Title:            Revenge
Author:           Lovesfox
E-mail:           Lovesfox@rogers.com  (Feed me, please)
Web site:         http://www.geocities.com/kim_djd/index.html
Rating:           NC-17 (violence, consensual M/S sex and strong    
                  language)
Category:         Implied UST then MSR, Angst, Story/X-File
Classification:   XRA
Spoilers:         Not really, but up to mid-S7
Archive:          As long as my name and everything stays attached
Summary:          An old case of Mulder's resurfaces seeking revenge

Disclaimer:       Alas, not mine.  They belong to Chris Carter and
                  1013 Productions.

Dedication:       To true friendship, through thick and thin.  
                  Thanks, T.

Warning:          This story contains some scenes of violence, a rape
                  attempt, implied character death, references to
                  incest, and graphic sex.




Revenge Part 3 of 29
by Lovesfox



Abandoned Warehouse, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Tuesday
6:30 pm


Elliot Andercott slipped silently through the warehouse towards 
the room where Dana Scully was kept, a packaged sandwich and a 
carton of milk in his hands, along with the length of rope that 
had been around her ankles earlier.  He felt like he was floating 
as he made his way to give his captive her meal, the euphoria 
from the vision of Mulder running out of her building to search 
the streets after the delivery of the photographs had lingered 
throughout the day.  He had found himself smiling and singing as 
he went about his business, laying the groundwork for his next 
step in his revenge against Fox Mulder.

He had surprised himself with his restraint in not calling Mulder 
right away.  He had been so tempted as he sat in his van down the 
street watching him, but he had also known that there was a slight 
bit of risk, so he had held back.  The cell phone had been in his 
hand, his finger poised to dial, but he had resisted.  Throughout 
the course of the day, he had found himself picking the phone up, 
wanting to call Mulder.  Then he had thought with a wicked smile 
that it would be much more fun to let Mulder sit and stew in his 
own juices all day, waiting for the phone to ring.  From what he 
had been able to research about Mulder, and what he had witnessed 
during his observations of the man with his lovely partner, he 
knew that was exactly what Mulder would do.  So he had not called, 
and kept himself amused with his plans for the following night. 

He got a delicious little chill as he pictured the events in his 
mind.  He came to a stop with a little giggle, thrilling to the 
thought of Mulder's reactions then, and unlocked the door to 
Dana's room.  He pushed it open slowly and walked inside, taking 
a deep breath to settle himself down. He brought the stool back 
over to the cot and sat, placing everything on the floor beside him, 
and lifted his gaze to his charge.

She was still asleep, her breaths slow and even.  He watched the 
rise and fall of her chest, her breasts barely discernible through 
the material of the sweatshirt.  It had ridden up at her waist, 
revealing the bare skin of her stomach, and he stared entranced 
at the whiteness of her flesh.  He leaned closer, one hand reaching 
out to touch, to see if it was as soft as it looked, and the rose
fragrance was suddenly sweet in his nostrils.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, his hand hovering in mid-air.  
Memories of Elizabeth assaulted his mind.   <<Her lustrous
brown hair running through his fingers...her sweet smile, as she
looked at him with love in her eyes...her curvaceous body held
tightly against his>> 

"Elizabeth," he sighed, and the sound of his own voice had his eyes 
popping open.  He looked at the woman on the cot, and she was 
Elizabeth.  Boundless joy filled his lonely heart and he slid off 
the stool onto his knees, leaning over to bring his face close to 
hers.  He nuzzled at her neck, breathing deeply of her familiar 
scent, one hand coming up to stroke through the softness of her
hair. "Oh, Elizabeth, I've missed you so," he whispered, placing
tiny kisses along her neck and jaw line.  A part of his mind
questioned the flawlessness of her neck, wondering where the scar
was, but he was too happy to be with her again after so long, that 
he pushed the concern aside.  Waves of desire swamped his body, 
and he moaned, moving so that he could press his lips to hers.

He felt Elizabeth shift against him and lifted his head, watching 
her lids flutter open to reveal sleepy blue eyes.   Blue? But 
Elizabeth had brown eyes.

***

Scully came awake slowly through the waves of fog blanketing her 
mind.  She became aware of a smothering presence by her face and 
then lips were pressing on hers. She twitched and the pressure was 
gone.  She dragged her eyes open with effort, for they felt so 
heavy, to see...him.

Her first instincts were to bring her hands up to push him away, 
and to recoil in disgust, but as she started to move she heard him 
whisper, "Elizabeth?"  His voice was low and rough, and full of 
confusion.  She froze in mid-action, watching as his head tilted 
to the side, his lips in a slight frown.  He said it again, a 
little louder, the confusion still there.

