*******************************************
Ascent to Hell - Part 3 of ? (3/?)
by Kronos (kronos1@adelphia.net)
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Saturday, 4:12 p.m.
Richmond Bureau, Forensic Laboratory


Skinner entered the forensic labs and was surprised by the number of people working so 
diligently on a Saturday.  When he didn't see the agent he was looking for, he flagged 
down a young woman heading past him and asked her, "Do you know where I could find 
Agent Scully?"

The woman smiled at him and waved to the right, saying, "Yes, sir.  She's in the first lab 
on the left down that hallway."

He muttered a quick "Thanks" and then headed where she'd directed him.  He glanced in 
the windows that served as a wall on one side of the lab indicated and saw Scully bent 
over a table, obviously looking at something of interest.  An older man, dressed in a 
white lab coat, stood next to her, expression intent.  He raised his hand to knock but 
stopped before he could carry through when his cell phone rang.

He stepped back from the door and answered briskly, "Skinner."

The voice on the other end took him so by surprise that he almost dropped the phone.  
"AD Skinner -- you and Mulder made the national news."

He grimaced and glanced at his watch.  It was Saturday, dammit.  What he did on the 
weekend was his business.  He straightened unconsciously before replying.  "What do 
you want, Kersh?"

The man's reply was annoyingly smooth.  "I was just curious what brought you to 
Richmond, Walter.  And I'm also curious why I haven't been able to reach Agent Scully 
here in DC."

He clenched his jaw and then forced himself to relax.  "Last time I checked, I was free to 
do whatever the hell I wanted on a Saturday, Alvin.  So is Agent Scully.  You have a 
problem with that?"

"I don't, Walter, but the OPR just might."

Skinner sensed movement to his right and saw Scully coming out of the lab, eyes on his 
face.  It was obvious she could tell he was upset and her concern shone clearly.  He met 
her eyes when he spoke, low and dangerously even.

"Are you threatening me, Kersh?"

Scully's eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open slightly in surprise.  There was 
nothing but silence on the other end of the line and he felt a surge of pleasure in knowing 
that he was making the man squirm.  

"I don't threaten, Walter.  I just thought I'd pass on the fact that your participation in 
Agent Mulder's case has been noted.  As has Agent Scully's."

That was it.  The straw.  He'd fucking had it with this jerk.  The phone was clenched so 
tightly in his fingers that they were starting to go numb.  Even though he knew it 
wouldn't really matter, he turned to his left to block Scully's view.

"Listen, you little kiss ass.  I don't give a flying fuck if you report me to OPR.  Go ahead 
and do it.  I think they might be slightly interested in hearing how an AD gave directions 
to an SAC to lean on an agent hard enough to break him.  I think they'd be interested in 
hearing that an AD instructed an SAC to drive an agent out of the Bureau, even when that 
agent's the only hope of solving a horrific serial murder case.  I think they'd like to hear 
about that.  What do you think, Alvin?"

His own harsh breathing was echoed on the other end.  He gave the man a half minute to 
calm down, even while willing himself to do the same.  He closed his eyes and raised his 
left hand to rub at his face. He sighed before speaking again.  "I can't really bring myself 
to believe that you don't want this case solved, Kersh.  A little boy -- a baby -- is missing.  
Mulder might be that child's only hope of seeing another birthday.  Do you really hate 
Mulder so much you'd sacrifice a baby to see him suffer?"

He was surprised by the enmity in the other man's voice.  "God damn you, Skinner.  
Don't you dare act so superior with me.  I never intended ..."

The man stopped himself, as if realizing he was about to admit to culpability over an 
unsecured line.  Skinner could imagine the man struggling to get control, angry over his 
lack of control.

"Look, Kersh.  I'm not about to let my agents be sacrificed by you or anyone else.  I'm 
here to make sure that doesn't happen.  Scully's here to help her partner make it through 
this in one piece."

He felt a hand on his arm and looked into Scully's worried eyes.  He licked his lips, 
knowing it was time to end this.  "I'm sure that Agent Scully will notify you if she'll be 
unable to be at work on Monday. Good day, Kersh."

It felt good to flip the phone closed before allowing the other man to speak, but deep 
down, he knew that trouble was brewing.  The reality was that Kersh could cause his 
former agents serious problems and he could have just made things much worse for both 
of them.

He was suddenly consumed with regret and guilt.  He felt Scully squeeze his arm again 
and looked down at her.  She was smiling, the playful grin making her appear years 
younger.

"Sir, maybe we could send him some flowers to let him know we appreciate his 
concern."

He laughed then, knowing there was nothing for him to feel guilty about.  He shook his 
head and tucked his phone away, then nodded to the lab door.  Time to forget the last five 
minutes and move forward with this case.

As if reading his thoughts, Scully dropped her hand, nodded to him, then preceded him 
into the lab.  She walked over to the man she'd been talking with before and nodded.  

Skinner glanced around at the piles of paper and the various monitors.  "Scully, anything 
new?"

She glanced at him quickly, expression intent, then raised her hand, making a so-so 
gesture in the air.  She pointed at several pages of paper laid out on the table.  "We've 
been analyzing all the 911 calls.  We know there's something strange -- some sort of 
embedded signal -- but we haven't identified it yet.  We've got a team on it."

Skinner nodded and glanced to her right at the man standing next to her.  She must have 
realized his curiosity because she immediately said, "Sir, this is ASAC Bill Ketter, who's 
been leading the forensic team on the case.  Bill, this is AD Walter Skinner."

The man nodded to him and he reached out to shake his hand. 

Scully asked, "Sir, has there been any word regarding possible suspects?"

He shook his head and shifted his feet to a more comfortable position.  Put his hands in 
his pants pockets and replied, "Not yet.  They should call me by six or so."

Almost as if planned, a cell phone rang out on the last word.  Both he and Scully pulled 
out their phones, neither sure which one was actually ringing.  He was only slightly 
embarrassed when it turned out to be Scully's.  Just after the third ring she flipped it open 
and answered briskly, even as he was replacing his own cell phone in his pocket.

He saw Scully's expression blanch and knew it had something to do with Mulder.  He 
couldn't resist asking, "What?  What is it?"

She disconnected the call and glanced over at him quickly before punching in a number 
with a stabbing finger.  He could tell she was worried, scared even, and wanted to know 
just what the hell was happening.  He tried to avoid sounding too demanding when he 
said, "Scully."

She spared him another glance and then said simply, her tone completely flat, 
"Friedman."

He nodded and waited her out, knowing she'd fill him in when she could.  He knew 
someone had answered finally when her expression changed from stony indifference to 
nervous expectation. 

The expressions playing over her face caused a feeling of dread to settle over him. His 
fists were clenched tightly at his sides and he had to concentrate hard to force his fingers 
straight.  Damn, why couldn't this be on a speakerphone?

He watched Scully breathe deeply as she listened.  The silence seemed to drag, even 
though he knew mere seconds passed.  "Where are you?"

The silence stretched too long this time and Skinner couldn't wait for answers any longer.  
"What's wrong with Mulder?"

He knew his voice was sharper than it needed to be, but wasn't particularly interested in 
sparing anyone's feelings just now.  He wanted to know where his agent was and what 
shape he was in.

Scully turned to him and raised a hand, while saying, "We'll meet you there."  She closed 
her phone then and said softly, "Jerry says Mulder collapsed, sir.  He's bringing him to 
the garage entrance.  I told him we'd meet them there."

Skinner raised his free hand to his forehead and rubbed wearily.  He felt a touch on his 
right arm and looked down into Scully's worried eyes.  Time to collect yourself, Walter.  
He nodded and took his agent's arm, pulling at her gently.  "Come on.  Let's go meet up 
with Friedman and Mulder."

She was keeping pace next to him, her face frozen in a professional mask, but he knew 
she had to be extremely worried.  He waited until they were in the elevator before saying, 
"I'm sure he'll be fine, Scully.  He probably just needs to get a little sleep."

It sounded lame even to him, but even so she nodded, then shifted nervously, obviously 
working hard to maintain her composure.  The elevator dinged loudly, and the doors 
swished open, indicating their arrival.  Without even thinking, he placed his hand at the 
small of her back and felt her tense in reaction.  Images of Mulder escorting his partner 
out of his office flashed through his mind and he dropped his hand immediately.  He 
cleared his throat and stepped out ahead of her, then waited for her to catch up.  

They walked side by side down the short hallway, and nodded to the guard sitting there.  
Then he opened the door that would lead them out to the parking garage.  A car was just 
pulling in at the far end and he could see Friedman's strained face even from where they 
stood.

He glanced down towards Scully once again and could tell she was frightened and 
anxious.  He leaned over and said softly, "It's going to be all right, Scully."

He saw her nod and give him a tight smile, then she rushed to the back door when the car 
came to a stop in front of them.  Friedman was out of the car in moments, actually 
looking guilty.  Skinner nodded to the agent and was shocked to hear Mulder's voice 
raised in what sounded like a weak protest.  He moved to Scully's side to get a clearer 
view of what was happening.

Mulder was flat on his back, stretched out on the back seat, legs spilling out the open 
door.  He had one arm draped over his face, as if to block out the light.  Scully had 
managed to actually maneuver herself into the back, where she now knelt on the floor, 
leaning over her still reclining partner.  She had his right hand in hers and seemed to be 
trying to pull his arm off his face.  

Skinner heard Mulder mumble, "No.  Almost.  Close."

He saw Scully glance back at him and he shrugged at her, then shook his head gently.  He 
had no idea what Mulder meant, and evidently, neither did she.  He heard her whisper, 
"Mulder, come on, let's go inside.  Can you sit up?"

But the man didn't seem to hear her at all.  He continued mumbling, arm firmly covering 
his eyes, saying, "It's like DC.  It's there."

Scully seemed torn between worry and frustration, but the frustration finally won out.  
Her voice was sharp when she said, "Mulder!  Stop this.  You need to sit up and talk with 
me."

Skinner was shocked to see that her rough treatment worked.  Mulder stopped his restless 
movements and jerked his arm away, turning his head towards her as if in confusion.  It 
was obvious that he'd been unaware of his partner's presence or the events that had 
brought him here.  His voice barely carried to where Skinner stood in the car's door.

"Scully?  What ...? Where ... are we?"

Skinner swallowed nervously, his throat completely dry, despite the sweat that had 
broken out on his forehead.  Seeing Mulder this way, disoriented and weak, worried him 
beyond anything that had come before.  He could tell that Scully was frightened as well, 
her normal mask of aloofness slipping, even in his presence.

She had Mulder's hand in her right and had her left on his head.  Her voice was soft and 
gentle when she answered reassuringly.  "It's okay, Mulder.  You're at the Bureau, in the 
back of Jerry's car.  We're going inside and you're going to lie down and rest for just a 
bit."

He could tell that Mulder was still confused.  The younger man's brow was furrowed and 
his mouth worked silently.  Time to get involved directly.  Skinner leaned into the car 
just slightly and said, "Agent Mulder, it's time to sit up now. We need to go inside.  
Come on, now."

Mulder jerked, then started forcing himself upright, but was obviously struggling.  
Skinner leaned into the car and grabbed Mulder's arms, then pulled gently.  The man's 
head fell back limply until he was finally upright.  Mulder seemed to rouse somewhat 
more then and even looked at him with what appeared to be awareness.  Damn Kersh for 
doing this to the man.  

Skinner was honest enough to recognize that some small part of his psyche also cursed 
himself.  His voice caught just a bit when he spoke this time.  "Come on, Mulder. We're 
going to get you inside and you can get some sleep."

His former agent stared at him for a moment and then nodded his head, as if in slow 
motion.  Mulder started moving on his own finally until he was perched in the open car 
door.  He sat with head falling almost down to his chest, breath coming in fast spurts as if 
he'd just run a sprint.  His hands were clenched into fists and were pressed into his thighs.  

Skinner let him rest for a few moments and then took Mulder's right wrist and pulled 
once again.  The younger man was positively gray.  "Come on, Agent.  Let's go."

He pulled the man upright and nodded to Friedman, who took Mulder's other side.  But 
Mulder pulled away from them, seeming to find an internal strength to sustain him.  
Skinner backed off, waiting for the man to set the pace on his own.  He was constantly 
amazed at the tenacity his former agent showed in almost impossible circumstances when 
others would have given up long before.  Tenacious -- it was a good word for Mulder.  
The younger man was now reaching his right hand out to brace himself against the car 
roof.  Scully pulled herself out of the car and slipped under his arm, evidently either 
forgetting about Skinner and Friedman's presence or just not caring anymore.  

Skinner watched as Mulder seemed to drag his eyes open at the partial embrace. The man 
looked down at his partner with such tenderness it made his own chest hurt.  Skinner 
heard him say, "I'm sorry, Scully.  I lost track for a bit, that's all.  I'm okay."

Scully seemed to hug her partner a bit tighter, then responded, "You're not responsible 
for this, Mulder."

Skinner felt as if the conversation had left him behind, but decided to try to figure it out 
later.  He moved to Mulder's other side and took the man's arm yet again, pulling slightly.

"Come on, Agents.  Let's get inside."

He was relieved that there was no resistance this time, and nodded, more to himself than 
to them.

*******************************************

Saturday, 4:49 p.m.
Richmond Bureau, Conference Room


Scully pulled a chair closer to the couch where Mulder sat.  He made a forlorn image, 
bent forward, hands covering his face, elbows propped on knees.  They were alone in the 
room, finally.  Skinner had sent Jerry to continue work with the team developing the list 
of suspects while he'd gone to the lab to check with Ketter about the voice analysis of the 
tapes.  She had a suspicion the AD had done it intentionally to give her some time alone 
with her partner.

She reached out with her left hand and wrapped her fingers around his, pulling gently.  
He allowed her to pull his hand away and even dropped his other, but he wouldn't look at 
her.  She reached out with her right hand and took his chin, forcing his head towards her.  
She didn't understand what was going on.

"Mulder?"

His eyes closed as if he couldn't bear to look at her, but then opened again slowly.  He 
was looking at her now, his expression twisted as if in pain and something else she 
couldn't identify.   "I'm sorry, Scully.  I feel like such an idiot."

And then she understood that he was embarrassed and even ashamed at what he 
perceived to be a weakness.  She didn't know whether to hit him or hug him, and opted 
instead to squeeze his hand a bit tighter.

"Mulder, you are an idiot."  She smiled slightly before going on.  "You're a complete and 
total idiot for even thinking you're an idiot."  She was relieved to see the ghost of a grin 
surface.

"You've been working on this non-stop, being pushed by the SAC and pushing yourself.  
It's time to put on the brakes."  She saw the objections already forming and tried to cut 
them off before he could actually voice them.  Her voice was gentle when she said, "I 
know, Mulder. I understand."

She covered their linked hands with her other one and gripped him even more tightly.  "I 
know what's riding on this.  I do.  But I also know there is only so much that you can do 
without more data.  Without something at least approaching a break in the case."

She knew by his furrowed brow and drooping head that he wasn't convinced.  Her voice 
was firm as she said, "You need to rest so that when we get the suspect list or get a break 
in the voice analysis, you'll be in shape to make use of the information."

Whether he was convinced or not was now immaterial.  The exhaustion that he'd been 
keeping at bay now overtook him, causing his eyes to close further and his shoulders to 
drop.  His hand was practically limp in hers.  She raised her right hand to his shoulder 
and guided him down to lay flat, then moved to pull his legs up onto the couch.  He was 
already asleep.  

She shook her head slightly at the realization, then gently removed his shoes and 
loosened his tie.  She pushed herself upright and glanced around the room, spotting a 
pillow and blanket tossed carelessly in the corner next the pile of discarded clothes.  She 
grabbed them both and brought them back, laying the pillow on the table temporarily.  
She shook the blanket out and draped it over her partner's unmoving form, tucking the 
edges in here and there.  She picked up the pillow again and knelt down, raised Mulder's 
head gently and slipped it under.  He never moved.  

Her breath was stolen away as dread suddenly gripped her heart.  She was overwhelmed 
with the irrational fear that he'd stopped breathing.  That he'd gone away and left her 
alone.  She reached under the blanket and picked up his left hand in her right.  She moved 
her fingers to the underside of his wrist and was filled with relief when she felt the pulse 
beating strong and sure.  She laid his hand back down, covering it once more, then 
reached out to his forehead.

His hair was a mess, with stray locks dropping onto his forehead.  She smoothed them 
away, even as she took in the image of him lying there -- pale and worn -- vulnerable.  
She wished she could smooth away the worry and fatigue lines so easily.  She didn't 
know how much more of this she could take.  Having Kersh torture them while they were 
together was one thing, but watching helplessly as he put Mulder in one horrible situation 
after another was something else all together.  It had to end.  It was inevitable that he'd 
get hurt, if not on this case then on the next.  Hurt or worse.  And then what would she 
do?  How would she possibly go on?

She was almost surprised by the direction her musings took her as she gazed down on her 
partner -- her best friend.  And so much more.  Her very life.

She leaned forward carefully, not wanting to disturb him, and placed a soft kiss on his 
forehead.  Her lips lingered for a moment as she realized more surely than ever what her 
life would be without this man in it.

She pulled back and ran her hand over his forehead once more, then through his hair.  
She pushed herself up then and moved to the far end of the table where a stack of files 
awaited her.  She sank into a chair wearily, but her gaze was drawn once more to the 
couch and the sight of her partner.  She whispered, "Please let him be all right." 


*******************************************

Saturday, 5:02 p.m.
A Richmond Street


He saw them first outside the school and pulled his car over to the curb down the street 
and out of their immediate view.  He'd been driving for hours, searching for the right one. 
He'd found him -- he was sure of it.  The little boy had dark brown hair, long enough that 
it covered his ears.  He was wearing a light jacket that hung open to reveal a green jersey 
underneath.  He had a backpack in one hand and a lunch box in the other.  There was a 
hole in the knee of the child's pants.  He could tell the mother was asking about it, her 
hand gesturing even as she sank down to get a closer look.  The woman was evidently 
reassured there were no lasting hurts because she stood again and reached out for the 
child's hand.  He could tell the boy was slight, almost delicate even, and wondered what 
his hands would look like.  Whether they'd be soft, with long sensitive fingers. Whether 
there'd be dirt under the nails.  He wondered what the boy's name was; how old he was.  
He appeared to be only four or five, but this was an elementary school with first grade 
and higher, so he was pretty sure the kid had to be six at least. 

