Fox, I thought I made it clear a long time ago that I don't intend to 
let these faceless enemies of yours dictate my life. You are my 
brother, and if I'm going to be a part of your life it's going to be on 
*my* terms -- not theirs. I'm coming with you." 
Mulder opened his mouth to argue, but found he didn't have the 
motivation to do so. Though he feared for Grey's safety, the idea of 
having his brother's support was extremely comforting. 
"I get to drive," he said instead, his tone daring Grey to argue. 
Grey just grinned and stooped to pick up his bag. "Whatever you 
say, little brother. Just so I'm along for the ride."


FBI Headquarters
Thursday
11:02 p.m.


Scully sighed and leaned heavily against the back of the elevator as 
it rumbled slowly downward. Gritty eyes, a backache, and the 
clinging odor of decomposing flesh all combined to make her 
desire to go home an urgent one. Though she knew getting Mulder 
to leave would be a battle, she was determined -- even if it meant 
fighting dirty and bringing Skinner and Grey into the fray. 
The doors rattled open and Scully walked slowly down the dim 
hallway, one hand clutching her autopsy results while the other 
kneaded the flesh at the small of her back. Damn autopsy tables 
were one size fits all, and it wasn't her size. 
The door to the X-Files office stood ajar and she paused, taking the 
opportunity to observe Mulder undetected. His dark head bent low 
over the contents of the desktop, which he studied with such 
complete concentration that he was oblivious to her return. His 
jacket shed and sleeves rolled to the elbows, Mulder's arms were 
propped on the open surface directly in front of him. Scully saw 
that he held something between his long, slender fingers, rubbing it 
gently. She moved closer until heartache replaced her curiosity. 
Seven photos spread across the blotter, one for each of the 
murdered girls, and the object he held with the reverence of a 
talisman was the eighth heart. 
Mulder caught her movements with his peripheral vision and 
raised his head. The eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses could 
have belonged to a 90-year-old man. Scully brushed several of the 
photos aside and perched on the edge of the desk. 
"Autopsy's finished," she said unnecessarily. 
Mulder nodded, waiting for her to continue. Scully flipped through 
the papers in her hands, then tossed them onto the desk with a sigh. 
"It's all the same, Mulder. Sexual assault, then strangulation. 
Exactly like the other seven." 
"And identical to Roche," Mulder added, declining to pick up the 
papers. 
"Yes." 
Mulder pulled off his glasses and scrubbed his eyes wearily with 
the heels of his hands, then lay his head atop his folded arms. 
"I lived through this twice already, Scully," he said, voice muffled 
but the anguish still evident. "Why must I do it again?" 
Scully's answer -- for there was no answer -- was to run her fingers 
through his hair, the tips rubbing his scalp. Eventually his tension 
eased a little and she sensed he'd regained full control. 
"Where's Grey?" she asked, suddenly aware of the man's absence. 
She glanced over to her own desk and saw the folder from the 
original Paper Hearts case lying open. 
"I sent him on a coffee run," Mulder replied, still muted. 
"Mulder, it's late and you need sleep. The last thing you should 
ingest right now is more caffeine." 
Mulder lifted his head and regarded Scully ruefully. "That's exactly 
what *he* said. You two must be comparing notes." 
"Can't help it," she answered, ruffling his hair and standing. 
"You're our favorite subject." 
A glint of pleasure touched Mulder's eyes but disappeared all too 
quickly. "Jacqueline Stombres," he said soberly, his gaze dropping 
back to the row of little girl smiles, and his fingers tightening 
convulsively around the heart. 
Scully winced. "Location?" 
"Norristown, Pennsylvania." 
She frowned for a moment at the nagging familiarity of the name, 
then bit her lip. "Addy Sparks. That was where she lived." 
Mulder's face said it all -- no need to verbalize. 
"Why didn't the police notify us sooner?" 
"They didn't realize what they had at first. Jacqueline's parents are 
going through a messy divorce, complete with custody battle. 
When she turned up missing from her bed and they couldn't reach 
Dad, everyone assumed he'd taken her. Next thing you know, Dad 
returns from a fishing trip with his buddies only to be arrested by 
the cops staking out his apartment." 
"Meanwhile our boy has Jacqueline and a big head start," Scully 
finished tiredly. 
Mulder grimaced. "Guess custody won't be an issue now," he said 
darkly. 
"Mulder..." 
"What, Scully? Don't blame myself? It's not my fault? Is that what 
you're going to tell me? Well, maybe on paper you're right. But 
right here, " he jabbed his thumb savagely at his chest, "what's on 
paper doesn't count. He's killing these little girls for *me,* Scully, 
and all I've accomplished is to help dig up the bodies!" 
"You've done everything you can, and more than anyone could 
ask," Scully replied, walking around to massage the rigid muscles 
of his neck and shoulders. "Mulder, no one knows better than I 
what this case has cost you -- what it continues to cost you. You 
*will* find this guy, for those little girls and for yourself." 
Mulder dropped his chin to his chest, giving Scully better access to 
his neck. "I appreciate your faith in me," he said softly. "But I don't 
know if you realize how truly hopeless this is. Yes, we know his 
method of victim selection -- all girls between the ages of 7 and 11, 
all taken from their homes in the same cities that Roche preyed 
upon. Girls that are sometimes chosen for their physical 
resemblance to Sam." He paused, collecting himself before 
plunging ahead. 
"But what *good* does it do? Even if we can predict which towns 
he's likely to hit next, it's impossible to stake out the homes of 
every child in the at-risk group. Bottom line, Scully -- unless this 
bastard screws up, he could go on killing indefinitely." 
Treading carefully now, afraid of increasing his already 
overdeveloped sense of responsibility, Scully pressed forward. 
"Your profile...?" 
Mulder's voice held only resignation and a soul-deep weariness. 
"I'm trying. In many ways it's like profiling Roche all over again. 
But I have to go deeper this time, Scully. And even though I'm 
horrified at the thought of more dead children, that prospect scares 
me just as much." 
The office door swung wide open, halting Scully's reply before it 
could leave her lips. Grey strode inside carrying a cardboard tray 
with four cups of Barnie’s coffee, Skinner on his heels. 
"Got the good stuff," he announced, handing first Scully and then 
Mulder a cup. "I was headed to the cafeteria when I ran into Walt 
and he showed me the place across the street." 
Mulder's eyebrows appeared to be crawling off his head. 
"*Walt*?" 
Grey shrugged while Skinner just looked amused. "Hey, he's not 
*my* boss." 
"Forget it, Mulder," Skinner growled when he saw a smirk spread 
across his agent's face. "Don't even start." 
Mulder managed to look wounded. "Sir, the deep respect I hold for 
you would prohibit me from taking advantage of this situation in 
any way..." 
"Somebody hand him a shovel," Scully muttered, eliciting a 
delighted grin from her partner and an eye roll from Skinner. 
"Mulder, I came down because I was wondering if you planned on 
making the drive to Norristown to examine the crime scene -- such 
as it is," Skinner asked, sinking into a chair. "I know you like to 
view them firsthand, but this one has seen a lot of traffic. The local 
PD took the assumption that the father was the kidnapper and ran 
with it, and their preservation of the girl's bedroom was less than 
meticulous." Skinner's furrowed brow and clenched jaw told 
exactly what he thought of the Norristown PD. 
"I still need to see it," Mulder insisted stubbornly. "I have to get 
the feel of it, of what he was thinking. Do we have a photo yet?" 
"They faxed it about an hour ago. I'll see you get a copy." Skinner's 
gruff manner softened. "She's consistent with the previous 
victims." 
Mulder ground his teeth together, pushing himself to his feet. 
"Who *is* this guy?" he mused, more to himself than to the others. 
He paced the small open space in front of his desk, coffee cup 
gripped in his right hand and the heart still clasped in his left. "He 
says he admires me, that he wants to give me a worthy adversary. 
Yet he takes girls who resemble my sister, a choice that clearly 
speaks of revenge and aggression toward me personally. He's 
watching the investigation closely -- he knew when I left town and 
it obviously pissed him off. He wants my complete and undivided 
attention. He's accepting nothing less." 
Grey watched, disturbed and fascinated, as his brother's eyes lost 
focus and his voice dropped all inflection. He glanced uneasily at 
Skinner and Scully, but their concentration was riveted on Mulder, 
who had stopped speaking but continued to roam restlessly around 
the room. 
"Go on," Scully said quietly, her voice unobtrusive and deceptively 
mild but her body stiff with strain. 
"It's like there's a conflict within him," Mulder muttered. "Like he's 
being driven by two conflicting motivations. I don't understand the 
dichotomy, and I'm not sure how to proceed with the profile from 
two opposing angles. What does he really want from me? My 
admiration, or my anger? For me to appreciate his work, or for me 
to suffer because of it?" 
Mulder trailed off, an otherworldly expression on his face as he 
stared blankly at the wall. Scully cleared her throat and he shook 
his head dazedly, his gaze sharpening once more. He shot an 
embarrassed look in the direction of Grey and Skinner, the look of 
a small boy caught daydreaming during math class. Mulder tossed 
the heart onto the desktop beside the pictures and sank back into 
his chair, taking several large gulps of the coffee. 
Seeing Scully wince, Grey leaned over. "Decaf," he said 
conspiratorially. 
Scully mustered a small grin. "Now if you could just get him out of 
here..." 
"Mulder, I want you three to go home," Skinner said firmly, 
studiously avoiding Scully's gaze of gratitude. "Get some rest. 
There's nothing more you can do tonight, and you'll think more 
clearly on some sleep. Report to me after you've returned from 
Norristown and I'll update you on the forensic results of the note 
and the heart." He scooped up the baggie with the heart that 
Mulder had finally relinquished. "I'll put this with the others." 
True to form, Mulder refused to give up without a fight. "Sir, the 
profile..." 
"Will never be finished if you're too tired to think straight. 
Consider it an order, Agent." 
Mulder's shoulder's slumped, a sure sign he knew he was beaten. 
"Yes, sir." 
Skinner nodded slightly in acknowledgement and got to his feet, 
sending Grey a knowing look on his way to the door. Scully and 
Mulder both noticed the unspoken communication. She settled for 
a raised eyebrow, he choosing to verbalize his thoughts. 
"What was *that* little exchange?" he demanded, scowling. 
"I don't have a clue what you're talking about," Grey replied with 
wide-eyed innocence. "Is it my turn to drive?"


Apartment 42
Friday
12:34 a.m.


Grey did drive, and Mulder fell asleep with his neck cranked at an 
awkward angle and the side of his face pressed against the 
passenger window. The night air crackled with just a hint of cooler 
weather, and Grey drank in deep gulps of it while he waited for his 
brother to unlock the exterior door to his apartment building, 
fumbling with hands still clumsy from slumber. 
They plodded into the elevator with all the grace and agility of 
three geriatric patients, duffel bags in hand. When they doors 
rattled open on Mulder's floor no one moved for a moment, then 
each launched himself (or herself) off the wall that was currently 
sustaining them and plodded down the hallway. 
Scully propped herself against the doorframe while Mulder 
searched for the correct key, but he froze before he could push it 
into the slot. 
"Mulder?" Scully questioned, standing up straight. 
He shushed her with a finger to his lips and leaned his head closer 
to the wood until his ear rested just beneath the lopsided number 
two. The silence in the hallway became palpable until Scully heard 
the cause of Mulder's distress -- a low drone of voices from 
*inside* his apartment. Mulder stealthily placed his hand on the 
knob and rotated his wrist. Though he hadn't used his key, the 
knob turned freely.


Adrenaline replaced lethargy in the space between heartbeats. 
Almost simultaneously, three duffel bags hit the floor and three 
weapons slid from their holsters. Mulder nudged the door open and 
reached inside to flick on the lights, training kicking in to control 
all movements. A snap of the kitchen switch flooded the room with 
fluorescence, revealing nothing, so they continued carefully 
onward. 
The small lamp on the end table cast a dim glow on Mulder's living 
room. He stalked forward, Sig held ready as his eyes rapidly 
scanned the room. Scully, only a step behind, was unprepared 
when Mulder suddenly gasped as if something had sucked all the 
air from his lungs and lurched backward. His blind need to back up 
was so great that his legs tangled together and he fell to his knees, 
nearly taking Scully with him. To her dismay, he dropped his gun 
and buried his face in his hands, body wracked with rough sobs. 
"Nooo!" he moaned, the sound like the cry of a wounded animal 
caught in a trap and unable to free itself. "Nonononono..." 
Grey's own sharp intake of breath pulled Scully's gaze from 
Mulder and she gaped at the tableau before her, face draining of 
color. Unable to believe what her eyes showed her, she left her 
distraught partner momentarily, creeping forward on legs made of 
rubber. Grey's hand clutched her elbow and she could hear him 
panting like a steam engine in her ear. 
Mulder's television babbled cheerfully, Lucy arguing with Ricky 
about whether she should perform in his latest show at the club. 
The coffee table in front of the couch had been moved carefully to 
one side, usurped by a board game with little red and blue pieces. 
Propped next to the game with her back against the couch and a 
red playing piece clasped in her stiffened hand, was the body of a 
little girl, her lips blue against her chalk-white skin and a long 
mane of black hair cascading down her shoulders. Scrawled in 
black magic marker on the wall behind the couch, a message 
caught Scully's shocked gaze and she tore her eyes from the pitiful 
figure. 
YOU CAN'T QUIT *THIS* GAME. WELCOME BACK.


Georgetown
Friday
1:53 a.m.