Scully took a chance that in his disoriented state he might 
answer her, and said very softly, "Who is Elizabeth?"  She studied 
his face as he pulled back from her, blinking rapidly.  He did not 
reply immediately, and she wondered if he had heard her at all. 
She lifted herself up slowly and carefully into a sitting
position, her back coming to rest against the wall, and although 
his eyes followed her every movement, he still made no sound.  
She opened her mouth to ask again, but stopped when she saw him 
do the same.

His voice was still low when he finally replied, and his eyes 
shifted away from hers, as if he could not look at them anymore. 
"Elizabeth was my...my sister."

Her mind might be muddled from drugs, but she could still put 
two and two together.  He had thought she was Elizabeth, and he 
had been kissing her.  Kissing Elizabeth.  Oh, God, did they 
have an incestuous relationship?  Sheer force of will was 
necessary to keep the shock and revulsion from her face, but 
she looked down at her lap in case she failed.  She and Mulder
had encountered all walks of life in their years together, and 
while she might question the choices people made, she tried her 
best not to judge them.  She also knew there could be mitigating
circumstances that had led to their relationship, no matter how 
much the idea disturbed her.   It was a struggle not to squirm, 
her skin felt like it was crawling.

The word 'was' finally registered, and she drew a breath in 
sharply.  Was Elizabeth's death the reason for her kidnapping? 
And what did Mulder have to do with it?  The man had said Mulder
had taken something from him.  Did he mean Elizabeth, and if so, 
how?  She could not recall an Elizabeth from any of their cases,
numerous as they were, and although Mulder had often talked of 
some of his cases from his days in the Violent Crimes Unit, she 
knew there were many he had not.  She would have to try and learn 
more.  If she were allowed to talk to Mulder, maybe she could pass
on whatever she could glean from the man.  She would also have to 
be careful.  She did not know enough about the man, other than the
fact that he was very strong, and that he was not entirely stable 
mentally.  And that for some as yet undetermined reason, he wanted
revenge against Mulder.

Scully looked up finally.  He had raised his head and was watching 
her.  His eyes no longer seemed confused, but the frown was still
on his lips.  Should she risk asking him more?

Before she could say anything, he said rather abruptly, "You must 
be hungry.  I brought a sandwich and some milk."  He had slid back
onto the stool, and bent down to pick up the rope.

Her stomach growled loudly, even as the sight of the rope had it 
fluttering nervously, and she realized she did not know how long
it had been since she had last eaten.  She remembered the bottle of 
water, had that been this morning or yesterday?  She nodded,
saying, "Yes, please, I am hungry."  No need to anger him by not
responding.  "Can I ask what day it is?" she queried softly.

"Put your feet out.  I have to tie them so I can untie your 
hands to eat," he commanded, gesturing at her with the rope in his 
hands.  "And no funny stuff, or I won't bring you food again."  
When she complied, straightening her legs in front of her, he set 
to work tying her ankles together.  His gaze was focused on his 
task, and she almost didn't catch his mumbled reply.  "It's Tuesday."

Tuesday?  My God, she'd been taken Friday night.  She had only 
scattered thoughts and images since being grabbed in front of her 
apartment.  It was a frightening and horrifying thing to lose time
like when she had been missing after being taken by Duane Barry,
even if it was only for a few days.  

She thought of Mulder, remembering when he had told her how he had 
been while she had been missing then.  She could only imagine his 
anxiety, his anguish.  She hoped that he had someone to keep him 
grounded, to take care of him while he searched for her.  

She felt a tugging at her wrists, and looked down to see that he 
was untying them, and that he had finished restraining her feet.  
The rope came loose and she huffed out a pained breath as he rubbed 
the chafed, reddened skin roughly with his hands.  He dropped her 
hands in her lap and she whispered, "Thank-you."

If she could stay on his good side...

He bent and came up holding a sandwich in a clear cellophane wrapper 
and a small carton of milk.  She began to salivate and had to resist 
the urge to snatch the food from his hands.  He passed her the 
sandwich and opened the milk carton, which he placed on the cot 
beside her leg. 

Scully tore the wrapper off and sank her teeth into the sandwich, 
chewing enthusiastically.  The bread was a little stale, and she 
really didn't care for cheese with her ham, but it was heaven.  She 
told herself to slow down, she would only make herself sick, but it 
wasn't working.  She still had a lingering feeling that the food 
could be taken away at any time, and continued to bolt the food 
down, stopping every few bites to gulp some of the milk.