His breathing was coming fast and hard and the sweat dripped down his back and over 
his neck.  He felt himself growing hard and shifted in the seat restlessly.  He licked his 
lips, his tongue lingering in the corner of his mouth.  It had been a long time.  Four weeks 
since the last one and the pressure had been growing.  Increasing until he could barely 
stand it.  He'd been scouting for days, just driving around the city almost at random, 
knowing he'd find the right one eventually.  And this was it.  It felt right.

The mother had settled the boy in the back seat of the little compact car and was now 
sliding behind the wheel.  Time to find out where they lived.  Time to find out more 
about the little boy who so intrigued him.  

He put the car into drive and pulled out after the little boy and his mother.  He steered 
with his left hand and reached down with his right to his crotch.  He pulled his zipper 
down slowly, the metallic sound causing a shiver to run down his spine.  The metal 
rubbed against him and his breathing quickened.  He grabbed himself and started 
kneading, slowly at first, then increasing the pace, faster and faster.  Sweat dripped into 
his eyes and he had to blink fast to clear his vision.  The sweat rolled down his cheek and 
a drop fell on his mouth.  He licked his lips, slowly, taking pleasure in the sensation, and 
rubbed himself harder, little grunts escaping with each squeeze and thrust.  

The car ahead turned right at a light and he followed, being sure to keep far enough 
behind that he wouldn't be noticed.  He caught sight of the little boy's face as the car 
turned and squeezed himself harder, pants now joining the grunts, with each jerk of his 
hand.  The blood rushed through him, leaving him gasping in the car in pain-filled 
ecstasy.  God, he was so close.  So very close.

The long wait would be over soon.  The long dry spell ended.  It was going to be good.  
So very good.  They hadn't been taking him seriously and it pissed him off.  They were 
all idiots who didn't know a good thing when they saw it.  They'd be sorry.  He'd show 
them all.  He was better than them.  Smarter than any of them.  The anger that 
overwhelmed him was fuel, stoking the fire even further.

He groaned out loud and fought to keep his foot steady on the pedal.  He had to stop 
soon.  Find a safe place to do what needed to be done. The car he was following turned 
again, this time into a residential area.  He turned as well, allowing his own car to fall 
back a bit.  The red compact turned left into a cul de sac and he passed on by, his right 
hand working even harder now.  He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and turned his 
car around at the first opportunity. He pulled into the cul de sac then, the sweat rolling 
down his neck and back, making his shirt stick in patches.  

He could see them on the right, the car in a driveway in front of a modest ranch house.  
The little boy had just climbed out of the car and for just a moment as he passed by, he 
was sure the child looked right at him.  

He knew then it was destiny and the knowledge put him over the edge.  He came hard, 
his left hand clenched on the wheel, his right foot momentarily jerking down on the gas 
pedal.  It took every ounce of his self-control not to drive off the road.  He pulled into the 
driveway of a house with a for sale sign in front and sat, breathing heavily, right hand 
lingering in his lap.  

It felt good, so very good, but he knew killing that boy would be better.  And better yet 
would be the satisfaction he'd get when the police and FBI started fumbling around, 
trying to find him.  He laughed harshly and looked around, making sure no one was 
watching.  He turned his head to look out the back window and saw the mother and boy 
were gone, no longer in the driveway.  He looked down at his lap and smiled at the wet 
spot there.

He'd have to drive carefully now.  It would be ironically ridiculous to be pulled over for 
some stupid reason at this point.  He looked at the dashboard and took in the time.  
Almost 4 p.m.  Tomorrow at this time he'd be having fun.  A little excitement to brighten 
his day while waiting to deliver his message to the Fibbies.  They were so incompetent it 
was funny.  

A seed of anger took root once more and grew as he remembered the rejection.  The 
humiliation when he was cut loose.  Not FBI material.  What a joke.  He was filled with 
righteous anger then and knew the boy would be the perfect foil for his frustration.  And 
the ultimate message.  The thought of the child's limp body in his arms excited him and 
he felt a stirring once more in his groin.  He reached down with both hands and pulled up 
his zipper, then wiped his hands on his pants.  He didn't have time for that now.  Now he 
had to make sure he was presentable.

He smiled and looked into the rearview mirror to straighten his hair and check his 
appearance.  The face that smiled back at him was Mulder's.

*******************************************

Mulder jerked upright, arms flailing and eyes darting around the darkened room.  First 
came the realization of where he was and a heartbeat later came the flashes from his 
dream.  One after another, as if in fast forward, and it made him ill.  Memories of the DC 
Murders case together with the details of this one had solidified into a clear image of the 
kind of person who could do this.  Could carry out such evil.  Not only did he now 
understand what motivated him, this destroyer of families, but he'd become the bastard.  
Had sunk into the creature's mind.  Thought his thoughts and dreamed his dreams.  
Understood the UNSUB better than the asshole understood himself.

He gripped the back and arm of the couch tightly and closed his eyes, trying to think of 
anything but the image of the dark-haired little boy of his dream.  Fuck, his nightmare.  
Every bit of his willpower was focused on damping down the nausea which had him in 
its grip.  He was breathing through his nose, his teeth clenched tightly, determined to 
overcome the feeling of helplessness that had consumed him.  He'd managed to block out 
everything but now became aware of someone gripping his right arm and rubbing his 
shoulder.  

He opened his eyes again and gasped when he discovered Scully sitting right next to him.  
She was speaking to him, running her hand over his head, his cheek, but he still couldn't 
manage to focus enough to understand what she was saying.  His stomach was clenched 
so tightly it was a stabbing pain.  He discovered he'd moved his hands, one over the 
other, to his middle with out even knowing it.  

He felt his eyes water and was even more disgusted with his lack of self-control.  He was 
ashamed that Scully would see him like this.  He closed his eyes once more and bent at 
the waist, moving his arms to form a cradle on his lap.  He was so incredibly revolted by 
his own sick mind that he couldn't get beyond it.  Couldn't think of anything else.  Jesus 
Lord, it was his own mind that had dreamed up that little boy.  He'd fantasized stalking 
the kid -- fantasized killing him.  And had felt the pleasure.  The erotic satisfaction of 
superiority.  He was sick.  Fucking sick.

He heard a voice whispering the same word over and over and realized it was him.  He 
was whispering "sick, sick", but it wasn't because of any physical ailment.

Then Scully's cracking voice broke through the haze and he could tell she was frightened.  
It was sobering, the idea that he was scaring his partner, and it served to focus him more 
than anything else could have.  He knew he had to pull himself together for her sake.  He 
couldn't bear the thought that he was causing her such worry.  He bit his lip hard and 
fought down the nausea.  Forced it back.  

Scully had evidently given up trying to actually communicate with him and now was just 
saying his name over and over.  He concentrated on her voice, letting it be his guide.  His 
ragged breathing started to calm finally and he was able to unclench his jaw.  He moved 
his head, rubbing his face against his sleeve, wiping his eyes dry.  More than anything he 
wanted to see her face.  To have her hold him in her arms.  To hold her in his.  God, he 
wanted it so badly, even though he knew he didn't deserve it.

He felt her hands on either side of his face and finally dragged his head up, so that he 
might see her. Her face was there in front of him and it was a vision that broke through 
his despair.  When he said her name, it was a caress.  "Scully."

Tears rolled down her cheeks and he knew he'd made her cry.  

"I'm sorry, Scully.  I'm so sorry."

She was shaking her head as if unable to speak and leaned forward so her forehead was 
pressed against his own.  He felt a tear roll down his own cheek and knew, really knew, 
that he was the luckiest bastard on the fucking planet.

He was shaking in earnest now and leaned even further into her, feeling her arms wrap 
around his shoulders, feeling her hand move down to his back, the other move to his 
head.  And he felt safe.  Secure.  So that after a long minute, his breathing calmed even 
more and the trembling of his limbs subsided so that he lay weakly and spent in her arms.

Then her lovely voice broke through his thoughts.  "Mulder, are you all right?  Are you 
okay?"

She pulled back from him and his breath caught.  He didn't want to leave her caring 
embrace. He nodded and wiped at his face with his hand, then covered his eyes for just a 
moment to collect himself.  He was a selfish, self-centered asshole, making her worry 
like this.  

He looked at her again and nodded, then said, "I'm okay.  I'm fine, Scully."  His voice 
broke on her name and he forced himself to sit up straighter.  He took her hands in his 
and surprised himself by saying, "Scully, I don't deserve you."

She smiled at him and even laughed a bit.  "You're right.  You don't." Then she grew 
serious again, her brow furrowed and lips pursed.  Her hand was at his cheek again and 
he felt himself push into the caress, his eyes fluttering closed of their own accord.

"Mulder, what was it -- your dream?  Please, tell me."

He shook his head and pulled back even further. "Not now, Scully.  I can't.  Not now."

He could see the hurt on her face, but couldn't begin to explain it to her.  Not now.  After 
this was all over, maybe.  Some day when they could sit down for a while and just talk.  
Really talk.  But now wasn't the time or the place.

He heard movement from across the room and turned his head to see Skinner there, 
shifting nervously from one foot to the other.  He felt a flush of embarrassment spread 
across his face. It was one thing to lose control in front of his best friend and partner.  It 
was quite another to do it in front of your former boss.

To the man's credit, Skinner only appeared concerned.  When Mulder turned towards him 
again, Skinner asked, "Are you feeling all right, Mulder?  Can I get you anything?"

He couldn't help the snort that escaped.  It was slightly surreal, after all.  Scully stroking 
his face and Skinner asking if he needed anything.  He shook his head and said, loud 
enough for the man to hear, "No, sir, I don't need anything.  Thank you."  He pulled 
himself back and gathered his thoughts.  Looked into his partner's eyes once more and 
said, "I'm fine.  Really."

He could tell she didn't totally believe him, but was evidently going to let him get away 
with it.  This time.

*******************************************

A half hour later, he gathered clean clothes to head to the shower.  Skinner was off 
checking in with Jerry and Scully was once more back in the lab.  They'd agreed to meet 
in a little more than an hour to touch base before the evening's team meeting and he was 
actually relieved to be alone.  Both Scully and Skinner had been treating him as if he 
were breakable and it had started to get on his nerves.  Actually, he was feeling better 
than he had in days.  Just knowing Scully was here in town made all the difference.

As he sorted through his suitcase, he caught a glimpse of his running shoes and decided it 
was just the thing he needed to help him clear his mind and refocus before the team 
meeting.  He'd gotten some rest and now was filled with a nervous energy that needed 
release.  Time was running out for Christian, but until something broke with the tapes or 
the suspect list, they were dead in the water.  

He ran his fingers over his running shoes, making the decision, then picked up the phone.  
He was suddenly nervous, knowing that he had a battle ahead of him.  He punched in his 
partner's cell number with a slightly shaky finger and heard an anxious "Scully" at the 
other end after only two rings.

"It's me."

"Everything okay?"  

Her voice wavered a bit and he smiled slightly at the knowledge she worried about him.  
The smile vanished as he prepared himself for the next couple minutes.  With his free 
hand he reached for his running clothes.  "Everything's fine, Scully.  Look, I'm not 
needed right now -- not until the team meeting tonight.  I need to clear my head.  I'm 
going out for a run and ..."

He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence.  He could hear the frustration and 
perturbation in Scully's voice.  He had to give her credit, though, she was trying very 
hard to sound unconcerned.

"Mulder, I don't think that's a good idea.  You should be getting rest."

He sighed and walked a couple steps to the conference room table, dropping his burdens 
onto the top noisily.  The phone cord tangled in the sweatshirt and he worked at the 
bundle to separate them.  "I'm not tired, Scully.  What I am is wired.  I need to get out of 
here for awhile.  Away from here."

There was a momentary silence before she answered. He could almost hear the gears 
turning.

"Mulder, you collapsed just a couple hours ago.  I don't think its wise for you to go 
running right now."

Wow, she went straight for the big guns.  He expected her to lead up to it more slowly.

"I didn't collapse.  I ..."

Well, just what was it?  How could he explain that what had happened was something 
very much different.  He breathed deeply to calm himself and tried again.  He hated 
having to explain himself to anyone, even Scully.  But she deserved something from him.

"I was just ... concentrating very hard on an old case which I thought might help me to 
understand this UNSUB better."

The silence stretched much longer this time and he could hear rapid breathing on the 
other end.  He couldn't tell whether she was walking or just pissed off.  The question was 
answered a few moments later when the door flew open and she was standing in front of 
him, obviously fighting anger.  She was just closing her phone when she took a couple 
steps into the room.  Her next words indicated that she'd lost the battle to be calm and 
reasonable.

"Are you crazy?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but wasn't given the chance.

"Are you trying to kill yourself, Mulder?  Is that what this is -- a death wish?"

His shoulders dropped and he raised a hand to his eyes, rubbing them wearily.  He had 
the energy for a good run but he wasn't at all sure he had the energy for a fight with his 
partner.  A small seed of anger took root and he tried hard to damp it down.

"Give me some credit, Scully."

And as if the floodgates had opened, the frustration, anger, and helplessness of the last 
several days poured out.  He stepped even closer to his partner and was barely conscious 
of the fact that she stepped back as if threatened.

"God damn it, stop treating me as if I don't know what I'm doing.  Stop acting like you're 
my god damned mother.  I don't need you..."

And he froze at the words.  Stopped dead in his tracks when the words sunk in.   He had 
intended to say that he didn't need her to tell him what to do.  That's what he'd planned on 
saying.  But that combination of words -- 'I don't need you' -- stopped his tantrum cold.  
He did need her.  He needed her friendship.  Needed her companionship.  Her 
partnership.  Needed her -- more surely than ever.

Her eyes were filled with tears, but she stood even straighter now.  Not about to be 
bullied by anyone.  Not even by him.

His shoulders slumped and he sighed before reaching out to her.  A little piece of him 
died when she flinched at his movement.  He took her hand in his and said, "I didn't mean 
to yell.  Scully ..."

His voice cracked on her name and suddenly the tension fled from the room.  She stepped 
closer and gripped his hand tightly.  He could see that he'd been forgiven.

"Please be careful, Mulder."

He smiled then, a small sad smile that surfaced at the realization that she would forgive 
him, even when he was an ass.  "I will."

"Take your phone."

"I will."

He realized then that he still held the conference room phone in his left hand -- a hand 
which he suddenly wanted to use for something very different.  He dropped it on the 
table with a loud thunk and took her other hand in his.  It felt so good to hold even this 
much of her.  He looked at their joined hands, entranced by the vision they made.  Her 
hands were almost lost in his.  Small and delicate, belying a steady strength.  He was so 
distracted that it took a moment for her words to sink in.

"Mulder, I'm sorry."

He looked at her face once more, filled with the desire to memorize it.  To fix it so 
clearly in his mind so that fifty years from now he would be able to recall her expression, 
the way her hair wisped about her face, the color of her eyes, the slant of her eyebrow.  
She opened her mouth to speak again, but he beat her to it.

"Stop.  Don't.  You have nothing to apologize for, Scully."

He wanted to set her mind at rest.  Somehow reassure her that everything would be all 
right, but he couldn't lie to her.  Not to Scully.  But there were things he could tell her.  
Things he'd wanted to tell her for a very long time.  Maybe now was the time.

He looked down at their hands and finally realized that she was gripping his tightly, so 
that her fingernails were white from the pressure.  He returned the pressure and took a 
deep breath, knowing that she was waiting for him.  And just as he was ready, there were 
footsteps outside the door.  They dropped their hands simultaneously and he felt as if a 
connection were severed.  

He took a step back and dragged his eyes to the door, frustrated at the timing.  Jerry was 
there, looking very much like a deer caught in headlights.  The man knew he'd 
interrupted something.  Time to let him off the hook.  Mulder tried not to let the 
frustration show when he spoke.

"Jerry, is anything wrong?"

The man actually seemed to gulp before responding.  "No.  It's just that I tried to call here 
and kept getting a busy signal.  And Dana's phone was giving an unavailable message."

Scully pulled her phone out and hit a button.  It was obvious that she'd aborted her call to 
him by doing more than just flipping the phone closed.

Jerry continued on, despite the silence.  "I just wanted to let Dana know that Ketter was 
looking for her."

Scully had moved a few feet away and was facing Jerry.  "Thanks for the message.  I'll be 
there in just a few minutes."

The other man just nodded and waved self-consciously before excusing himself.  He 
closed the door behind him.

Scully had wandered closer to the door and now turned towards him.  He could tell that 
she regretted the interruption as much as he had.

"Take your phone."

He nodded, smiling just a bit at her perseverance.  His voice was little more than a 
whisper.  "I will."

She returned the nod and left without another word.  The room, which had only moments 
before been charged with emotion, now felt empty.  He walked back to the table and 
moved the conference room phone to its cradle.  He stood straight and stretched, 
suddenly feeling lighter.  The thought of a good run, outside in the fresh, cold air, 
appealed to him now more than ever.  

He locked the conference room door and changed into sweats.  Took some money out of 
his wallet, retrieved his identification from his discarded suit jacket and pulled his 
weapon from his holster.  He tucked them into various pockets under his sweatshirt and 
sweatpants, then headed for the door.  Scully's last words came back to him and he went 
back and grabbed his cell phone as well.  He flipped it open and turned it on, then 
hesitated when he saw the battery was almost dead.  He'd forgotten to recharge it last 
night.  Damn.  Well, there was definitely enough juice to see him through the next hour.  
Besides, it wasn't like there was going to be a real need for it.

It had warmed slightly in the last day and was still in the fifties even though the sun was 
starting to set.  He figured he had a good forty-five minutes before he had to get back and 
set off to the right, aiming for a park he knew was only a couple miles away.  These were 
perfect conditions for a run and Mulder pushed hard, reveling in the exercise he'd been 
missing so much lately.  Running in circles around a track just wasn't the same as 
dodging pedestrians, crossing streets and tackling hills.  He was almost able to forget the 
sick dream of an hour before.

The park was beautifully maintained, with a wide path to accommodate walkers, joggers, 
bikers and even rollerbladers, and they all seemed to be out today.  He freed a part of his 
mind to wonder about the people he passed -- who they were and what kinds of lives they 
led.  He wondered if they were married, had kids and dogs.  He wondered if they were 
happy.