The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated tracks of dried tears 
on Mulder's face. Scully traced one with a featherlight finger, the 
smooth softness of his cheek giving way to the rough stubble of his 
jaw. Mulder didn't twitch, so far under that even his eyes were 
motionless behind closed lids. Tonight, at least, there would be no 
dreams -- for Mulder, anyway. 
Scully leaned over to press her lips to his, tasting the salty residue 
of his weeping. She stood, and the mattress creaked as if in 
complaint as her weight lifted. She rolled her shoulders in a vain 
effort to loosen muscles drawn taut with anxiety, then shuffled out 
to where Grey slumped on her couch, staring blankly at the silent 
television. Scully collapsed, rather than sat, beside him. 
"What was that you gave him?" Grey asked after several minutes 
of silence. 
"Valium," Scully said wearily. "A truckload of it, in case you were 
wondering. He'll be out at least six hours -- maybe longer, 
considering his current physical condition." 
"You always carry syringes and Valium in that little black bag of 
yours?" 
Scully sensed his uneasiness and guessed the reason. "Actually, it 
has nothing to do with Mulder, believe it or not," she answered 
wryly. 
She didn't go on to explain that the vial was a souvenir of her 
cancer. Near the end, the headaches had become so excruciating 
her oncologist had suggested it as a means of pain management. 
Grey noticed her reticence and left it alone. 
"I don't like seeing him drugged," he stated quietly, the fingers of 
his right hand toying with the fringe on her afghan. 
"I don't like *doing* it," Scully returned, an edge to the words. The 
raw pain in his eyes diffused her anger and she sighed. "He was in 
shock, Grey, and damn near dissociative. It was the Valium or risk 
a complete breakdown." 
Grey winced at the term, but nodded. Scully could see him 
replaying the scene in Mulder's apartment. After Mulder's initial 
emotional outburst he'd drawn into himself, trembling slightly with 
skin that was pale and clammy. 
Thank God, Skinner had taken over supervision of the crime scene. 
He'd taken one look at Mulder and insisted they retire to Scully's 
apartment immediately. Mulder had not argued, but followed 
Scully's lead as docilely as a small child. *That* had alarmed her 
more than his tears. 
As she drove them to her apartment Grey had questioned his 
brother gently, managing to coax a few responses. But Mulder's 
answers were sluggish, as if each required a monumental effort and 
a great deal of thought. He'd stared out the window with eyes that 
didn't really see the passing cars and his voice had been flat and 
lifeless. 
Once home, Scully had led him back to her bedroom and handed 
him pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt, assisting several times when 
Mulder lost focus on the task and stood staring vacantly out the 
window. She sat him on her bed, administered the Valium, and got 
him to lie down, stretching out beside him and holding him close. 
She'd kept up a running patter of calming words and gentle touches 
until his body went limp. Finally, Scully had allowed her own tears 
-- for Mulder, for Jacqueline, and for herself. 
"Will he be all right in the morning?" 
Grey's question pulled her from her drifting, anchoring her in the 
here and now. "Mulder has an impressive set of coping 
mechanisms, Grey. He'll be better -- much better. But I don't think 
any of us will be all right until this monster is behind bars." 
"Shame to waste the accommodations," Grey snapped 
venomously. "A bullet would be too good for this psycho." He 
closed his eyes. "I'm afraid it's going to be a long time before 
*that* memory fades." 
Tears burned Scully's eyes and stung the back of her too-tight 
throat. "At least it will, eventually. Mulder has an eidetic memory." 
Grey looked at her in horror. "I guess I never considered the 
ramifications of that. You mean every crime scene...?" 
"Every crime scene, every killer, every victim," Scully said softly. 
"How does he keep going? I don't think I could do it, Dana." 
Scully actually smiled a little, thinking of Mulder's dry wit and 
often-irreverent sense of humor in the face of the unspeakable. 
"Like I said, he's got an incredible ability to roll with the punches." 
"This is different, though, isn't it?" Grey said doubtfully. "Fox told 
me the whole story of Samantha's abduction. I understand as well 
as you what that killer did to him tonight. The lookalike, the 
Stratego game, the television... That's not a punch, Dana. That's an 
atom bomb." 
"There's more," Scully whispered, teeth clamping down hard on 
her lip. 
"*More*?" 
She hesitated, then pushed ahead. "I don't know how I'm going to 
tell Mulder this, but if what I suspect is true he'll see it in the 
autopsy report anyway. Mulder once told me that Samantha had 
broken her collarbone by falling off a tire swing. When Roche 
claimed he'd killed her, that was one quick way we had to 
determine the bodies we found weren't hers." 
"Go on," Grey prodded when Scully paused for a gulp of air to 
steady her jangling nerves. 
"I had only a moment to examine the body before we left, and I 
had to be careful because they were still taking photos. But...I'm 
reasonably certain that Jacqueline's collarbone was broken." 
Grey muttered a quiet expletive under his breath. "How does this 
guy know? Where's he getting this information? It's like he can see 
into Fox's head!" 
Abruptly, eerily, Scully was reminded of Mulder's words to her 
after Roche's death... 
*I profiled him, Scully. I got into his head, and somehow he got 
into mine, got access to all my memories of Samantha. Some kind 
of...of nexus was created between us...* 
"I don't know how he's doing it," she said aloud, dispelling the 
memory with a sharp jerk of her head. "Newspapers? The 
Internet?" 
"*A broken collarbone*? *Stratego*? Come on, Dana! You're 
reaching and you know it," Grey said, the warmth in his eyes 
softening the harshness of the words. 
Scully blew out a long gust of air, overwhelmed by the desire to 
sleep and escape for awhile. "Mulder believed that some kind of 
link formed between himself and Roche when he profiled him. He 
called it a nexus. He thought Roche was able to draw on his 
memories of Samantha." 
"But you don't agree." 
Scully pressed her lips tightly together to bite back a sharp retort. 
"I think other explanations exist. We just haven't thought of them 
yet." Grey's raised eyebrow increased her level of irritation. 
"Look, as far as I'm concerned, the key question is what this 
maniac has in mind for Mulder. Tonight's little show only confirms 
the depth of the obsession." 
"Then we stay on Fox like white on rice," Grey said calmly. 
Scully chuckled a little at that, and the darkness drew back just a 
little. "Have I told you lately how glad I am that Mulder has a 
brother?" 
Grey grinned. "You just did, darlin'. Now I, for one, am going to 
get some sleep." 
"There's sheets and blankets in the linen closet," Scully said, 
yawning at the mere mention of sleep. "I can make up the couch 
for you." 
"Don't be silly. I've been making my own bed since I was four, I'll 
handle it," he assured her dryly. 
"Good night then, Grey. And thanks." 
"Night, Dana." 
Scully moved quietly into the bedroom and shut the door, 
undressing by the slivers of moonlight that slipped through the 
blinds. Mulder was curled up on his side, the deep, steady sound of 
his breathing a comfort to her battered spirit. She slipped between 
the sheets and spooned up behind him, tossing one leg over his and 
slipping her arms around his waist. Though still deeply asleep, he 
pressed back into her warmth and comfort. And for a little while, 
the demons were held at bay.


Georgetown
Friday
9:30 a.m.


The hiss of the shower spurred Grey to start a fresh pot of coffee. 
The water ran for a very long time, cutting off just as he'd decided 
to check up on his brother. By the time Mulder wandered into the 
living room, hair damp and feet bare, Grey had a mug of the hot 
brew to place in his hands. Mulder inhaled the aroma and made a 
small sound of appreciation before dropping onto the couch. 
Grey studied his brother surreptitiously under the guise of reading 
the newspaper. Fox still looked haggard, like a rubberband 
stretched to its limit and a breath away from snapping. But his eyes 
were clear and sharp, minus the frightening vagueness of the 
previous night. All in all, he looked amazingly composed for a 
man who had huddled shivering and sobbing on the floor not 
twelve hours earlier. Coping mechanisms -- Dana wasn't kidding. 
"Care to share your in-depth assessment with the subject?" Mulder 
asked sarcastically, startling Grey from his reverie. 
"Sure. Too pale, too thin, and looks like he could still sleep for 
about a week. Happy now, little brother?" 
Dad had been right when he said the best defense is a good 
offense. Grey grinned inwardly when Fox huffed but dropped the 
attitude. 
"Where's Scully?" 
"At Quantico, performing the autopsy. She left about an hour ago." 
Grey's tone softened. "Before she went she made me promise I 
wouldn't let you anywhere near the place." 
The affection and concern in Grey's face drove Mulder to his feet, 
ostensibly to take his now empty mug into the kitchen. While a 
part of him craved his brother's open and unconditional love like 
rain after a particularly long drought, the cautious, guarded side 
warned that his neediness would ultimately result in pain and loss. 
When it came to people he loved sticking around for the long haul, 
Mulder's track record was laughable. 
"Scully worries too much -- so do you," he growled over his 
shoulder as he carefully rinsed the mug and put it into the 
dishwasher. He'd have left it in the sink at home, but this was 
Scully's apartment, after all. 
Mulder expected a sharp retort, probably pointing to his recent 
meltdown as evidence that any worry was more than justified. 
Grey said nothing, however, and the silence pulled Mulder back 
into the living room. Back into the line of fire, so to speak. He felt 
himself mentally gearing up for an argument, hands unconsciously 
forming fists. He ignored the nagging psychologist's voice in his 
brain that suggested he *wanted* to provoke Grey's anger. That for 
Fox Mulder, accepting anger was much safer and more familiar 
than accepting love. 
As if reading his thoughts, Grey finally spoke. "Worrying goes 
hand in hand with loving, Fox. Sometimes it's nearly impossible to 
separate the two." 
"I can handle this," Mulder replied stubbornly, moving onto firmer 
ground. "I know I hared out last night, but it won't happen again." 
In spite of his declaration his voice trembled slightly, which only 
served to increase his impatience. Mulder clenched his jaw in an 
unintentional imitation of Skinner and glared at his brother. 
Grey's response was not at all what he expected, and caught him 
completely off balance. "What's it like, Fox?" he asked, his voice 
hushed and almost reverent. 
Mulder licked his lips. "What do you mean?" he asked, though he 
was fairly certain he knew. 
"Profiling. Getting into the killer's head and trying to think like 
him." 
Mulder sat down on a chair, sparing legs suddenly shaky and 
weak. He stared out the window and Grey watched his focus turn 
inward. When he finally spoke, the words were as smooth as glass, 
as bitter as day-old coffee. 
"It's like reaching into a deep, dark hole for something you've lost," 
he murmured. "Sometimes the hole is filled with hideous things -- 
rotting flesh, the slimy larvae of monstrous mutated insects, 
unspeakable creatures with sharp fangs and a taste for human 
blood -- but you only have to put your hand in a little bit to find 
what you need. Sometimes the contents of the hole are less 
appalling but you have to dig much deeper to get to your goal -- 
maybe even so far that it seems you're hanging onto the edge with 
your toes. And then sometimes..." 
Mulder trailed off, a small shudder passing through his thin frame. 
When he continued, his voice was little more than a whisper. 
"Sometimes, .the hole is filled with every conceivable horror and 
some not even the most twisted imagination could have conjured 
up. And you realize that to get what you need, you have to go deep 
into that hole, deeper than you've ever gone before. And once 
you're in, the terrible things all around you begin to feel a part of 
you and you start to believe you'll never get out. Because you've 
*become* the hole, and now you belong there." 
He dragged his gaze from the window and over to Grey, half 
expecting to see revulsion and disgust. Grey's face was unnaturally 
wan but his eyes held only compassion and a profound respect. 
"I've seen the emotional toll this exacts from you, Fox. Why do 
you keep doing it?" 
Mulder sighed and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. 
"Because I can. Because maybe next time I can stop the madness 
before it's too late. And because I swore to myself a long time ago 
that I'd never let anyone else be victimized without putting up a 
hell of a fight." 
He stood and walked briskly back to the bedroom, reappearing 
several minutes later fully dressed and carrying his keys. Grey 
groaned. 
"Fooox! I promised her! You're going to get me into hot water with 
a woman who packs a gun!" he whined. 
Mulder's lips curved in the closest thing to a smile Grey had seen 
since the arrival of the latest heart. "Relax, I'm not going to 
Quantico. I'm going back to my apartment to examine the crime 
scene." 
*Like that's supposed to make me feel better*? Grey thought 
grimly. 
"You saw the crime scene last night," he said aloud, standing and 
placing himself between his brother and the door. 
Mulder rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Right. In case you didn't notice I 
was the one babbling on the floor." He paused to gather his 
patience. "Grey, I'm all right now, and I need to see it. That little 
nightmare was engineered just for me, and it's entirely possible that 
there's something there that only I would understand. I *am* 
going. You can either make my life more difficult or support me in 
this." 
Grey reluctantly moved aside but his face reflected his 
unhappiness. "You know, sometimes I think you have the ability to 
irritate me more than anyone else on the entire planet," he growled. 
"I just haven't put my finger on how you do it." 
Mulder opened the door and grinned smugly. "Check with Scully. 
She's making a list."


Alexandria
Friday
10:48 a.m.


With the body long since removed and forensics departed, little 
remained to indicate a crime except the yellow police tape and the 
scrawled writing on the apartment wall. Grey stayed out of his 
brother's path as Mulder prowled around the apartment like a lean 
wolf on the scent of its prey. After nearly thirty minutes of 
scrutinizing the small living room from literally all angles he 
plopped down onto the displaced coffee table with a frustrated 
grunt. 
"There's something here, I can feel it. I'm just not seeing it." 
"Something in the message?" Grey suggested. "In the words he 
chose?" 
Mulder stared up at the wall, chewing his lip. "I don't see any 
revelations there. He's drawing a parallel between the game 
Samantha and I played and the game he thinks we're playing. 
Obviously he considers my little vacation to visit you an attempt 
on my part to quit." 
"Okay. What about the way he's written the letters? Does the 
handwriting tell you anything about him?" Grey prodded, grasping 
at straws. 
To his astonishment his brother abruptly sprang to his feet and 
stepped closer to the wall, looking decidedly ill. His eyes bore into 
the words with frightening intensity. 
"Fox?" 
"Where's that file?" Mulder demanded, the words clipped and 
harsh. 
"What file?" Grey asked, bewildered. 
"The file you were reading last night at the bureau. Roche's file," 
Mulder snapped as if Grey were missing the obvious. 
"It's in my briefcase, in your car, I think. Why?" 
"Get it." 
Becoming extremely annoyed with Mulder's dismissive manner, 
Grey nonetheless did as asked -- or ordered as the case might be -- 
grumbling a little under his breath. His brother literally tore the 
heavy file folder out of his hands without a word of thanks and 
carried it to his desk, where he began shuffling eagerly through the 
contents. 
"*Fox*!" Grey said from between clenched teeth. 
Mulder held up his hand, palm out, only to exclaim in satisfaction 
a moment later as he snatched up a piece of paper. Ignoring Grey's 
thunderous look he darted back to stand directly in front of the 
graffiti, eyes leaping from the wall to the paper and back again. 
The paper gradually started to quiver until it was shaking violently. 
Still baffled but no longer angry, Grey walked over to Mulder's 
side and gently removed the jittering report from the trembling 
fingers. His brother noticed only obliquely, eyes fixed on the 
taunting words. 
"Fox. What is it? What did you find?" 
Mulder managed to look at Grey for only a moment before his 
gaze was pulled back to the wall like steel to a magnet. "The 
handwriting," his said quietly through nearly bloodless lips. "I 
thought it seemed familiar. It's right here in the file, Grey. That 
handwriting belongs to John Lee Roche."


Norristown, PA
Friday 
3:05 p.m.