The meal did not take her long, and when she had finished, the man 
took the garbage from her and put it aside.  He stared at her for 
long moments, and she tried not to squirm, but it was difficult.  
His eyes seemed to bore into her soul, to strip her bare.  She felt 
a chill and crossed her arms across her chest; relieved he had not 
re-tied her wrists yet.  She tensed as he sat up and reached one 
hand inside his coverall.  His coverall?  Her eyes flicked from his 
face, seeing that his eyes were focused on his hand, to the writing 
embroidered on the pocket of the white coveralls.  D.C. Duct 
Cleaning.  It was like a light bulb going off in her head.  That was 
the name on the van that he had come out of when he grabbed her.  
If she could somehow tell Mulder, maybe he could trace it.  Maybe.  
She would have to think.

The man pulled a cell phone out and her heart leapt in reaction.  
He had to be planning to call Mulder; maybe he would let her talk 
to him.  There must be something she could tell him.  She could feel 
her breath coming faster, and inhaled deeply, to try and calm 
herself down.

"It's time to call Mulder," he said, smiling slightly.

***

Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Tuesday
7:00 pm

Skinner stretched with a small groan after rising from the hard 
wooden chair where he had been sitting for the last hour or so, 
and walked stiff-legged over to the window.  Night was approaching, 
the lights from the street lamps casting an amber glow on the 
sidewalk below.  He could barely make out the unmarked Bureau car 
parked about a block down from Scully's building.  On his orders, 
there were to be two agents watching at all times.  Agent Dryer 
had volunteered for the first shift, along with his partner, Agent 
Taylor.  Dryer was young and eager to prove himself, and Taylor, 
the senior agent, had over 15 years in the Bureau and was very 
disturbed at the thought of the kidnapping of an agent he knew 
and had worked with in the past. 

Skinner rubbed his hand over his mouth and turned back to look 
at the table, the surface of which held the stack of photographs 
they had found on Scully's bed and the preliminary reports on the 
fingerprint analysis.  For the most part, the fingerprints found 
had been Scully's, a few had belonged to Mulder, and there had 
been the odd one belonging to Scully's mother.  There had been 
one very smudged partial print lifted off of one of the dresser 
drawers, which was currently being run through every available 
database.  As for the photographs, he had decided to look at them 
himself while Mulder was sleeping.  Or at least lying down.  He was
not sure if Mulder was actually sleeping, but Scully's bedroom had
been very quiet and as yet Mulder had not come out.  He could only 
imagine the agent's exhaustion, feeling somewhat drained himself. 
He was thankful to have been able to grab a shower, even if he had 
been forced to re-dress in the same clothes.  

He had not noticed anything unusual in the photographs.  He had 
not really expected to, but had hoped there might have been 
something Mulder missed due to his extreme concern over Scully.  
It was obvious though that whomever had taken her had been watching 
the two them very closely, and most likely for quite a while.

There was one other item on the table.  The cell phone. The one 
Mulder had not let out of his sight since discovering it yesterday.  
He had stealthily lifted it from Mulder's pocket when he had brought 
him into Scully's bedroom.  It had been strangely silent, and he had 
checked a few times to make sure it was still charged.  Plenty of 
power, just no calls.

He made his way into the kitchen, to the coffee pot.  He picked 
it up, staring with a grimace at the sludge that remained, and put 
it back down.  He had drunk too much coffee anyway.  As he was 
debating his choices from the refrigerator, he heard a faint knock 
at the door.  He shut the fridge and moved quickly to answer it.  
Unfortunately he did not move fast enough for the person on the 
other side, for they decided to knock louder.

Skinner yanked the door open to see another eager young agent, 
Agent Thompson, with his fist raised to knock yet again.  "Sir!" 
the agent exclaimed.  "Agent Reynolds wanted you to have these."  
In his hand was a sheaf of papers.  "Notes on the secondary 
interviews of the tenants of Agent Scully's building, with 
regards to the sketch of suspect and the white van."

He took the papers from the agent's outstretched hands, saying 
briskly, "Thank-you, Agent.  That will be all."  He shut the 
door over the agent's reply, and walked slowly back to the table, 
glancing through the interview notes.

"Where is it?"

Skinner looked up at Mulder's harsh voice, to see him standing 
just inside the living room, his reddened eyes darting around 
the room.  He knew instantly Mulder was referring to the cell 
phone.  "It's here, Mulder," he replied, lifting it up from 
the table.  "Relax, Mulder.  It hasn't rang."