He was miles away from the Bureau and pushing the envelope to go just a bit faster and 
just a tad farther before turning back when his cell rang.  He slowed down to a jog while 
pulling it out, and finally was able to flip it open before the fourth ring.  His breathing 
was loud and uneven when he answered.

"Mulder."

He almost dropped the phone when Byers' voice answered, breaking through a static 
filled silence.  

"Hey, Mulder.  We got it."

He had to play catch up fast.  He'd completely forgotten he'd sent them copies of the 
tapes to analyze.  He was walking now, trying to slow his heartbeat and breathing down, 
and managed to gasp out, "What'd you find?"

"We performed a spectral analysis, of course, and eventually identified a second signal at 
a different frequency.  We thought at first it might be noise, which is pretty common, but 
eventually discovered an offset carrier with an encrypted signal.  There were interlaced 
frames that actually had structure.  It took us a while, but we isolated them and ran them 
through a series of pattern recognition algorithms."

Mulder shook his head in frustration, glanced at the phone readout which showed a 
dangerously low battery level, and broke in.  "What did you find, Byers?"

Byers was clearly excited when he continued on, but Mulder was starting to have a hard 
time hearing him.  There was static that made it difficult to understand the man.  "It was 
digital.  Massive amounts of data extending to some of the higher harmonics.  Among 
other things, the signal contained a map.  A series of maps, really.  Five of them and each 
one had a big red X.  And Mulder?"

He could feel his heart start to beat even faster and realized he'd been holding his breath.  
He released it explosively and prayed for the cell phone battery to last another lousy 
thirty seconds.  He said, "Yeah?  Where?  Tell me where?"

"2137 Jackson Heights, the warehouse district.  You should be able to find him there." 

And then the signal was severed, the phone battery dead.  But it had lasted long enough.  
He looked around, trying to decide the best course of action from here.  He knew they 
had to act immediately.  The UNSUB left his victims alone for the first fifteen hours or 
so, but made sure their last nine hours alive were filled with unspeakable horrors.  
Sometime in the next hour, it was due to start for little Christian.

He saw a cab and flagged it down, pulling his badge out at the same time.  He directed 
the driver to take him to the warehouse and instructed him to get on his radio and get 
patched in to the local Bureau.  To his credit, the driver took it all well and followed 
instructions without question.  Even while Mulder was communicating with the 
dispatcher, explaining the situation, he was checking his weapon and preparing to go in.  
It would be long minutes before the cops and FBI could get to the warehouse.  They were 
much farther away than he was.  And every minute counted.  He prayed that Scully 
would forgive him for his indiscretions and relayed a final message to the dispatcher, 
making sure the woman knew just how important this was.

He waved at the driver to let him out down the street and waited until the man pulled 
over.  It was a dead area, with nothing at all moving.  He took a deep breath and got out, 
then turned back to the driver.

"Do me a favor, will you?"

The man nodded to him, eyes wide and fingers gripping the wheel tightly.

"Wait down the street until the cops come and let them know where I am.  Contact the 
Bureau dispatcher again and make sure they've alerted Assistant Director Skinner.  Make 
sure they know I'm here and are on their way.  And if you see an Agent Scully ..."

Mulder paused, wondering what might be an appropriate message, and finally said, "... 
tell her I said I was sorry for ditching her.  Tell her ... tell her it wasn't intentional."

The man looked confused, but nodded anyway and Mulder took off.  Time to find 
Christian and get him back to his parents.  Time to find this sick bastard and make him 
pay.  Way past time.  This time, the bastard would definitely pay.

*******************************************

Saturday, 7:12 p.m.
Bureau Laboratory, Richmond, Virginia


Skinner headed into the Labs once more and saw Scully immediately.  She and Keller, 
along with two other agents were standing in front of a television monitor.  He caught a 
glimpse of what appeared to be some sort of three dimensional figure with valleys and 
peaks, in all sorts of colors.  He stopped behind the crowd to see what they were all so 
fascinated by.  Scully stood straight and stepped back, finally noticing him.

"Sir."

Then in a flash her brow furrowed, her arms crossed, and he could tell she was worried.  

"Is everything all right, sir?"

One side of his mouth lifted slightly and he nodded, answering wryly.  "As far as I know, 
Scully."  He could tell the lab technicians and Keller were excited and gestured towards 
the display they were looking at.  "What is this, Scully?  What have you found?"

"It's a spectral analysis.  They've located another signal and are running it through search 
algorithms now to attempt to decode it.  We know it's not noise because there's a definite 
pattern.  We're very close, sir."

He nodded, preparing to speak, when he was interrupted by the ring of his cell phone.  He 
held a finger up to Scully, turned slightly, and pulled out the phone.  He flipped it open, 
watching her move back to the cluster of scientists.  "Skinner."

"Sir, this is the Bureau dispatcher.  We were contacted by an Agent Mulder who 
instructed us to contact you.  We're patched through right now to an Alli Hassan, who's a 
cab driver with Checker.  He just dropped Agent Mulder off on Jackson Heights, about 
ten minutes ago.  Agent Mulder directed one of our dispatchers to contact you.  Mr. 
Hassan says that Agent Mulder instructed him to inform you that he was at the location 
where Christian Rossbacher was being held.  Agent Mulder said to come in force, but 
that he couldn't wait."

Skinner felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut.  "This was more than ten minutes ago?!  
What the hell took so long?"

"Sir, it took a while for us to verify that this wasn't a crank call."

Behind him, he heard raised voices and excited conversation, but could only handle one 
crisis at a time.

"Where exactly did he leave Agent Mulder and what were the circumstances?"

"Sir, he dropped Agent Mulder off a block or so away from where a child is evidently 
being held.  Agent Mulder instructed Mr. Hassan to remain there and answer any 
questions the police might have when they arrive."

"God damn it!"  Skinner couldn't hold back the curse and was immediately ashamed of 
his lack of control.  But dammit anyway, what the hell did the man think he was doing?  
Who'd he think he was, the Lone Ranger?

There was nothing but silence on the other end of the line, but there was plenty of noise 
on the other side of the room.  He glanced that way even as he continued speaking, 
surprised to see Scully talking with Keller.

"What's the address?"  And as if in stereo, he heard the same thing both over the phone 
and from across the room.

"2137 Jackson Heights."

He pulled the phone away from his ear in confusion and looked over at Scully.  She was 
excited and walking towards him, saying, "We know where the UNSUB has Christian.  
2137 Jackson Heights.  We have to move, sir."

He nodded his head and held the phone out in confusion.  "How did you know, Scully?"

She looked just as confused when she replied, "We broke the encryption and found maps 
of all the dump sites.  We got the address of where Christian's being held."

Skinner decided to figure all this out later.  "Scully, Mulder's already there.  He called it 
in."

He finally flipped the cell phone closed, ignoring the look of alarm that now crossed her 
face. He touched her shoulder briefly and jerked his head towards the door.  They both 
took off while he flipped it open once more and dialed Carl Landers' number.  The SAC 
answered on the second ring.

"Carl, this is Walter.  We have the location for Christian Rossbacher.  Mulder's already 
there.  You need to arrange for a SWAT team ASAP and coordinate with Richmond PD.  
The address is 2137 Jackson Heights. I'm mobilizing the members of the team here and 
sending them to the conference room.  We'll be heading out immediately.  We have to 
move fast, Carl.  Mulder's been there almost fifteen minutes already with no backup."

Scully was on her own phone and he could tell she was getting even more frustrated.  He 
guessed she'd just tried Mulder with no success. They rounded the corner and he saw 
several agents running towards the conference room.  More agents came running from 
behind them.  At least Landers had gotten the word out fast.  He and Scully entered the 
crowded room to find Landers forming assault teams and giving orders.  He looked at his 
watch and knew this was all taking too long.

The teams were already dispersing, vests and jackets proclaiming them to be undeniably 
FBI.  Jerry Friedman came towards them with extra vests in his arms, Landers right 
behind.  They headed out wordlessly towards the garage exit, suiting up on the way.

He glanced to his right and saw Scully cinching her vest tight.  Her face was stone, the 
professional mask firmly in place, but he could see the clenched jaw and the tight 
features.  He glanced at his watch again.  As fast as they'd been, almost twenty minutes 
had passed since Mulder had been dropped off and it would be another ten or more 
before they'd be at the site.  God only knew what was happening to Mulder in the 
meantime.  He prayed the man had enough sense just to wait for them, but knew that if 
his agent thought Christian was in danger, he'd move on his own.

*******************************************


Saturday, 7:05 p.m.
Jackson Heights, Richmond, Virginia


The sun was starting to set, so that the shadows cast in the alley were long.  Mulder 
moved slowly, his back to the wall of the dilapidated building, careful not to make any 
noise or draw any attention to himself.  The evening was cool and getting colder with 
every minute.  He paused at the corner of the building for just a moment and wished for a 
thicker jacket as he shivered in the slight breeze.

There was nothing moving between the two buildings and he couldn't see any lights or 
signs of life in the warehouse across the alley.  In fact, the entire area seemed to be 
deserted.  There were no windows on the ground floor but he could see several on the 
second floor that were open or even broken.  He checked his watch and tried to calculate 
just how long it would be before the first support teams arrived.  Probably fifteen to 
twenty minutes at the very least, most likely closer to thirty.

He bit his lip and shifted his fingers around his weapon.  His palm was sweating despite 
the chill in the air and the metal felt cold in his hand.  He gripped it even tighter and took 
a deep breath, then sprinted across the alley separating the two buildings.  He paused and 
listened for any indication that someone was inside, even while wiping at the sweat on 
his forehead.  He assessed his chances of getting in from the ground floor and started 
moving quietly towards the back.  Maybe there would be a door he could use.

He dodged piles of debris and stacks of crates, moving quickly to the rear of the 
warehouse.  The wind blew and discarded papers flew into the air around him.  There 
were several large roll-up doors off the loading dock and a smaller one next to them.  He 
moved closer and checked one of the loading dock doors.  There was a thick lock on it, 
just as there were on the others.  He moved to the small doorway then and discovered it 
was also locked.  

He felt a surge of anger and frustration and looked down at his watch again.  The sense of 
urgency was too strong to ignore.  The UNSUB could have already started his stint of 
torture by now.  He had to get in and he had to do it now.  He shook his head and leaned 
against the wall, resting his pounding head back wearily.  He couldn't remember the last 
time he'd been so tired.  He wanted to wait.  Wanted to just hold off until the cops arrived 
but he knew was close.  So fucking close, he could feel it.

His legs were trembling and he wanted nothing more than to just close his eyes and sink 
down to the ground, but Christian's future was depending on him.  He pushed himself 
away from the wall and transferred his weapon to his left hand just long enough to wipe 
his palm on his pants.  He was shivering hard now and it only worsened as the sweat 
dried in the cool air.  He had to find a way inside out of the breeze.  

He headed back to the side of the warehouse and looked at the stack of crates part way 
down the length.  There was an open window on the second floor just above the pile.  He 
might be able to reach it.  He put his weapon back in its holster and grabbed hold of one 
of the lowermost crates, then shook it gently.  The pile seemed firm.  He was just about 
to start his climb when the breeze picked up and he caught the putrid smell of decaying 
flesh.  He gagged and raised his left arm to cover his nose.  He walked around the pile, 
afraid of what he'd find, and discovered the rotting carcass of some rodent.  Probably a 
rat.  He shook his head and swallowed hard, then turned back to the crates, even more 
determined to find Christian.  

He pulled himself up and began climbing to the top, gingerly -- carefully.  The crates 
were rough beneath his fingers and he was conscious of the uneven wood that cut at him.  
He was at the top finally and reached up for the window, some two and a half feet above.  
He jumped just slightly and grabbed hold of the ledge, then hung there for several 
moments, gathering his energy.  He could feel the chips of paint and the rough edges of 
the windowsill under his fingers.  He stared at the blackened bricks only inches from his 
nose and decided he had to make his move now.

His arms shook with the effort, but he was able to pull himself up finally.  He managed to 
swing a leg over the sill and then pushed himself inside, allowing himself to collapse on 
the floor limply in a controlled fall. He'd managed to keep his entry quiet so far, but was 
frightened his harsh breathing might alert the UNSUB to his presence.  He was 
completely drained and could only manage to roll himself over so he could look out 
across the room.  His breaths were coming in short bursts and he felt ill, his stomach 
rolling with every tiny move.  He knew this was payment for the last several days of 
hardly any sleep or food.

He forced his head to roll and dragged it up off the floor to look around.  He decided he 
was in an old storage room. The remains of cleaning supplies and old rags, along with 
discarded boxes, were scattered around.  It smelled musty.  Dead.  He allowed his head to 
drop back to the floor again and tried to gather his strength.  He needed to get moving.  
Had to figure out where he was and where the UNSUB was.  Whether Christian was safe.

The door was in front of him, partly open and hanging from its hinges.  He rolled onto his 
left side and pressed his cheek against the floor, closing his eyes for just a moment.  He 
had to move.  He had to get up and look for the child.  Christian was depending on him.

There was a coat of dust on the floor and every breath he expelled caused a little puff of 
the stuff to fly up into the air.  The dust and dirt stuck to his face and hand, turning to a 
thin layer of mud where it mixed with his sweat.  He laid his right hand flat on the floor 
by his head and started pushing himself up.  He dragged his left hand up as well and 
forced his arms to extend.  He got up on his knees and stopped, his head hanging down 
between his arms.  He concentrated on slowing his breathing down and finally pushed 
himself upright, fighting the dizziness that caused his eyesight to go black for several 
heartbeats.  He staggered to the door, willing protesting muscles to cooperate, and 
stopped just short of it, looking out carefully around the door jamb.  

It was dark inside the warehouse with hardly any of the day's remaining natural light 
finding its way through the windows.  He didn't see anything moving at first in the near 
dark and could hear only his own breathing.  He stood frozen, eyes closed, straining to 
hear. He was terrified of making any sound and wondered whether it was safe to move.  
Wondered whether Christian was there somewhere, fighting for his life, even while he 
stood and did nothing.  There was no sound at all at first and then he heard it.  A low 
murmuring, with occasional creeks from the floor boards.  Someone was definitely there.

He pulled his weapon out once more and moved forward slowly, making sure each step 
was solid.  He was in a hallway that ended with a wall to the right and went on for 
another ten or so feet to the left to open into a bigger room.  He moved left slowly, one 
step at a time.  The sounds grew louder with each step he took and he knew he was 
getting close.  He raised his left wrist and took in the time once more.  Damn, probably 
another ten to fifteen minutes minimum before backup would arrive.  He wiped at the 
sweat on his forehead and tried to swallow past the knot of fear that gripped him.  
Christian's life was in his hands and the burden was heavy.

He got to the end of the hallway and stopped, back pressed to the wall, willing his legs to 
stop trembling.  He peeked around the corner and saw the man immediately.  The 
UNSUB was big, well over six feet tall, and muscular.  The man had a gun tucked in the 
back of his jeans and a knife in his right hand.  The UNSUB was bent over a burlap bag 
with the knife hovering over it.  But then the man turned suddenly and Mulder pulled 
back quickly, not sure whether he'd been seen or not.  He didn't want to precipitate any 
action against the child and knew that as long as Christian wasn't being harmed, waiting 
for backup was the logical course of action.

He tried to hold his breath long enough to detect other sounds, but heard nothing.  The 
silence surrounded him so that he fancied he could hear his own heart beating.  He licked 
his lips nervously, bit the inside of his cheek, then decided to risk another look.  He 
turned his head to the right and took a slow step forward, inching towards the corner.  

The shovel that hit him in the left side of his face forced him to his knees, stunned.  In a 
delayed reaction, it seemed seconds later that he heard the reverberation as it made 
contact with his cheek and temple.  He wasn't even aware of the pain at first, and felt 
completely detached from the arms flopping bonelessly in front of him.  But then the 
pain hit full force and he sagged down, gagging at the blood flowing down his throat.  He 
leaned forward so that his forehead rested on the floor, his upper body propped on elbows 
that somehow managed to support him.  

There was a pool of blood in front of his eyes and he realized it was his.  Then he became 
aware of a boot in his line of sight, and then a knee.  He turned his head just slightly to 
look up and saw a blurry shape.  Then realized that hands were coming towards him. He 
tried to move away, but wasn't fast enough.

The hands grabbed his clothes, near his throat and yanked him up, forcing him to a 
standing position.  His head felt too heavy for his neck and he had to force it upright.  He 
was only partly successful.  His vision wavered, and he struggled to keep his knees 
locked.  He reached his hands up and grabbed hold of the UNSUB's arms, finally seeing 
the man's face somewhat clearly.  It dawned on him for the first time that he no longer 
held his weapon and the panic that he'd managed to keep at bay thus far now flooded him 
full force.

The UNSUB was in his late twenties, with piercing blue eyes and hair so dark it was 
practically black. The man spoke then, with an air of anticipation and a smirk on his face.  
"Agent Mulder.  I'm glad you could make it.  We're gonna have a little fun, you and me 
and the kid."  The smirk turned into a full blown grin, that left Mulder feeling ill.

The man shifted then and Mulder was tossed to the right as if he weighed nothing.  He 
gasped as he hit the floor hard, crashing into a pile of empty boxes against one wall.  The 
pain from the impact caused him to groan aloud.  He forced himself to roll so he could 
climb to his knees.  He managed it finally and looked up to see the man in front of him 
once more, the burlap sack clenched in one hand.  His thoughts cleared enough to realize 
what was in the bag.

He dragged his head up straighter and forced himself to speak. The pounding in his head 
was overpowering and caused his eyes to water so that the image in front of him 
undulated wildly.  It made him even more nauseous.  The words he finally managed to 
gasp out were hardly audible, even to his own ears.  "What do you want?"

The man smiled again and it almost made him sick.  There was a red film across his sight 
now that gave the bastard the appearance of the devil.  It was fitting.  The UNSUB spoke 
again, his deep tenor echoing through the cavernous room.

"I just want to prove a point, Agent Mulder. It's as simple as that. No one thought I was 
good enough.  None of you did.  Well, who's not good enough now?"

Mulder watched in horror as the man untied the ropes at the top and opened the sack, 
pulling it down far enough to reveal little Christian.  The child seemed too scared to even 
breathe, his eyes wide and tears streaming down his face.  Mulder's heart nearly broke at 
the fear in Christian's eyes, and he resolved that he would do whatever was in his power 
to prevent the child from being hurt any more.