"I'm still not sure why we're doing this, Mulder," Scully admitted, 
staring out her window at the red-bricked ranch house. "You heard 
Skinner -- the local police did virtually nothing to preserve the 
scene. The photos are probably more useful at this point." 
*And you wouldn't have to face a grieving family*. 
Scully left *that* thought unspoken. 
Mulder shut off the car and turned to face her, jaw thrust out 
stubbornly. "I need to see it firsthand," he insisted. "The fact that 
the local boys were less than competent only increases the 
possibility of finding something they missed." 
"And, of course, Fox Mulder will be able to locate this elusive 
piece of evidence that neither the Norristown police nor the local 
bureau could discover," Scully said sarcastically, short-tempered 
from too little sleep and too much worry. 
Rather than bristling at her words, Mulder grinned cockily. "You 
catch on fast, Scully." 
Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Scully jerked open the car door 
and got out, waiting with arms folded across her chest as Mulder 
exited and crossed the front of the vehicle to reach her side. She 
started up the walk to the front door only to be stopped when a 
gentle hand on her elbow spun her around. 
"Scully, I don't understand what's happening here. How the writing 
from this maniac could resemble so closely the writing of another, 
very dead serial killer. How this guy knew all those details about 
Samantha, right down to her broken collarbone." 
Mulder's eyes slipped shut for a moment and he took a deep breath 
before continuing. "I can't think about it right now, not until I 
know for sure whether that handwriting is a match. Grey's covering 
things at the bureau until the lab finishes the analysis. Skinner's 
working with law enforcement in the towns most at risk. My job 
now is to finish the profile. And the only way I know to get into 
this guy's head is to follow his footsteps. Please, bear with me on 
this." 
If he'd resorted to the puppy dog face Scully could have held firm, 
but a sincere Mulder was impossible to resist. 
"I just hate to see you deal with this, Mulder," she confessed, 
studying his weary but determined features. "These people are 
mourning the loss of their only child. It won't be pleasant." 
The beginnings of annoyance crept into his eyes, but Mulder 
surprised Scully by appearing to consciously shrug it off. Instead 
he smiled gently. "Then let's get this over with." 
There was no doorbell, only a large, brass knocker that echoed 
harshly in the quiet neighborhood, sounding oddly urgent. A 
woman with raven black hair cut in a short bob and red-rimmed 
blue eyes stared suspiciously at them, opening the door only a 
crack. 
"Anne Stombres?" Mulder asked. 
"Yes?" 
They both held out their I.D.s -- it was practically an autonomic 
response by now -- and she scrutinized them carefully. 
"Agents Mulder and Scully with the FBI," Mulder said, his voice 
as gentle and unthreatening as he could make it. "Could we have a 
moment of your time?" 
The crack did not widen. "I've already talked to the police *and* 
the FBI. What more do you need from me?" Her voice was hoarse 
from tears, ragged with emotion. 
"Anne? Is there a problem?" interjected a deep voice from inside 
the house. 
A large hand wrapped around the door and pulled it completely 
open to reveal not only Anne Stombres but also a dark-haired man. 
He was easily Mulder's height, but heavily muscled with deeply 
tanned skin. 
"FBI, Agents Mulder and Scully," Mulder explained as he and 
Scully re-extended their credentials for another perusal. "We just 
need a moment, Mr..." 
"Stombres. Pete Stombres. I'm Jackie's father. This isn't a good 
time for us, you know?" 
Scully winced a little at the understatement in those words. "We're 
very sorry to intrude, Mr. and Mrs. Stombres. I assure you, we'll be 
as brief as possible." 
Pete Stombres's lips tightened in irritation but he moved aside in an 
unspoken invitation for them to enter. Both Scully and Mulder 
were surprised to see the man slip his arm comfortingly around his 
wife's shoulders, and equally surprised when she leaned into his 
touch. 
"What is it you need from us?" Anne Stombres repeated her earlier 
question wearily. 
"Actually, we just need to see Jaqueline's room," Mulder explained 
cautiously, not wishing to upset either parent further. 
Anne's eyes squeezed tightly shut, but a tear managed to trickle out 
from beneath the lids anyway. "Agent Mulder, our daughter is 
gone. That room is all we have left now. Can't you leave us that 
much?" 
"The police went over Jackie's room with a fine-toothed comb," 
Pete spoke up, obviously angered that they'd upset his wife. "What 
could you possibly gain?" 
Mulder looked silently at Scully, helpless in the face of the 
couple's distress. Sending him a silent look of encouragement, she 
gingerly attempted to explain. 
"Mr. and Mrs. Stombres, my partner and I are trying to catch the 
man who did this to Jackie and the other girls. Agent Mulder is 
constructing a profile, a...picture of the killer, so to speak. He looks 
at a crime scene through different eyes than a policeman would. He 
may find something significant that they missed." 
Anne fixed her gaze on Scully, her eyes dead. "To you it's a crime 
scene, Agent Scully. To us, it's a little piece of Jackie that monster 
couldn't take away." 
Mulder started to speak, but Anne held up a hand to forestall him. 
"Follow me. You can have five minutes." 
The phone rang as they moved down a long tile hallway toward the 
back of the house. "I'll get it," Pete said, giving his wife a small 
squeeze and pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. 
He moved through a doorway to their right that contained an office 
area. Anne led them to the left, down another hall to a closed door 
at the end. She paused with her hand on the knob for a moment as 
if steeling herself for what lay beyond. Then she slowly opened the 
door and stepped inside. 
Scully fought the lump that formed in her throat as she took in her 
surroundings. Jackie's room was the epitome of all that 
exemplified a little girl. The walls were pink, and a large white 
canopy bed sported a Minnie Mouse comforter. The bed itself was 
a sea of stuffed animals, and a set of shelves was loaded with dolls 
and doll paraphernalia. She watched Mulder swallow thickly, then 
square his shoulders and begin carefully going over the room, 
paying special attention to the window where the killer had entered 
and then removed the little girl. 
Anne leaned in the open doorway, the fingers of her right hand 
pressed tightly to her lips, and her eyes brimming with tears. Those 
eyes never left Mulder as he roamed restlessly around the room, 
stopping now and then to scrutinize an area more closely. Mulder, 
now fully engaged in investigator mode, was unaware of her 
regard. After initially canvassing the entire room, he spent most of 
his time between the bed and the window, even staring outside for 
several long minutes. Finally, he turned back to Scully. 
"I'm finished," he said quietly, though he still appeared distracted 
by something. 
Abruptly, Anne Stombres stood straighter, a hard expression 
replacing the tears in her eyes. "Can I ask you a question, Agent 
Mulder?" 
Scully recognized the wariness in Mulder's short nod, but only 
because she knew him well. His professional mask was fixed 
firmly in place, hiding the pain that came from sifting through the 
contents of a dead little girl's room. 
"You say it's your job to catch the killer, to draw a picture of him. 
But have you ever taken a moment to look on the other side of the 
fence? Do you have any idea what it's like to be the victim, to have 
someone you loved stolen from you?” 
Mulder's mask cracked, and Scully felt the sharp cut of the words 
as if they had penetrated her own flesh. She watched helplessly as 
her partner struggled to regain his poise. She expected an evasion, 
a deflection of the question to safer ground. His candor shocked 
her. 
"Yes. Yes, I do. My sister was abducted from our home when I 
was 12. We never found her. That's why I do this." 
Anne studied his face for truthfulness, her own crumbling when 
she found it. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her lip trembling. "I'm not 
sure which I think is worse -- the knowing or the wondering." 
"It's the difference between a first degree burn and a gunshot 
wound," Mulder replied quietly. "Neither one hurts more, just in a 
different way." 
Anne didn't speak again until she'd accompanied them back to the 
front door. As they started to leave, she laid her hand on Mulder's 
arm, and he looked down to see gratitude in her eyes. 
"Thank you, Agent Mulder. It may sound crazy, but knowing that 
the person looking for Jackie's killer really understands what he's 
cost us... Well, it means something to me." 
Mulder ducked his head in acknowledgement, uncomfortable with 
any further display of emotion. He watched as Anne shook Scully's 
hand with another murmur of thanks before ushering them outside. 
When the door shut firmly behind them he broke out into a cold 
sweat, his legs weak. 
"You all right?" Scully asked softly as he raised a trembling hand 
to brush the perspiration from his brow. 
"Yeah. Just peachy." 
She rolled her eyes, then frowned a little. "I remember you saying 
that the Stombres were going through a divorce, even fighting over 
custody of Jackie. They certainly seemed devoted just now." 
Mulder shrugged, but his eyes were sad. "It's a fact of any tragedy, 
Scully. It either brings people together or drives them apart." 
Scully nodded, knowing without Mulder saying the words what the 
impact on his family had been. She followed him down the walk, 
puzzled when he turned left at the driveway and walked around the 
side of the house. 
"Mulder? What are you doing?" 
"Checking the ground outside Jackie's window," he called over his 
shoulder as she labored to keep up with his long strides. "I thought 
I saw something." 
"It rained here last night. I don't think you're going to find 
anything." 
Might as well be talking to a brick wall. When Mulder was on the 
scent, everyone and everything else was superfluous. Scully 
sighed, muttered a few choice words, and followed. 
By the time she caught up he was on his knees beneath the 
window, head bowed to study the grass. His hand sifted through 
the long green blades and he sat back on his haunches, something 
held tenderly between his long fingers. Scully saw they were some 
kind of green leaves and frowned, observing that there were no 
trees in the vicinity. As she watched, Mulder lifted the leaves to his 
nose and sniffed. 
"Mulder? Mulder, what is it?" Scully demanded as he closed his 
eyes and went very still, the leaves quivering in his grasp. 
"Mint. These are mint leaves, Scully," he muttered. 
Deja vu again. As if it were yesterday, she heard Roche's soft, 
almost gentle voice describe his abduction of Karen Ann Filipante. 
*Mint grew outside her window. I stood outside her window atop 
sprigs of mint*. 
"What's happening, Scully?" Mulder asked, turning pleading eyes 
on her face. "How could he have known?"


FBI Headquarters
Friday
7:00 p.m.


"Fox, eat," Grey ordered, setting a container of egg drop soup in 
front of his brother. 
"Yes, Mom," Mulder replied mockingly, but he picked up a spoon 
and took small bite. "When did you say they'd have word on that 
handwriting?" 
"I talked to Kristen about ten minutes before you two got back. She 
promised she'd have the report done in an hour," Grey assured him. 
Scully's eyes slid over to consider Grey carefully before moving on 
to Mulder, who only took another sip of the soup and studied Anne 
Stombres's official statement to the police. Scully rolled her eyes at 
his indifference, forking another bite of shrimp fried rice into her 
mouth. She, however, had heard something in Grey's voice when 
he talked about Agent Harding -- not to mention the fact that he'd 
used her first name. Very interesting. She'd have to revisit *that* 
subject at a later date. 
"Not that I don't already know what it's going to say," Mulder 
muttered, slapping the casefile closed and staring into space. "It's 
*his* writing. I know it." 
"Mulder..." Scully protested. "You aren't honestly going to tell me 
that you believe that John Lee Roche has returned from the dead to 
commit these murders, are you?" 
"You're only half right, Scully. He's definitely still dead, I'll grant 
you that," Mulder said, his expression stony. 
"So, what -- his ghost is committing the crimes? What are you 
trying to say?" Scully pressed, annoyed by his stubborn persistence 
to take the paranormal view. "Mulder, someone flesh and blood 
assaulted and strangled those little girls. You're letting your 
emotions over this case get the better of you." 
Wrong thing to say, she knew it the moment it left her mouth. 
"Oh, well then please enlighten me, Dr. Scully," Mulder sneered, 
his lip curled in disdain. "How do you explain the evidence? The 
handwriting? The killer's knowledge of my personal life? The 
damn mint leaves under the window? Why don't you give me your 
oh-so-rational and scientific explanation for that? I'm all ears!" 
"It adds up to nothing, Mulder! There's a perfectly logical 
explanation for those things, we just have to find it," Scully 
snapped, flushing. 
"Such as?" 
"Such as the Internet! The killer could have read all about the 
Roche case, it's even conceivable that he could have obtained 
samples of Roche's handwriting." 
"Oh, that is such bullshit!" Mulder fumed. 
Clang! 
The metallic ringing startled them both and their heads snapped 
around to discover the source. Grey stood grimly by a small metal 
table, a ruler clutched in his hand and a grim expression on his 
face. He'd evidently caused the sound by banging the ruler against 
the metal tabletop, which still vibrated faintly. 
"Okay, that's the end of this round. Now drop your fists and retire 
to your neutral corners," he said dryly. 
Scully had the good grace to look contrite. Mulder just scowled. 
"Look," Grey continued, dropping the ruler and moving between 
them. "We're all tired, and we're all frustrated. We also all want the 
same thing. Turning on each other is not going to stop the next 
child from being murdered." 
"He's right," Scully agreed quickly, standing up and moving next 
to Mulder. "And I'm sorry. I know you count on me to challenge 
your theories, not disparage them." 
Mulder reached out to grab her wrist, drawing her gently closer. 
"I'm sorry too. I didn't exactly open my mind to your hypothesis 
either." 
Grey smirked as they kissed, then jumped apart guiltily when the 
office door opened and Agent Kristen Harding stepped inside, 
Skinner on her heels. 
"Hello, Agent Mulder, Agent Scully," she greeted. Her smile 
broadened a little. "Hi, Grey." 
Scully raised an eyebrow, her mouth quirking slightly when Grey 
noticed and blushed. 
*Hmmm. Very, very interesting*. 
"You have the results?" Mulder asked, managing to sound both 
eager and apprehensive at the same time. He stood up and came 
around to lean on the front of his desk. 
"Yes, I do. Though I can't say I can explain them," Agent Harding 
admitted, brushing aside a strand of ash blonde hair. Her green 
eyes looked momentarily at Grey before flitting over to Mulder. 
"It's Roche's handwriting, isn't it?" Mulder pressed. 
She frowned and chewed her lip. "It's a complete match," she 
affirmed. She looked back at Skinner. "There's no mistake, sir. All 
the analysis points to a 98.3 percent probability that the writing on 
Agent Mulder's wall was made by John Lee Roche. It's all in my 
report." She handed it to Mulder, still frowning. "It makes no 
sense." 
"Thank you, Agent Harding," Skinner said gruffly. "I'm sure 
you've done a fine job, as always. And thank you for putting in the 
overtime necessary to finish this ASAP." 
Harding smiled, revealing two dimples. "Thank you, sir. I just wish 
the data could have been less confusing." 
She turned to leave the office, but not before Scully saw her flash 
Grey another small smile which he returned, eyes lingering on her 
until the door closed and removed her from view. 
An uneasy silence settled over the room. Mulder stared sightlessly 
at the wall, pulling absently at his lower lip. Grey, Scully and 
Skinner exchanged concerned glances until finally Skinner cleared 
his throat. 
"I realize we're all scrambling to try and make sense of this," he 
said, jaw clenched in the classic Skinner expression of frustration. 
"At this point, I can't begin to guess at an explanation. 
Unfortunately, I didn't come down to hear Agent Harding's report." 
Mulder's eyes darted to Skinner's face, scrutinizing it intensely. 
"No," he murmured brokenly. 
Skinner met his gaze without flinching, his brown eyes filled with 
compassion and regret. "I'm afraid so, Mulder. He's taken another 
one."


