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 23 of 29
by Lovesfox


Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Saturday
12:13 am


The moment the front door clicked shut, Scully was up and out of the 
bed.  It had been difficult to lay there pretending to be asleep 
while he got dressed, particularly when she had felt the warmth of 
his eyes traveling over her exposed body, when all she had wanted to 
do was jump up and demand to go with him.  

She was still not sure what had made her play possum after she had 
realized the ringing that had awoken her was the phone Elliot had 
used to communicate with Mulder during her kidnapping.  Probably 
the fact that she knew he would have tried to insist she stay 
behind, and that they would have ended up having an enormous fight 
about it.  

She had also thought there was a distinct possibility he would try, 
and more than likely succeed due to his superior size and strength, 
and handcuff her to the bed to ensure she could not leave. This way 
she could follow him and watch his back, as a partner should do.  

Or more correctly, as the partner in question should let her do.

In the closet she grabbed the things she needed, returning to throw 
them on the bed while she yanked open drawers to find socks and an 
oversized black turtleneck.  She dressed quickly, grabbed her Sig 
from the night table, noting that Mulder's gun was gone, and headed 
down the hall to get her coat and boots.  

She detoured for a quick look outside one of the windows, careful to 
stay to the side in order not to be seen, and quickly found what she 
had been looking for.  The Gunmen's van, still parked in front of 
her building.  It did not surprise her that Mulder had not taken 
them as back up, naturally preferring to protect her rather than 
himself.

Idiot.

When this was all over, she was going to ream him so good, he 
wouldn't be able to walk for a week.

She slid her feet into her black Doc Marten-style boots, lacing them 
tightly and efficiently, before putting on her black leather jacket, 
zipping it almost all the way up.  Her Sig went into the deep right 
side pocket, where she would have easy access to it.  No struggling 
to clear it from her holster.  She knew she would need it.

Scully glanced down at herself just before she opened the door.  
Dressed entirely in black, she would blend into the shadows and dark 
of night, with only her hair to call attention to herself.  Cursing, 
she hesitated at the doorway and stepped back, eyes scanning the 
closet quickly.  

Ah-ha.  An old baseball cap of Mulder's that she had appropriated 
long ago after a sudden rain shower had drenched her and turned her 
hair into a flattened, sodden mess.  She had to stretch on tiptoe to 
get it from the top shelf, barely managing to snag it with her 
fingertips with a muffled grunt at the effort, and plunked it down 
on her head, covering most of the vibrant red strands.

Now she was ready to sneak out the back door of her apartment 
building and through the alleyway to the next street over to get a 
taxi.  She hoped she would not have to wait long for one, for she 
knew that time was of the essence.  

Mulder already had a good ten-minute lead on her, and he had been 
able to go straight to his car.  It pissed her off to no end that 
she would not be able to take her car, it being parked not too far 
from the Gunmen's van, and she needed to get past them undetected.  
She was positive that on his way out Mulder had stopped to tell them 
to keep an extra close eye on her place; it was just something he 
would do.

Which was why, although she was beyond angry with him for ditching 
her, she could still understand what had made him go without her.  
She had not heard the other end of the brief conversation, just 
Mulder saying Andercott, and Zeus Warehousing, but could only think 
that somehow Elliot had threatened more harm to her, and demanded 
that Mulder come alone. 

Which of course Mulder would do, without second thoughts or 
hesitation.

She glanced up and down the hallway as she stepped out, pulling the 
door shut and locking it behind her, for she wouldn't put it past 
one of the guys to come up here and sit in her hallway.  Thankfully 
it was all clear, but she had to get moving.  She ran swiftly and 
lightly to the emergency exit back stairs that led down to the 
storage room/basement of her building, where there was also another 
emergency exit in the far back that led to the alley. The way was 
lit only by one small box light, but it was enough to guide her 
way.  

Fortunately the alarm on the door was disabled, or she would have 
had to waste precious time doing it herself.  She made a mental note 
to tell her landlord about it later, and slipped outside.

A shiver ran through her as a cool breeze blew by, and she moved 
quickly through the alley, hooking up with another one that led to 
the street.  It was surprisingly busy for this time of night, and 
then she remembered that it was Friday, where most people were still 
out celebrating the fact that another workweek had ended.  

Flagging a taxi was no problem, and minutes later she was sitting in 
the back of a Yellow Cab, giving the driver the address of Zeus 
Storage and Warehousing, which she had read from the file that had 
been started on her disappearance.  The one Mulder had reluctantly 
given to her to read at her demand.  