"You know what it's like to be told you're not good enough?  That you're not wanted or 
needed, even after you've done everything right?  Everything you were supposed to."

He swiveled his sight up to watch as the man moved back several steps, dragging the 
sack along the floor.  Mulder heard a little squeak as Christian disappeared once more 
into the bag's depths.  He pushed himself to a sitting position and kept his eyes on the 
man, wondering just what the bastard intended.  There was a knot of fear in his stomach 
that started to grow larger with every moment.  The man continued to drone on, as if 
relishing the fact that he had an audience.

"I'm better than any of you.  I'm faster.  I'm stronger.  I could have helped and instead ... 
Instead, you don't want me.  You sent me away."

Mulder closed his eyes briefly and raised a trembling hand to wipe at the blood that still 
flowed from his forehead, his cheek, and his nose.  He prayed that Scully and Skinner 
would arrive soon.  He had no idea what this psycho intended and didn't think he could 
last much longer.

The man's voice came harsh and abrupt through the still air. "Do you know what it's like?  
Do you?"  The UNSUB's tone became almost a whine then.  "I was always good.  I 
always did what I was supposed to.  And they said I wasn't good enough.  Do you know 
what that's like?"  The man had paused in his movements and now stared at Mulder 
intently, the threat in his gaze obvious.  "Well, you're going to find out."

Mulder tried to follow the man's actions and pushed himself upright once the assailant 
was about ten feet away.  He made it to his knees and had to pause to gather his energy.  
He remembered the dead and mutilated bodies of the other victims and knew with a 
certainty that if he allowed that to happen to Christian, he'd never be able to live with 
himself.  The thought gave him the impetus he needed and he pushed himself the rest of 
the way up. He wavered for a moment, fighting for balance and had to put his left arm 
out to the nearby wall for added support.

The UNSUB was smiling still, even while backing up to the very edge of the loft.  
Mulder realized they were on what amounted to a raised platform, with a rail along the 
edge of the drop off.  There were breaks here and there which he assumed corresponded 
to ladders leading to the ground floor.

It had been close to a minute now since either of them had spoken.  It was surreal, with 
the UNSUB moving ever closer to the ledge in the dark gloom, a maniacal smile lighting 
his face.  A small ray of light reflected off the man's teeth, causing Mulder to feel a 
strong sense of disconnect.  As if this had to be happening to someone else.

The assailant had put the knife away at some point and now held the gun in his right hand 
and the burlap sack in his left.  Mulder held his arms out from his side and approached 
the man, slowly and somewhat unsteadily.  His head was pounding and his right arm and 
side ached from the impact from when he'd been thrown against the boxes.  He wished he 
hadn't eaten anything earlier because he could feel his stomach battling to hang onto his 
last meal.

He swallowed hard, then gagged at the coppery taste of the blood in his mouth.  He spit 
to clear his mouth and had to fight down the nausea that threatened to drop him.  He had 
to do something and knew it had to be soon. He couldn't help but remember the 
UNSUB's reaction in the DC Murders case and decided to use that knowledge as a guide.  
Reasoning would do no good.  He had to wrest the sack away from the man somehow.  It 
was the only possibility to ensure Christian's survival.  The assailant wanted to win and 
could care less if his own life was lost in the process.  It was all about winning.  And 
winning now included killing Mulder in addition to Christian.

Mulder stopped eight or nine feet away and stood as straight as he could.  He tried to 
clear his throat of the blood that continued to drip from the cut in his mouth. It had been a 
couple minutes now since they'd started their dance on the ledge and neither had spoken.  
It was time to break the silence.  

He knew he had to sound in control when he spoke and forced a cockiness he didn't 
remotely feel. "You think you're going to teach me a lesson?  You think you're smart, but 
you are incredibly stupid if you think anything you do to me will make any difference.  
You obviously didn't do your homework."

He saw the man's arm jerk in response to his words and prayed he was doing the right 
thing.  The thought of Christian falling to his death because he made a mistake terrified 
him.  He allowed his arms to drop just slightly, unable to hold them up much longer.  
They felt as though they weighed a hundred pounds each.  A coughing fit overtook him 
and he had to spit out the blood in his mouth yet again.  He managed to collect himself 
after a few short moments and spoke again as strongly as he could. "You don't know who 
I am, do you?  I'm the Bureau's outcast.  They're trying their damnedest to get me to quit.  
It's why I was assigned to this fucking case in the first place."

He was feeling stronger now and took another small step forward.  "You're a fucking 
asshole if you think that the Bureau will give a shit about what you do to me.  Torture me 
and they'll just be happy you did their work for them."

The UNSUB actually seemed confused by his words, evidently not understanding how 
the supposed profiling genius wouldn't be beloved by the Bureau.

Mulder took advantage of the man's surprise to get to within six feet.  The bastard 
seemed to wake up again then and jerked his weapon higher.  Mulder froze, forcing his 
arms to stay raised as high as possible despite the fierce trembling that had overtaken 
them.  He knew what he had to do, just as he knew what this man was thinking.  He knew 
exactly what the UNSUB's reactions would be and why.  It was just like the DC Murders 
case, only this time he'd do it right.  This time, things would end differently.

The man looked behind him and then smiled again. An evil smile playing across his face.  
"I'm not that stupid, you little shit.  I'm still going to win.  I was told about you.  You 
can't trick me." Then the UNSUB turned to his left to hang the bag out over the drop.  As 
if in slow motion, Mulder saw the  fingers start to loosen and knew he only had one 
chance.  The adrenaline surged, leaving him lightheaded but filled with a focused energy.

He took advantage of the man's distraction to launch himself across the distance, diving 
for the edge of the platform.  He made contact with the bastard's legs, hoping to drive the 
man off the ledge, but was only able to knock him off his feet.  He reached out with his 
right hand, even as he crashed to the floor, and managed to grab at the dangling ropes of 
the sack before the baby dropped to his death.  He was pulled out over the ledge, little by 
little, his head and shoulders already dangling in mid-air.  The strain on his ribs was 
enough to cause him to gasp for air.  He had the ropes in his fingers and finally managed 
to wrap them around his right wrist.  He spread his legs out and grabbed the rail with his 
left hand just in time to stop himself from slipping over any further.  

He pushed himself back, then swung the bag to the left and hitched the rope over a hook 
just as the UNSUB's booted foot met with his ribcage.  There was a sick crunch and a 
shooting pain as he felt a grinding along his left side.  He screamed wordlessly as his 
vision went black. There was a rushing in his ears and he had to struggle to get a breath.  
Then there was another sharp pain, this time in his stomach, as he was kicked again.

He had enough presence of mind to disengage the rope from his wrist before rolling over 
to meet the next attack.  The boot was coming again but this time he was able to reach 
out and grab the man's leg.  He jerked as hard as he could, the action sending waves of 
pain through his body.  The assailant went tumbling backwards, hitting the ground hard, 
with a muttered curse.  

Mulder was gasping now, every breath a struggle.  He was so tired he could barely think 
and the overwhelming pain was making him even more muddled.  More than anything he 
wanted to give up.  Wanted to just curl up in a ball and let the bastard put a bullet in him.  
Put him the fuck out of his misery.  But he heard the soft crying from below and knew 
Christian was still alive, at least for now. And the curses of the assailant sounded in 
counterpoint.  

He closed his eyes tight and willed himself to stop crying  Then the vision of his partner 
floated unexpectedly in his mind's eye, reminding him that there was even more to live 
for, if he could just hang on long enough.  If he could hang on a few minutes more, she'd 
be there, making the pain go away.  Telling him everything would be all right.

He reached out and gripped the rail, then pulled himself up to a sitting position just in 
time to see the assailant lunging for him, arms reaching for his neck.  He reached out his 
own arms and grabbed the man tightly, then rolled to the side and back, using the 
momentum of the movement to launch the bastard over the loft edge.  He was only 
partially successful, being too weak to lift the heavier man in the air. The UNSUB 
retained a grip on Mulder's right arm and he felt a sharp jerk as tendons and cartilage 
were painfully stressed.  Once more he was pulled towards the edge of the loft.  

His arm and shoulder were on fire and he couldn't help screaming out loud in a wordless 
howl of agony.  The UNSUB was yelling and he could hear Christian crying loudly now, 
probably frightened by the screams and noise.  The man had gotten a grip on the ladder 
and finally let go of his arm.  He yanked himself back onto the platform and fell back 
limply, praying that reinforcements would be here soon.  He couldn't take much more of 
this.  He was so fucking tired and everything hurt.  Everything was a struggle -- every 
single breath.  The tiniest move sent waves of pain crashing over him.  He heard sobs 
mixed in with the cries and screams and realized they were coming from him, but he 
couldn't stop, even though the sobs themselves were causing him pain.

He could see the UNSUB climbing back up, determined to finish him off, but he couldn't 
move.  He watched the man approach him, knife in hand, but he just couldn't move.  Not 
yet.  The knife flashed above him, a solitary ray of light hitting it, and then it was closing 
on him, coming for his chest.  He managed to roll to the right sluggishly, narrowly 
avoiding the thrust, but then the man struck again and this time scored a cut on his 
ribcage, all along his left side. He didn't even feel the knife hitting him at first until he 
rolled again.  Fire erupted from his navel to his chest and tears flowed freely.

The knife was coming at him again and he knew he had to do something.  Anything.  He 
just needed to hang on long enough for Scully to get to him.  He swept his feet out and 
knew he made  contact with the UNSUB when he heard a thud and an accompanying 
grunt. He grabbed a rail with his left hand and pulled himself to his knees, concentrating 
hard to ignore the tearing of the flesh and the warmth he felt flowing down his side.  God 
damn it, who the hell did this bastard think he was?  To do this to so many innocents?  To 
Christian and his family?  The Canderfields.  Him ... and Scully?

He started getting angry then and told himself to move.  It had become his mantra and he 
muttered the words aloud.  "Move, move, move." He pulled again and dragged himself 
forward towards the edge, his knees scraping against the concrete floor. It was his turn to 
attack.  He had to end it, once and for all.

The man was starting to climb down the ladder and was already reaching for the hanging 
bag.  Mulder threw himself towards the UNSUB and wrapped his arms around the man 
tightly.  The momentum took them both off the ladder and into thin air.  The fall seemed 
to last for minutes, but he knew it was little more than a second at most.  He landed partly 
on the UNSUB and partly on his left side.  The impact took his breath away and sent all 
new sensations of pain down his side and back.  His head bounced off the UNSUB's 
shoulder and then the floor and he couldn't breathe -- couldn't even move, but knew he 
had to. He rolled away from the man sluggishly, once, twice, each movement an agony.  
The assailant was unmoving, seemingly unconscious, at least for now.

Mulder's head pounded and he gave up the battle against the nausea, feeling as if his 
insides were being ripped out.  He calmed finally and pushed himself away from the 
disgusting pile, then managed to raise his head a few inches off the floor.  He was 
shocked to see the barrel of a gun, aimed right at his head.  This guy was incredible.  
Mulder ducked his head and rolled again, just as the blast reached his ears and the bullet 
ripped past his ear and into the far wall.  He was long past speaking now, even though the 
UNSUB was now letting loose an almost continuous litany of curses. Amidst the threats, 
though, the man was groaning and panting, evidently having hurt himself in their little 
flight from the upper floor.  Even so, the man was raising his weapon again to fire, his 
voice raising in cadence simultaneously.

"You're dead, you FBI prick.  You can't do this to me and get away with it. I'm gonna kill 
the kid, you asshole.  Gonna rip him apart and make you watch.  Then I'm gonna kill you, 
slow.  And I'm gonna enjoy it.  It's my job and I'm good at it.  I'll show you, you fucker." 

Mulder summoned his energy to raise his head and saw the weapon aimed right at him 
once again.  He knew something was very wrong.  Knew that the words this man had 
been speaking held a critical key to the case if he could just find the time and energy to 
replay them and work it out.  But he didn't have that luxury now.

He forced himself to move -- to roll to his left -- but wasn't fast enough to avoid the 
discharge this time.  He felt a burning in his right shoulder and fell flat, the darkness 
finally overcoming him.  He gave into it eagerly, unable to think of anything anymore but 
release from the pain.  

He didn't know how long he lay there, but when he opened his eyes again, the UNSUB 
was gone from view.  He turned his head and saw the bastard then, almost to the ladder -- 
at the top of which hung the sack containing little Christian.  He fought off the nausea 
that hit him as soon as he moved and strove to ignore the almost debilitating pain.  He 
knew the man would kill the child if he couldn't get to him first.  He had to move now.

He pushed himself to his hands and knees and paused, head hanging low, then finally 
started crawling.  Every movement caused agony in some part of his body.  Tears mixed 
with the blood on his face and dripped into red puddles on the ground.  Both the wound 
along his ribs and his shoulder wound were bleeding again and left an even broader path 
in his wake.  The knees of his pants were soaked in blood.  His own blood.  

He managed to drag himself about four feet forward when he saw something off to the 
right of his outstretched hand.  His muddled thinking combined with his wavering sight 
made it incredibly difficult to process what he was seeing.  He stopped, his legs and arms 
shaking with the effort of crawling, and dropped his face to his chest.  He rubbed it 
against his left arm to try to clear his sight, then looked to the right once again.  It took a 
long moment for it to sink in -- it was the UNSUB's gun.  

He forced his head up and saw the man was halfway up the ladder, moving awkwardly as 
if only one leg worked.  Mulder reached out and placed his fingers around the weapon, 
pulling it towards him.  He allowed himself to fall to the ground then, and rolled slowly 
to his back.  He forced his right hand to raise and gripped the gun as tightly as possible. 
His hand was slippery with blood and he had to struggle to keep the weapon on his target.  
He raised his left arm to try to provide additional support.  He blinked his eyes and 
prayed for steady hands for just a second.  

The man was just a rung away from the baby when Mulder said in a voice that barely 
carried across the few feet that separated them, "Stop.  Federal Officer."

The man looked down at him, his expression filled with outrage and anger.  The UNSUB 
obviously wasn't ready for it to end in this way.  The assailant looked up at the bag and 
pulled the knife out once more, climbing up one more rung. Mulder took another shaky 
breath and said, as loudly as he could, "Freeze or you're a dead man."

The knife was raised now and only a foot away from the little boy.  Mulder watched the 
man's arm pull back farther.  He blinked his eyes to try to clear them, then took careful 
aim.  He was terrified that he might miss the UNSUB and hit Christian.  But then the man 
stabbed and Mulder heard the rip of the burlap, heard Christian scream, and he was left 
with no choice.  A surge of adrenaline poured through him and he fired again and again, 
recoiling after each shot.  It sounded out loudly, echoing off the concrete walls and floor. 
The assailant swung around and looked down at him, in obvious shock, but also with 
what appeared to be a look of betrayal.  The man made a strangled sound and said, "But 
it was my job".

It was as if time slowed.  The man's right hand opened and the knife fell, just a few feet 
away from Mulder.  It clattered noisily for what seemed like a minute, but could only 
have been a second.  Then the man started falling backwards as he let go with his left 
hand. His feet left the ladder only a fraction of a second later and then he hit the floor in a 
sick thud, eyes staring lifelessly right at Mulder.

Mulder stared at him for a long few seconds, filled with an unease he couldn't explain.  
He had to set it aside for now because he knew there was one last thing he had to do right 
now. He had to see if Christian was OK.  If the baby was alive.  The gun fell from his 
hands onto the floor in a loud clatter. The remains of the adrenaline still flew through him 
as he forced himself to the ladder, carefully bypassing the dead body of the UNSUB. He 
reached out to pull himself to his feet.  His hands were slippery on the rails, the blood 
making it difficult to grip tightly, but the bag hung there, calling to him.  

He started the slow climb, but had to stop half way up to rest.  He laid his forehead 
against a bar and closed his eyes.  He was gasping, unable to get enough air, and every 
movement of his chest caused his broken ribs to grind and his wounds to pull.  

Never in his life had he felt so bereft -- and so very alone.  He couldn't remember why he 
was doing this.  Why he shouldn't just stop.  Just give up.  Then a sound from above 
floated down.  Christian's weak cries reached his ears once more and he knew why.  He 
whispered, "Scully", for no other reason than he wanted her there, with him, and made 
himself move once more.  He forced one hand over the other, ignoring the biting pain in 
his shoulder, his ribs, and all the other hurts he'd managed to accumulate in the past 
fifteen minutes.  He got to the top finally and collapsed to lay flat on his stomach.  He 
reached over with his right hand and grabbed the sack, forcing the cords over his wrist 
securely.  He knew Christian only weighed thirty or so pounds but would have sworn the 
bag weighed three times that much.  He closed his eyes and pulled hard, groaning with 
the effort.

He pulled the burlap sack over the edge and pushed himself up to lean his back against 
the rails, his legs splayed awkwardly.  The cries coming from inside were more frantic 
now.  He was filled with fear at the thought that the baby had been wounded.  He fought 
with the ropes and untangled them finally, the blood on his hands causing his fingers to 
slip.  He pushed the edges of the sack down and reached for the little boy, pulling him to 
his chest.  There was no sign of blood on the child.  

Christian grabbed him around the neck tightly, his soft whimpers playing countermeasure 
to Mulder's own murmurings and gasps.  And all he could manage to say was, "It's okay.  
You're okay."  Over and over.  

The little arms around his neck were reassuring and the body pressed against his provided 
a much needed warmth.  He allowed himself to relax for the first time in a week.  He 
shushed the little boy and told him everything would be all right.  At some point, he 
closed his eyes and conjured an image of his partner -- his very own security blanket.  
Mulder let himself go then, to the sounds of sirens in the distance and Christian's soft 
cries.

*******************************************


Saturday, 7:33 p.m.
Jackson Heights, Richmond, Virginia

Scully was the first out of the car, but Skinner's voice yelling at her to wait restrained her.  
Too much time had passed and she was sure that everything was already over inside the 
warehouse, but understood that there were procedures to be followed.  She waited 
anxiously for Landers to get out of the car and direct the assault teams.  Landers had 
already communicated with the cab driver by radio and she could see the taxi still sitting 
up the street.  She shook her head to herself in frustration.  This was all taking too long.  