***

Mulder stalked over and snatched the cell phone from Skinner's 
hands, and stumbled back, clutching it tightly to his chest. 

He had awoken with a gasp, disoriented and afraid, blinking 
furiously in the dark, from a nightmare.  He had been in a 
huge, empty structure, like a warehouse or storage plant, 
running from room to room in near total blackness, calling 
Scully's name, hearing it echo over and over, unable to find 
her.  It had taken long moments to shake the feeling of 
dread the nightmare had left him with.

Rising from the bed, hand automatically reaching out for the 
cell phone, finding nothing.  Dropping to his knees, looking 
under the bed, patting the ground all around him.  Turning on 
the little lamp on Scully's night table, the sudden brightness 
harsh to his eyes, making him squint and rub at them, before 
scrambling to his feet to turn in circles, not spying it anywhere.

Then hearing the knocking, and running out to hear an unknown 
voice talking to Skinner.  Something about interviews and the 
van.  Seeing Skinner studying a bunch of papers in his hands as 
he walked toward the table.  Wanting to know if they had found
or learned anything, but only able to think of the cell phone.  
If he lost it, he would lose his contact with Scully.  Biting 
out the words 'where is it' and seeing the phone in Skinner's 
hand.

Relief washing through him in waves.  Barely hearing as Skinner 
said it hadn't rang.    

Mulder blinked, seeing Skinner was watching him, concern clearly 
written on his features, his jaw muscle twitching wildly and eyes 
narrowed.  Mulder took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, knowing 
Skinner would pull him off the case if the AD thought he could not 
handle it.  Not that he would listen, nothing short of restraints 
would keep him from trying to...from finding Scully, but being 
out of the official investigation would be too difficult.

He would not apologize, but he would be civil.  "Anything new?" he 
asked, somewhat surprised at how calm and rational his voice sounded.

Skinner regarded him for a moment longer, and then nodded, as if 
having decided to ignore Mulder's behavior and that Mulder was 
ready to hear the news.  The AD cleared his throat and replied, 
"Preliminary fingerprint analysis.  They found a partial on a 
dresser drawer that did not match Scully's, her mother's or yours.  
They're running it through the databases.  Priority one."  Skinner 
then held up the papers in his hand.  "These just came.  Reports 
on secondary interviews conducted on the building's tenants with 
the composite of the suspect and the van.  I haven't had a chance 
to read them yet."

Mulder moved to the table and pulled out a chair, taking a seat, 
putting the cell phone down beside him.  Skinner sat on the chair 
to Mulder's left and handed him half of the papers.  Silently they 
began to read.

After about ten minutes, the AD asked, "Anything?"

Mulder looked up to find Skinner removing his glasses, his weariness 
evident.  He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes 
tightly shut for a moment before replacing the glasses.  "A lot of 
maybes on both the suspect and the van," Mulder replied.  "But no 
positive ID's."  He picked up the paper he had laid aside and read 
the name from it.  "Suzie Clifford in apartment 302 remembers seeing 
a man matching the suspect's description leaving the building Friday 
night, around 6:45 pm.  She was certain of the time because her 
regular workout at the gym ends at 6:00, she changed and came 
straight home, and the drive usually takes her about half an hour.  
She is not positive, but she thinks he was wearing a pair of white 
coveralls and that there had been a white van parked close to the 
building.  She did not see Agent Scully."  He finished reading and 
put the paper down.  "I'd like to speak to her myself."

Skinner nodded, saying, "Good idea."  He glanced at his watch.  "We 
can see if she's home now."  He shuffled the papers he had been 
reading, picking one up.  "More maybes on the van and the suspect.  
A Mrs. Edith Dunbarton in apartment 207 thinks she has seen the van 
here on a few occasions when she was leaving or returning from her 
nightly walk.  She also thinks it was a cleaning service of some 
sort, and that the lettering on the van was red."  He put the paper 
aside as well, separate from the others.  "We can see if she's home 
now too, and check with the superintendent, see if there's been any 
scheduled building maintenance or cleaning in the past few weeks."

Mulder nodded and pushing the chair back, rose with a creak of his 
knees.  He reached for the cell phone and felt his heart immediately 
begin to thud when it rang.  Skinner had risen as well, and was 
reaching for his suit jacket, which was hanging on the back of his 
chair. He stopped and their eyes met.  Mulder let it ring again, and 
exhaled heavily through his nose before hitting send and bringing it 
to his ear.  "Mulder," he said, glad when his voice did not shake.

"Agent Mulder, how are you this evening?  Any luck with my clue?"