The driver's eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, a toothpick 
lolling in his mouth.  "Ya sure, lady?" he asked, and in her nervous 
state she could not place his accent.  "That's a pretty tough part 
of town."

She was briefly tempted to pull her Sig out of her pocket to show 
him how sure she was, but refrained.  She nodded instead, saying, 
"Yes, I'm sure."

He shrugged, chewing on the toothpick, and said, "It's your money, 
lady."  Flicking the barest of glances over his shoulder at the 
road, he pulled out and sped off down the street.  

Scully fell back into the cushioned back, uncaring as to their 
condition and lack of cleanliness, and stared unseeing out the 
side window.  

In her mind, she was picturing Mulder charging angrily and 
recklessly into the warehouse, not knowing that Elliot had hidden 
himself in the perfect spot to ambush him, her weapon in his hands 
and ready to fire.

She had to bite her lip to stop from screaming his name in warning, 
but could not control her flinch and a startled gasp when Elliot 
fired and Mulder's body spun from the impact of the bullet.

She moaned quietly as she watched his body fall to the floor, the 
pool of blood beneath him rapidly expanding and spreading, bright 
and thick and deep red, and was jolted out of the horrifying and oh 
so real imagery by the cabbie's voice saying, "You okay, lady?"

Scully inhaled sharply, blinking rapidly until the image of Mulder's 
dying body finally faded, and managed to say, "I'm fine."  The words 
and tone were flat, in the hopes that it would discourage him from 
continuing the conversation.  She was successful, for the cabbie 
shrugged once more and resumed watching the road, one hand steady on 
the wheel.

This time, she kept her eyes focused on watching the black strip in 
front of them as well, determined not to let her mind slide into any 
more waking nightmares.

***

Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Saturday
12:38 am


Mulder pulled slowly into the abandoned lot that belonged to Zeus 
Warehousing, the headlights turned off, while trying to look 
everywhere all at once.  He was fully aware he could be driving into 
an ambush, and scrunched a little further down in his seat, to make 
a smaller target of himself in case Andercott had weapons other than 
Scully's original Sig Sauer.

The lot was empty, which was what he had expected, and he had passed 
only a few parked cars on the street the warehouse was located on.  
For the most part they had appeared to be abandoned pieces of junk, 
although one, a sedan of some sort, had looked to be in useable 
condition.  Some of the other buildings were still in use in the 
area, though not this late at night, and it could very well belong 
to a night watchman or someone from a cleaning service.

There was no way of driving around the entire building, seeing as it 
jutted up against the pier, so he finally just parked the car in the 
shadows along one side.  At least the building would provide some 
cover as he made his way over to the only entrance he could see.  It 
was the same one he had run through in what seemed to be a lifetime 
ago to find what he had thought to be Scully's body, swaying on a 
rope.

Scully.

Mulder hissed in a breath, hand poised to remove the keys from the 
ignition.  He pushed the horrible picture of the dead woman out of 
his head and instead imagined Scully still lying sprawled in the 
bed.  Or maybe she had even rolled over into the spot he had 
vacated, snuggling into the sheets where he had lain, inhaling his 
scent in her sleep.  He preferred to think of her doing that, as he 
often rolled into her spot when she got out of bed.  Although he 
was usually wide-awake, and ended up thoroughly aroused just from 
the warmth and scent that lingered on the sheets.  He swore now 
that he could still smell her, on his skin, a fading memory of 
their expended passion of earlier.

Not now, pervert, he told himself.  Concentrate, damn you.  Get in, 
get Mrs. Scully, kill Andercott and get home to Scully.

Easy as pie.

Sure, no problem.  SuperMulder to the rescue.

Great, now he was talking to himself, and giving himself a nickname 
befitting a comic book character.  Not that he didn't talk to 
himself all the time anyway, and especially in stressful 
situations.  

He knew humor at this point almost belittled the gravity of the 
situation, but it was how he often dealt with his fear.  Yet at 
the same time it didn't seem right at this minute.  He should be 
focused and intent.  

There was another life at stake besides his own, and as much as he 
knew his death would devastate Scully, her mother's would be just 
as, or even more so.

He stepped out of the car, shutting the door as quietly as possible 
behind him.  He shivered, and although the night was cool, he was 
not sure the shiver was entirely a reaction to the weather.  His 
hand tightened on his gun, which he had lifted from the passenger 
seat where it had been laying since he had gotten into the car back 
at Scully's building.

Steeling himself, Mulder crept even closer to the door, sidling 
along the wall of the building, his senses alert for any sound or 
smell, anything that did not look right.  He reached the entrance, 
which was wide open, and poked his head in briefly before pulling 
it back out.  