The directions were flying finally and she found herself at the back entrance, second in 
line to enter when the signal was given.  The teams went in from three sides and the roof, 
and found the UNSUB's body almost immediately.  Scully could barely breathe as the 
reports were called in from different quarters.  She was gazing frantically from right to 
left, trying to locate her partner.  The body of the UNSUB lay at the foot of the ladder 
and she heard one of the team leaders saying, "Someone get this piece of crap out of the 
way."  She saw them grab the body and move it a few feet to the side, clearing the access 
to the upper level.

She stopped where she was and waited for someone to tell her where her partner was. It 
was so dark, she could barely see ten feet in front of her.  Several officers stood with 
flashlights shining at different angles in an attempt to provide at least a minimal amount 
of illumination.  The sounds and sights were almost overwhelming.

Despite the dimness, she could see trails of blood across the floor near the base of the 
ladder.  It chilled her so that she couldn't bring herself to move.  It was Jerry's voice that 
finally reached her through the bedlam.  He was yelling down at her from the upper level.

"Dana, up here.  Get up here now."

She didn't need to hear it twice and was lunging for the ladder in a heartbeat.  They'd 
moved the UNSUB's body away from the base of the ladder but even so she had to step 
over the pool of blood that still lay there.  There was more blood on the rungs and she 
shuddered to think about whose it was.  She was still several rungs down when she saw 
the cluster of bodies up above her, all leaning over someone or something.  She had a 
feeling she knew exactly who it was.

She reached the upper platform and froze for a second as she looked to the left.  He was 
there, unmoving and covered in blood, with his head tipped back loosely on his neck.  
The little boy was wrapped around him, with a death's grip. Jerry cleared a space and she 
sank to her knees next to her partner, reaching out her hand.  

Dear Jesus, there was blood everywhere, covering him and Christian, as well as the floor 
around them.  She couldn't tell whose it was.  God, could he even be alive still after 
loosing so much blood?  This couldn't be happening.  It just couldn't.  He had to be all 
right.  She hadn't gotten the chance to tell him anything, yet.

One of the agents attempted to pry the little boy out of Mulder's arms.  The child was 
whimpering and seemed to have her partner's neck in a choke hold.  Christian's head was 
buried in Mulder's neck and he was covered in blood.  One agent had the little boy's 
hands while another was trying to disengage her partner's arms, which seemed to be 
gripping the child just as tightly.

Christian was loose finally and the man holding him said, "He's fine.  No obvious 
injuries."

She knew that meant all the blood was Mulder's.  She had to find out where he was 
injured and fast.  Her fingers went to his neck and had to search before finding a thready 
pulse.  She glanced up to find both Skinner and Jerry waiting to help.  The other agents 
had cleared the area.

"Help me get him flat."

There were plenty of times during their partnership when Mulder had been hurt.  Injured 
to the point where his life was in question.  But only once before had she seen so much 
blood and that was when a major artery had been hit in his thigh.  She was terrified that 
he was once again pumping out his life's blood while she was fumbling around looking 
for the wounds.

The head wounds were obvious and were still bleeding relatively heavily.  She gestured 
to Jerry and said, "Try to find something to staunch this."

She dropped her hands then to push at Mulder's jacket and found the bullet wound almost 
immediately.  A quick check of her partner's back showed it had passed all the way 
through.  She looked up at Skinner and said, "Apply pressure here."  She moved his 
hands to the right place and was reassured when he did it without question.  

She ran her hands down her partner's chest and found the knife wound.  She pressed her 
palm against it tightly and muttered, "Jesus, Mulder, can't you do anything the easy 
way?"  

She didn't know whether to be reassured or not.  None of the injuries that she could see 
were life threatening in and of themselves, but taken together there was no question he 
had to get to a hospital as soon as possible.  He'd lost massive amounts of blood already 
and there was no telling what else might be going on.

She fought to keep calm and looked around, locating Landers almost immediately.  The 
man was keeping everyone back and looked both concerned and guilty.

"We need to get him to the hospital now.  Where's the damned ambulance?"

He nodded and said, "They're on their way", then raised a radio to his mouth.  She looked 
back down at her partner and was filled once more with fear.  He was so pale, it looked 
as if he'd been drained of all life.  She couldn't even see his chest move and became 
convinced suddenly that he'd died while she'd looked away.  She moved her free hand to 
his neck again and found the pulse there, even weaker now than before.  She stared at her 
hands, coated now in red, slick from her partner's blood.

Her ears started to pound and her vision narrowed so all she could see was her partner's 
face and all she could think about was how empty her life would be if he weren't in it and 
that her last words to him had been said in anger.  

She heard her name being called and forced herself to look up.  Skinner was speaking to 
her and she realized then that he must have been trying to get her attention for a while.  

"Scully, come on.  Hang in there with us.  This is Mulder.  He's too damned stubborn to 
die.  And he needs you to talk to him.  Come on, Scully.  Talk to him now."

She realized then that she hadn't spoken to him yet.  Hadn't even told her partner she was 
there for him.  She nodded and caught her breath, then blinked to clear her eyes, forcing 
herself to calm down.  Skinner was right.  Mulder needed to know she was there, with 
him, and that she'd stay with him.  She found his right hand with her left and gripped it 
tightly, then leaned forward so she was close to his face.  She spoke to him softly, not 
quite a whisper.

"Mulder, it's me.  You're going to be fine.  You need to hang on for us, though, okay?  I 
know you're tired and you hurt, but I promise it'll get better."

She leaned even closer then and kissed his forehead.  Then turned to whisper softly in his 
ear, "Don't leave me alone, Mulder.  Please come back to me."

There was a clatter behind them and she turned and looked back.  It was the paramedics 
with a portable gurney that could be lowered down over the rail.  Skinner and Jerry 
moved back allowing the men to gain access, but she couldn't force herself to move away 
just yet.  They worked around her for a minute and then Skinner was there, pulling her 
away.  She still had hold of Mulder's hand as they shifted his still body to the gurney.

Skinner took their joined hands then, and tried to pull them apart. She turned to him as he 
said, "Scully, let go.  It's just for a few minutes.  They need to get him down."

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion and it took long seconds for her to 
comprehend his words and respond.  She looked down at her and her partner's joined 
hands, covered in blood, with Skinner's gripping both lightly.  She nodded finally and 
allowed him to take her hand in his.

They both watched as the paramedics rigged the stretcher to be lowered over the edge, 
and before she even realized it, Mulder was gone.  She gasped at the suddenness and felt 
a reassuring hand on her right arm, even as Skinner gripped her left.  She looked to her 
right and Jerry was there.  Then Skinner's voice broke through her daze.

"Let's move, Scully.  We have to go."

She nodded again and allowed them to pull her to her feet.  She started feeling stronger 
then and more in control.  

"I'm okay.  I'm fine."

She waited for Jerry to go down the ladder first and then followed quickly, once again 
shuddering at the blood evident on each rung.  Skinner was down right behind her and 
both men strode beside her as she took off after the paramedics.  They had already loaded 
him in the ambulance and she could tell there would be no room for her.  There were 
three paramedics working on Mulder in the back already.

Skinner must have understood because he was pulling at her again, this time towards the 
vehicle they'd come in.

"I'll drive, Scully.  Come on.  We'll follow the ambulance."

She nodded and climbed into the front seat.  She watched him turn to Jerry and say, "Will 
you arrange for police escort for us, Agent Friedman?"

She could see Jerry nod and jog off towards a cluster of agents and then Skinner was in 
the car next to her. It seemed as if everything was taking forever, even though she knew 
it had been less than ten minutes since they arrived at the warehouse.  The ambulance 
was taking off then and she was entranced, watching it pull away.  

Skinner pulled in behind it and she looked out the back window to see an RPD unit 
following them, lights flashing and siren sounding.  She looked down in her lap at her 
hands.  She held them up and turned them to the right, then the left.  They were covered 
in Mulder's blood, the red soaking down even under her fingernails.  It was a sight she 
knew would never leave her memory.  Her stomach churned and her chest grew so tight 
she couldn't breathe for long seconds.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat.  She was so tired of this.  
How often was this supposed to happen?  How often would she be racing to a hospital to 
see whether he'd survive once again?  To see whether her own life would be inexorably 
changed forever by the loss of his.  

She let the tears fall finally, knowing that Skinner would understand.  She felt his hand 
take her left and appreciated the contact.  He didn't say anything -- didn't even take his 
eyes off the road, but it was comforting.

The ride was only four or five minutes long but left way too much time for her to think 
and to remember.  She and Mulder never seemed to get a break.  The last six months, 
ever since making it back from Antarctica, she knew more surely than ever what she'd 
tried to deny before.  That Mulder loved her.  That he'd do anything for her.  Would give 
his life for her without a thought.  And even as she realized this, their life had been 
changed once more by political machinations that left no room for personal feelings.  It 
had been convenient for her.  She'd been able to delay facing it.  She'd been able to 
effectively ignore it with an "Oh, Brother" and silence.  But she knew it hadn't been fair 
to Mulder and it wasn't fair to her, either.  They deserved better than this.

The car jerked and she raised her eyes.  They were already unloading Mulder.  Skinner 
was out of the car and at her door, opening it and extending his hand to help her.  She let 
him help her, partly knowing she needed the support.  She wasn't sure at first whether her 
legs would hold her, but the sight of Mulder's stretcher disappearing into the emergency 
room was enough to spur her on.  

She was vaguely aware of Skinner throwing keys to a cop and giving directions to park 
the car, and then he was walking beside her as they entered the hospital.  His voice was 
sure and steady when he said, "We're Federal Officers.  Where's Agent Mulder been 
taken?"

The nurse behind the desk never even questioned him but merely pointed to the doors 
leading to the emergency examining rooms.  Scully allowed herself to be led, but then 
stepped ahead of him when they reached the doors. She pushed them solidly and glanced 
around the room. She knew the activity to the right had to be about her partner.  There 
was a group of six or seven people -- doctors, interns, and nurses, working quickly on 
various tasks.  She moved slowly towards them and stopped about ten feet away.  
Skinner was standing behind her, his hand on her shoulder.  She listened to the doctors 
for a full minute and her heart sank with every word.  Internal bleeding, broken ribs, 
possible concussion, gunshot, knife cut, the list seemed way too long.  She started 
trembling and heard one of the doctors yelling for an open OR.  Then they were pushing 
him out and she still couldn't move, couldn't do anything but shake.

She felt Skinner move closer and turned her head slightly towards him.  When he placed 
his hands on her shoulders she didn't pull away, but leaned back into him, letting the sobs 
she'd been holding back come and the tears flow.

*******************************************
End Part 3 of ?

*******************************************
Ascent to Hell - Part 4 of ? (4/?)
by Kronos (kronos1@adelphia.net)
*******************************************


Saturday, 10:32 p.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia

Skinner carried the coffees carefully, wishing he'd poured some out before trying to walk.  
He'd been here before, in this position, waiting to find out whether Mulder would pull 
through or not, but had never seen Scully like this.  So blatantly emotional.  So fragile.  
She was wearing a green scrub top with the navy blue pants she'd been wearing earlier 
and a hospital issue blanket draped across her shoulders.  He'd gotten a nurse to convince 
her to change and get cleaned up.  He'd shed his own blood-soaked jacket and tie, but had 
managed to salvage his shirt.  

Scully was leaning forward in the chair, her arms wrapped around her chest tightly.  He 
could see her shoulders shaking even from four feet away.  Jerry Friedman was sitting on 
one side of her, looking almost as dazed as she.  He glanced to the right and saw a cluster 
of agents, Landers among them, respectfully waiting for news.  One thing about cops, 
they took it personally when one of their own was wounded in the line of duty.

He handed a cup to Friedman and then sat next to Scully.  He held a cup in front of her 
and placed it in her hands, then waited until her fingers responded.  She'd stopped crying 
long ago but hadn't said a word since.  She started shaking a half hour ago, but he didn't 
know whether it was from cold or delayed shock.

He took a deep breath and looked around again.  They were in the Critical Care Waiting 
Room.  Off to the right was a young couple, the husband holding his softly sobbing wife 
gently.  Across the way was a group of five people who had to have been family 
members awaiting word on their loved one.  The hospital had attempted to make the 
room a soothing place, with soft colors, plants, and comfortable furniture.  There was a 
door that opened onto a little patio, with trees, benches, a bubbling brook, and a walkway 
that allowed worried visitors to work off some frustration.  

He looked again at the young husband and wife to his right, then back to Scully.  She still 
held the Styrofoam cup in her trembling hands, the coffee untouched.  He decided hell 
with it, and put his hand on her arm.  She turned towards him, eyes huge and tear-filled, 
but somehow managing to keep them from flowing.  He whispered, "He'll be fine, Scully.  
Just keep telling yourself that.  He'll be just fine."

He could tell she wanted to believe him and when she turned forward once more, raised 
his eyes over her head and looked into Jerry Friedman's.  They held the same doubt his 
own did.

*******************************************

A half hour later the silence was broken by a doctor walking towards them.  He'd 
obviously just come from the OR and seemed drawn and tired.  He asked, "Who's waiting 
for word on Fox Mulder?"

Everyone came to attention and Skinner said, "We are.  How is he?"

The man glanced around and then seemed to focus attention on Scully, as if somehow 
sensing she was Mulder's partner.  Without even realizing it, Skinner had once more put 
his arm around her.  He tried to divine what the man might say just by his expression but 
found it impossible.

The doctor finally answered, "He made it through surgery. The bullet wound in the 
shoulder nicked an artery.  It took a while to close it off.  The knife wound was deep and 
required quite a bit of work.  The head wound wasn't so bad, but he's got a concussion to 
along with the stitches.  He's got a broken rib, two more with hairline fractures, multiple 
abrasions and contusions.  Bruised kidney.  Internal bleeding.  We believe we caught it in 
time.  He lost a hell of a lot of blood before getting to us and went into cardiac arrest 
twice on the table.  All in all, quite a mess."

Skinner didn't know whether it was safe to breathe again or not.  He asked the obvious 
question.  "So is he going to make it?"

There was a pause and the doctor tilted his head as if he wasn't really sure how to answer.  
"He made it this far.  All we can do is wait and see.  The next twenty-four hours should 
make the difference."

Skinner looked down at Scully to see her still staring at the doctor, eyes unblinking, 
barely breathing.  He turned back to the man and asked, "When can we see him?"

The doctor was staring at Scully, brow furrowed in concern.  The man's eyes flicked to 
his own and it seemed he somehow understood how important it was for Scully to see her 
partner.

"He's being taken to CCU right now.  It's right around the corner  You should know, 
though, he's in a coma.  He won't be able to respond just yet.  Visiting hours are posted 
on the door.  Fifteen minutes every other hour during the day."

Skinner felt Scully tense and knew that he himself responded similarly.  He had his 
mouth open to object, when the doctor raised a hand to forestall discussion.

"In this case, however, it's critical to reach the patient.  I'm allowing family and close 
friends outside of hours.  But ..."

Skinner had started to relax but tensed again, wondering what other restrictions were 
going to be imposed.

The doctor said, "Remember that he's incredibly weak.  The coma is a mixed blessing.  
On the one hand, it gives his body a much needed rest.  On the other, there's a chance that 
he won't know to fight.  I think it's worth the risk to have you there.  Please leave tension 
outside the room, talk to him, remind him of things that are worth remembering, try to 
reach him however you can."

The man stopped then and Skinner swallowed, finding it difficult because of the tightness 
in his throat.  He licked his lips and nodded, then looked down at Scully.  He couldn't tell 
whether she understood or not.  His voice was gentle when he said, "Come on, Scully.  
Let's go see your partner."

He was filled with relief when she nodded to him, the first actual movement she'd 
initiated for the past hour or more.

*******************************************


Hour 1 of the Wait
Saturday, 11:07 p.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia


The room was bathed in soft light with green and red reflections from various indicators 
shining eerily.  Even though he'd expected the machines, the overwhelming number of 
them still came as a shock.  He paused just inside the door, not sure if his legs would 
carry him, but Scully kept going right to the side of the bed.  He watched her take 
Mulder's left hand in her own and wrap her fingers around her partner's.  Her right hand 
moved to Mulder's forehead, gently brushing back his hair.  As she leaned over to kiss 
her partner's forehead, it came to him then, like a bolt from the blue, that she loved the 
man.  Not loved like a friend.  Not loved like a partner.  That he'd known for years.  But 
this was so much more.  

He looked once more at the man lying so still in the bed, this time with the realization 
that Mulder's life was more intricately connected to this woman's than he'd originally 
thought.  It was a weight on his shoulders that almost took his breath away.  Mulder 
couldn't die.  It would mean Scully's lifeline if he did. The man was clearly everything to 
her and he knew that it was the same for Mulder.

Skinner moved into the room then and pulled a chair close to the bed for Scully to sit in.  
He guided her into it, silently acknowledging her nod of thanks by patting her shoulder.  
She looked so lost sitting there.  So alone.  He let his hand linger on her shoulder for a 
moment longer and said, "Scully, I'll be right back.  I'll just be gone for a minute."

She nodded again, this time not even turning her head, and he headed for the door.  

*******************************************

She'd vacillated between numbness and panic, and knew that the panic was slowly 
winning.  The swoosh of the door signaled Skinner's exit and a little piece of her 
panicked even more.  She hadn't realized just how much he'd served to steady her the past 
few hours and sent a silent prayer that he'd be back soon.

She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes tightly, feeling the tears building up once 
again.  She clenched her jaw and fought them off.  She couldn't afford more tears.  She 
and Skinner had been granted permission to stay in the CCU room with Mulder, and she 
wasn't about to waste the opportunity by shedding useless tears.  Her partner needed her 
strength and he needed to know she was there for him.  

He was far away from her now.  So very far away.  Despite her intentions, tears fell down 
her cheeks and the panic crept up on her again.  

*******************************************

There were plenty of things about his job that Skinner didn't like, but notifying relatives 
of his people that their son or daughter, brother or sister, might not make it was definitely 
his least favorite.  The phone rang two, three, four times and he was just getting ready to 
hang up when a woman's voice answered.  It was obvious he'd awakened her.

"Hello."

"Hello, Mrs. Scully.  This is Walter Skinner."

He sensed the increase in tension and hurried on.  "Dana's fine, Mrs. Scully.  It's Mulder.  
Mulder's been injured pretty badly."