Chilmark, MA 
11:00 p.m. 
Friday


Under other circumstances Scully would have found the seating 
arrangements amusing. Skinner had arranged for a bureau 
helicopter to fly them to Martha's Vineyard, and a patrol car from 
the Chilmark PD awaited them upon their arrival. Skinner, of 
course, had commandeered the front seat, leaving Scully, Grey, 
and Mulder to cram into the back. She now found herself in a 
position uncomfortably reminiscent of her childhood -- sitting on 
the hump in the middle so that Mulder and Grey had more room 
for their long legs. How many times had she sat similarly squished 
between Bill and Melissa? God bless Charlie, who had come along 
and forced her father to trade in the sedan for a station wagon. 
So sitting here now, knees drawn up, left her feeling more like that 
ill-tempered child than a grown woman. Any humor, however, 
died in the face of Mulder's blank, shell-shocked expression as he 
gazed out the window. Whoever the killer might be, he was 
pushing Mulder's buttons with eerie accuracy. It actually did 
remind her of... She shoved the thought away, offended that it had 
occurred to her. 
Scully bit her lip savagely, wishing she could pull Mulder into her 
arms and comfort him but all too aware of the Chilmark officer 
quietly talking with Skinner on the other side of the steel mesh. 
She closed her eyes, only to recall vividly the devastated look on 
Mulder's face when Skinner informed them that eight-year-old 
Callie Westin had been abducted from her home in Chilmark, not 
three miles from the house where Samantha Mulder disappeared. 
That it had happened while her 13-year-old brother was babysitting 
her after school. Since then, Mulder had been operating on 
automatic pilot, his body present but his mind on two little girls 
inexplicably linked by a madman. 
The Westin home shone like a beacon in the darkness, every light 
ablaze and surrounded by flashes of red and blue. Neighbors stood 
out in front of their homes, watching the activity with grim 
fascination and talking quietly among themselves. The police car 
pulled smoothly to the curb, the sudden cessation of the engine a 
harsh reminder that they'd arrived at their destination. Their driver 
exited the car quickly, leaving them blinking in the sudden 
brilliance of the dome light. Mulder unfolded himself from the 
back seat, regaining enough presence of mind to extend a helping 
hand to Scully as she crawled out after him. 
Skinner regarded them sharply, leaning one muscled arm against 
the roof of the car. "Emotions are running high on this case," he 
said, keeping his voice low. "I just want to remind you three that 
it's imperative you maintain the utmost professionalism. Let's not 
make things any harder for these people than we have to." 
"I'm not going inside," Grey said, ignoring Scully and Mulder's 
stares. "I think there's more than enough people in there already 
and I'll just feel underfoot. I'd rather take a look around out here, 
see if I spot anything useful." 
Mulder reached into the pocket of his trenchcoat and extracted a 
flashlight. "Here. I was a Boy Scout." 
Grey snorted. "In what lifetime?" 
Scully could have kissed him when Mulder grinned. Grey 
possessed a knack for delivering just the remark to turn his brother 
from the darkness. She unobtrusively gave his hand a small 
squeeze of gratitude as she moved past him toward the house. 
Organized chaos. Though small, the Chilmark police department 
had rallied well to handle the Westins' crisis. Forensics was 
concentrated in the back of the home, where the kidnapper had 
entered to remove Callie from her bedroom. A short, heavy-set 
man with an authoritative air questioned a couple sitting on the 
living room couch, hands linked tightly together. Both looked to be 
in their 40s -- the woman's brown hair peppered lightly with the 
beginnings of gray, the man sporting a generous amount of silver 
at the temples. For a moment, as Scully studied her face, the 
woman seemed familiar. Abruptly she realized it was not Mrs. 
Westin's features that struck a responsive chord within her, but the 
ravaged expression. The puffy eyes and haunted gaze echoed Ann 
Stombres's with frightening accuracy. 
Skinner stepped forward to introduce himself to the cop asking the 
questions, a Captain Eddings. Mulder hung back, nudging Scully 
and then ducking his head to speak softly in her ear. 
"I'd like you to question them, Scully. I don't think I'm up for this 
one. I'd rather just listen in and check out the crime scene." 
Two separate emotions played tug o' war with her heart, battling 
for predominance. Overwhelming relief that Mulder recognized his 
fragile sense of control and was acting to preserve it. Deep sadness 
that the killer had reduced him to such a state. Scully pasted on a 
smile she'd seen in a magazine. 
"No problem, partner." 
Mulder's answering nod told her he recognized the counterfeit 
nature of the smile but wouldn't call her on it. Scully turned her 
attention back to Skinner just as he was making introductions to 
the Westins. 
"...Special Agent Dana Scully and her partner Special Agent Fox 
Mulder. They'd like to ask you a few questions of their own, if you 
could just bear with us for a little bit longer." 
Mulder listened while Scully took the Westins through the usual 
battery of questions, leading them through the events up to and just 
after Callie had disappeared. His ears registered the couple's 
strained, halting answers while his eyes roved about the room, 
learning more about the Westins as people and not just victims. 
"Jason always watches Callie for the hour and a half after school 
until I get home from work," Trish Westin recounted tearfully. 
"He's been doing it for over a year now, and there's never been any 
problems. I never thought anything like this..." 
Mulder moved slowly around the sofa to a cherry table against the 
wall that displayed a myriad of family photos, some candid and 
some professional portraits. In one, a grinning boy that could only 
be Jason carried a much smaller Callie piggyback, her eyes 
sparkling mischievously at the camera as she waved her right hand. 
A sharp pain pierced him, and his heart felt as if it literally twisted 
in his chest. 
*Bad idea, Mulder. You're supposed to be maintaining some 
distance, remember?* 
"So Jason heard a sound that caused him to check on Callie? May I 
speak to him directly?" Scully asked gently. 
"Our pediatrician was by earlier and gave him something to help 
him sleep," Ted Westin replied, defensiveness creeping into his 
voice. "He was pretty shaken up." 
"Understandably," Scully murmured. "Can you tell me exactly 
what Jason told you he heard?" 
"He said it sounded like Callie gasped," Trish began. Her eyes 
filled with tears and she struggled to contain them before 
continuing. "He thought maybe she was just playing at first. Callie 
has a very fertile imagination, and she's always making up 
adventures, play-acting. He called out to see if she was all right, 
but she didn't answer. That's when he went back to her room, 
but..." 
Her voice cracked and she covered her mouth with one hand as if 
to catch the small sob that broke free. Her husband tightened his 
already iron grip on her hand. 
"Callie was gone. The screen was off the open window and she 
was no where in sight," he finished gruffly. "Jason ran outside to 
look for her, and when he couldn't find her he called Trish." 
"I was mad at her," Trish whispered. "Mad that I had to leave work 
early for what I was sure was a prank to scare Jason. They're 
always doing little things like that to tease each other." 
Unable to listen any longer, Mulder headed down another hallway 
to another little girl's room. Defeat tried to envelop him like a hug 
from an old friend but he shrugged it off angrily. 
*She's still alive. It's not too late.* 
Callie's room was as different from Jackie's as night and day. 
Where Jackie's had been soft and feminine from floor to ceiling, 
Callie's bore the distinct influence of an older brother. Star Wars 
figures resided beside baby dolls, a soccer ball next to ballet 
slippers. Helplessly, Mulder's thoughts turned to Sam, the girl who 
could hit a baseball but still liked to dress up in his mother's 
clothes and have tea parties with her dolls. He blinked rapidly, 
weaving among the officers dusting for fingerprints and using 
small vacuum cleaners to retrieve hairs and fibers. 
"Any luck?" 
A young policewoman looked up from her fingerprint kit, a 
grimace of frustration distorting her features. "It's not looking 
good. They're saying this is another of the Paper Hearts murders. Is 
that true?" 
Mulder turned away, fighting nausea at her words. "Not if I can 
help it," he growled. 
He stalked back out of the room, intending to return to Scully and 
Skinner when his eye caught a flicker of movement from across 
the hall. A door, cracked slightly so that a tendril of light shone 
through, shut quickly and Mulder heard the sound of retreating 
footsteps. He wavered a moment, then stepped over to the door and 
knocked softly. 
"Go away." 
The voice was young, scared, and coated in misery. On another 
night, in another time, it could have been his own. Mulder closed 
his eyes tightly, then knocked again. 
"I said, go away. I'm not talking to the police tonight, they said I 
didn't have to." 
"I'm not the police, I'm FBI," Mulder said dryly. "Does that 
count?" 
Silence at first, then sounds of footstep returning. The door cracked 
open and two brown eyes regarded Mulder carefully. 
"Honest? Like that guy in those Jose Chung books that hunts aliens 
with his partner?" 
Mulder winced. "You *read* that stuff?" 
The door opened a bit more -- now he could make out sandy brown 
hair and the freckled face of the boy in the photo. 
"I read everything. You didn't answer the question. You're really 
FBI?" 
Mulder grinned and used his index finger to draw an X over his 
heart. "Truth," he promised. "My name is Agent Mulder. Can I talk 
to you a minute, Jason?" 
The boy's reluctance was as obvious as his curiosity. "I guess so. 
But come in here. They think I'm sleeping, but I threw that pill 
they gave me away." He shuddered a little. "I don't want to sleep." 
Mulder squeezed into the bedroom, glancing at a life-size poster of 
Michael Jordan that adorned one wall before turning his gaze back 
to Jason. The boy wandered over to plunk down atop his rumpled 
bed and Mulder pulled out the desk chair for himself. Jason eyed 
him warily. 
"You probably want to know how I could let someone just walk in 
here and take my little sister," he said angrily. "After all I was the 
older brother, right? I was supposed to be in charge." 
Mulder felt the breath leave his lungs as if he'd been sucker-
punched. He tried to cover his distress by adjusting the angle of his 
chair, deliberately taking slow, deep breaths as he did so. 
*God, if you're up there like Scully thinks you are, cut me some 
slack. I don't know how much more of this I can take.* 
Jason squinted at him, evidently not fooled by his stunt with the 
chair. "Why do you look like that?" he demanded. 
"Like what?" Mulder said evasively. 
"When I said that about being in charge your face got all white and 
you looked like you wanted to cry. Why? She's not *your* sister." 
Mulder had to admire the kid's powers of observation, if even they 
were irritating the heck out of him at the moment. He returned 
Jason's calculated stare and decided the boy deserved the truth. 
Beneath all his brave words and stoic front, Mulder detected a 
crushing grief that only a kindred spirit might recognize. If only 
just one person in his life had understood, had stopped to assure 
him that Samantha's abduction wasn't his fault... 
"My sister was kidnapped when I was twelve. My parents were 
next door at a neighbor's house and I was babysitting." 
Jason's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You're not making that up to 
get me to talk to you, are you? 'Cause that would be pretty cold." 
Mulder shrugged. "Believe what you like. What matters is that I'm 
here to help find your sister. If you saw or heard anything 
important, I need to know." 
"I didn't think so at first. I mean, when I first came into her room I 
thought she was just playing a joke on me. That she was hiding 
under her bed, or had snuck out the window and around to the back 
yard." Jason's hard eyes softened into that of a confused little boy. 
"But then she didn't come out. And Mom was crying and calling 
the police and they started asking me lots of questions and getting 
me all confused and..." A single tear trickled down his cheek. 
"Now I'm not sure." 
"You're doing fine," Mulder assured him, meaning it. He couldn't 
help admiring Jason's fortitude under the circumstances. "Could 
you tell me what you thought you heard?" 
Jason shook his head, but not as a refusal to speak. "Not heard. 
Saw. When I first came into Callie's room and I saw the screen 
wasn't on the window, I thought she'd broken it and was hiding so 
she wouldn't get in trouble. When I looked out to see if I could find 
the screen, I think I saw a car parked out on the street just behind 
the bushes." 
Mulder tried to contain his excitement. It might turn out to be a 
dead end, but it was the closest thing to an eyewitness they'd had 
so far. Recalling Jason's words about a barrage of questions from 
the police, he kept his voice deliberately nonchalant. 
"Can you describe it for me?" 
Jason closed his eyes as if searching an inner screen in his mind. 
"It was white," he said slowly. "And long. And I think it had one of 
those tops on it -- you know, with the windows in them?" 
All the spit left his mouth. "A camper shell," Mulder stated, licking 
his lips. "Anything else?" 
Jason shook his head, still studying Mulder's face as if he were 
preparing for an exam. If he noticed the discomfort this time, he 
didn't question it, moving on to another topic. "Did they blame 
you? When your sister disappeared?" 
Mulder sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah. Not as 
much as I blamed myself, though." 
He stood up and moved over to the door, wanting badly to get out 
of the room, away from the sight of his own eyes in the child's 
face. He paused with his hand mid-way through turning the 
doorknob. Forcing down the maelstrom of his own fear and 
confusion he sought out Jason and captured those eyes with his 
own. 
"I want you to listen to me now, Jason, and if you only remember 
one thing someone said to you tonight I want this to be it. This. 
Was. Not. Your. Fault. You couldn't have stopped Callie from 
being taken, no matter what you might have done differently." 
Jason didn't nod, only appeared to absorb Mulder's appeal and file 
it away for later consideration. Mulder opened the door but froze 
when Jason suddenly spoke. 
"Agent Mulder? You never said what happened to your sister. Did 
you ever find her?" 
Dark, humorless laughter threatened to erupt from his lips, and 
Mulder clamped them tightly together. 
*Kid, you have no idea what a loaded question that is.* 
"I'm not sure," he admitted aloud. 
Jason frowned. "How about Callie? Can you find her?" 
Mulder resisted the urge to avoid the boy's probing stare. "I'm 
going to do everything in my power." 
Astonishingly enough, his promise satisfied Jason and he bobbed 
his head, turning away. 
Mulder stepped into the hall and closed the door. The noise, bright 
lights, and commotion seemed overpowering after the quiet 
intensity of his sojourn in Jason's room, battering his senses 
relentlessly. He pressed both palms flat against the wall and leaned 
his forehead against the smooth surface, shutting his eyes. 
Disjointed images and snippets of conversation scrambled together 
in his sleep-deprived brain. 
*Mulder, promise me you'll try to keep your perspective.* 
*Do you have any idea what it's like to be the victim, to have 
someone you loved stolen from you?* 
*You went behind my back to Skinner? How could you do that to 
me, Scully?* 
*You're not just getting into his head, Mulder, you've let him get 
into yours.* 
*Did they blame you?* 
And she was beside him, as always, when he needed her most. A 
soft, cool hand pressed to the back of his neck, ruffling the hair. 
Mulder cracked open one eye to find Scully regarding him with 
concern and an almost blinding love. 
"I need to get out of here," he said hoarsely. 
Without hesitation or speaking another word, Scully took his hand 
and led him back through the living room and out the front door. 
When they reached the car, Mulder leaned back against the door 
and stared up at the star-filled sky. Scully followed suit, ignoring 
the fact that her body pressed more tightly along his than protocol 
would dictate. She felt him lean into her gratefully, but he 
remained silent. 
After several minutes Skinner and Grey joined them. 
"There's a good sized puddle of oil near the curb where the street 
runs behind those lilac bushes," Grey said, handing Mulder his 
flashlight. "Looks like a car was parked there for awhile. Our 
friend has a leak. Unfortunately, that doesn't tell us anything about 
the model." 
"A white El Camino," Mulder said woodenly. "With a camper 
shell." 
Scully pushed off the side of the car and spun to add her 
incredulous stare with the others. "Mulder, that's..." 
"Roche's car. I know, I dreamed it, remember?" Mulder replied 
bitterly. 
"Roche? Where did you get that description?" Skinner demanded 
sharply, one hand fiddling with something in the pocket of his 
coat. 
"Jason Westin. I spoke with him just now. He saw the car when he 
went in to look for Callie," Mulder explained. "Just the car, 
nothing else." 
"He wasn't sleeping?" Scully questioned. 
"Obviously. He palmed the sedative that the doctor gave him." 
Mulder's lips curved a little. "He's a tough kid. Scared and 
confused, but tough." 
Scully heard the emotion behind Mulder's words and returned to 
his side, slipping her hand into his. He looked down at her and 
cocked an eyebrow, imitating her familiar gesture. 
"Got an explanation for this one, Scully?" 
Scully's brow creased in irritation. "A different one from yours, I'm 
sure," she said dryly. "Though I do admit that it's unnerving..." 
"It's worse," Skinner cut in grimly, finally removing his hand from 
his pocket to reveal a piece of paper in a sealed evidence bag. 
Mulder sucked his lip between his teeth, eyes riveted on the note. 
"They found this in Callie's room, under her pillow," Skinner 
explained tersely. "It had your name on the envelope, Mulder. I'm 
not sure what it means, but I have a feeling you will." 
Mulder continued to stare at the proffered bag for a moment before 
reaching for it with a trembling hand. The streetlight illuminated 
the neat, almost feminine handwriting, identical to that found on 
his apartment wall. Mulder's eyes moved rapidly over the words 
and he slid slowly down the side of the car, curling forward to rest 
his head on his knees. Scully removed the note from his slack 
fingers and read, an involuntary gasp wrenched from her throat. 
The message was simple and all too familiar. 
*I can't wait to see your face.*


Holiday Inn 
Boston 
Saturday 
3:30 a.m.


"SAMANTHA!" 
The scream tore Scully from a deep sleep and sent her fumbling 
blindly for her weapon, knocking the alarm clock on the floor in 
the process. Her initial panic faded as she became more aware of 
her surroundings and her ears registered the harsh, jagged 
breathing of the man beside her. The pale moonlight reduced 
Mulder to little more than an indistinct silhouette, but Scully could 
feel the tremors that wracked his body as they vibrated through the 
mattress. She reached over to switch on the small bedside lamp, its 
illumination muted but enough to chase back the shadows. 
Scully observed him carefully for a moment without attempting to 
touch him. Shortly after the shift in their relationship she'd been 
awakened by Mulder in the throes of a particularly intense 
nightmare and had rushed to comfort him, winding up with a 
bloody nose for her efforts. She'd taken it in stride, even made a 
small joke, but Mulder had been horrified. Since then, she'd 
learned to use a more cautious approach. 
He sat rigidly upright, hands fisted in the bedclothes, knees drawn 
up, and eyes staring wildly at the wall. His tee shirt stuck to his 
back and a light sheen of perspiration coated his face. Scully saw 
that he was in the "in-between" place, no longer asleep but not 
really cognizant either. She very gently lay her right hand on the 
nape of Mulder's neck, brushing her thumb back and forth over the 
short hairs there. It was an action she'd performed many times, and 
she knew it calmed him. After a couple minutes he dropped his 
forehead onto his knees and relaxed just a bit, though an occasional 
shudder still signaled his distress. 
"A seven?" she asked quietly, referring to the scale they'd invented 
to rate Mulder's nightmares -- one signifying merely strange and 
ten indicating paralyzing terror. 
"More like an eight," Mulder replied, the words muffled. 
"Want to talk about it?" Scully tried hard to keep the question 
neutral, but it wasn't easy. Truth was, she longed to have Mulder 
open up and confide in her, but he remained especially reticent 
about his nightmares -- claimed he'd only scare her with his scarred 
psyche. 
"It was an old favorite -- Roche kidnapping Samantha while I 
watch," Mulder said, voice deceptively light. He didn't add that in 
the dream he'd been an adult, and that Jason Westin had appeared, 
pointing his finger accusingly and snarling, "How could you 
possibly save *my* sister? You couldn't even save your own!" 
Instead Mulder just added, "I'm fine, Scully, no big deal." 
Rather than call him a liar, Scully slipped out of bed and padded 
into the bathroom. She filled the tumbler on the sink with cold 
water and after taking a sip herself, returned and nudged Mulder, 
whose head was still propped on his knees. She lay back down and 
watched him drain the rest, noting the way the water sloshed as he 
brought it to his lips. Mulder set the glass carefully on the floor by 
the bed and finally met her eyes. 
"Thanks, Scully." 
She looked at him -- tousled hair, shadowed eyes, tentative smile -- 
and two thoughts filled her mind. The first: 
*This man is extremely high maintenance, and always will be.* 
And immediately on the heels of that: 
*I love him. There's no place else I'd rather be.* 
Mulder looked at her quizzically. "Scully?" 
"Hmm?" 
"What were you thinking just now? You had a funny look on your 
face." 
Scully smiled. "That the only good thing about a nightmare is 
having someone hold you afterwards," she said. 
The look that spread over his face was a gift, and well worth a 
thousand sleepless nights. Mulder could be a bastard -- arrogant, 
cynical, and insensitive. Life had hardened him in many ways, 
caused him to take on layer after layer of protection. She was one 
of the very few allowed to view those layers from a different angle. 
To see the childlike wonder. The unwavering loyalty. The selfless 
love. The world only saw the irritation. Scully saw the pearl. 
Scully flicked off the light as Mulder uncurled and snuggled down 
beside her, his head pillowed on her chest. She pressed a kiss to the 
hair on the top of his head and curled her arm around his shoulders. 
"You want me to give you something to help you sleep?" she
asked gently. 
A slight shake of his head was her answer, and she didn't press. 
She ran her fingertips lightly up and down the skin of his arm, 
smiling when he shivered a little, then went boneless. 
"I know you don't believe that Roche is the killer, Scully," he 
murmured drowsily. "And I know it sounds crazy. I'm the one who 
put the bullet in his head, after all. But the mint leaves, the car, the 
note -- how can you explain it?" 
Scully sighed. "I don't know, love. I'll admit, when I saw that note 
I was shocked. But there must be a logical explanation. Those 
interviews were filmed; maybe the killer managed to get his hands 
on the videotapes. As for the car - - well, we can trace that through 
the DMV tomorrow. We know it's still out there somewhere." 
Mulder didn't respond, but she could tell he was still awake, felt 
his tension return. "How do *you* explain it, Mulder?" 
"Remember Luther Lee Boggs? He claimed he could channel the 
souls of the dead. If I remember correctly, he even had *you* 
believing him. What if our killer is somehow channeling Roche?" 
Scully grimaced at the memory. "That was a difficult time for me, 
Mulder. I was vulnerable, you said so yourself." 
Mulder lifted his head to stare into her eyes, mouth curving. "You 
believed him, Scully. You can't deny that." 
Scully's mouth moved soundlessly as she desperately attempted to 
refute him, but Mulder only laid his head back down, still smiling. 
"I still think we need to explore a more mundane interpretation," 
she finally insisted. 
"Hey, Scully. In our line of work, channeling *is* mundane," 
Mulder replied smugly. He sucked in a deep gulp of air and 
nuzzled his face into the silk of her pajama top. "I have to find her, 
Scully. Before it's too late." 
The pronoun usage was not lost on Scully. She lifted her hand and 
wove her fingers into his hair, tugging gently until he raised his 
head. "WE, Mulder. I know that Jason got to you tonight, and I 
understand why. But you aren't the only one that wants to bring 
that little girl home safely. Skinner, Grey, and I are in this, too." 
Mulder ducked his head in a silent concession, then smiled. "I can't 
believe he's spending his vacation time like this," he said, referring 
to his brother. "It's not exactly the downtime he'd intended." 
Scully pursed her lips, eyes twinkling. "It may have its side 
benefits." 
Mulder's head popped back up. "What are you talking about? Why 
do you suddenly look like the cat that ate the canary?" 
"Let's just say someone at the bureau finds your brother 
very...interesting. And the feeling seems to be mutual." 
Mulder's eyebrow arched. "Who?" 
"Agent Harding," Scully said, enjoying her chance to be smug. 
"Get out!" 
"I'm serious, Mulder! If you hadn't been so wrapped up in the case 
you might've seen the looks they were giving each other. Did you 
notice they were on a first name basis?" 
Mulder snorted. "He's on a first name basis with *Walt* too, but 
I'm pretty sure that doesn't indicate attraction." He feigned a 
shudder. "God, what an image!" 
Scully smacked his shoulder but couldn't avoid snickering. "Don't 
take my word for it then. Just watch the next time they're together." 
"I never saw you as the matchmaker type, babe," Mulder said 
smirking. "Gonna have to start calling you 'yenta,' I guess." 
Scully bit back her retort when his hand crept up and he began 
casually unbuttoning her pajama top, all the while pressing soft 
kisses to the skin that was revealed. 
"Mulder? What are you doing?" she asked a little breathlessly. 
"Changed my mind," he answered in a husky voice that sent 
shivers up her spine. "I'm taking you up on your offer." 
"Offer?" Her fingers tightened in his hair and she wriggled a little 
as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. 
"Yeah, you know. To give me something to help me sleep." 
Scully closed her eyes and sighed again, this time in contentment. 
"Never let it be said I reneged on an offer."