It did not show him very much, other than darkness with a small 
patch illuminated by moonlight.

He was just going to have to go inside.  A deep exhalation, and he 
moved swiftly through the doorway, remembering that it led to a 
hallway in both directions, or slightly to the left and forward 
through another much larger, double-doored opening that led into 
the warehouse proper.  

A flash of the body he had thought was Scully's, which he pushed out 
of his head almost immediately.  He could not let memories of the 
past distract him.

As he advanced, he tried to peer through the murky shadows down the 
hallway, but could still see nothing.  His Spooky sense told him to 
go into the warehouse proper, that Elliot would choose that location 
for its impact.  

He rushed in, throwing himself to the side and rolling along the 
ground, coming up in a smooth move, his weapon extended and 
cupped in both hands.

All for naught.  

There was no bullet rushing towards him, no voice calling out to 
taunt him.  Mulder wiggled his shoulder a little, feeling the ache 
from his SWAT-team like maneuver, and found himself staring at the 
spot where the body of Kathy O'Neill had hung, this time spotlighted 
by the moon shining in from windows up high.  Only then, he had 
thought it was Scully, and had felt his world end.

Mulder froze, the horrible tableau playing out before his eyes once 
more.  The squeak of the rope as it moved against the beams, loud in 
the otherwise silent warehouse, the light shining down on the red 
locks of her bent head, the sight of her lifeless toes clad in black 
pumps pointing down towards the floor.  He suddenly heard his own 
voice crying out in shock and pain, screaming to God and to Scully, 
finally telling her he loved her.  

Mulder's arms shook, barely able to hold his gun steady.  He shook 
his head, blinking furiously to clear the image from his mind, and 
only then became aware of another sound.

The sound of Elliot's laughter, echoing over and over.

Mulder leapt to his feet, spinning around and around, pointing his 
gun wildly.  "Show yourself, you bastard!" he yelled out, hearing 
his own voice rebound in the cavernous warehouse.  "I'm here just 
like you wanted.  Now where's Mrs. Scully?"

More laughter.

***

Margaret Scully's Residence
Baltimore, MD
Saturday
12:40 am


Margaret Scully rolled over for the fifth time in as many minutes, 
unable to settle into sleep.  She felt uneasy, and was not sure 
why.  With a sigh, she pushed the covers off and slipped out of the 
bed, her feet automatically finding her slippers on the floor and 
sliding into them.  Her hands felt for her favorite robe, that she 
always lay at the bottom of the bed each night after removing it, 
and did not encounter the warm fleece, just as her feet bumped it 
in a pile on the floor.  

She bent, feeling the pull in her lower back, and retrieved it from 
where she must have kicked it during her tossing and turning, and 
rose much more slowly to put it on.  She did not bother turning on 
any lights, fully comfortable in the darkness of her own home, and 
made her way downstairs to the kitchen to make some warm milk.  

Some light was necessary, so she turned the one over the stove on, 
and set about getting the small pot and the milk and putting it on 
the burner.  While she waited she rested against the countertop, and 
her eyes ended up looking at the clock across from her.  The time 
surprised her.  After getting home from bridge, which had run over 
a little late, she had taken a quick shower and gone to bed.

She rarely had trouble falling asleep, and had dropped off almost 
immediately, only to wake up not much more than an hour later.  She 
had then spent the next half hour or so trying to fall back into 
slumber, quite unsuccessfully.

A sudden chill ran through her, and Margaret looked up in surprise, 
shivering slightly.  It had almost felt like a breeze from an open 
window, and there was no way it could be that.  The weather had been 
quite cool lately, too cool for her to have opened any, and even if 
she had, she always shut them again whenever she went out.

The sense of unease had returned, and it was stronger than before.  
Margaret gathered her robe a little closer and looked nervously at 
the many windows of her kitchen, the dark night staring back in at
her.  She started to wonder if she had perhaps missed a window, and 
tried to think of the last time she had done a little house patrol, 
checking the locks on all the doors, the security of the windows.

Margaret also thought of how Dana had asked several times if she 
could have some friends of Mulder's install an alarm system, and how 
she had so far balked at the idea, telling Dana she felt safe in the 
house.  She mused to herself that maybe she was being a little 
foolish and perhaps even naive, and resolved to call Dana in the 
morning and tell her to set something up with her friends.

Another chill, this one a little stronger, and she became sure it 
was a breeze of some sort.  Down the hall to the left was the side 
entrance of the house, with a small mudroom, and there was a window 
in there that she sometimes opened up to combat the musty smell.  
She must have forgotten it.