Her voice wavered when she said, "Fox."  He heard the intake of breath and then she 
asked, "What happened?  Where are you?"

"We're in Richmond, Mrs. Scully.  Mulder was injured saving a little boy from a ... 
murderer.  Scully -- I mean Dana's quite upset and I thought you should know."

He wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing.  This wasn't technically his responsibility.  
This was not Mulder's mother, after all, it was Scully's.  

"Thank you, Mr. Skinner, I appreciate it.  What's Fox' condition?  And what hospital are 
you at?"

"He's in the CCU, ma'am, in critical condition.  It's Mercy Hospital, in the city."

There was silence again and then she said, "Is he ..."

He sighed and said, "We don't know, ma'am.  It's wait and see at this point."

He could hardly hear her when she said, "Thank you for calling, Mr. Skinner.  I'll be 
there as soon as I can."

He heard a click and knew she'd hung up.  He looked at the phone in his hand and steeled 
himself for the more difficult call he had yet to make.  He looked down at the scrap of 
paper in his hand and dialed the second number.  He'd only really met the woman once 
before, but he had to admit she could be slightly intimidating.  

She picked up after the second ring.

"Hello."

He cleared his throat and swallowed quickly, then said, "Hello, ma'am.  This is AD 
Walter Skinner with the Bureau."

She surprised him by almost immediately asking, "Fox?  Is he all right?"

He closed his eyes for a moment and answered, "He's been seriously injured, ma'am.  
He's in CCU right now."

There was an uneasy silence then and he could tell she was fighting to keep her voice 
steady when she asked, "Is his partner with him?"

He was surprised by the direction of the question for a moment but answered, "Yes, 
ma'am, Agent Scully is here."

There was silence again for several seconds and he thought he could hear her breathing.  
Then she surprised him again.

"My son has always been strong.  And very determined.  As long as his partner is there, 
I'm sure he'll be fine.  He just needs something worth coming back for."

He found himself smiling and said, "I hope you're right, ma'am."

"Where are they, Mr. Skinner?"

He realized then that she didn't know he was with them.  "We're at Mercy Hospital in 
Richmond, Virginia, ma'am."

"Thank you, Mr. Skinner."

He hung up after she disconnected and marveled at the resiliency of mothers.  

*******************************************


Hour 2 of the Wait
Sunday, 12:26 a.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia


She felt something on her shoulders and looked up, turning her head to the left.  AD 
Skinner was there, draping a blanket around her.  She blinked and realized that she had 
no idea what time it was or how long she'd been here.  She felt as if her every move was a 
struggle and every decision was near impossible.  The beeps, gurgles, and hums of the 
machinery had helped to lull her into a state of blessed numbness.

"Sir?"

She had started to ask him something but didn't really know now what it was.  He pulled 
over a second chair and sat down next to her. Both her hands rested on Mulder's left arm, 
just below the IV.  She felt as if she couldn't let go.  That if she did, he'd somehow know 
and think the action gave him permission to leave her.  

She turned to look at the man beside her, wanting more than anything for him to tell her, 
just this once, what to do.  She was used to knowing.  She was used to making decisions 
quickly and competently.  But somehow, right now, it just wasn't in her.  The tears 
started again and she was ashamed that she should have such lack of control.  She almost 
never cried, and Skinner must think she was a complete wimp.  

She shook her head and was thankful when he again put his arm around her and pulled 
her close.  He didn't seem to mind her emotional show.  He whispered, "Scully, he's 
strong and he has the best incentive in the world to wake up and get better."

She looked up at him, eyes questioning and he said, "He has you here waiting for him."

She smiled and pulled away, feeling stronger and more alert.  "I've been thinking, sir."

"Dangerous."

She looked at him and smiled again, but it faded as an overwhelming sadness consumed 
her.  "I don't really know what makes him do these things.  What drives him.  I mean, 
why couldn't he have just waited for us?  Why the hell didn't he just wait?"

She knew her voice was getting louder but couldn't help it.  She felt like she was on a 
roller coaster of emotions.  She was angry now, as well as frightened -- angry that he 
hadn't waited for her and terrified he might not come back to her.

She raised a hand to wipe her eyes and cheeks.  She moved to lay it back on Mulder's 
arm, but Skinner reached out and took hold of it first.  She looked at him again curiously 
and was surprised by his thoughtful expression.

"Scully, you know better than that.  Mulder knew that every second counted.  He knew 
that the assailant would start torturing Christian at any time."

She nodded, clearly recognizing the truth of his words, but was concerned when Skinner 
didn't let go of her arm.  He seemed to be staring at her intently, as if trying to assess her 
to make some decision.  He nodded then, as if in response to something she'd said and 
then spoke. 

"Scully, it's more than that, too.  To understand why he couldn't wait, you have to 
appreciate just what it means to be the Bureau's best profiler.  And you need to appreciate 
how he got to be the best."

She was curious in spite of herself.  "What do you mean, sir?  What do you know?"  She 
could see the hesitation and doubt.  She squeezed his hand gently and added, "Please tell 
me."

She looked into his eyes and could tell he'd made a decision.  He nodded to her, dropped 
her hand, and sat back in the chair, as if to get comfortable for a long story.

"Did Mulder ever tell you about how he got started with the ISU?"

She shifted a bit and ran her left hand down Mulder's arm to take his hand in hers.  She 
thought back and realized they'd never talked about it.  She shook her head and said, "No, 
sir.  I know it was the Monty Propps case that allowed him to work on the X-Files, but 
we never talked about any of his other cases."  She paused for a moment, then added, 
"Except for Roche, of course."

He nodded and said, "The Props case was how he got out, but it was the DC Murders 
case that got him started.  And I was the reason he got involved.  I suppose you could say 
I'm responsible for his profiling career and he's responsible for my being an AD."

She'd never seen such an expression on his face as he wore now.  It was a mixture of 
bittersweet regret and pride.  She was filled with curiosity to know how these two men 
had somehow been involved in the same case all those years ago.  And the name of the 
case -- she was positive it was the same one Mulder had mentioned.

"The DC Murders case.  Sir, Mulder said something about that.  He said that this case 
was the same.  I didn't know what he was talking about."

She looked at her former boss carefully and saw the indecision.  "Please, sir. Tell me 
about the case."

*******************************************

Skinner didn't know if it was the right thing to do, but decided to tell her anyway.  He felt 
a pang of guilt, as he always did when he thought about the DC Murders case.  Jesus, 
what a nightmare it had been.  For everyone.

He looked over at her and then turned to look at Mulder again.  The man had aged.  They 
both had.  It had been so long ago.  He sighed heavily, then stood and stretched his back 
and his legs.  He walked around to the other side of the bed and looked down at the 
agent, taking in again the pale and drawn features.  He rested his hands on the rail and 
raised his eyes to look across at her.

He cleared his throat and said, "I was an ASAC in Chicago.  I'd had some successes.  
Things were going pretty well for me.  My regional SAC recommended me to 
Headquarters.  There was this case that was making the national news.  A serial murderer 
who had the Behavioral Sciences people stumped, along with every cop in the DC metro 
area and suburbs.  I was assigned to it as one of two ASAC's."

He took a deep breath and tried to remember how it had been.  How he'd felt.  How 
excited and frightened he'd been.  

"It was April of 1985.  I was loaned out to Headquarters so I packed my bags and drove 
from Chicago to DC.  They'd started forming the Bureau team when it became clear that 
the UNSUB was not only very serious, but also out for attention.  Attention of the worst 
kind."

Scully looked confused so he waited for the inevitable question.

"But, sir, 1985 was the year Mulder joined the Bureau."

He couldn't help feeling proud of her.  No one could accuse Scully of being slow on the 
up-take.  "That's right.  Trainee Fox Mulder showed up at Quantico in late April of that 
year.  And he was still a trainee when he got involved in the DC Murders case.  When I 
got him involved."

He couldn't stand still anymore so turned and headed to the end of the room, then turned 
again and walked back.  He needed to move -- to burn off the excess energy he was 
feeling.  He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against a wall.  He looked 
across the room to Scully and saw she was watching him intently.

"Scully, I bet you didn't know this.  When Mulder started out a trainee, he went by his 
first name."  

The look of disbelief on her face was expected.

"Really.  He went by the name Fox.  I kid you not."

He pushed himself off the wall and went back to the other side of the bed, across from 
Scully.  He laid one hand on Mulder's arm, just for a moment, then gripped the rail again.  

Scully's voice interrupted his reverie.  "That's difficult to imagine, sir."

He looked up and smiled at her and was suddenly tired.  Weary.  He walked around the 
bed and sank back down next to her.  The smile still lingered when he said, "He was 
pretty unremarkable at first.  Just another trainee."

He grinned even wider when he said, "The instructors put him at the top of their jock list, 
initially, but they figured out pretty quickly they had more than just a good athlete."

He remembered the stories he'd been told and conjured up the image he recalled of a 
young and cocky Fox Mulder, taking great delight in showing off his athletic prowess 
and intelligence.  The typical practical jokes the trainees took such pride in at Quantico 
developed an all new degree of sophistication under Fox Mulder's influence.

He shook his head and closed his eyes.  Almost thirteen years.  Jesus, it didn't seem like it 
could possibly have been that long ago.

*******************************************


August 25, 1986
Monday, 1:53 p.m.
Chicago Bureau, Chicago, Illinois


Walter Skinner's boss gestured for him to close the door and sit down.  He nodded to 
Sam Plinsky, his SAC, and took his accustomed place, a bit disconcerted at the 
unexpected meeting.  As far as he knew, he hadn't screwed anything up lately.  

SAC Plinsky was staring at him, with an assessing look on his face.  "Walter, you've been 
with me here for what -- three years?"

He nodded nervously, feeling as if somehow a threat had been made, and said, "That's 
right, sir." 

Plinsky leaned back in his chair and picked up a pen from his desk.  He started playing 
with it in a familiar habit well known to anyone who'd ever sat across from him.  

Skinner cleared his throat and shifted nervously in his seat.  His boss looked up at him 
again finally.  "You've done excellent work here, Walter.  You're going to go far."  The 
man grinned then and added, "I've recommended you to HQ.  They've got a big case that 
I think you'll be perfect for.  You're being transferred there temporarily."

His boss stood up then and leaned across the desk, his right hand stretched out.  Walter 
stood, pride and excitement warring with one another, and shook hands with his boss.  
"Thank you, sir.  I appreciate the opportunity."

Plinsky smiled at him again.  "I always said you'd go far, Walter.  This is your shot."  He 
leaned forward then and said, with a conspiratorial wink, "Don't fuck it up."

*******************************************


August 27, 1986
Wednesday, 8:21 a.m.
FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC


Skinner strode up the steps of the J. Edgar Hoover Building with a confidence bolstered 
predominantly by adrenaline and caffeine.  He'd been riding high for the past day and a 
half and had wasted no time in packing his few essential belongings before heading off 
for DC.  Sharon hadn't been particularly happy with the assignment, but he knew it was 
the break he'd been needing.  They'd been married for three years now and she still didn't 
seem to understand what it meant for him to be an FBI field agent.

He ran his right hand through his hair, smoothing it back over his forehead and regretted 
not taking the time to get it cut before leaving Chicago.  He dropped his hand to his hip 
then and ran it over his weapon.  The gesture was practically a caress.  He couldn't 
imagine not having the comforting weight there.  

He checked in with the security guard at the front desk and was directed to his new 
SAC's office.  From everything he'd heard, SAC Darien Keenan was being groomed for 
an AD position.  His jacket was spotless and he held the record for best solve rate in the 
VCS.  Up to now, at least.  

Skinner meandered through the halls, following the directions he'd been given until he 
came to a glassed-in office right outside a bullpen area.  Agents worked busily, both 
singly and in groups, many of them with a phone to their ears.  He stopped in front of the 
door and paused before knocking.  The shade in the door was pulled down and he could 
just make out his reflection in the glass.  He tilted his head from left to right to make sure 
he was presentable and grimaced slightly to himself at the lingering bruise on his chin.  
He'd just taken up boxing and hadn't fared very well his first time in the ring.  He enjoyed 
the sport, but knew that until he bulked up a bit, he'd be spending a lot of time on his ass.  
Oh well, nothing he could do about it now.

He took a deep breath and tapped on the door lightly.  He strained his head to the right so 
he could see the man inside through the glass next to the door.  Keenan looked up and 
waved him in.  

He entered the office, closing the door behind him, and waited patiently for the man to 
give him some indication of what to do.  The SAC was in his early forties, with a Robert 
Redford kind of look about him.  The man just stared at him for several long seconds and 
then gestured towards the only free chair.  

Keenan still hadn't said a word to him and now sat staring down at a file on his desk.  
Skinner shifted in his seat, wondering just what the hell the man was waiting for.  After 
another thirty or so extremely uncomfortable seconds, he cleared his throat and shifted in 
his seat again.  

Without even looking up or shifting a muscle, the man said, "Haven't you ever heard that 
patience is a virtue, Mr. Skinner?"

He froze, gripping the arms of his chair tightly.  Shit!  Not a good way to start.

"It wasn't intended to be rhetorical, Mr. Skinner."

Well, damned if he did, damned if he didn't.  Now he was just starting to get pissed.  
"Yes, I have, sir."

The SAC looked up at him then, one eyebrow raised.  "I was just reading through your 
jacket, Mr. Skinner."  The older man flipped a page, almost indolently, then continued, 
"Impressive."

He nodded and said, "Thank you, sir."

"Wasn't giving you a compliment.  Just stating facts."

He clenched his jaw and counted to three.  "Yes, sir."

Another page flipped by.

"What do you know about this case?"

"Not much, sir.  I know the Bureau was contacted for a serial case a little over two weeks 
ago, after police from Arlington, Falls Church, and Alexandria started comparing notes.  
They determined their respective unsolved cases were tied together."

"That it?"

"Yes, sir, pretty much."  His voice was harder when he continued, "I haven't been briefed 
yet, sir."

The pages stopped flipping, the head raised, eyebrow along with it.  "You do read the 
paper, don't you Mr. Skinner?" 

Now he really was getting angry.  "Yes, sir, I do.  However, I'm from Chicago and this 
hasn't really gotten much press there.  Sir."

Keenan flipped the file closed and leaned back in his seat, legs stretched out in front of 
him.  Then linked his hands and dropped them to his lap.  "Fair enough."  The man was 
staring at him again and he felt like he was under the magnifying glass.  "Do you know 
what it is I want from you?"

He opened his mouth, ready to answer the obvious, then stopped and reconsidered.  After 
a long pause, he said, "I would assume you want someone who can think for themselves 
to help run the investigation.  Someone who doesn't have to ask your permission every 
time he has to take a piss."

He couldn't help throwing it in.  He'd already decided this case wasn't going to be for 
him.  Might as well go out in style, dammit.  And then the most amazing thing happened.  
Keenan smiled at him, and even chuckled.

"You're right, of course.  I can't stand kiss-ups and incompetents.  Okay ... Walter, is it?"

He nodded, still slightly shocked at the fact the man had smiled at him.

"All right, Walter.  You're going to be my second ASAC on this.  I've been putting my 
team together for the past week.  I'll introduce you to my other ASAC now, Doug Astren.  
He's been with me for two years.  The two of you can work out assignments and fill in 
any gaps we might have in personnel."

The man stood so quickly, Walter jerked back a bit in surprise.  He stood as well and was 
surprised again by the hand stuck out in front of him.  He shook firmly and looked 
Keenan in the eye.  The man said, "Good to have you on board, Walter.  Call me Darien."

Then the SAC was heading out the door then and he was rushing to follow, still in a bit of 
a stupor.  The man was going to keep him on his toes, that was for sure.

*******************************************

An hour later, he and Doug Astren were reviewing the cases and evidence gathered thus 
far.  Doug was a few years older than he and had a similar build -- a muscular slimness 
that spoke of controlled power.  Doug had wavy light brown hair cut short and a neat 
mustache.  They had files, photos, forensics reports, and profiles scattered across three 
tables in a small room down the hall from the bullpen. He felt overwhelmed by both the 
brutality the assailants had shown as well as the seeming randomness of it all.

"All right, let me see if I understand this.  We have Victim 1, Alan Hanover, single white 
male, thirty-six year old engineer, unemployed, living in Alexandria, who was murdered 
in his own home during the middle of the day."  The smiling face of the victim looked at 
him from the photo in his hand.  He dropped it down on the stack and rummaged through 
the pile for a crime scene photo.  Blood was smeared on walls and furniture, as if painted 
with a brush.

"Victim 2 was some two months later, body dumped in Falls Church, murder location 
unknown, fifteen year old white female, Lorri Kiley."  This one had been a sophomore in 
high school, popular and pretty with no enemies.  The body was dumped behind a 
Catholic church and the crime scene photo showed the body laid out as if for burial.

"Victim 3, two months later, Jesse Smith, twenty-four year old married black male, 
missing from place of employment, a music store in Arlington, body found across the 
street from the public library in an alley."  He reached out for the victim's wedding 
picture, the bride a beautiful young Hispanic woman who could have been on the cover 
of any magazine.  Smith had been discarded in pieces, his body hacked apart by 
something on the order of a dull ax.

He took a deep breath and sighed in frustration, then continued.  "Each death a 
completely different M. O., each seemingly having nothing to do with the others."  He 
reached out and picked up a plastic bag with a note, then located the other two.  "Except 
for the notes."

He looked over at Doug and shook his head.  "Jesus.  How'd they find out they had a 
match across the cities?"

The man was slouched down in his chair, looking quite drained.  "Falls Church PD 
initiated a request for information from DC and surrounding areas on any cases with 
similarities to their own.  An Arlington D picked up on it -- a Detective Rafi Martinez.  
You'll meet him tomorrow.  Once Martinez and Mary O'Shea -- that's the D from Falls 
Church -- once they got together, they knew they had something.  They figured 
something might have slipped through the cracks in other cities so they arranged for 
personal calls and tracked down the Alexandria case."

Doug yawned and looked at his watch, then said, "You know, Walt, I need coffee.  I've 
been cramming on this for the past twenty-plus hours.  Come on, let me give you the 
tour."

*******************************************


Present Day, Hour 3 of the Wait
Sunday, 1:15 a.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia


Skinner felt the weariness tugging at him and decided it was time for a caffeine jolt.  He 
turned to look at Scully and said, "How about coffee?  If you're going to keep after me to 
tell this I need some refreshment."