Mulder tilted the phone slightly towards Skinner, who had moved to 
stand close beside him, so that the AD could hear as well.  "I'd 
like to speak to Agent Scully."  Calm, not too demanding.   

"Very well," the man said, and then there was a shuffling sound, 
as if the phone were being passed to someone else.

Mulder was surprised at the easy acquiescence to his request.  
Then he was relieved when he heard Scully's voice.  

"Mulder?"  The sound was not the greatest, in fact there was a
hollow feeling to it, and her voice was low and almost hesitant.  
"Mulder, it's me."

"Jesus, Scully, are you okay?" he gasped.  He groped for the back 
of the chair with his free hand, and used it to support his suddenly 
weak body.  He felt sweat springing out on his forehead, and the 
hand clutching the phone was damp as well.  He was extremely 
conscious of Skinner beside him.

"I'm...okay, Mulder."  There was a pause, and when she spoke 
again, the words were rushed and breathy, and had him blinking in 
stupefaction.  Skinner tensed and puffed out a rush of air.  
"Fox, please tell Samantha I'm okay.  Please, Fox, tell Samantha, 
okay?" 

Mulder's thoughts whirled.  Tell Samantha?  The only Samantha he 
was aware Scully knew, or knew of at least, was his Sam.  And why 
had she called him Fox?  Was she delirious?  Drugged?  He shook 
his head, his concern increased immeasurably.

Static followed her words and then the man's voice was in his ear.  
"That's enough for now.  So, Fox, as Dana called you, I let you 
speak to her.  But you didn't answer my question.  Did you have 
any luck with my clue?"

Mulder was silent, unsure of how to respond.  

The man made a tsking sound.  "That really disappoints me, Fox.  
Very much.  I think I'll have to punish Dana for that."

A gasping sound, followed by a grunt, and then an abrupt click.

"NO!" Mulder shouted into the now silent phone.  He stumbled 
into the chair, the phone dropping into his lap.  Behind him, 
Skinner cursed, and Mulder dropped his head into his hands.

"Scully," he whispered.

***

Abandoned Warehouse, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Tuesday
7:40 pm


Scully felt almost giddy from hearing Mulder's voice, it seemed 
so long since the last time, and from passing on the only clue 
she could think of.  She could only hope Mulder would understand 
what she meant by using his given name, one she hadn't for years 
after he had half-seriously, half-teasingly told her not to use 
it, and Samantha's name.  Would he make the connection about a 
brother and sister?  Because she had learned so little from the man, 
it was all she had to pass on, and she hadn't had much time to 
think. She also knew she had to be careful not to arouse his 
suspicions, while at the same time, hopefully arousing Mulder's.  
It was weak, but his quick mind would make the connection, 
it had to. 

The man was talking to Mulder, but Scully had been so apprehensive 
about her attempt that she had not really been paying attention.  
She blinked, as the man's words registered "have to punish Dana for 
that."  She could not help gasping when the man leaned forward, 
grabbed her hard by the upper arm, and yanked her towards him. 
Combined with her lack of balance and the fact that he pulled with 
such force, she slammed into him, and he grunted loudly in 
reaction.  She heard the beep as the phone was disconnected and 
then it was falling to the floor with a clatter.

Scully squirmed as he pulled her more securely onto his lap and 
had to control her shudder of unease at his low chuckle.  She could 
feel his burgeoning arousal pressing against her outer thigh and 
tried to twist her body to pull away from the contact.

"That ought to keep Mulder on edge for a while," he said in a voice 
filled with satisfaction and a touch of excitement.  His hands 
clamped down on her shoulders, keeping her flush against his body.

They both seemed to realize at the same instant that her hands were 
free.  She began to flail in his hold, to try and push at his chest 
to break free from his grasp.  His hands slid down her arms, and 
grabbed her wrists.  He squeezed, yanking on her arms, growling, 
"Settle down," in her ear, and she desisted.  

"Now, Dana, I want you to tell me about your relationship with 
Fox," he cooed.

Scully heard the particular emphasis he placed on the name Fox, and 
stiffened slightly, wondering if he had picked up on her attempt to 
pass on information to Mulder.  He hadn't reacted outwardly at the 
time, and she thought he would have shown anger if he had noticed 
anything.

"Why so tense, Dana?" he asked, oozing insincerity.  "You don't like 
to kiss and tell? Or do you think your relationship is a secret?"  
He gave her another squeeze, his smile mocking.  "It's not.  
I watched the two of you for several weeks, Dana.  I saw your 
tenderness with each other, your closeness.  What little social 
lives you have revolve around each other." He leaned his face in 
closer, his breath hot on her neck, and she felt his lips on her 
earlobe.  "Do you love him, Dana?" he whispered.