Sighing, she tightened the sash of her robe and headed down the hall 
to shut it.  As she approached, the rush of cool air was much 
stronger, and she shook her head at herself.  It was definitely the 
window in the mudroom.  She entered the room, and heard the crunch 
of glass beneath her feet just as she saw the hole in one of the 
windowpanes of the side door.

She froze, her hand going to her mouth, muffling her instinctive 
gasp of shock.  Her eyes moved from the broken pane to the brass 
lock several inches below.  It was turned to the side, in the 
unlocked position.  Her heart started to thump painfully, and she 
backed away on fright-stiffened legs, head swiveling from side to 
side to look down the dark hallway, which only a few minutes ago 
had not bothered her in the least.  Now it was menacing and 
terrifying. 

All she kept thinking was, Oh God, is there someone in the house?

Margaret finally found the strength to move, and hurried back to the 
kitchen to call the police.  Her fingers were icy as she grabbed the 
receiver in one hand, the other one already lifting to dial 9-1-1, 
stabbing frantically at the suddenly microscopic-sized numbers.  
Just as she realized there was no dial tone, she happened to glance 
down at the kitchen table.  There was something there, propped 
against the ceramic pig salt and peppershakers that had been a gift 
from Matthew, something she had not noticed when she first entered 
the kitchen.

Even while she was wondering what was wrong with her phone, one 
shaking hand was reaching out to grasp whatever it was.  She felt 
smooth cool leather, and like a light had gone off in her head, 
recognized it as an identification wallet, like Dana carried.  Her 
fingers were suddenly nerveless as she pried the rectangular folder 
open.  Her eyes had just focused on the small square picture of Dana 
when something fell from inside the wallet, and hit the table with a 
tiny scratching noise.  She glanced down and caught the shimmer of 
gold, and knew with a certainty that it was Dana's cross.

Oh dear God.  Dana.  Something had happened to Dana.

She dropped the phone, not caring as it hit the floor with a thud, 
and scooping up the necklace, the wallet still clutched in her other 
hand, ran for the front door.  Her breath was panting in and out as 
she struggled with the lock and chain, and seconds later she was 
outside and heading for the next-door neighbor's house.

Margaret darted up the two decorative cement steps onto the porch 
and pounded on their heavy wooden door, shooting frightened glances 
back over her shoulder, expecting a heavy hand to drop onto her at 
any second and yank her away.  So intent was she on searching the 
dark night she didn't hear the door being opened, and nearly 
screamed when a hand did indeed touch her.  She spun around to see 
the sleepy, bewildered face of Ronald Johnson peering at her.

"Oh thank God!" she exclaimed.  "Ronald, there's an emergency, I 
need to use your phone."

Ronald stiffened, moving his gaze past her to look suspiciously 
outside, and then ushered her in through the door.  Still looking, 
he gestured vaguely down the hall, saying, "Go ahead, Margaret, you 
know where it is."

As Margaret made her way to the Johnson's kitchen, she faintly heard 
Mary Johnson calling down to her husband, asking if everything was 
all right.

No, it's not, she wanted to scream, my baby's in trouble, but she 
did not, and instead focused all her attention on dialing 9-1-1.  

The moment the operator answered she took a deep breath and stated 
her name and address, surprised at how calm her voice sounded, and 
then said the nature of her emergency.  As the operator asked for 
more information she implored the woman to reach Assistant Director 
Walter Skinner with the FBI, and told her that it was about the 
possible kidnapping of a federal officer.

At those words, Margaret detected a sudden urgency in the operator's 
tone, and knew that the call to Dana's boss would indeed be made.  
She sank down into a chair, aware of Mary and Ronald standing behind 
her, to wait for the police and Walter Skinner to arrive.

***

Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Saturday
12:40 am


Elliot watched the car pull into the parking lot through the 
telephoto lens of his camera.  He had the perfect line of sight 
from his vantage point on the roof of the old warehouse, and could 
clearly make out Mulder's features, particularly his very 
distinctive nose.  

He snickered to himself when he saw that the headlights were not 
on.  Did Mulder really think the car would not be seen because he 
turned them off?

He saw how Mulder studied the whole area, and approached with 
caution, almost slumped in his seat.  He felt a surge of pride.  
At long last the agent was recognizing him as a worthy opponent, 
not just a criminal to be taken down, or something slimy on the 
bottom of his shoe.