He'd said it lightly, but a part of him was grasping at any excuse to avoid taking this 
particular trip down memory lane, even if he had been the one to initiate it.

"Thank you, sir.  That would be nice."

He gave her a tight smile and stood slowly, pausing for a moment to look at Mulder.  The 
nurses had been moving in and out of the room on a regular basis to check various 
indicators.  They would jot notes on Mulder's records and then wander out again, without 
a word.  One of them was across the bed now, leaning over a machine.  She seemed 
satisfied by whatever she'd seen, nodded to them and left.  Mulder seemed to be holding 
his own, at least for now.  He prayed the man would have the strength to make it back to 
them.

He turned back to Scully and said, "Be back soon," then headed for the door.  He had a 
feeling it was going to be a very long night.

*******************************************

Scully watched her former boss leave the room and then turned her gaze back to Mulder.  
She stood up, never letting go of his hand, and leaned over the bed, propping her elbows 
on the rails.  She took in the pale features, the blood soaked bandages.  The wires and 
tubes that sustained and monitored him.  And despite the familiarity of the circumstances, 
she knew also it was so very different.  He'd been near death in Alaska.  That recovery 
had been a tenuous and long one and for a week she waited to see whether he would live 
or die.  

But still, it was so very different.  Different because back then, despite the closeness she 
felt to him -- the trust and the friendship -- even the love, she knew it was a different tie 
that binded them now.  A different kind of love and a trust hard won through ice and fire.  

But despite their newfound closeness, there was a distance that had wormed its way into 
their lives.  She was honest enough to recognize that they had both let it happen.  Perhaps 
out of fear, or just weariness.  It wasn't like they'd ever been the kind of people to share 
midnight secrets or intimate details of their hopes and dreams.  But lately it had become 
even worse. Their lives had become such a struggle in the last year that it was all they 
could do to find one simple thing to smile about each day.  It was much easier to let the 
unknown be.  Let it stay firmly in its box until the time was right.  Pretend that all was 
well and that time would solve all their problems.  But now they might possibly have 
waited too long.  Time had quite possible turned on them -- becoming the bringer of 
death and the destroyer of dreams.

She shook her head and closed her eyes tightly, trying to banish the thoughts that had 
taken residence in her soul.  She looked down at her friend again and reached her right 
hand out.  She trailed her fingers across his forehead, then down his cheek, avoiding the 
bandage above his left eyebrow.  

It was a face she'd come to know so well.  Better even then her own.  Yet she realized 
that she knew little about the man behind it.  The journey of his life that had brought him 
to her six years before.  She had only stray remarks and occasional insights upon which 
to build her understanding.  One of them came to her now, out of the blue, as if they were 
still standing in a pasture in the town of Home, the smell of manure, dirt, and growing 
things filling their nostrils. 

'Pick up games on the Vineyard.  The only place we had to be was home by dinner.'

He'd looked happy and content then, remembering a time when life was as it should have 
been.  She was filled suddenly with the desire to know more.  To know what he'd been 
like, what he thought, what he wanted out of life.  

She leaned forward even more over the rails and whispered, "Who are you, Fox Mulder?  
I'd really like to know."

*******************************************

Skinner balanced the coffees awkwardly and paused at the door, watching as Scully stood 
unmoving by her partner's side.  He'd known her for almost five years now.  Five fucking 
years of one disaster after another.  And yet, somehow, she and Mulder had survived and 
were stronger than ever.  It couldn't end this way.  He felt it more strongly than ever 
before.  They deserved a chance at happiness.

He clenched his jaw and concentrated on getting past the flare of anger that had 
momentarily overcome him, then made his way into the room.  She turned at the sound, 
looking startled.  He kept his voice low and steady when he said, "Sorry it took so long, I 
had to search a bit.  They were out in the CCU Waiting Room."

He reached a hand out and offered her the foam cup, then smiled back at her when she 
thanked him.

They sat companionably, without speaking for several long minutes.  Then she broke the 
silence by saying, "So how did Mulder get involved in the case, sir?"

He was thoughtful, remembering the sequence of events.  "It was about a week and a half 
or so after I came on board.  But you need to know a bit more about the case before you 
can appreciate how it happened and why."

*******************************************


August 27, 1986
Wednesday, 7:23 p.m.
FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC


His first day had been a long one and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd made a horrible 
mistake in accepting this assignment.  Walter Skinner stood and looked around the small 
room that had been lent to him as a temporary office.  Not even 10' by 10' with no 
windows, the walls were already starting to close in on him.  Of course, at least he had 
walls, which was something of an improvement over a desk in a crowded bullpen.  

His initial enthusiasm had given way almost immediately to an overwhelming 
apprehension.  It had become clear that this case would be the most challenging of his 
career.  Three murders, each one individually horrifying, but written off initially as 
typical for the DC area.  What looked to be a robbery gone bad, an apparently sexually 
motivated strangulation, and a sick dismemberment.  No law enforcement officer in the 
country would ever group them together.  But the notes changed all the rules.  The notes 
changed everything.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, stretching them out in front of him.  He 
reached out to the piles on the desk and picked up a copy of the first note, which had 
been sent to the Alexandria PD two weeks after Hanover's murder.  It had arrived in a 
plain white envelope with no return address, and a postmark from downtown DC.  It 
read:


Play the Game, if you choose.
But I will win.  You will lose.
You are stupid, I am smart.
To play with me requires heart.
Shooting's easy, shooting's fun.
Can you guess why he's the one?


The Alexandria PD were certainly curious about the note, but weren't able to definitively 
connect it to any of their outstanding homicides. They sent it to the crime labs for 
analysis, then hung onto it.  When Detectives Martinez and O'Shea contacted them about 
murders that were similar to theirs, Detective George Haftka remembered the note and 
was able to connect it to their still unsolved male shooting victim of months before.

Note two had been sent to the Falls Church PD a week after Lorri Kiley was discovered.  
It read:


A beauty she was, a beauty for sure.
A virgin she wasn't, her spirit impure.
Blonde and beautiful but stupid as rock.
The clock's ticking fast -- tick tock, tick tock.
Gunshot, strangulation, what's it about?
Do you have what it takes to figure it out?


The police immediately connected the note with their ongoing investigation into the girl's 
murder, but weren't able to obtain any forensic evidence from the note -- no fingerprints, 
no indication as to who might have sent it.  The words were cut out of popular magazines 
and pasted onto a sheet of typing paper, of the sort sold at any office supply store.  The 
glue was a common brand that could have been purchased anywhere.  With no traceable 
evidence, they sent it off to the Bureau for a more in-depth analysis.  The FBI Labs were 
able to provide no further details.

Then came the third note, sent to the Arlington PD a week after Jesse Smith's remains 
were found.  It read:


The Game's afoot and you're nowhere around,
I'm way ahead as the idiocy abounds.
An ax was messy, I must admit,
But not enough to call it quits.
Perfect he seemed, but it's all just a lie,
You won't catch me, whatever you try. 


Not getting many ax murders in their fine city, the Arlington Detectives also immediately 
recognized the connection to their ongoing case.  Following much the same actions as the 
Falls Church PD, with the same results, they also ended up sending the note to the 
Bureau.  By coincidence, the same analyst received both notes and informed the 
Detectives in each case that they seemed to have a serial murderer on their hands.

Walter shook his head in disgust and threw the copies of the notes back on his desk.  He 
leaned back further in his chair and stared up at the ceiling.  It had definitely seen better 
days.  The plaster was cracked here and there, with parts of the ceiling appearing to be on 
the verge of imminent collapse.  Gotta love this place.

He sat forward and looked around the room, searching for his belongings.  Definitely 
time to call it a day.  His head was pounding and his eyes were starting to cross.  He 
stood wearily and rubbed them, wondering if it was time to think about getting glasses.  
Jesus, you're getting old, Walter.

A sharp bang sounded and he jerked around, eyes flying to the door.  Doug was there, a 
grin on his face.

"You got it figured out yet, Walter?"

He looked at the man and couldn't help the snort of mock disgust.

"You've only given me twelve hours.  Gotta at least let me catch up to you, first."

Doug shook his head wearily and said, "No can do.  We have an appointment.  Grab your 
jacket and let's go.  Detectives Martinez and O'Shea will be meeting us in about a half 
hour at the Falls Church PD.  Detective Haftka can't work us in until tomorrow.  Bright 
and early -- 7 a.m.  Gotta love shift work, huh?"

He realized he'd been staring at Doug in complete and utter shock and quickly closed his 
mouth, teeth clicking loudly.  He'd just decided to call it a day and here Doug was 
proposing another several hours tonight, with another meeting at the crack of dawn.  
Didn't the man ever sleep?

"You okay, Walter?"

He pulled himself together and nodded, then gathered his belongings silently.  It was 
quite an adjustment, but one he was ready to make.  He knew he was up to this.  It was 
the break he'd been hoping for his entire career.  He pulled on his suit jacket and 
straightened his tie, then stuffed files into his briefcase.  He glanced at his watch and 
realized he owed Sharon a call, but decided it could wait for a few more hours.  He 
looked over at his co-ASAC and nodded, then said, "I'm ready.  Let's go."  And he knew 
that he was ready for more than just this meeting.  He was ready to attack this case with 
every ounce of his being.  

*******************************************


Present Day, Hour 3 of the Wait
Sunday, 1:54 a.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia


A nurse came into the room and quickly made the rounds, checking various indicators.  
Skinner saw her frown and sat up straighter to watch what the woman was doing.  She 
left the room silently and only moments later, came back in with a doctor.  Scully was 
standing now and he forced himself to his feet to stand next to her.  The doctor hadn't 
said a word to them, and was now bent over Mulder, checking him over.

Skinner glanced quickly at Scully, then decided he couldn't wait any longer.  "Is he okay?  
Is something wrong?"

The doctor glanced across the bed at him, his eyes flicking quickly to the woman 
standing tensely beside him.  The man finished checking the gunshot wound, replacing 
the bandages carefully, then stood straighter.

As he stripped off latex gloves, the doctor said, "His temperature's up.  We're concerned 
about infection.  We have him on an aggressive treatment of broad spectrum antibiotics 
already.  The fact is his system's seriously compromised.  We'll keep monitoring 
closely."

Skinner nodded and watched as they left the room.  He caught a glimpse of a woman 
standing out in the hall and knew he had to go out to talk with her.  He turned to Scully 
and paused, not sure what to say to her.  She was leaning over her partner, her right hand 
on his forehead, her left holding his hand.  She was whispering so softly he couldn't hear 
her words.  He decided she probably wouldn't notice if he wasn't there anyway, so headed 
towards the hall.

The woman he'd caught a glimpse of was standing by the nurses counter, speaking with 
one of the women behind it.  He walked over quickly and said, "Mrs. Scully?"

She looked worried and drawn, but relieved to see someone who'd answer her questions.

"Hello, Mr. Skinner.  They won't tell me anything.  How is Fox?"

He reached out a hand to her shoulder and pulled her gently towards the room where 
Dana waited.  

"He's hanging in there, Mrs. Scully."

She stopped outside the room and turned towards him, arms crossed, insistent on learning 
the truth.

"What does that mean exactly?"

He could face down killers and bureaucrats, but he knew that lying to this woman just 
wasn't something he could pull off.  He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes, knowing he'd 
have to tell her the truth.  He leaned against the glass window and looked in at his two 
former agents.  Without turning, he said, "It means that it could still go either way.  And 
he's not getting any better.  In fact, he seems to be slipping a bit."

He looked back at her and saw that she, too, had been looking in the window.  It struck 
him then that he'd never seen her smile.  He'd seen her at one hospital after another, while 
either Scully or Mulder lay injured or dying.  It was an unnerving thought.

She turned to him and asked, "How's Dana?"

He clenched his jaw, then said, "As well as can be expected.  She'll be glad to have you 
here."  He looked down at her and gestured to his right.  "I'm going down the hall for a 
few minutes."  She took a deep breath and nodded at him before lifting her hand to push 
at the door.  He watched through the window as she walked to Scully and stopped next to 
her.  They both seemed so small.  Mrs. Scully lifted her hand to her daughter's shoulder 
and a moment later had her arms wrapped around her sobbing daughter.  He turned away 
then, knowing that the best thing he could do for them all was to give them some time.  
He just hoped Mulder had enough of it to spare.

*******************************************

A half hour later, Skinner walked back down the hall, and stopped to look in the window 
of Mulder's room.  The rail on the near side of the bed had been lowered and Scully sat 
with head on crossed arms, her right hand reaching out to grip the fingers of Mulder's left 
hand.  Margaret Scully sat next to her daughter, her right hand on her daughter's back, 
moving in slow circles.  He moved to the door and pushed slowly, then moved to the 
other side of the bed.  He pulled the single free chair closer to the bed and sat, meeting 
Margaret Scully's eyes with his own.  

He tried to smile at her but had a feeling it probably came off as a sick grimace.  He 
glanced to the left and saw that Scully was pushing herself up, evidently not asleep after 
all.  Her eyes were red and puffy, but clear as she looked across her partner at him.

"Sir, thank you for calling."

He glanced at Margaret quickly once more and said, "No problem, Agent Scully."  He 
turned his gaze back to Mulder and tried to convince himself the man looked better.  

Scully's voice interrupted his thoughts when she said, "His temperature's gone up.  He's 
weakening.  They might have to put him on a ventilator."

He licked his lips nervously and gripped the chair arms tightly.  What could he say, after 
all?  The silence stretched long, each of them lost in their own thoughts.  He found 
himself staring at Mulder's face, wondering what the man's life would have been like if 
he hadn't allowed the him to become involved in the DC Murders case all those years 
ago.  Would Mulder be happy?  Would he be married with kids, a dog, and a mortgage?  

Scully must have been thinking similar thoughts because she said, "Sir, from what you've 
told me about the DC Murders case, I can see some similarities to this one.  Do you think 
it somehow influenced Mulder?  Was it something about that case that made him go in 
without backup?  I still don't understand."

He pulled his eyes away from Mulder's pale and frighteningly lifeless face to focus on 
Scully.  He sat up straighter in his seat and nodded, thinking again about the monsters 
that hid behind masks of normality, only to come out to wreak havoc on so many lives.

*******************************************


September 2, 1986
Tuesday, 10:12 p.m.
FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC


Walter looked around the room wearily.  It had been a week of hell.  The downtown DC 
cops had reported receiving a note that matched the M. O. they'd advertised to the metro 
area.  Walter and Doug had immediately responded, along with several of their team 
members.  With the aid of the DC Detectives, they'd tracked down the homicide that 
matched the note.  It was another bizarre one.

Victim 4 was Ellen Haggerston, a fifty-six year old happily married elementary school 
teacher.  She'd ultimately died of a knife thrust to the heart, although there had been a 
total of fifteen stab wounds about the body.  As with Alan Hanover's death in Alexandria, 
the police originally thought the murder a result of a frustrated burglar.  They knew they 
were wrong when they received the note a week later.  

Walter picked up the copy and read it again.


The Game has rules, I know them well.
It's elementary, truth to tell.
You're all so slow, you haven't a clue.
Better learn fast to know what to do.
I'm way ahead, if we're keeping track.
You just can't win, 'cause I'll be back.


They'd managed to tie it to the death of the elementary school teacher, but had no idea 
why she'd be the target of a serial killer.  Actually, the team had no idea why any of these 
people would be a target for a serial killer.  There was absolutely nothing tying them 
together.  None of the victims knew each other,  None of them lived in the same city, 
went to the same church, had the same doctor.  Nothing.  There was nothing obvious to 
link them or to suggest a motivation for their deaths.  

They'd already had two of the Bureau's analysts strike out in coming up with any kind of 
reasonable profile so had made arrangements to go to Quantico.  Bill Patterson had 
consented to review the case with them personally.

Walter stacked the files and papers as neatly as he could and pushed himself up from the 
desk wearily.  He gathered his belongings and stuffed all the important files into his 
briefcase.  They had to be at Quantico tomorrow by eight so it would be an early start in 
the morning.  He pulled his overcoat off the back of a chair and draped it over his elbow.  

He flicked the light out on his way to the hall and stopped a few offices down.  Doug was 
fast asleep, his head and arms draped over his desk awkwardly.  Walter stepped in and 
put his briefcase down, then leaned forward to shake his fellow ASAC -- not so gently.

"Hey, Doug.  Time to go home."

Doug jerked upright, and blinked owlishly in the bright fluorescent lighting.

"What time is it?"

"Time for us both to head out."

He ignored the dirty look and added, "It's about 10:30.  Come on, I'll drop you off."

He waited as the man gathered his things slowly, then preceded Doug into the hallway.

"So what time we leaving tomorrow, Walt?"

"How about if I pick you up at seven?  Will that give you enough time to get your beauty 
rest?"

"Ha ha, asshole.  Seriously, why so early?  It's forty minutes to Quantico."

"I know that, but I want to drop in on an old friend of mine before our meeting with 
Patterson.  He's teaching there now."

"Yeah?  What's he teach?"

"He's with Violent Crimes and usually gives two or three of the VC lessons to the new 
classes. He's not an official analyst, but I've always respected his instincts."

Doug just nodded to him, not even questioning his proposal.  They drove in 
companionable silence until they reached Doug's apartment.  The man climbed out of the 
car and then turned back to lean down.

"See you tomorrow at 7, Walt?"

"Sure thing.  Bright and early."

*******************************************

The next morning, the ride south to Quantico was relatively traffic free, with most 
everyone fighting to drive into the city instead of out of it.  Doug was in a good mood, 
going on and on about his three year old daughter's latest exploits.  

"I swear she remembers everything.  Every little detail.  She's going to be a crack Agent 
when she grows up."

Walter merely smiled, the thought of children still somewhat foreign to him. He and 
Sharon had discussed it, but decided the time just wasn't right. He only had time for one 
thing in his life right now.  His career came first and so did hers.  

"Hey, Walt?"

"Yeah."

"Ever think about what happens if we can't solve this case?"

The question caught him by surprise.  One minute they were talking about Doug's kid, 
the next about the potential end of their careers.

"It's not an option.  We have to solve it.  That's all there is to it."

Doug snorted and said, "Just like that, huh?  Well I have news for you, Walt.  Things 
aren't lookin' too good for the home team right about now."