Brockton, MA 
Saturday 
9:30 a.m.


Mulder leaned against the car and stared at the small, rundown 
bungalow while he waited for Scully to join him. The early 
morning sunshine had given way to dark clouds that threatened 
rain, and a cool breeze ruffled his tie and provoked a small shiver. 
"Definitely a fixer-upper," he remarked dryly, indicating the roof 
shedding shingles and the peeling paint. 
"This is the place," Scully confirmed. "Steve Cole, 1414 Dinah 
Avenue. She smiled. "Relax, Mulder. I'm sure he's forgotten all 
about the way you helped him detail the car." 
"I still find it awfully coincidental that he's living in the Boston 
area," Mulder mused, ignoring her jibe. "When do the records say 
he moved here?" 
"Not long after we saw him. He was a kid still living with his 
parents then, Mulder. He's twenty-three now, and a mechanic at a 
local car dealership." 
Mulder started ambling toward the house. "All right. Let's hear 
what he's got to say." 
Steve Cole had matured since the day they'd searched Roche's old 
El Camino at his home in Hollyville, Delaware. He'd lost the 
gangliness of a teenager and become more muscular, now sporting 
a mustache in addition to his shoulder-length sandy hair. He 
greeted them politely and ushered them into a tiny, cluttered living 
room. Scully shot Mulder an amused glance as she moved aside 
several tee shirts to sit down on the couch. 
"You understand why we're here, don't you Mr. Cole?" she began 
briskly. 
Cole frowned. "Not really. I explained on the phone, Agent Scully, 
that I no longer have that car. I reported it stolen over three months 
ago --you can check the police report." 
"We've seen the report, Mr. Cole, but we needed to follow up on 
this personally. We have a witness that placed a car like yours at 
the scene of a kidnapping, and it's vital we do everything we can to 
track it down," Scully explained patiently. 
Cole's annoyance turned to interest. "Really? That car's something 
else, huh? First owned by a serial killer and now stolen by a 
kidnapper. Cool." 
"We'd just like to hear the details surrounding the theft," Mulder 
spoke up when he saw Scully's lips tighten and her eyes narrow. 
"When it happened, how you discovered the car was missing -- 
that sort of thing." 
"Happened two months ago, on July 18. I remember because it was 
exactly two weeks after the fourth," Cole said helpfully. "I'd gone 
out with some friends and got back at about 8 that night. Never 
would have noticed the car was missing until the morning, 'cept I 
needed to fix the towel bar in the bathroom and I keep my toolbox 
in the garage. When I got out back I saw the lock had been 
jimmied and the car was gone." 
"None of your neighbors saw anything suspicious?" Scully asked. 
Cole's lip curled in disdain. "There's not exactly a neighborhood 
watch around here. No one would notice if you marched naked 
down the middle of the street singing the Star Spangled Banner. 
No, no witnesses." 
Mulder seemed about to comment on Cole's illustration but Scully 
nipped it in the bud with a warning glare. "Anything else you think 
we should know? Any ideas who might have taken it?" he asked 
instead. 
Cole shrugged. "Beats me. It wasn't exactly worth much, though 
I'd fixed it up and it still ran well." He eyed Mulder shrewdly. 
"This kidnapping has something to do with those Paper Hearts 
murders, doesn't it? I’ve seen it on television. You think the guy 
sending you those hearts stole my car?" 
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Cole," Scully said shortly, standing 
up and offering her hand. "I'm sure you can appreciate the fact that 
we aren't at liberty to discuss the specifics of an ongoing 
investigation." 
If Cole resented her brusqueness he didn't let on, merely saw them 
to the door without further comment. 
"What do you think?" Mulder asked, leaning back into the 
passenger seat while Scully buckled her seat belt. 
"I think he typifies the worst in human nature -- the sick 
fascination with car accidents and other disasters," Scully replied, 
pursing her lips in distaste. "Other than that, I'd say he's a dead 
end. The police were unable to collect any useful evidence at the 
time of the theft, so we have no way of knowing who took the car 
or where he is now." She pulled her eyes from the road long 
enough to take in Mulder's defeated expression. "Sorry, love. I'd 
hoped this would be our break, too." 
Mulder closed his eyes. "All I can hear is the ticking of the clock, 
Scully. Time's running out for Callie Westin." 
There was really nothing to say to that, so Scully just drove in 
silence. Though the drive to the Boston field office took less than 
30 minutes, Mulder surprised her by slipping into a deep sleep. 
Risking his wrath, she changed course and returned to their hotel, 
shaking him gently awake when he didn't rouse on his own. He 
mumbled an apology as he sat up, rubbing his eyes and blinking. 
When he realized their location he scowled. 
"Why are we here, Scully? I thought we were headed back to the 
bureau." 
Scully mustered every ounce of patience she possessed. "Mulder, 
you're exhausted. Go grab a nap, there's nothing you can do right 
now anyway. Grey's coordinating the lab analysis with the D.C. 
bureau and he'll call when the results come in. And Skinner asked 
me to accompany him to get an official statement from Jason 
Westin." 
Mulder's brow furrowed. "Why you? I'm the one he talked to last 
night. Or did Skinner forget that?" he asked through clenched 
teeth. 
"He didn't forget," she replied mildly, curbing her own irritation 
and the desire to snarl, "Why not me?" "He's worried about you, 
Mulder. He sees what this case is doing to you, and he's trying to 
spare you any unnecessary stress. This won't be easy for Jason, and 
Skinner feels you are too emotionally invested to remain 
objective." 
"I'm touched you all seem to know me so much better than I know 
myself," Mulder sneered. "Tell me, Scully, do you and Skinner 
have a regularly-scheduled time when you meet to decide my life 
for me? You know, whether to remove me from a case, whether or 
not I'm capable of conducting an interview? Is it marked on your 
calendar?" 
"Stop it!" Scully snapped, flushing with anger. "You know that's 
ridiculous! I already apologized about asking Skinner to take you 
off the case. Anyway, this is completely different!" 
"Is it? It doesn't feel different." 
"I had nothing to do with this! Skinner made the decision." 
"But you agree with him, don't you? You were only too happy to 
go along with it. Go along with *him*," Mulder said nastily. 
Scully's eyes widened. "What exactly are you implying?" 
"You figure it out." 
"No. You're the one that brought it up. What did you mean?" 
Scully's voice shook with fury, masking the impending tears. 
Mulder looked at her, his face expressionless. "I'm not blind, 
Scully. I've seen the way Skinner looks at you. Hell, he made a 
deal with Cancerman for you! Who could blame you for getting 
tired of my shit and wanting someone lower maintenance?" 
Scully could only gape at him in shock as he threw open the car 
door, her mind stuck on the fact that Mulder had echoed her own 
thoughts of the previous night. 
"Mulder..." she said helplessly. 
He leaned in the open door. "Save it, Scully. I'm too tired, 
remember? I need a nap." 
He shut the door firmly and didn't look back. Scully leaned her 
forehead against the slick plastic of the steering wheel and 
wondered what exactly had just happened.


Holiday Inn 
Boston 
Saturday 11:15 a.m.


Remorse hit fifteen minutes later. That was the problem with 
remorse, Mulder mused, lying on the bed with his fingers laced 
beneath his neck. It always came too late, after the damage was 
done. Definitely not a proactive emotion. 
So he lay on his back, replaying the argument with Scully over and 
over in his mind, wincing in all the spots where he'd acted like a 
jackass. He found himself wincing a lot. 
The little voice in his head, the one that had whispered from the 
beginning that his relationship with Scully was doomed to failure, 
had risen to a shriek. Mulder had few misconceptions about his 
character. He loved Scully too much not to admit she deserved 
better than he could offer. Maybe after today, she'd come to the 
same conclusion. 
His thoughts meandered from Scully to Jason, and from Jason to 
Callie. His bitter disappointment over the lead to Roche's car tasted 
like bile in the back of his throat. The first concrete piece of 
evidence in three long months, and it had ended in a brick wall. 
Mulder's eyes slipped shut and he drifted, neither awake nor 
asleep, but somewhere in between. He recalled meeting Steve Cole 
for the first time and finding Roche's collection of hearts hidden in 
the El Camino's camper shell, tucked between the pages of a copy 
of Alice in Wonderland. 
Alice in Wonderland. Sam had adored the book, coaxing him to 
read it aloud to her countless nights at bedtime. The rumors that 
Lewis Carroll had been a pedophile coupled with Roche's twisted 
obsession tainted but couldn't completely negate those happy 
memories. He remembered Sam dressing as Alice for Halloween 
one year, furious when he teased her mercilessly by pointing out 
that Alice was a blonde, not a brunette. She'd even used their old 
and bad tempered cat as a prop, insisting everyone call the feline 
Dinah, like Alice's cat... 
Dinah. 
Mulder's eyes flew open and he bolted upright so abruptly that his 
vision momentarily grayed while the blood struggled to catch up 
with his head. How could he have forgotten? Alice had a cat 
named Dinah. And Steve Cole currently resided on Dinah Avenue. 
Coincidence? Not likely. 
Mulder carefully searched his memory, analyzing Cole's every 
word. Like a slap in the face, it hit him. 
*You think the guy sending you those hearts stole my car?* 
*No one* knew the killer mailed the hearts personally to Mulder. 
The media had ferreted out the fact of their existence, but only a 
handful of agents directly assigned to the case knew he was the 
recipient. So how had Cole known? 
Unless Steve Cole was the killer. 
Mulder stood and began to pace, running his fingers nervously 
through his hair. Time to use logic. Scully would be proud. He felt 
a splinter of pain at the thought and set it deliberately aside. 
Callie's life depended on his full attention. 
Fact one: Steve Cole owned Roche's old El Camino, conveniently 
reporting it stolen just prior to the first murder. 
Fact two: Steve Cole moved to the Boston area, the city Roche 
once made his home and where he'd spent his final hours. In 
addition, he lived on a street that bore the name of a character from 
the book that was the crux of Roche's obsession. 
Fact three: Cole knew the killer sent Mulder the cloth hearts, 
information that had not been made available to the police, let 
alone the general public. 
Conclusion? 
At the very least, Steve Cole merited a closer look. Mulder stalked 
over to his suit jacket and fished out his cell phone, dialing the 
Boston field office with trembling fingers. 
"Yes, I'm trying to locate Detective Grey McKenzie," he told the 
frighteningly perky receptionist. "He's working on the Westin 
kidnapping. This is Special Agent Fox Mulder, could you page him 
for me?" 
Mulder waited, pacing restlessly in the small confines of the room. 
Outside, rain pattered on the window in a soft staccato beat broken 
occasionally by a low rumble of thunder. He stared at the dark, 
low-hanging clouds and thought about Callie Westin, scared and 
vulnerable, in the custody of a killer. 
"Come on, come on," he muttered under his breath, left hand 
clenching and unclenching in an impotent fist. 
"I'm sorry, Agent Mulder, but they said he stepped out to get some 
lunch," the receptionist said cheerfully. "Can I take a message or 
have him call you?" 
"No. I mean, yes! Tell him I said that I think Cole is our man, and 
I'm going to check him out," Mulder said hurriedly. "Tell him to 
get Agent Scully and meet me there." 
"Yes, sir." 
Mulder hung up and flipped the phone book open to the car rental 
section, grimacing when he considered Scully's reaction to what he 
was about to do. He'd promised -- no more ditching. But Grey was 
unreachable, and if he called Scully she'd insist he wait until she 
and Skinner could get back from the interview with Jason. Too 
much time wasted, time that Callie didn't have. Jason's solemn face 
popped into his mind. 
*What about Callie? Can you find her?* 
Mulder picked up the phone and dialed.


On route to Brockton 
Saturday 
1:30 p.m.