The thrill of the moment was fully upon him now, and he found it 
difficult to sit still.  His hands were shaking, not from fear but 
from excitement, making it difficult to keep the camera steady, and 
his heart was pounding furiously.  

He giggled softly to himself, because it was kind of funny really, 
where he was right then and there.

He had never thought things would have ended up like this, going 
almost full circle.  During all the planning stages, when all he did 
was think about how to get back at Mulder, how to punish him for his 
part in Elizabeth's death, he only ever imagined killing Mulder, 
perhaps choking him to death and burning his body, feeling that 
Mulder's death would be enough.  Then, when he was following Mulder, 
learning all about him, he had seen Dana, seen how she seemingly was 
the only person in Mulder's life, much like Elizabeth had been in 
his, and it had suddenly become clear to him.  

Take Dana from Mulder, as Elizabeth had been taken from him.  Only 
that had not worked.  Mulder had fucked up his plans.  So now Mulder 
would pay with his own life, instead of Dana's, as he had once 
originally plotted.

Full circle.

The chuckle this time was for how easy it had been to lure Mulder 
here.  After fleeing Leesburg, and hiding out for a couple days, he 
had carefully emerged to discover that his plan of revenge had 
failed, that not only had Dana not died, but also that Mulder had 
been the one to save her.  So he had started to hatch a new plan, 
one that would take them both out.  Yet there had been a kink in 
that plan.

Dana's mother wasn't the only person he had been watching.  The 
apartment building across the street from Dana's had some wonderful 
spots that afforded him a great view right through her windows.  And 
with the telephoto lens, it was almost like being right there with 
them.  And whether or not they had been lovers before he had taken 
her, they most definitely were now. He had gotten quite the show on 
a few occasions.

His fingers clenched spasmodically on the camera.  He couldn't wait 
to talk to Mulder about them.

Mulder.  Shit.  

Lost in his reverie, he had actually forgotten about him.  Elliot 
lifted the camera back up to his face and jammed the viewer against 
his eye to scan the entire surroundings.  Damn, he couldn't see him 
anymore.  

Mulder must have parked the car against the side of the building.  
One hand holding the camera tightly, Elliot jumped down from his 
perch and made his careful way along the catwalk to the metal 
stairs.  He needed to get to the other position, for when Mulder 
came into the warehouse.  He was sure that Mulder would 
instinctively know exactly where to go.  

Where it had in a way all begun.

Finding one of the little niches he had searched out late at night, 
while hiding out during the day to avoid the routine police patrols 
through the area, he settled in to wait for Mulder.  His mind 
returned to his thoughts of moments ago.

Besides getting quite a show while watching Dana's apartment, and 
getting off during almost every one of them, he had also realized 
how difficult it would be to grab her again to use her as bait for 
Mulder.  The few times that they had actually come up for air and 
ventured outside, Mulder had been on Dana like a second skin, 
although there had been a few moments where the man had been 
distracted.  Just not long enough for him to do anything about it.

He still wasn't sure now what had made him think of using Dana's 
mother as bait instead.  Not actually taking her, but letting Mulder 
think he had.  He had seen Dana's mother a couple of times with the 
big balding guy he had learned was Mulder and Dana's boss at the 
FBI, and at first had not known who the small pretty, older woman 
had been.  

It was amazing what kind of information could be charmed out of 
people.  

One of the nurses at Walter Reed had been so enthralled with all the 
excitement of the two injured agents, that she had readily believed 
his story about being a reporter.  And as much as he had wanted to 
kill her, feeling that indescribable need, he had let her live, not 
wanting to call attention to anyone even remotely connected with the 
agents or the hospital.  

Once he had learned the woman was Dana's mother, he had followed her 
first to Dana's apartment, and later to her own home, noting the 
surveillance at the time.

And just a few short hours ago after cutting her telephone line, he 
had broke into her home and left her a little gift.  He wondered 
when she would find it.

Suddenly all his nerve endings came alive, and he knew Mulder was 
there.  He blinked a few times to clear his vision to peer through 
the dark, hearing faint scrabbling sounds, and there he was, barely 
illuminated by the light of the moon.  Elliot smirked to himself as 
he watched Mulder poised in a crouch, his gun held out in his two 
hands, as if ready to fire at him.  Or as if he expected to be fired 
upon.

Elliot smirked again.  There would have been no fun in that, 
shooting Mulder just as he came through the door.  And he could 
have, very easily, with Dana's gun, which was sitting casually 
beside him on a crate.  The irony of that did not escape him, to 
shoot Mulder with the gun belonging to the woman he loved would be 
sublime.  