He grinned wryly before answering.  "Hey, we've only been on the case a little over a 
week.  I think it's a bit early to be talking about failure just yet, don't you?"

Doug actually squirmed in his seat, then said thoughtfully, "I understand.  But this case ... 
Walt, you know as well as I do that this is something completely different.  This bastard's 
too smart.  Too ... savvy.  Like he knows all the rules and is intentionally rewriting them 
just to taunt us."

He gripped the wheel a bit more tightly, uncomfortable with the discussion.  Failure had 
never been an option for him.  It didn't fit within his frame of reference and it disturbed 
him that Doug would even be having such doubts.  Finally he said, "We'll get him, Doug.  
We will.  It just might take a little time."

His fellow ASAC sank into the seat a bit deeper, and responded in a resigned voice.  "I 
hope you're right, Walt.  I really do."

The rest of the trip was made in an uncomfortable silence.

*******************************************

Walter looked at his watch and decided he'd have a good half hour or so to meet with 
Dean before the man started his class.  He turned to his fellow ASAC and said, "Come 
on, let's get to the lecture hall.  I told Dean I'd meet him there."

The room was pretty much the same as he'd remembered it, with the exception of being 
updated with more advanced AV equipment.  It was the smaller auditorium style room 
that seated about one hundred in seven neat rows.  Walt entered from the front of the 
room and glanced around, finally seeing his old acquaintance in the back.  He gestured 
for Doug to follow him and took the steps two at a time.

Special Agent Dean Waring stood just shy of six feet, was slim and boyish looking, with 
light brown hair, and a wild tie that brightened up his otherwise boring outfit.  The man 
smiled as Walter reached him.

"Dean, it's good to see you again.  It's been a while."

He gestured towards Doug and introduced the two men.  "This is Doug Astren, my fellow 
ASAC on the DC serial case.  Doug, Dean Waring."

The shorter man smiled and stretched his hand out to shake with both men.  "Good to see 
you again Walt.  Nice to meet you, Doug."

Walter hefted his briefcase and said, "Do you have a few minutes?"

"Sure, let's come in here."  Dean gestured to the AV Control room in the back of the 
auditorium, then swung the door open.

Walter started pulling files out immediately, laying the most pertinent reports out, side by 
side.  He stepped back then, letting Dean review the material at his leisure.  He took the 
time to look out into the auditorium.  The students were starting to straggle in, in ones 
and twos.  It was a mixed group, with new trainees as well as the cops attending the 
National Academy mixed together.  

A ruckus up at the front caught his attention and he watched as two of the younger male 
students tossing what appeared to be a racquetball around the room.  The goal was 
evidently to see how many walls they could hit and still have it return to them.  They 
obviously made a mistake as the ball bounced off a wall and whacked another trainee in 
the head.  The kid then grabbed the ball and threw it, as if it were a basketball, some forty 
feet across the room and directly into a trash can.  He then blew on his hand in an 
obvious 'I'm so hot' gesture and gave them a wide grin.

Walter shook his head, partly in disgust and partly in appreciation.  It had been a while 
since he'd gone through training and could remember the antics of both students and 
cops.  The pressures of the coursework, coupled with the intense physical challenges 
could drive a person to the very edge.  Any chance to blow off some steam was taken 
advantage of.

It now seemed that the cocky kid was being challenged to repeat his performance.  
Several of those below were egging him on, slapping him on the shoulder and giving him 
other encouraging gestures.  The kid stood up again, glanced around the room, and 
moved even farther back.  Walter had to admire the kid's panache.

Even with the door to the small room closed, Walter knew there was dead silence down 
below.  The kid froze for a moment, then raised his hands and tossed the ball in one fluid 
motion.  It sailed across the room in an arc that was obviously too high.  The kid still 
wore a cocky grin on his face, though and Walter watched as the ball hit a wall, came off 
at an angle to bounce directly in the trash can.  As if time froze, no one in the room below 
moved for a long second or two.  Then pandemonium broke out.

Walter shook his head and glanced to his left.  Dean and Doug had evidently also 
watched the performance below.  He gestured out the window and asked Dean, "Who's 
the hotshot jock?"

"Believe it or not, probably the smartest kid in the class.  Name's Fox Mulder.  First 
week, he blew the pants off his fellows in the obstacle course.  Everyone took him for a 
brainless brawn type.  Until the first serious lecture that demanded some interaction and 
independent thought, that is.  Gave even the seasoned cops a run for their money.  This is 
my third lecture series to this group and it was obvious from day one that boy's going to 
graduate top of his class."

Walter stared at the kid for another moment, taking in the lanky form, the too long hair 
and the cocky smirk.  "Boy looks like trouble to me."

Dean laughed and slapped him on the arm.  "You're getting to be an old fuddy duddy 
already, Walt."  In a more serious tone he said, "Look, I have about five minutes.  Let's 
talk about this quickly."

They turned back to the table and Dean gestured to the photos he'd laid out.  "This is too 
strange.  No way in hell would anyone assume these are done by the same person.  I'm 
wondering if you've thought about multiples?  Maybe a gang?  This could be some sort 
of strange initiation.  I doubt you'll be able to find anything to tie your vics together.  
Looks to me like they're chosen randomly."

Walter and Doug exchanged puzzled frowns before he said, "The notes clearly relate to 
the victim's lives or background in some way.  They imply that a knowledge of the 
victim's lives is known a priori."

"Not really.  He or they know something before they send the note.  That doesn't 
necessarily mean they knew it before they killed the victims.  The notes come a week or 
more later, right?  Plenty of time to find out something about the person before 
constructing the note."

For the first time, Walter felt truly uneasy -- and stupid.  Neither he nor Doug had 
considered such an obvious fact.

"But if we can't use the notes to figure out who the UNSUB is, the victims have nothing 
to do with one another, he has no clear M. O., and he's too smart to leave any evidence, 
how the hell are we supposed to catch the bastard?  Or bastards?"

Dean looked at him apologetically and said in a tentative tone, "Luck out and catch him 
in the act?"

He was shocked by the realization that Doug's earlier negativity might actually be right.  
They might actually fail.  They might be completely unable to catch this bastard.

Dean interrupted his thoughts by saying, "Look, sorry to run out on you but I need to get 
down there.  Feel free to contact me on this, okay?  If you can give me some files, I'll 
review them in greater detail."

As if sensing the disappointment in the room he added, "You never know, guys.  These 
kinds of cases -- it's sometimes plain dumb luck that solves them and sometimes it's plain 
old detective work.  I've seen enough of them to know that you can never know.  You 
have to follow every lead and explore every option.  Listen, give me a ring and we'll talk 
again, okay?"

Walter nodded and shook hands with the man silently, then watched through the window 
as he made his way to the front of the class.  He turned to Doug and leaned back against 
the glass window, suddenly exhausted.

"Time to talk to Patterson, huh?"

Doug merely nodded agreement, looking every bit as tired as he himself felt.  "Got a bad 
feeling about this one, Walt."

He sighed and nodded in return.  "I know what you mean, Doug, I know what you mean."

The lights had been dimmed in the room below.  He turned and looked out the window as 
the slide projector next to him clicked over.  Dean stood at the lectern with a pointer 
aimed at the image on the screen below.  The half clad body of a woman was displayed, 
obviously dead, with crime scene tape in the background and various police officers 
standing around in bored detachment.  Blood covered the body as well as the surrounding 
ground.  The slide projector clicked again and suddenly he was seeing a close up of the 
woman's face.  Tear tracks showed quite clearly that the woman had undergone horrible 
torture prior to death.  

He was filled with outrage and frustration at the knowledge that somewhere out there, the 
UNSUB was laughing at them.  Taunting them with notes.  Challenging them with every 
murder.  And he wasn't at all sure that there was anything he could do about it.  

He felt older suddenly.  It had been a long week already and he knew -- really knew -- 
that they had a long way to go before this case would be brought to any closure.  He sent 
a silent prayer to the Lord above to help him keep focused.  To help him see what he 
needed to see so he could do what he needed to do.  He glanced down into the classroom 
once more and saw yet another blood covered body on display.  He was sick of the sight, 
but knew he'd see plenty more before this case was done.

*******************************************

Present Day, Hour 4 of the Wait
Sunday, 2:43 a.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia


She'd been listening to Skinner for the past two hours and despite the fuzziness that 
surrounded her found that she was interested in his story.

She turned to look at her mother and was reassured by her calm presence.  She looked 
across the bed then to Skinner.  He'd taken a break from his recollections to sip at the 
remains of a cup of coffee, and now wore a grimace of obvious distaste.  She smiled 
slightly at the sight, then dragged her head to the right to look at Mulder's face.

They'd moved him so that he was propped somewhat on his left side.  His head was 
turned towards her.  Normally they would have had him fully on his side, moving his 
position every 4-6 hours to avoid accumulation of fluid in the lungs, but his broken rib 
and wounds prevented this.  The best they could do was to prop him on foam triangular 
shaped pillows that raised his right side some six or seven inches.

He was so pale it seemed his skin was translucent.  A blood spotted bandage covered 
much of the left side of his face.  A sheet was pulled up to his shoulders, but she knew 
well the bruises, cuts and wounds it covered.  His arms rested on the top of the sheet, his 
right sporting an IV drip.  Wires from various sensors were attached to his chest and 
head, and sprouted from the sheet wildly.  He was motionless, his chest barely moving, 
and the sight once again caused fear to grip her.

She swallowed past the tightness in her throat and bit her lower lip.  All sound had faded 
so that she heard only the slow and struggling breaths Mulder managed under the oxygen 
mask.  Time seemed to slow as she raised her right hand to touch his forehead, careful to 
avoid the bandages. His skin felt as if it were on fire and she felt the heat emanating, 
even from inches away. Her heart lurched and her breathing sped up as she realized the 
implications of the fever.  She stroked his forehead softly and then trailed her finger 
down his cheek.  

She stared at her partner and tried to imagine the fresh-faced cocky kid of Skinner's story.  
A small smile made its way to her face as she pictured trainee Fox Mulder sinking the 
racquetball from some fifty feet away.  She could almost imagine the sly grin -- the high 
fives with his buddies -- his quiet pride.  She was filled with curiosity then about the 
carefree youth Skinner described.  She wanted to get to know that man.  She prayed she'd 
have the chance.

Her reverie was broken by movement from the bed.  For one electrifying second, she 
thought Mulder was wakening from the coma.  Then reality set in as alarms went off on 
three of the monitors in the room.  It started slowly, with her partner's right arm and leg 
shaking, gently at first and then more violently.  

She heard Skinner mumble "Shit" just before doctors and nurses poured into the room.  
The head nurse said, "You all need to step out.  Now."  There was no question about 
arguing.  Scully stood immediately and took a step backwards.  Then her mother was 
pulling on her arm and before she knew what had happened, she was in the hallway, with 
Skinner on one side and her mother on the other.

She was shaking so hard she could barely stand.  Skinner tried to pull her away, down the 
hallway to a waiting room, but she resisted.  She stared through the window at the 
activity inside.  He was seizing.  Her partner and best friend was completely consumed 
by a seizure, the convulsions causing his previously motionless body to jerk and twitch in 
sickeningly unnatural ways.  The question was why.  And she was terrified of what the 
answer might be.

She lost the battle to stay and watch, as Skinner and her mother finally managed to pull 
her away. The lights were dimmed throughout most of the ward, and they were the only 
visitors who'd been allowed to stay.  She was barely even cognizant of moving through 
the Critical Care ward and out the double doors that slammed behind them with a clang 
of finality. Then she found herself sitting on a couch, sandwiched between her mother 
and Skinner, and didn't even know how it had happened.  

Almost as if she had no control over her own body, she found herself leaning to the left 
and into her mother's embrace.  It felt safe.  It was reassuring.  She closed her eyes and 
willed herself away, to someplace else.  Willed herself to stop seeing the jerking body of 
her partner.  But no matter how tightly she closed her eyes, no matter how much she 
wanted to banish the sight, she was powerless to achieve the feat.  

*******************************************

Present Day, Hour 4 of the Wait
Sunday, 3:16 a.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia


A doctor entered the Critical Care waiting room and sat down in the chair across from the 
couch.  Scully heard her boss call her name and dragged her eyes open. She'd been 
repeating the same words over and over to herself, whispering them in her mind.  'Don't 
let him die.  Don't let him die.'  As she focused on the man waiting across the room, her 
breath caught in fear.  

The older man was staring directly at her, as if somehow sensing the impact his words 
would have on her.  "Mrs. Mulder?"

She felt both her mother and Skinner shift and it was her former boss who actually spoke.  
"Agent Scully is Agent Mulder's partner with the FBI.  I'm Assistant Director Skinner.  
This is Dana's mother, Margaret Scully."

The man seemed surprised for just a moment and then went on.  "Mr. Mulder -- I mean 
Agent Mulder -- suffered convulsions in the extremities on his right side as a result of 
swelling of his brain due to the impact he'd received.  We'd hoped to avoid this, but were 
aware of the possibility."

It was what she'd surmised and now that her suspicion was confirmed, she began 
trembling in fear.  She understood what her mother and Skinner did not -- that in his 
already weakened state, her partner might not recover from the trauma to which his brain 
had been subjected.

She heard Skinner's voice as if it came to her through cotton.  "What does this mean?  
What now?"

"We may have to operate to reduce the pressure.  I want to avoid that if at all possible.  
At this point, I'm not sure if he's strong enough to handle that option."

Then her mother entered the discussion, her voice wavering just slightly.  "But if you 
wait, won't he possibly be weakened even further?"

There was a short silence then and Scully knew what it meant.  She answered her mother 
in a near whisper.  "He's saying that if they operate now, Mulder will die.  The only hope 
is that the swelling will reduce on its own or that Mulder will somehow regain enough 
strength so that they can operate."

The doctor looked uneasy but didn't deny her words.  He slipped forward in his seat and 
said, "I think it would be wise to get his family here.  As soon as possible."

She heard her mother breathe in sharply beside her and gripped her hand more tightly.  

Skinner spoke then and his voice seemed so very far away.  "I already spoke with his 
mother.  I'll contact her again."

Scully felt as though she were in a vat of water.  Every breath was a struggle, every 
sound was muffled.  Every move felt as if she were fighting against a resistance that 
required more energy than it was worth.  But she managed to say, "We are his family."  
She couldn't continue with the thought.  Instead she raised her hand to cover her face, not 
even aware of the drops that fell through her fingers.

Her mother pulled her close again and she went willingly, content this once to allow 
someone else to make decisions for her.  

She again heard Skinner's voice, as if it were coming from across the room and had to 
travel through yards of cotton, "When can we see him again?"

She managed to focus on the doctor finally.  He stood slowly, eyes on his linked hands, 
and said, "You can all go in now.  We're monitoring him, trying to bring down the fever 
and reduce the swelling with medication.  We'll just have to wait.  It might help to keep 
talking to him, though.  Let him know you're there."

The doctor left and she felt her arm being shaken lightly.  She looked up into Skinner's 
concerned eyes, and was overcome by a feeling of closeness to this man.  "Sir?"

"Come on, Scully.  Let's go see him.  Come on, now."

She nodded, unable to speak, and allowed herself to be pulled upright.  With stumbling 
steps, she made her way through the double doors and into the hall leading to the Critical 
Care ward.  It stretched long before them and it seemed to take forever to arrive back at 
the window that opened on his room. There were more wires -- more machines now, and 
one of them caused them all to freeze in their tracks.  He was no longer breathing on his 
own.  A ventilator forced air in and out of his lungs, in a mechanical attempt to cheat 
death.

The doctor's voice sounded behind them, unexpectedly.  "We wanted to help him 
preserve his strength as much as possible.  That's all."

She heard his footsteps lead away from them then and felt a pull on her arm once again.  
It was her mother this time, saying, "Let's go in, sweetheart.  Let's let him know we're 
here for him."

She nodded and took a shaky step towards the door. They weren't restricting visitors.  
They didn't care if all three of them stayed in Mulder's room.  She knew they'd already 
given up on her partner, but she wasn't ready to do that.  She couldn't give up on him.  
She'd never give up.

She couldn't sit yet.  She stood next to the bed, staring at the tubes and wires, the 
bandages and the blood that showed here and there.  They'd moved him yet again so that 
this time he was propped slightly on his right side.  She leaned forward, careful to avoid 
the machines and wires, and rested her elbows on the bed.  She gently laid her hands on 
his left arm and whispered to him, praying that somehow, some way, something would 
make its way through to him.

"Mulder, I won't give up on you and you can't give up on yourself.  You owe me some 
stories.  I have a feeling AD Skinner doesn't know everything about you from back then, 
when you were going through training, and I'd like to hear it from you directly.  Okay, 
Mulder?  You owe it to me, partner."

She sank down in the seat then, her hands still on Mulder's arm, and turned to her left to 
look at her mother.  She was filled with anger suddenly and had to clench her jaw tightly.  
She was angry at the circumstances, angry at herself for not being there, angry with 
Mulder for not waiting for backup.  Goddamn it!  God damn him for doing this to her.

Her mother seemed to sense her feelings -- her anger.  Maggie Scully raised her hand to 
caress her cheek gently.  Her mother said, "It's not your fault and it's not Fox's.  People 
are who they are.  You wouldn't want him to be any other way."

Her mother was right, she knew it, but it didn't really help.  "But it will get him killed and 
... I don't think I could bear it.  I know I couldn't."

"Sweetheart, you can't even think it.  You need to think only about one thing right now.  
You need to think about Fox getting better.  Can you do that for him?"

She nodded, her head moving sluggishly.  She took a deep breath, and turned to look 
across the bed at Skinner.  She normally hid her feelings, avoided letting anyone in.  
When Mulder'd been lost at sea, she'd trusted Skinner implicitly, knowing he'd help.  And 
he had, as he had so many times in the past.  He was a true friend and she knew he'd be 
there to support them both as long as they needed it.

He was trying to smile in encouragement and she found that it helped.  Just having him 
here, having her mother here, helped.  She leaned back in her chair just slightly and said 
to him, "Sir, tell me .. tell me about Mulder.  Tell me how he got involved in your case 
back then."  

He nodded to her, his smile growing larger and more confident, and said, "It's a long 
story."

"We have plenty of time, sir."

*******************************************
End Part 4 of ?
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Ascent to Hell
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