Scully received Grey's frantic call when she and Skinner were still 
about 30 minutes from the Boston bureau. They'd taken the 
helicopter to New Bedford, where Jason and his parents had met 
them for the interview, and were nearing Logan Airport when 
Scully's phone chirped and all hell broke loose. Skinner broke 
several speed records to reach the bureau, where Grey was ready 
and waiting to jump into the car. 
"Tell me again -- everything," Scully demanded tersely as they 
sped down Highway 24 to Brockton. 
"Dana, there's not much to tell," Grey replied, his own frustration 
evident. "I left to grab some lunch at about 11:30. When I got back 
there was a message from Fox saying that he believed Steve Cole 
was the killer and he was going to investigate. He said for us to 
meet him there." 
Scully cursed like the sailor's daughter she was, oblivious to 
Skinner and Grey's surprise. "He swore to me that his ditching 
days were over!" 
"He's not thinking past Callie Westin," Grey remarked quietly. "I 
heard him scream out Samantha's name last night. This case has 
crossed the line for Fox, become far too personal." 
"I know that!" Scully snapped. She stopped and took a deep breath, 
calming herself. "I'm sorry, Grey, I don't mean to take this out on 
you. This is my fault. I never should have left him alone, not 
knowing the state he was in." She closed her eyes and rubbed her 
temples. "Past experience should have taught me a lesson." 
Skinner, who had remained conspicuously silent since Grey's 
phone call, glanced sharply at her from his position in the driver's 
seat. "I was wrong back then, Scully. I should never have made 
you responsible for Mulder, it wasn't your job." 
"But it is now," Scully said softly, catching her lip between her 
teeth and gazing out the window at the slackening rain. 
"Scully, you were there this morning, you heard the same things 
Mulder did. Can you think of anything Cole may have said or done 
that would have convinced Mulder he was the killer?" Skinner 
asked mildly, trying to direct the conversation to more a more 
productive topic. 
Scully considered the question carefully, frowning. "He told us 
about how the car was stolen," she recalled slowly, then made a 
face. "He thought it was 'cool' that first a serial killer and then a 
kidnapper would be interested in the car. Creep." 
"Then he asked if our interest had anything to do with the Paper 
Hearts case and..." Scully broke off abruptly, going very still. 
Grey leaned over the back seat. "What? What did you remember?" 
"He said something about Mulder receiving the hearts. But that's 
confidential, the only way he could know that is if..." 
"He's sending them," Skinner cut in grimly, pressing his foot more 
firmly to the gas pedal. "Hang on, we're almost there." 
Cole's street lay deserted and silent. A single tan sedan hugged the 
curb halfway down the block from the bungalow. Skinner parked 
behind it and they got out, Scully striding over quickly to peer in 
the windows. 
"Looks like a rental," she observed, worry creeping into her voice. 
"Could be Mulder." 
Skinner reached the front door first and ignored the doorbell, 
pounding on the wood with the side his fist. "Federal agent, open 
the door!" he ordered loudly. 
Cole didn't come to the door, and they detected no movement 
through the half-opened blinds on the picture window. Skinner 
repeated his order once more, then stepped back and delivered a 
strong kick that splintered the cheap wood and sent the door 
rocking back on its hinges. 
Seconds after entering, Scully knew the house was deserted. She 
went through the motions, spreading out from Grey and Skinner to 
search the four small rooms thoroughly, but her heart thumped 
wildly in growing fear. Her Mulder alarm, engaged the moment 
she'd answered her phone to Grey's barely concealed panic, had 
risen steadily in volume until it blocked out all other thought. Her 
heart already knew Cole was the killer, and that somehow he'd 
taken Mulder. It was just a matter of confirmation. 
They met up in the kitchen at the back of the house, empty handed. 
Skinner, his weapon still gripped in both hands, gestured out the 
back door at the ramshackle, single-car garage. Scully and Grey 
followed silently as he led the way across the tiny backyard to the 
structure. The large wooden door hung partially open, the bottom 
suspended two feet above the concrete floor. No one was surprised 
when Grey lifted it the rest of the way with an earsplitting squeal 
of rusty hinges to reveal a vacant interior. 
Scully spied a dark patch on the filthy floor, and walked quickly 
over to examine it more closely. Skinner watched as she leaned 
down and touched two fingers to the spot, then rubbed the 
substance between fingers and thumb and gave it a small sniff. 
"Oil," she announced, the word ripe with unspoken emotion. "It's 
fresh. I'm sure the lab will find that it matches the oil found at 
Callie Westin's house." 
"He could still be all right, Scully," Skinner said, moving over to 
lay one hand on her shoulder as she rose to her feet. "He could be 
following Cole somehow. We don't know that's Mulder's car 
outside, and there's nothing so far to indicate he's been 
incapacitated or taken against his will." 
"There is now." 
Grey stood in the open doorway, hair slightly damp and curly from 
the rain and his face stricken. "I went around the side of the garage 
to the window. There are a lot of tracks in the mud and someone 
brushed the dirt off the panes so you can see inside. And I found 
this." 
Grey stretched out his right hand, revealing fingers stained 
crimson. Scully slammed her eyes shut against a sudden deluge of 
tears. 
"Mulder," she whispered brokenly. 
Shaking off his own inertia, Skinner took charge. Pulling his cell 
phone from the pocket of his black trench coat, he slid into Marine 
mode and began issuing orders. 
"Grey, check the plate on that rental and see if you can trace it to 
Mulder. You can use the phone in Cole's house. Scully, call the lab 
at Quantico and get them to fax a copy of Mulder's blood and DNA 
information to the Boston bureau. Also, you'd better grab a sample 
while you can, it's a miracle the rain hasn't washed it completely 
away already." 
"There's an overhang," Grey explained, still subdued. "It's held off 
the worst of the moisture." He turned and headed for the street, 
shoulders hunched against the drizzle. 
"I'll get forensics down here to do a complete sweep and inform 
the local boys what's going on," Skinner continued. "Once we 
cover the basics we can begin to figure out where Cole might have 
gone." 
Seeing that Scully had paused with phone in hand while she 
regained her composure, he sighed. "Scully . . . Dana. We know 
who we're after now, and he doesn't have much of a lead. We 
*will* find him. Mulder is a trained agent and a psychologist; he'll 
hold Cole off until we can get there." 
Skinner was relieved to see Scully's eyes harden and her shoulders 
square in determination. She sent him a quick nod of 
acknowledgement and began punching numbers ferociously into 
the phone. Satisfied, Skinner stepped away to make his own calls, 
wishing his own confidence matched his words.


Location unknown 
Saturday 
??:??


At first, his only sensory perception was pain. It engulfed his five 
senses so that not only did Mulder feel, but saw, smelled, tasted, 
and heard it as well. He couldn't remember who he was or why he 
would be hurting this much, his brain a confused jumble of sounds 
and images that wouldn't translate into coherent thought. 
Gradually he became aware that he was curled on his side, the 
surface beneath him hard and smooth. An annoying sound intruded 
on his pain -- a soft, incessant whimpering that abraded his raw 
nerve endings until he wanted to scream. He attempted to raise one 
hand to explore his head, which seemed to be the source of his 
distress, but something cold and metal anchored one hand to the 
floor by his cheek and the other arm was pinned beneath his body. 
He snaked his tongue out in an effort to soothe dry lips, moaning a 
little when even that small action increased the pounding in his 
brain. The quiet sobbing rose a notch in volume. Why didn't Scully 
make it stop? 
Like a magic charm, that one semi-lucid notion caused a cascade 
of memories to click into place. He was Fox Mulder. He'd been 
hunting a serial killer, a killer that kidnapped little girls... 
Mulder's eyes flew open and he tried to sit up, only to learn his 
previous suffering was just the tip of the iceberg. White-hot agony 
sliced through his skull, ripping a hoarse scream from his parched 
throat. Before the torment could begin to subside an overpowering 
wave of nausea caused him to be violently, unreservedly ill. The 
whimpering rose to a wail for several minutes before receding. 
Blearily thankful he'd skipped lunch, Mulder dragged himself 
away from the mess he'd made. His blurred vision registered the 
fact that he was handcuffed to a large pole, and he leaned his 
forehead against the cool metal while struggling to remember just 
how he'd landed in such a fix. 
Searching his memory was like looking through a piece of Swiss 
cheese, the continuity broken by irregular holes. He recalled 
driving alone to Steve Cole's house, but couldn't remember why 
Scully and Grey hadn't been with him. He knew he'd circled 
around to the back of the house, covertly peered in several 
windows to determine that its owner was not inside, then 
cautiously made his way to the garage. But he couldn't recollect 
why the garage had seemed so important or what he'd been trying 
to find. 
The rain had picked up a little, he remembered, making him 
grateful for the roof's slight overhang that provided some shelter. A 
thick layer of dirt and grime had coated the garage's single 
window, turning it opaque. Mulder pictured himself brushing aside 
the grit with the palm of his right hand and then dusting it off on 
his trenchcoat. The glass had felt cool on his cheek as he pressed 
close to avoid the glare. Then... Nothing. He had a vague feeling of 
triumph, then intense pain. From his current predicament, Mulder 
gathered that he'd found whatever he'd been looking for, and Cole 
hadn't been pleased. 
As his discomfort ebbed to a more manageable level, Mulder was 
able once again to note the soft sobbing. He slowly pulled himself 
up to where he could brace his back against the pole, fighting 
against the urge to vomit again. For the first time he comprehended 
that he was sitting on the floor of a bus. Someone had removed 
most of the front seats, creating a large open space around the pole 
to which he'd been cuffed. Mulder squinted against doubled vision, 
tracking the origin of the cries. A small girl with curly brown hair 
and tearful blue eyes pressed herself more tightly into the corner 
between one of the remaining seats and the wall of the bus, 
regarding Mulder with barely restrained terror. Another puzzle 
piece snapped into place. 
"Callie? Are you Callie Westin?" Mulder asked, flinching as each 
syllable sent a knife through his head. 
No words, but the barest nod of the head acknowledged his 
question. Struggling to put on his most reassuring smile, Mulder 
ruthlessly pushed back his own misery. 
"Callie, I'm an FBI agent and I'm here to help you. My name is 
Fox," he said soothingly. 
Even as he uttered the words, Mulder realized how ridiculous they 
must sound. Inexplicably, a scene from Star Wars popped into his 
head - Luke and Han breaking into the detention block to rescue 
Leia only to become trapped themselves. 
*This is some rescue! When you came in here, didn't you have a 
plan for getting out?* 
He squashed hysterical laughter that threatened to slip out and 
pulled his wandering attention back to the little girl. Callie's sobs 
tapered off to sniffles but she didn't attempt to approach him. 
Frustrated, Mulder realized what a frightening picture he must 
present. The pain in his head caused him to periodically grimace, 
he could feel the stickiness of drying blood down his neck and onto 
his collar, and he'd just puked like a drunk after an exceptionally 
productive binge. Then inspiration struck. 
"Callie, I talked to Jason last night. I promised him I'd do 
everything I could to find you and bring you home." 
Callie's lip trembled and fresh tears spilled down her pale cheeks. 
"I wa...wa...want t..to g..go home!" she moaned. 
Mulder silently held out the arm not encumbered by the handcuffs 
and in seconds it was filled with a soft, silky-haired bundle with an 
iron grip. For just an instant, the child in his lap eclipsed his own 
hurt and fear, and he actually smiled. 
"Shhh," he crooned. "It's okay, kiddo. Did he hurt you?" 
Callie shook her head, releasing her death grip on his neck and 
considering him gravely. "But I don't like the way he looks at me. 
And he talks...he talks like he's two different people." 
"What do you mean?" Mulder asked. 
Callie shrugged and scrubbed away her tears with one small fist. 
"Sometimes he's nice. He told me I could call him Steve and he 
promised he wouldn't do anything bad to me and he'd take me 
home soon. But then he changed. His voice sounded different -- 
scarier. He called me Alice even though I kept telling him my 
name is Callie. And he said he's going to take me away from here 
to a better place." The corners of her mouth turned down and her 
lip stuck out. "I don't want to go to a better place, Fox. I want to go 
home. Please, take me home!" 
Mulder looked down at himself, sparking another stab of pain. 
Cole had stripped off his jacket and both weapons, leaving no way 
to contact Scully and no means for defense. He tugged hard on the 
cuffed hand, succeeding only in abrading his wrist. The metal pole, 
bolted to both floor and ceiling, never quivered. As for his physical 
condition - he'd received enough blows on the head to recognize a 
concussion like an old friend. Vomiting, dizziness, blurred vision, 
and the attention span of a two-year-old all indicated a serious 
trauma and seriously compromised his ability to rescue himself, let 
alone a small and relatively helpless child. 
Recognizing that his thoughts were wandering once again, Mulder 
turned his gaze back to Callie. 
"Listen, kiddo, you're not chained are you? Have you tried to get 
out of here?" 
"I tried," Callie replied, chest still hitching occasionally but calm 
again. "He's got it all locked up and the windows won't even open. 
He caught me trying to break one when he brought you in and he 
was got really mad. Said that if I ever tried it again he'd make me 
very, very sorry. Said he'd hurt Jason." 
Mulder gritted his teeth against a surge of anger at the girl's words. 
"All right, Callie, I want you to listen closely because we don't 
have much time and Steve could be back any minute. I'm going to 
be looking for a chance to distract Steve in any way that I can. I'll 
grab him, trip him -- something that will give you a chance to get 
out of here. I need you to be ready to run when that happens. Don't 
worry about me and don't stop, no matter what happens or what 
Steve might say. You just head for that door and keep going. Do 
you understand?" 
Callie nodded, but her blue eyes considered him soberly, 
reminding Mulder of Jason's appraising stare. "But what about 
*you*, Fox? How will you get away?" 
How do you explain to a child that the plan to save her life will 
most likely cost your own? That the plan itself is little more than a 
last ditch effort with a slim chance for success? You don't. 
Mulder smiled. "You'll go and get help," he replied easily. "Then 
you come back and rescue me." 
His answer achieved the desired effect. Callie smiled, pleased with 
the idea of saving not only herself but her new friend as well. 
"What do we do now, Fox?" 
Mulder leaned his throbbing head back against the pole and closed 
his eyes. "We rest a little, and wait," he replied, vaguely concerned 
when his words slurred lazily but unwilling to focus on the reason. 
He struggled against the lethargy that crept over him, making his 
limbs feel leaden and his thoughts liquid. Scully's voice, sharp with 
worry echoed in his mind. 
*Mulder, you have a concussion. You have to stay awake.* 
"Can't, babe," he mumbled, feeling the impending darkness carry 
him away from the pain and giving himself over to it willingly.


Boston Field Office 
Saturday 
5:35 p.m.


"Stop it." 
Scully raised her head from the conference table and regarded 
Grey, brows drawn together. "Stop what? I'm not doing anything!" 
"You're giving up on him," Grey replied. "Resigning yourself to 
the fact that we won't find him in time." 
"I am not!" Scully snapped, leaning across the table to glare at him. 
"I would never give up on him. *Never*." 
"Good. Because we *are* going to find him, Dana. We'll figure out 
where he is and haul his ass out of the fire just like every other 
time." 
Scully raised an eyebrow and his vehemence. "Who are you trying 
to convince? I'm already there." 
Grey sighed and slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. "I 
can't believe this is happening." He abruptly smacked both hands, 
palms down, on the table with a sharp crack that startled Scully. 
"How could he do it, just walk in there like that? Is he out of his 
mind? Doesn't he ever stop to think -- at least about everyone else, 
if not about himself?" 
Scully sat silently through his ranting, caught between the urges to 
laugh and to cry. "Grey, you already know the answers to those 
questions. You were the one who reminded me how personal this 
case is for him. Mulder's problem isn't that he doesn't think about 
others. That's all he thinks about." 
"I hate feeling this way! He's trapped God knows where with a 
killer and I'm pissed at him. Can you believe it?" Grey ran both 
hands through his hair and then dropped them to his sides. "What 
is bothering you, Dana? Aside from the obvious, I mean." 
Scully stared at the oak tabletop, pressing the tip of her tongue into 
her cheek. "When I accepted the fact that I loved Mulder, I had to 
accept that I could lose him. I'd be a fool not to prepare myself for 
the possibility, it's in the very nature of what we do. What I can't 
accept..." She broke off, breathing deeply. "What I can't accept," 
she continued softly. "Is that if Mulder dies now, the last words 
spoken between us will be words of anger." 
Grey studied her face. "You had a fight?" 
Scully pursed her lips and shook her head. "Actually he fought -- I 
just listened. But I guess that was part of the problem. He was 
being a suspicious, insecure bastard and I was too tired and angry 
to invest myself in yet another session of reassuring him. So you 
see, I'm worse off than you are, Grey. You just *missed* the clues 
-- I saw them and turned the other way." 
Grey reached across to take her hand. "Don't be so hard on 
yourself, Dana. I love him, but Fox does require a rather large 
emotional investment." 
Scully's lips curved but her eyes glistened with tears. "Mulder calls 
it 'high maintenance.' He said he wouldn't blame me if I wanted 
someone that needed less." 
"Such as?" 
Skinner chose that moment to enter the conference room, a stack of 
files in his hand. Scully gave Grey's hand a quick squeeze and 
released it. 
"You wouldn't believe it," she murmured wryly. "You have the 
blood type analysis, sir?" 
Skinner tossed the folder on the table in front of her. "No surprises, 
Scully. The blood type matches Mulder's and they found several of 
his prints on the window." 
"The car was rented under Fox's name," Grey confirmed, sliding 
his own folder toward Skinner. "He used his badge as muscle to 
get it delivered to the hotel as quickly as possible." 
"I ran a thorough check on Cole, hoping to come up with 
something that might tell us where he's gone," Skinner said, sitting 
down on a corner of the table. "I'm afraid I've come up empty. 
Both Cole's parents were killed in an auto accident two years ago 
and their home was sold shortly after. He has no siblings, and from 
what his boss tells me, not many friends. Called him a real loner 
that keeps to himself." 
"There goes my suggestion," Grey said gloomily. "I was thinking 
he might have gone back to Delaware, where he lived with his 
folks." 
Scully tore her eyes from the relentlessly ticking clock, bowing her 
head and rubbing the tight muscles at the base of her neck. "We 
don't know enough about Cole," she observed, frustration 
sharpening her tone. "Mulder would say..." She froze, sitting up 
straighter. 
"Mulder would say what?" Skinner prodded. 
"We're approaching this from the wrong direction," Scully said 
slowly. "Last night, when Mulder and I were discussing the case he 
put out this off the wall theory..." 
"Nothing unusual there," Grey muttered. 
Scully shot him a quelling look and continued. "He suggested that 
the killer could be channeling the spirit of John Lee Roche, hence 
his ability to know all the little details only Roche would know." 
"Channeling?" Skinner repeated incredulously. "Scully, you're not 
suggesting..." 
"No, sir, but it doesn't matter. Whether you subscribe to Mulder's 
theory or not, you must concede that *Cole* believes it to some 
degree. He's done everything he can to push Mulder's buttons 
regarding Roche." 
"I think I see where you're going with this," Grey said, catching her 
fire. "We shouldn't be wondering where *Cole* would go. We 
should figure out where *Roche* would go." 
"If you proceed on the assumption that Cole is acting as Roche, 
you need to include the element of revenge," Skinner mused. 
"After all, Mulder prevented Roche from getting what he wanted, 
not once but twice. It follows that he'd want his revenge to have 
meaning for Mulder." 
"That's it!" Scully pushed herself to her feet walking quickly 
around the large table to a map of the Boston area pinned to the far 
wall. "He'd go back to where it all ended, where Mulder killed 
Roche." She scanned the map quickly, then pointed with a 
trembling finger. "Right there. The place where Roche took 
Katelyn Holmes. The place where he forced Mulder to chose 
between Samantha and an innocent child. Revere." 
Two long strides and Grey had the door open, tapping his foot 
impatiently. "What are you waiting for? Let's go."