But he did not shoot Mulder.  He wanted, needed, to torment him 
first.

He wondered idly how Mulder had managed to come here alone, surely 
against all protocol, and also if the agent had snuck out on Dana.  
He had hope that maybe she would follow him.  Now that would make 
things very interesting.

The lack of any further movement made him notice that Mulder seemed 
to be frozen to the spot, his hands shaking as he held his gun.  
Again Elliot just knew that Mulder was reliving the moment when he 
thought he had seen his precious Dana hanging from the beams in the 
ceiling.  

The memories that were evoked by that were glorious for him, 
personally.  Mulder falling to his knees, crying out his love for 
his Scully.  They were, and had been, beautiful.  He was sure they 
were not quite as pleasant for Mulder.

Elliot laughed.

And watched as Mulder reacted fiercely, scrambling to his feet and 
pointing his gun in every direction, obviously trying to get a bead
on his target - him.  He also listened as Mulder yelled out his 
fury.  

"Show yourself, you bastard!  I'm here just like you wanted.  Now 
where's Mrs. Scully?"

Perfect.  It had worked.  The fool really believed the woman was 
here.

Elliot did not answer except to laugh again.

***

The All Night Cafe
Georgetown, D.C.
Saturday
12:55 am


Skinner smiled again at Allison as she fiddled with the spoon that 
was in her empty coffee cup.  

A faint blush stained her cheeks, but she smiled back.  She dropped 
the spoon, flinching a little when it clattered noisily against the 
saucer, and then clasped her hands together tightly on the Formica 
table. "Nervous habit," she muttered.

"Do I make you nervous?" he asked in surprise.  He thought the 
evening had gone, and was still going, well.  Neither one of them 
had wanted to part company after their dinner at The Bistro, and 
after the waiter there had made several trips past their table with 
disapproving looks, he had suggested they come here, to this late 
night diner, unimaginatively called The All Night Cafe.  

Allison had agreed with enthusiasm.  And here they had sat, drinking 
coffee, lots of coffee, and at one point, eating blueberry pie, for 
the last couple of hours.

Allison ducked her head a little, a tactic he had discovered she 
used when uncomfortable with the subject, and replied, "Yes!"  She 
then blinked in surprise and said, "I mean no."  She blushed again 
and with a small sigh, said, "Well, a little, I guess."

"Can I ask why?" he said next, a little concerned.  He thought they 
had gotten passed the whole mess with her standing him up for lunch 
that day, but maybe he was pushing too hard.  Perhaps what he had 
thought was enthusiasm to continue their evening had really been a 
reluctance to be the one to end it.  His heart started to beat a 
little faster, and he actually felt flushed.  He felt the muscle in 
his jaw twitch, a sure sign to all who worked under him that things 
were not right, and struggled to control his facial features.

Somehow Allison seemed to read whatever he was feeling, for she 
unclenched her hands and reached one out to touch his, loosely 
clasped on the table, her pretty brown eyes meeting his.  "Oh, it's 
nothing bad, Walter.  Honestly."  The blush was back, but she kept 
her eyes on his.  "I'm just worried about how this night's going to 
end.  I mean, well..."

Skinner could see only honesty in her eyes, and inwardly heaved a 
huge sigh of relief.  Outwardly the only sign was the slight 
relaxation of shoulders that had gone tense.  He realized suddenly 
where she was coming from, and hastened to reassure her.  

"Allison, I'm not expecting anything here."  He turned his hand so 
that he was now gently holding hers, and let his thumb brush across 
her knuckles.  "I had a really, really great time, and I'm hoping 
you did as well, and that we can do it again.  Hopefully real soon."

Her answering smile was wide, highlighting the adorable dimples in 
her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled.  "I had a great time too, Walter, 
and definitely hope we can do it again." She giggled girlishly, 
charming him all over again, and added, "Soon."

His beeper chose that moment to go off, and with a grimace he 
reached down to pull it off his belt where it was securely clipped.  
The number displayed was that of the Bureau's Emergency Contact 
Department.  

The muscle in his jaw started again, for he knew this could not be 
good.  He had rarely been contacted this way, and in the few 
instances he had, the reasons had always been because there was 
trouble.

Skinner fumbled in his inner jacket pocket for his cellular phone, 
and quickly dialed the Contact Department.  He could feel Allison 
watching him, and lifted his eyes to see her biting her lip.  

When she saw that he was looking at her, she said softly, "Do you 
need some privacy?"