Scully did not reply and felt her body tense further as his lips 
began to move along her neck.  The thought of him dissecting her 
relationship with Mulder disturbed her almost as much as the news 
he had been watching them for weeks.  Or the feel of his lips on 
her flesh.  There was no way in hell she was going to share her 
feelings about Mulder, feelings she had not fully explored, with 
this man.

Her silence must have angered him, for he let go of one of her 
wrists to grab her jaw, his fingers pressing into her skin, and 
turned her face towards him.  He kissed her hard, his lips 
mashing hers into her teeth.

She felt his grip loosen on her other wrist and she used his 
distractedness to yank her arm free.  He pulled back from her 
when he felt her move, and her elbow smashed into his nose.  
Blood spurted, and he yowled in pain.  His hand grabbed her 
wrist, tightening almost unbearably, and with an upward surge, 
he flung her onto the cot, her head striking the cement wall 
with a small thud.  She groaned weakly.

Her eyes were rolling, the room spinning, and she barely felt 
his weight settling on top of her at first.  Pain throbbed in her 
head, and a wave of nausea ran through her body. Her wrists were 
yanked together and squeezed in a fist, the bones grinding 
together.  His thighs clamped around her arms, holding her wrists 
up, as he sat on her lower body, effectively pinning her to the cot, 
and then rough rope was being wrapped around them.  She felt 
something warm and wet splatter on her face and she squinted her 
eyes open to see blood running freely from his nose, dripping onto 
her.

He tied the rope tightly with one last yank, muttering under his 
breath.  She caught the occasional word, hearing, "...tight...
hope...hurts...punish you..." He leaned back slightly, his weight 
nearly crushing her legs and pelvis, his eyes glaring down at her.  
His hand rose to his face slowly, and then dabbed at his nose, 
fingertips coming away stained crimson.  "Bitch!" he exclaimed 
and then his hand flew lightning fast and slapped her hard, twice, 
one on each cheek, smiling at the whimper that escaped her mouth.  
He said nothing else, merely reached inside his coverall, now 
sprinkled with blood droplets, and pulled out a syringe.  With 
another mean smile, he jabbed the needle into her upper arm and 
depressed the plunger.

Scully was already dizzy from the earlier knock to her head and 
the blows to her face, and felt her head begin to swim almost 
immediately.  She watched, her vision blurring, as he climbed off 
of her and stomped out of the room.  The door slammed with a loud 
bang, and she flinched, closing her heavy eyes, relieved he was 
leaving her alone.  His anger and his arousal frightened her 
equally.  She had a brief moment of regret that she had been 
unable to learn anything further, before curling into a ball on 
her side, her cheeks burning and her head throbbing, and letting 
the drugs take over.

***

8:00 pm

Elliot stood outside the closed door of Dana's cell, his fists 
clenched, blood still running down his face, although the flow was 
now much slower than it had been.  His heart was pounding from a 
strange mix of arousal, adrenaline and anger.  His initial 
excitement had stemmed from the thought of the torment Fox Mulder 
would be going through after his parting statement on the phone 
about punishing Dana.

It had been accelerated by his conversation with Dana about her 
relationship with Mulder, and the telltale signs her body and 
expressions had revealed to him about it.  Then leaning in to 
whisper in her ear, inhaling Elizabeth's scent, combined with the 
feel of a woman's body against his after such a long time, even if 
it wasn't his sister's, had nearly pushed him over the edge. Once
he had began thinking up his plan of revenge, he had been very 
careful.  There had only been that one slip-up, back home, but
she had been a drifter.  No one had noticed her.

Dana's struggles to escape his embrace had amused him and enflamed 
his raging desires, but her unintentional yet still effective blow 
to his nose had then lessened them to a degree.  The pain and the 
sight of his blood had enraged him and it was only the thought of 
what was still to come that had him holding his rage back, settling 
with some measly slaps to her face, even though his mind screamed 
out for more.

He took a deep breath to calm himself and looked at his watch, 
seeing that he needed to get moving.  He still had many things to 
do to get ready for tomorrow.  The drug had probably already taken 
hold of Dana, and he had a brief thought about her possible head 
injury.  He had heard the smack as she had hit the wall, and he 
wondered if he perhaps should have halved the dosage.  He shrugged; 
there was nothing to be done about it now.  He would just have to 
keep a close watch on her after he finished his errands.  He giggled 
to himself for referring to them as 'errands'.  He shivered with 
excitement as his mind began to picture how the events would unfold, 
and his steps were springy and light as he moved through the 
darkened warehouse to the old office he had converted for his use 
while he and his guest were staying here.