Revere, MA 
Saturday 
5:15 p.m.


*"Fox! Help me!"* 
*An incandescent beam of pure white light envelops his sister's 
slight form and lifts her into the air. He watches for an instant, both 
horrified and mesmerized, before lurching into action. He tries to 
crawl over to the tall chest of drawers where he knows his father 
keeps a gun, only to realize that one wrist is handcuffed to a tall 
metal pole that grows up from the middle of the floor like a bizarre 
sapling. He tugs wildly, noticing now that he's a grown man and 
not a boy.* 
*"Samantha!" he screams, pulling harder, heedless of the way the 
metal bites into the tender flesh of his wrist until it draws blood. 
"Samantha!"* 
*"You said you would save her! Why don't you save her?"* 
*He spins and looks up into the cold, furious eyes of Jason Westin 
who points one accusing finger at the girl's rapidly disappearing 
body.*

*"Do something! You couldn't save your sister, I should have 
realized you couldn't save mine!"* 
*Confused, his eyes dart back to the little girl and he gasps, 
dumfounded. Long dark tresses have been replaced with short 
curls, terrified brown eyes with blue.* 
*"Fox, I want to go home! Help me!"* 
*A shadowy figure wearing a tall hat and an old fashioned 
waistcoat, garb of the Mad Hatter, steps out of the light and gathers 
the child's body into his arms, effortlessly subduing her struggles. 
It turns to reveal the smugly smiling face of John Lee Roche.* 
*"I'm taking her away from all this, to a happier place," he 
announces, retreating into the light.* 
*"Fox! Fox, wake up! He's coming!" Callie screams.* 
"Noooo!" 
"You heard her, wake up!" 
Something hard connected with Mulder's side, telegraphing a burst 
of pain from his ribs to his head and forcing the air from his lungs. 
His eyes flew open and he gasped for breath, groaning and retching 
helplessly as he fell onto his side. Bright sparks danced before his 
eyes, obscuring his vision for several minutes and the sudden 
ringing in his ears blotted out sound. He lay very still, panting 
weakly from the pain and the after affects of his dream. 
"...time you woke up and joined the party, Agent Mulder," Cole 
was saying cheerfully. "We have so much to discuss. And besides, 
you were worrying little Callie." 
Mulder carefully hauled himself upright, wincing as now both head 
and ribs protested loudly. Callie shrank back in her corner, 
watching with wide scared eyes. He met her gaze with a wink and 
saw her bob her head in understanding. 
"You and I obviously have different ideas about what makes a 
good party," he told Cole, wishing his voice sounded stronger. "No 
music, no beer..." 
"Very funny, very funny," Cole replied, waving Mulder's gun in 
his right hand. "You can make all the jokes you want, but I've been 
looking forward to this moment for a long time." 
Cole's congenial voice and mild expression left Mulder totally 
unprepared for the heavy workboot that connected with his already 
aching ribs. Mulder screamed. 
"That's for the number you did on my upholstery with your 
penknife," Cole explained flatly. 
"Stop it! Don't hurt Fox!" 
Callie crossed to Mulder's side in a flash, small hands planted on 
her hips and eyes snapping angrily behind her tears. 
Cole laughed -- a cold, humorless sound. "Got a little buddy, huh? 
She might not be so crazy about you once she figures out you can't 
help her. *Fox.*" He turned a stern gaze on the child. "Go sit 
down, squirt." 
Callie hesitated, looking uncertainly at Mulder. He scraped up a 
somewhat sickly smile and nodded, so she retreated slowly. 
Mulder sucked in a deep breath, regretting the action immediately 
when his ribs screeched in protest. Working hard to rein in his 
wandering attention, he squinted up at Cole. 
"What did you mean when you said you'd been waiting for this?" 
Cole smiled, leaning casually against the side of the bus and 
tapping his chin with the Sig. "I know all about you, Agent 
Mulder. After that day you came to search my car I got real 
interested. Not just in the previous owner, but in the man who 
tracked him down. So I started doing a little investigating of my 
own -- dug up every bit of information on you and John Lee Roche 
I could find. As I read about you, how you caught Roche and all 
those other killers, one thing became very clear to me." 
"What's that?" 
The smile became a shark's grin. "That I could do better. That I 
could do anything those criminals did, and worse, and never get 
caught. The more I thought about it, the more I read, and the more 
I read, the more ideas I got. Props, Boggs, Mostow, Roche -- I 
studied 'em all. But I kept coming back to Roche, to how he eluded 
you for so long before you finally caught him." 
"So you decided to copy Roche's crimes," Mulder jibed, injecting 
sarcasm into his voice. "That's called a copycat killer, Cole. It's 
nothing special. We get them all the time." 
Cole flushed at his dismissal. "So you say. But here *I* am, and 
there *you* are. Who outsmarted who? Anyway, there's more to 
this than you think. Haven't you wondered how I've done it, Agent 
Mulder? How I knew all those things about you -- about Roche -- 
that I couldn't have known?" 
Mulder shifted uneasily but said nothing, willing Cole to come 
closer so that he would be within reach. He took a covert peek at 
Callie, relieved to see she was paying close attention to the 
interaction between Cole and himself. 
"Two years ago my parents and I were in a car accident, hit by a 
drunk driver," Cole continued, slouching away from the wall and 
pacing across the width of the bus. "All three of us were dead at 
the scene. They couldn't revive my folks, but they did manage to 
bring me back. Only I didn't come back alone." 
Mulder licked his lips, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest. 
"What are you talking about?" 
Cole stared at him, eyes losing focus and then rolling back in his 
head to expose the whites. His body twitched once, then shifted. 
The shoulders drew back, the spine straightened, and the chin 
dipped slightly downward. Cole blinked lazily, then returned his 
gaze to Mulder's face, just the barest hint of amusement touching 
the corners of his mouth. 
"Mulder. Long time no see." 
Horror washed over Mulder from head to toe. His entire body 
broke out in gooseflesh and the small hairs on the back of his neck 
rose. That voice -- Cole's, and yet not. The tone, the inflection was 
as different as night from day. He'd hunted liver-eating mutants 
and giant flukemen, carnival freaks and tentacled sea monsters, but 
nothing had come close to sparking the fear that voice produced. 
Roche's eyes looked out of Cole's face and he smiled. "What's the 
matter, Mulder? Aren't you glad to see me?" 
"No," Mulder said, shaking his head in spite of the dizziness the 
movement provoked. "No, it's not possible." 
The smile widened until it became gleeful. Roche's smile. "Why 
can't you believe this, Mulder? You hunt visitors from outer space, 
don't you? Why not visitors from beyond the grave?" 
"How...?" 
"Don't you remember what you told me? You said a connection 
formed between us, a nexus, because you profiled me. Well, my 
buddy Steve here did a little profiling of his own. Guess maybe 
that's why we were able to hook up when he almost died. Lucky 
for me, right? I promised I’d show him just what to do, and he 
jumped at the idea." 
Mulder swallowed, clenching his trembling fingers into fists. 
"Why? What do you want from me, Roche, if that really is you? 
What could you possibly expect to gain from all this? You're 
dead." 
Roche's grin faded and his eyes turned hard. "I want what I 
deserve, Mulder. What you took away from me on that bus. This is 
my second chance." He deliberately held Mulder's gaze while 
tilting his head in Callie's direction. "And this time, you won't stop 
me." 
"You son of a bitch!" 
A red haze of fury clouded Mulder's vision and sublimated his pain 
as he cursed and pulled savagely at his cuffed wrist. Roche just 
watched, smirk firmly back in place. Mulder's physical injuries 
finally overcame his anger and he slumped back against the pole, 
gasping for breath. 
"You really should take it easy, Mulder," Roche said mildly. "You 
get a ringside seat for the festivities and it'd be a shame if you 
passed out. After all, I'm doing it for you." 
"You want revenge? You want payback for what you think I took 
from you? Then just put the gun to my head," Mulder hissed. 
"Leave Callie out of this." 
Roche shook his head, picking at some dirt under his thumbnail. 
"Mulder, Mulder. That would take away all the fun. Anyway, I 
know you. Killing you now would hurt far less than letting you 
watch. In fact, I might not kill you at all. Just imagine the 
memories I can leave you with for the next thirty or forty years." 
Mulder struggled against a wave of nausea and revulsion, 
desperately seeking a way to lure Roche closer. "You always were 
a coward, Roche. A big man with little girls, but spineless if you 
had to deal with anyone your own size. I heard how popular you 
were in prison." 
Roche's eyes narrowed and he took a step forward. "You're 
reaching, Mulder. You're just trying to aggravate me." 
*Just a little bit more* Mulder thought. 
"Not according to the guards. "'Course, to hear them tell it, you 
didn't really mind..." 
"You mean the guard that looked the other way when you hit me?" 
Roche asked, the amusement strained now. He shrugged, taking 
another step and leaning down tauntingly. "Some..." 
Mulder pounced, putting all of his pent up rage and frustration 
behind the movement as he rammed his head into Roche's 
midsection and wrapped his free arm around his waist, tackling 
him. The impact of his head meeting the solid wall of flesh caused 
him to see stars, but he managed to keep his body covering Roche 
as the killer squirmed. 
"Run!" Mulder screamed and vaguely registered a blurred figure as 
it darted past. 
Roche twisted, trying to raise Mulder's gun, which was currently 
pinned to the floor by Mulder's left arm. Mulder strained to 
preserve his hold, nearly pulling his right arm from its socket in the 
process. He shifted his body to the left, two things occurring in 
rapid succession. Roche's arm slid from under his own and tipped 
the gun toward Mulder's head just as Mulder became aware that his 
knee had come to rest between the killer's two legs. Reacting 
without stopping to think, Mulder lunged, bringing the knee up 
hard. 
Roche screamed, his hand jerking upward as his finger tightened 
reflexively on the trigger, discharging two rounds in quick 
succession before the gun slipped from his hand. Moaning, he 
curled into a ball, offering no resistance when Mulder scooped up 
the weapon and scrabbled back toward the post, nearly frantic to 
ease the tension on his shoulder and wrist. 
For several minutes neither man moved, Roche groaning and 
cupping the flesh between his legs and Mulder teetering on the 
edge of unconsciousness. Roche was the first to regain mobility, 
rolling slowly to a sitting position. 
Mulder raised the gun clutched in his left hand, but it wobbled 
badly. "Don't move." 
"You're not going to use that, Mulder," Roche said patronizingly. 
"You're right handed, aren't you? Anyway, you can barely lift it." 
"Shut up and give me the key to the cuffs," Mulder growled, 
blinking at the stinging sweat that ran into his eyes. 
"Un-uh. I don't think so. That little key is the only security I've got 
left." Roche rose cautiously to his feet. "Why don't we call it a 
draw, Mulder? You've spoiled my recreation for the evening, so I'll 
just be on my way. I'm sure they'll find you soon." 
"Freeze!" Mulder barked, surprised when the word came out more 
like a whisper than a roar. "I'm warning you, Roche. Don't make 
me do this again. Now sit down and toss me the key." 
Roche stilled, but showed no intention of sitting. "Don't you want 
to know, Mulder?" 
Mulder grit his teeth, the gun gaining another pound with every 
minute Roche stonewalled. "Know what?" 
"Your sister. Don't you want to know if she's here?" 
Mulder's finger bore down slightly on the trigger. "Shut up!" 
"I can tell you. You'll know once and for all if she's still alive. But 
if you shoot me now, you'll go on wondering," Roche persisted, his 
voice smooth as honey as he took a small step closer. 
Mulder blinked in confusion, the gun dropping imperceptibly as he 
battled against the pain in his upper body and the roaring in his 
ears. "No. No, I..." 
This time it was Roche's turn to pounce.


Revere, MA 
Saturday 
6:37 p.m.