He shook his head quickly, listening to the phone ring in his ear.  
If it were private, he'd leave their cozy little booth.  Once the 
line was answered, he gave his name, title and badge number.  He was 
asked to hold, and a moment later another voice came on the line, 
that of the department's senior personnel.  The hand that was not 
holding the phone clenched tightly into a fist as he heard about 
the incident at Margaret Scully's house.  He gave a terse thank-you 
and disconnected the call to immediately make one to Scully's 
apartment.  It rang twice, and then her answering machine clicked 
on.  He left a brief message, leaving his cell number and folded 
the phone up and tucked it back into his jacket.  

"I need to take you home right away.  There's a...situation," he 
explained, holding one hand out to help Allison up out of the 
booth.  His entire body was taut with tension, and the words came 
out through gritted teeth.

"Walter, I can get a cab, its no problem," Allison said softly.  
"I can tell it's very important.  I don't mind, really."

Skinner was torn.  He needed to get to Mrs. Scully's ASAP, and to 
coordinate things to get a unit over to Scully's apartment, but he 
wanted to see Allison safely home.  He had an idea, and pulled his 
cell phone out once more.  He hit the speed dial, and a moment 
later was ordering a car to come and pick Allison up to take her 
home.  

Tucking the phone away again, he turned to her with an apology in 
his eyes.  "I'm very sorry about this, Allison.  There's an agent 
coming to take you home.  I'll call you as soon as I can."  With 
that, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek before striding 
rapidly outside to his car.

***


Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Saturday
1:00 am


The laughter was mocking, and sent chills down his spine.  Chills 
that lingered even after the laughter stopped.  In the sudden 
silence, Mulder tried desperately to peer through the gloom, to pin 
down Andercott's location, but could not.  He relaxed the grip on 
his gun fractionally, and continued to move about, circling slowly, 
all the while advancing further into the warehouse.

He was not sure how far he would be allowed to move, was expecting 
at any second to hear a bullet whine by his ear in warning, but knew 
he could not just stand there and do nothing.

His eyes eventually adjusted to the almost negligible lighting, and 
he was actually able to make out the faint outlines of objects, 
abandoned crates and the odd piece of furniture shoved up against 
the walls.  

Yet he still could not see where Andercott could be hiding, or where 
he could be keeping Mrs. Scully.  He had briefly considered that the 
psychotic bastard might have rigged something up, a way of playing a 
recording of laughter, that he was not even really here, for he had 
not yet heard the man's voice, but had rejected that notion almost 
immediately.  Andercott had wanted him here for a reason, and 
whatever that reason was, he would want to witness the events 
firsthand.

Enough of this shit.

"Andercott!" he bellowed.  "Are we going to get on with this, or 
what?"  He hoped his words would push the bastard into saying 
something, and maybe reveal his location.

"Or what, indeed," was the response, followed by a giggle.

It had sounded like Andercott's voice had come from the far corner 
to his right.  Mulder whirled around, squinting in an effort to see 
better.  That whole part of the warehouse was situated in the 
deepest of shadows, and he really couldn't be sure if anyone was 
there.  He moved anyway, raising and lowering his feet carefully in 
an effort to minimize the noise.  There was a chance that Andercott 
too was hampered by the darkness, and might not be able to see him 
either.  He cursed silently, recalling that there was an industrial 
strength flashlight in the trunk of his car.  Fat lot of good it was 
doing him sitting there.

He opened his mouth to yell out again, when Andercott said, 
"Besides, Mulder, I like to watch you."  

Mulder thought he could make out the sound of a footstep, almost 
like the heel of a shoe clanging against metal, and strained towards 
the noise.  

It was not repeated, but he did hear what could be the rustling 
of clothes, as if Andercott were moving around.  He stopped and 
stood still, closing his eyes, and attempted to picture the 
warehouse as it had been that day.  With his eidetic memory it 
should have been easy, but because all his focus had been on the 
body he had believed to be Scully's, details of the warehouse were 
sketchy.  

He did however remember staring up at the beams around which the 
rope had been tied, and beyond those beams, a series of catwalks 
high up near the ceiling.  

His eyes popped open.  That had to be how Andercott was moving 
around and staying out of sight.  Hopefully this knowledge would 
help him in some way.

When Andercott's voice came the next time, it seemed to be almost 
above him.  "I liked watching you and Dana, too."

Angling his head back to look up, Mulder felt another chill at the 
man's words.  Just the way he had drawled out Scully's name gave him 
a very bad feeling.  "When were you watching us, Elliot?" he asked, 
somehow knowing what the man was going to tell him in reply and that 
he would not like it at all, but feeling compelled to ask 
nonetheless. 