As he changed from the bloodstained coveralls into casual attire 
and cleaned himself up, he hummed under his breath.  The song was 
a nursery rhyme Elizabeth had loved.  He pictured his sister the 
last time he had seen her, several weeks before her death, in one 
of the short visits she had been allowed.  He thought that she would 
be happy with what he was doing-getting revenge on the man whose 
actions had led to her death.  

And his loneliness.

***

Mulder's Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Wednesday 
10:30 am


Mulder leaned back in his chair, hearing the leather creak and 
groan as he lifted his arms up to first rub his hands through his 
hair and then scrub over his face.  He felt the stubble on his 
cheeks with surprise and realized he could not remember when he 
had last shaved.

In fact, the last few days were a blur.  A blur of despair and 
confusion and raw nerves.  The delivery of the package to 
Skinner's office, with its implied threat to Scully...was it 
two days ago now?...had sent an adrenaline surge through him 
that had him moving with unstoppable force.

That had quickly changed.  From the moment the cell phone on 
Scully's dresser had rung and he had heard her voice, confirming 
his worst fears, his worst nightmares, he had been operating on 
autopilot.  Barely functioning, capable of only the most basic of 
thoughts and actions.

With a heavy sigh, he leaned forward, righting his chair, and 
stared at his desk.  It was literally covered in files.  Current 
case files, closed case files, unsolved case files.  He had been 
going through them since arriving at the Bureau at 5:30 am, 
unable to sleep, unable to do anything but think of Scully.

After he and Skinner had re-interviewed Suzie Clifford and Edith 
Dunbarton, two of the tenants in Scully's building, with nothing 
new learned, the AD had insisted on taking Mulder to a late night 
deli and watching him eat.  Skinner had then ordered him to go 
home and get some sleep.

Mulder snorted.  Sleep.  What little he had managed after lying 
on his couch staring at the lights from his fish tank for who 
knows how long, had been restless and edgy, and filled with 
nightmares.  Unable to take the tormenting visions of Scully 
suffering and in pain, he had risen before the dawn, showered, 
dressed and came into work.  

A noise at the open door had him looking up.  Skinner stood there, 
two steaming Styrofoam cups in his hands.  He walked over to the 
desk, holding one of the cups out, and Mulder took it gratefully, 
nodding his thanks at the AD.

"Any luck?" Skinner asked, eyes running over the hundreds of files 
that covered Mulder's desk, and were stacked in piles on the floor.

Mulder took a gulp of the coffee, and shook his head, shoulders 
rising in a defeated shrug. "Nothing yet," he replied.  "It's 
like looking for a needle in a haystack."  He tossed the file 
he had picked up back down and shoved away from the desk.  With a 
violent motion, he rose to his feet, the chair sliding back and 
banging into the file cabinet, and began to pace.

"What did she mean by Fox and Samantha?" he mumbled.  "Was she 
trying to tell me something?  She never calls me Fox, so she said 
it deliberately.  And Samantha.  My sister."  He paused, staring 
at Skinner, but more through him then at him.  "My sister," he 
repeated.  "Fox and Samantha.  We were brother and sister."  
This time when he looked at Skinner, he actually saw him.  Mulder's 
eyes widened, and Skinner tensed, seeming to sense Mulder was 
working on a theory.  "It must have something to do with the 
man's sister." He started pacing again.  "But what?"  He began to 
mentally run through their cases.  Nothing jumped out at him.  

Ring.

Mulder looked towards his desk.  It wasn't his cell phone.  It was 
the cell phone.  He lunged forward, hands sweeping the files out of 
the way and picked it up with shaking fingers.  He pressed send and 
gasped, "Mulder," into it.

"Mulder, it's me."  

Scully.  He flicked a glance at Skinner, who had quickly joined him, 
his head leaning towards the phone.  She was whispering, and he 
could barely hear her.  "Scully..." he started to say, to ask her 
to speak up.

"Mulder, you have to hurry.  He...he left the phone here.  I don't 
know how much time I have.  We're in a warehouse, Zeus Storage and 
Warehousing.  I don't know where it is.  Please hurry, Mulder."

His heart was pounding frantically.  She sounded funny, almost 
choked, and very, very frightened.  In his mind he repeated the 
name over and over again.  Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Zeus 
Storage and Warehousing.  "Scully, are you alright?"

"Just hurry, Mul-..."

Click.