"That's it, right there!" Scully exclaimed. 
She shot out of the car the moment Skinner pulled to the curb, 
shifting her feet restlessly until Grey and Skinner reached her side. 
One at a time they scaled the fence, dropping down to survey the 
menagerie of public transportation busses that crouched like giant 
beetles, some still operable and some decrepit and rusted with 
disuse. 
"Where do we even begin?" Grey asked. "We'll never..." 
"Wait! Listen," Scully interrupted, motioning him to be silent. 
Over the hum of traffic floated a faint whimper, followed by the 
sound of fists striking wood. The whimper rose to heartbroken 
sobs. 
"This way," Skinner said, heading around the corner. 
At the sight of the small figure huddled by the base of the fence, all 
three broke into a run. The child, a small girl with curly brown hair 
and large blue eyes, gasped and cowered back against the boards. 
By unspoken agreement, Skinner and Grey dropped back to let 
Scully approach the child. 
"Callie?" she questioned gently. "Are you Callie?" When the little 
girl nodded Scully gave her a radiant smile. "It's okay, you're safe 
now. My name is Dana, and that's Walter and Grey. We're FBI 
agents, and we've been looking for you, sweetheart." 
To Scully's amazement, at the word FBI Callie leaped to her feet 
and began babbling hysterically, seizing hold of her hand and 
tugging. 
"Hurry, hurry! You have to help Fox! I promised I'd bring help!" 
Scully's heart leaped with unexpected hope, but she forced herself 
to remain calm. "You've seen Fox? Where is he, Callie, is he all 
right?" 
"Steve hurt him! I'm afraid he'll do something really mean to him 
when he sees that I got away. Hurry!" 
Two loud bangs interrupted Scully's reply, echoing off the fence 
and the surrounding busses. 
"Show me," Scully said sharply, no longer resisting Callie's 
frenetic tugging. 
Callie unfalteringly led them down three rows of busses and then 
across four, toward the back of the lot where the older, retired 
vehicles were parked. When she pointed to bus 176, Scully stopped 
and crouched down so that she could look into the little girl's eyes. 
"This is as far as you go, Callie. I want you to go and wait over 
there behind that bus. Walter, Grey, and I will take care of Fox." 
When the little girl was safely out of range, Scully turned to 
Skinner, who had just finished phoning for backup. "I suggest we 
split up, sir." 
Skinner nodded. "I agree." 
"I'll take the back door," Grey volunteered. "You two take the 
front. He knows Scully, but he won't be expecting me." 
They separated and moved cautiously into position. Grey groaned 
inwardly at the sight of a large padlock affixed to a chain that ran 
through the rear door. He waved Skinner and Scully onward and 
quickly extracted a small lock pick from his coat. Taking a deep 
breath to still his shaking hands, he set to work. 
Skinner eased the metal door open, wincing a little when it emitted 
a soft creak. He moved up two steps, Scully right behind, 
crouching to stay hidden behind the panel that normally would 
have divided the front seat from the driver. He peered around the 
edge to see Mulder slumped against a metal pole, his right hand 
cuffed, the left training a gun on Steve Cole. Mulder's body 
prevented Skinner from seeing if Cole was similarly armed. 
"Your sister," Skinner heard Cole say to Mulder, his voice smug. 
"Don't you want to know if she's here?" 
*What in the hell is he talking about?* Skinner thought, taking in 
Mulder's ragged reply even as he tried to see Cole's hands. 
"I can tell you. You'll know once and for all if she's still alive. But 
if you shoot me now, you'll go on wondering," Cole persisted. 
Mulder's body shifted and in that instant Skinner saw that A: 
Mulder was losing his grip on his weapon, and B: Cole was 
unarmed but about to make a move. 
"Now, Scully!" he said, lunging to his feet. "Federal Agent! 
Freeze!" 
The next sixty seconds passed in slow motion for Skinner. He 
sensed Scully bring up her own gun. He watched Mulder's left 
hand seesaw wildly and drop toward his lap. Cole hesitated 
momentarily, eyes darting up to assess their proximity before 
narrowing as he commenced his lunge toward Mulder. Skinner's 
finger tightened on the trigger, but pulled back as a shot rang out. 
Cole staggered, then dropped to his knees with a surprised look on 
his face, to reveal Grey standing behind him, gun still leveled at his 
slumped body. 
Skinner climbed quickly up the remaining step and tugged Cole's 
sprawled body to the side. Grey's bullet had removed a portion of 
the killer's skull, and Skinner didn't need to search for a pulse to 
determine Cole was dead. Scully, sparing Cole only a perfunctory 
glance, knelt down to examine Mulder with gentle hands. 
When Grey didn't move, continuing to stare blankly at Cole's 
lifeless body, Skinner stood and stepped to the right to block his 
view. 
"Grey." 
Grey dragged his eyes up to meet Skinner's. "Yeah." 
"Why don't you go take care of Callie and wait for the police to get 
here. They'll never find us in this maze." 
Grey licked his lips and nodded. "Sure. Is Fox all right?" 
"He's hanging in there," Scully called over her shoulder. She 
looked to Skinner. "Could you get him uncuffed, sir?" 
Skinner searched Cole's cooling body, squinting in the rapidly 
failing light. When he located the keys in the man's jacket, he 
turned and reached for Mulder's wrist. 
"My God," he muttered, paralyzed for an instant by the sight of the 
torn, bleeding flesh. 
"Careful," Scully warned as he gingerly removed the metal 
bracelet. "I think he's dislocated that shoulder." 
Skinner clenched his jaw. If Mulder's wrist and shoulder were any 
indication, the agent had put up one hell of a fight. 
Mulder had not spoken or acknowledged their presence. His hazel 
eyes appeared glassy and unfocused and his head lolled drunkenly. 
Scully tenderly cupped his chin in her hand, noting the dilated 
pupils. "Mulder, it's Scully. Are you with us?" 
Mulder responded lethargically. He blinked and his eyes wandered 
to Scully's face. Awareness seeped in like water through a sluggish 
drain. 
"Scully?" he murmured, a small line creasing his brow. He 
attempted to reach for her, only to utter a strangled moan and lose 
what little color remained in his face. 
"Sir!" Scully said sharply, but Skinner was already there, slipping 
his shoulder behind Mulder to prevent him from listing further to 
the left. 
"Easy, Mulder," he said gruffly. 
"Mulder, where does it hurt?" Scully asked. Seeing his eyes turn 
vague again she grasped his left earlobe between her thumb and 
index finger and pinched. 
"OW!" Mulder yelped, swatting aimlessly with his left hand. But 
his gaze sharpened. "Whadju do that for?" 
"Sorry. I need you to stay with me, Mulder. I can see you took a 
blow to the head. Where else are you hurt?" 
"Everywhere," Mulder growled. At her look of irritation, he 
sighed. "Ribs. And my arm feels like it's been torn off at the 
shoulder." 
"That's what you get for pulling it out of the socket," Scully replied 
lightly, using her thumb to stroke his cheek. 
Mulder's eyes, which had been drooping, flew open wide. "Callie! 
Where's Roche? Did you get Roche?" 
Skinner wrapped an arm around Mulder's chest in an effort to quiet 
his frantic struggling. Mystified, he frowned at Scully. 
"Roche? What's he talking about?" 
Scully shook her head. "Mulder. MULDER, STOP!" 
Her harsh command stilled Mulder's thrashing but his eyes still 
roamed restlessly. 
"Callie is *safe*, she's with Grey," Scully continued, speaking 
slowly and distinctly. 
"What about Roche?" Mulder insisted. 
Scully bit her lip. Her initial impression was that none of Mulder's 
injuries were life threatening, but his apparent dementia worried 
her. A siren wailed in the distance, moving closer. 
"Mulder, you aren't making sense. *Cole* is dead. Grey shot him." 
Mulder slumped, his relief at her words evident. "Then Roche is 
gone too," he muttered, shivering. 
Scully caressed his brow and cheek, the skin clammy and cool 
under her fingertips. "He's in shock," she said, stripping off her 
coat and tucking it around Mulder's body. 
Outside, she heard Grey shouting directions and the sound of 
running feet. Mulder had zoned out again and this time she let him 
go, stepping aside for the EMTs while quickly giving a rundown of 
his condition. 
Once she'd relinquished responsibility for his care, she could only 
stand trembling with her fist pressed tightly to her lips while the 
paramedics checked Mulder's vitals and efficiently immobilized 
his shoulder. Grey climbed into the bus, dodging bodies and 
equipment to reach Scully and Skinner. 
"They're taking Callie to the station," he said. "They'll contact her 
parents and arrange for them to come and pick her up. How's 
Fox?" 
"Living up to his reputation as the human equivalent of a Timex 
watch," Scully replied dryly, but her voice shook. 
"What was all that about, Scully?" Skinner asked, keeping his 
voice low so as not to be overheard. "Why was Mulder calling 
Cole Roche?" 
"He's disoriented from the blow to his head and in a great deal of 
pain, sir. He didn't know what he was saying," Scully answered, 
but her face was troubled. 
"We're ready to transport, ma'am," spoke up a dark-haired EMT 
who looked about fifteen to Scully's haggard gaze. "We'll be taking 
him to Boston General." 
"I'm coming with you." 
Skinner suppressed a grin at the steel in her tone and the 
technician's hasty acceptance. Scully in doctor mode was a force to 
be reckoned with. 
"Smart kid," Grey muttered, and Skinner lost his hold on the smirk. 
"Definitely." 
The EMTs maneuvered Mulder out the back door of the bus with 
Scully on their heels. Skinner walked over to greet the officer in 
charge and began the lengthy process of securing the scene, but 
found himself unable to banish Mulder's words from his mind.


Georgetown 
Monday 
5:07 p.m.


"Sir! Come in." 
Scully stepped aside and ushered Skinner into the living room. 
Grey, sprawled in a chair and flipping through a newspaper, stood 
and extended his hand. 
"Hey, Walt. What brings you to this neck of the woods?" 
"Just thought I'd stop in to check on the errant patient," Skinner 
said, sinking into another chair and loosening his tie. "How is he?" 
"Completely zonked and drooling on the pillow, last time I 
checked," Scully replied, lips twitching. 
Skinner's eyebrows soared. "*Mulder*? In the middle of the day?" 
"He's on some pretty heavy painkillers for the shoulder and ribs," 
Scully explained. "Keeps him pretty snowed half the time." 
"It's been remarkably quiet," Grey agreed, grinning. 
"I think we all could use about a week's worth of sleep," Skinner 
said wearily. "We've certainly earned it." 
"I thought I'd come in for a while tomorrow. I should have my 
report finished later tonight." Scully said. 
"There'll be an inquiry into the shooting, but it's just a formality," 
Skinner remarked, noticing Grey flinch slightly at his words. "You 
*do* realize you had no choice? A few seconds more and Cole 
would have had your brother's gun, and maybe his life." 
Grey had been staring out the window, nodding his head at 
Skinner's reassurances. "I do know that. But the truth is, I'd only 
killed a man once before. It wasn't any easier this time." 
"The day it becomes easy is the day you should turn in your 
badge," Skinner returned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You 
did a good job, Grey. I've already sent a letter of commendation to 
your captain." 
Grey's lips curved. "Thanks, Walt. I appreciate it." 
"I just hope things stay quiet for now," Scully mused. "Mulder's 
not going to be released for field work for at least three weeks. 
Maybe we can actually get caught up on some paperwork for a 
change. 
Skinner snorted. "Now *that* would be an X-File." He frowned. 
"Scully, I've wanted to speak with you about Saturday night. 
Specifically, what Mulder said about Roche." 
Scully's manner immediately turned from open and receptive to 
guarded. "Sir?" 
"Mulder kept calling Cole, Roche. Did you ask him about that?" 
Grey muttered something and Scully shot him a look that could 
have turned sand to glass. "Shut up, Grey." 
"I take it you have broached the subject," Skinner said dryly. 
Scully sighed. "Sir, he was suffering from a grade three 
concussion, a dislocated shoulder, and three cracked ribs. He can't 
be held responsible for what he thinks he saw." 
"He thinks Cole was - -what did you call it? channeling? -- John 
Lee Roche." It was a statement, not a question. 
"He doesn't just think it, he's convinced of the fact," Grey spoke 
up, his face neutral. 
"And you think it's all in his head?" Skinner asked. 
Grey shrugged. "Frankly, I'm not sure what I think. I don't believe 
in a person possessing the ability to channel the spirit of a dead 
man. But Fox's conviction is...disturbing." 
"I've been a little disturbed myself," Skinner admitted. When 
Scully cocked an eyebrow he hastened to explain. "Scully, when 
we were hiding on that bus, just before Grey shot Cole, did you 
hear what he was saying to Mulder?" 
"Only a word here and there," Scully confessed. "It was hard to 
hear behind that partition." 
"Well I did. Cole was talking to Mulder about his sister." 
Scully looked flustered. "His sister?" 
Skinner nodded. "He asked." 
"He asked if I wanted to know if she was there." 
Mulder's calm voice startled them, prompting an exchange of 
uneasy glances. Ignoring their discomfiture, he moved slowly 
across the room and lowered himself carefully onto the couch. He 
was clad only in a pair of jeans, a large sling immobilizing his right 
arm and shoulder. Skinner winced at the deep bruising that colored 
this left side in shades of black and blue. 
Scully looked at Mulder accusingly. "You didn't mention this 
part." 
Mulder rolled his eyes. "Why waste my breath, Scully? You don't 
believe me about Roche, and this is just more of the same." 
"What did he mean 'if she was there?'" Scully asked. 
"Out there, the great beyond, among the dead," Mulder replied 
flippantly, but his eyes told a different story. "He said he could tell 
me once and for all if Sam was dead or still alive." 
Scully moved her hand to weave her fingers with his. "Did you 
believe him?" 
Mulder leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His answer was 
soft, but firm. "I believe that wherever Sam is, dead or alive, it's 
not with a man like John Lee Roche." 
No one spoke for several minutes. Finally, Skinner cleared his 
throat and reached into his jacket to extract an envelope. 
"You might not know that I met with the Westins yesterday," he 
told them. "They asked me to express their deepest appreciation to 
you three -- especially to you, Mulder. And Callie asked me to give 
you this." 
Mulder accepted the envelope, eyeing it for a moment before 
attempting to open it. Scully watched him fumble one-handed, then 
reached out and gently pried up the flap and extricated a sheet of 
paper. Mulder unfolded it, spreading it gently across his lap. 
Skinner and Grey leaned forward for a better view. 
It was a crayon drawing of two people standing in a field of 
flowers, hand in hand. One was tall and thin with dark brown hair 
and a long black coat, the other short and curly haired with a 
smiling pink mouth. A bright yellow ball of a sun and three fluffy 
white clouds filled the blue sky. Across the bottom in scraggly 
letters was printed "I love you Fox" followed by the name "Callie." 
"She's quite an artist," Grey observed appreciatively. 
"She's quite a kid," Mulder corrected, running one finger 
reverently over the page. "They both are." 
Skinner stood up. "I've need to get going," he said briskly. "I've got 
a backlog of paperwork that piled up over the last few days." 
"Sure you wouldn't like to stay for dinner, sir?" Scully asked, also 
standing. "You're more than welcome. Mulder's been nagging me 
for a pizza and I figured I'd give in." 
Mulder clapped his left hand to his chest. "Moi? Nag? Scully, you 
wound me!" 
"I'll take a rain check," Skinner said dryly, lips quirking in 
amusement. "Thanks anyway, Scully." 
"Guess it'll be pizza for three, then," Mulder said cheerfully. 
"Ummm. I meant to say something about that," Grey said, 
checking his watch. "I won't be joining you guys for dinner 
tonight. I, uh, have plans." 
Mulder leaned forward like a shark scenting blood. "Plans? Do tell, 
big brother." 
Grey blushed. "I asked Kristen out to dinner tonight. To thank her 
for all her help on the case," he added hastily. 
"Kristen? As in Agent Harding?" Scully asked, shooting Mulder a 
smug grin. 
"That's the one. She's picking me up in five minutes, so I guess I'll 
just walk down with Walt," Grey said, bolting for the door and the 
relative safety of the hallway. 
"Don't be too late," Mulder called. "You know how Scully and I 
worry when you're not home before midnight." 
"Shut up, Fox." 
Scully saw her boss and Grey out the door, then returned to the 
couch. Seeing Mulder squirm a little in search of a comfortable 
position, she leaned into the corner and pulled him back against 
her, weaving her fingers through his hair where it lay next to her 
chin. He sighed contentedly, running his hand up and down the 
soft skin of her leg. 
"Scully, I've recovered pretty much all of my memory," he said 
hesitantly. 
Scully smiled, knowing exactly where he was headed. "That's 
good, Mulder." 
Mulder was quiet for a few minutes, still absently stroking her leg. 
"I'm sorry, Scully. I was a jerk, and I had no right to say the things 
I did." 
"Apology accepted," Scully replied softly. She leaned over to look 
him in the eye. "*Skinner*?" 
Mulder shrugged, flushing. "He does think the world of you, 
Scully. And you gotta admit, he's built." 
Scully shook her head, grinning. "I can't help it, Mulder. I like my 
men tall, dark, and paranoid." 
"Yeah?" 
"Absolutely." 
Scully leaned over to press her lips to his cheek. The next thing she 
knew, Mulder had hooked his hand around the back of her neck 
and pulled her down for a kiss that quickly left her breathless. 
"The kids have all gone out for the evening, Ma," he murmured, 
nibbling his way up the column of her neck. "However shall we 
occupy ourselves?" 
"Down boy," Scully gasped, but tilted her head back to give him 
better access. "You're not exactly in the best condition right now." 
"Listen, babe," Mulder said, his voice low and seductive. "I 
guarantee all the necessary equipment is in perfect working order." 
He waggled his eyebrows. 
Scully laughed. "You're incorrigible, Mulder." 
"You've got it wrong, Scully. That's encourageable." 
Scully snickered, then gasped as he proceeded to show her just 
exactly what he meant.


Location Unknown 
Monday 
6:00 p.m.


On the television screen an anchorman provided voice-over for 
footage on the death of a serial killer and the rescue of his intended 
victim. The man studied the videotaped images, his nicotine-
stained fingers working the remote control to reverse, start, and 
then freeze the film repeatedly. Hooded eyes scrutinized the figure 
preserved in stasis -- a tall man with dark, wavy hair and a vaguely 
familiar face. The man blew out a long puff of smoke, shaking his 
head in wry amusement. 
*I always underestimated you, Bill. Dead all this time, and you can 
still surprise me.* 
The hand not occupied with the remote picked up the phone and 
punched in a familiar number. 
"Alex? We need to talk."


End