"All the time, Mulder."

Innocuous words, really, but the tone, lascivious and knowing, gave 
them new meaning.  The bad feeling got worse.  Mulder also had the 
sense that Elliot knew the effect his words were having, and did not 
want to play into the man's hands any further, or give him 
encouragement.  He began moving again, still scanning the ceiling; 
now able to make out the dim outlines of the catwalks he had 
remembered seeing.

"Really, Mulder," Elliot said conversationally, as if they were two 
friends having a chat over coffee.  "You and Dana should be a bit 
more...circumspect, shall we say?  That little scene outside her 
apartment building?  Where you had your tongue down her throat in 
broad daylight?  Tsk, tsk, Agent Mulder."

Mulder's shoulders tensed as he remembered that moment, how 
abandoned they both had been.  Until the honking car had shocked 
them back into reality, and Scully had reacted with embarrassment.  

It had been a foolish move on both their parts, and it angered him 
to know that Elliot had witnessed it.  Obviously the bastard had 
been watching them, perhaps even following them, and it made him 
wonder what more the man had seen.  Although Mulder was fairly 
certain Elliot was going to tell him, and that the bastard was 
enjoying it very much, and probably reveling in the sense of power 
he thought it gave him.

He hadn't heard any movement this time, but when Elliot's voice came 
again, it was from somewhere else.  Mulder assumed Elliot had spent 
much time in the warehouse, and knew all its nooks and crannies, and 
the entire layout of the large building, like the back of his hand. 
 
An advantage Mulder was not going to let him use for much longer.  
He continued his slow but steady advance towards what he believed 
was a staircase along one wall leading to the catwalks above.

"That little scene in the Laundromat was quite...hmmm, what's that 
word I'm looking for?  Oh yes.  It was quite arousing."  There was a 
timed pause, the silence almost deafening, before he continued.  

"For Dana, for you...and for me."

Mulder felt bile rise in his throat.  Both at the thought that 
Elliot had watched he and Scully playing on the washing machine, and 
most especially because the man was implying he had enjoyed watching 
them do so. 

Despite his own admitted proclivity for pornographic videos, which 
had declined almost to the point to being non-existent in the last 
year or so, Mulder found it sickening to be the one who had been 
watched, as opposed to doing the watching.  He had also never 
participated, or wanted to participate in a live viewing, so to
speak.

"What, nothing to say, Mulder?" Elliot asked mockingly.  "Doesn't 
it bother you to know that I've seen you?"  Yet another laugh 
followed his words, joyful and sardonic at the same time.

That emphasis on the word 'seen' told Mulder that Elliot was not 
quite through with his revelations, and he steeled himself to hear 
even worse.  All the while he continued to search out the shadows 
and to feel with his feet as he walked, hoping he would not find 
Mrs. Scully injured, or even worse, already dead.

"Answer me, Mulder!" Elliot barked, sounding angry.  "Doesn't it 
bother you?"

Mulder pondered his reply.  He could tell an outright lie and say 
no, it didn't, but would Elliot somehow pick up on that lie?  He 
could turn the tables on Elliot and tell him he was more worried 
about how excited Elliot seemed to have gotten from the watching 
then the watching itself, explaining he was used to being spied on.  

Which was the truth, he and Scully had both been under watchful 
eyes in the past, and probably still were to this day, to some 
extent or another.  However, not knowing where Mrs. Scully was, 
his provocation could have terrifying results.

Finally, he decided on the truth.  "Yes, it bothers me."  His 
teeth were gritted with the effort to keep his voice calm, while 
inside his emotions were roiling.  If he had Elliot in his sights 
right at that moment, nothing would stop him from charging at the 
man and taking him down.

That fucking giggle came again.

"I knew it did, Mulder," Elliot said after a few minutes.  "You're 
very protective of Dana, I've seen that.  And she'd be horrified to 
learn I'd been watching the two of you together, wouldn't she?"  
He didn't wait for an answer; the question had apparently been 
rhetorical.  "I wish she were here now so I could tell her what 
else I saw."  

Another pause. 

"And how much I got off on it."

Mulder's jaw tensed.  Here it was.  He had known it was going to 
lead to this next announcement.  All along his mind had been 
flicking back to all the times he and Scully had made love, how 
many of them were visible through the windows because they hadn't 
realized, hadn't even considered that someone could be watching 
them.

And despite the fact he was now deeply regretting not calling for 
backup or waking Scully up, he was glad she was not here to have to 
listen to Elliot's evil voice telling him these things.

***

end Part 23 of 29