"FUCK!" Mulder screamed, slamming the phone down.  "He left the 
phone with her, she said they're at a place called Zeus Storage 
and Warehousing."  Energy was humming through him, he could not 
stay still.  He began pacing, still speaking.  "She got caught 
off really quick, I think he came back."

Skinner was already grabbing the phone and dialing. The AD's 
knuckles were white as he gripped the receiver, clutching it to 
his ear.  His voice was brusque as he spoke.  "This is AD Skinner, 
I need you to run a name for me.  Zeus Storage and Warehousing.  
I need the location and address ASAP!"  He slammed the phone down 
and was quickly dialing again.  Mulder listened as the AD organized 
a SWAT team, demanding the team leader to be in his office in 
fifteen minutes.  The phone crashed down with a bang, and then 
Skinner was running out of the office.  Mulder scooped up the 
cell phone and his jacket, and raced after him.

***


Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Wednesday
12:30 pm


Mulder could barely sit still as he and Skinner watched over the 
shoulder of the agent manning the video feeds in the SWAT team's 
command center van.  They could see the gear-laden agents 
maneuvering into position as they moved in staggered formation on 
the apparently abandoned warehouse.  

The headset on their ears allowed them to listen to the various 
agents, as they got closer to the structure, reporting their 
locations and status to the team leader.

Mulder shifted again, one hand coming up to pluck at the shoulder of 
his bulletproof vest.  The weight was cutting into his skin, and 
making him more restless.  He alternated between hot and cold, his 
pulse fluctuating wildly.  He wanted nothing more than to be inside 
the warehouse, looking for his partner, not sitting out here doing 
nothing.

Skinner shot him a look, covered the mouthpiece of his headset with 
one hand, and hissed, "Mulder, take it easy.  You know this is 
necessary.  We have no idea what kind of situation we could be going 
into.  As Agent Scully was unable to tell us more, we have to 
proceed with caution."

Mulder nodded, and took a deep breath, trying to settle himself 
down.  He knew Skinner was right; they couldn't go rushing in there, 
no matter how much he wanted to.  He just wished they would move 
faster, he had to know if Scully was there, if she was all right. 
Her voice on the phone earlier had scared him, not just because she 
was whispering to avoid detection, and he worried about that too, 
had she been caught?  But also because she had sounded like she 
was hurt.

He stiffened as the team leader's voice came through the headset, 
reporting that they were advancing into the warehouse, feeling 
himself leaning forward to watch the video feed, even though it 
showed very little.  The image was in black and white, and very 
grainy, showing the entrance to the warehouse that some of the 
SWAT team had used to go in.

Suddenly a male voice over the headset said, "Oh...God."

"Report!  Report!"  The team leader's voice.

The male voice again.  "Oh, Jesus, we got a body!"

Mulder ripped off his headset and ripped the sliding door of the 
van open.  He leaped out and began running towards the warehouse.  
Body...body...body...ran through his head as his feet pounded on 
the pavement.

Skinner's voice came through his ear, screaming, "Hold fire!  
Agent coming in!  Hold fire!"  There followed a muffled curse, and 
then Mulder could hear pounding feet far behind him.

Mulder ran inside the warehouse door into a small hallway, past 
agents in SWAT gear, some of them regarding him with looks of 
surprise and sorrow.  One of them pointed and Mulder swung 
slightly to the left, going through an opened set of double doors, 
into the warehouse proper.  He skidded to a halt, almost falling 
on the slippery floor, his arms pin-wheeling madly to maintain 
his balance, screaming, "NOOOOO!!!"

Perfectly illuminated in the darkness of the warehouse by a patch 
of sunlight streaming in through a window above was a body hanging 
by rope from metal racking suspended halfway down from the ceiling.  
It was swaying softly, the creaking of the rope abnormally loud in 
the silent warehouse.  Mulder moved jerkily, stepping a little 
closer, unable to take his eyes off the body, which was wearing a 
beige trench coat, with a black blazer and skirt partially visible 
beneath it.  <<Scully's clothes>> Toes in black suede pumps 
pointed lifelessly at the ground.  <<Scully's shoes>> The sun 
glinted off reddish-gold locks which fell forward concealing the 
body's face.  <<Scully's hair>>

Mulder staggered towards the body <<Scully>> on legs that felt 
made of wood, and then fell to his knees, a few feet away. Thoughts 
were running full tilt through his head.  "I love you, oh, God, 
I'm so sorry I never told you, Scully, oh, God, please, I'm so 
sorry."  

He was unaware he was speaking out loud.

***

end Part 3 of 29