*******************************************
Ascent to Hell - Part 7 of ? (7/?)
by Kronos (clb@eng.buffalo.edu)
*******************************************


Present Day, Hour 8 of the Wait
Sunday, 6:51 a.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia


He didn't like this memory at all and for the first time tried to direct his thoughts.  He'd 
been content till now to let the waves of memory crash over him, but no longer liked 
where the wave had thrown him.  The voices were kind but they had dredged this 
horrible memory up from where he'd stashed it away, thinking at the time that he'd never 
have to face it again.  It was time to try to take back control of the wave.

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

Walter Skinner looked down at his watch and tried to calculate just how long ago it was 
since everything turned to shit.  Just about twelve hours since Mulder headed off on his 
own.  And almost eight hours since Mulder came out of surgery.  He took off his glasses 
and rubbed his hand across his face, scrubbing his eyes hard.  God, he was tired.  The 
night had seemed to stretch forever and recollections of that day so long ago only served 
to depress him.  A pall had settled over the room at the telling of Mulder's first step 
towards involvement in the DC Murders case.

There was a window in Mulder's room, with mini-blinds closed tightly.  Still, he could 
tell from the bright shafts of light making their way in that the sun had risen.  It was a 
new day and his agent had managed to make it through the long night.  Now, if only the 
man could hang on a little longer his body might have a chance to make that critical turn.  
It might have a chance to start healing.

He sighed and replaced his glasses, settling them on the bridge of his nose just so.  He 
heard Maggie Scully sigh next to him and turned to her.  She wore a sweet but sad smile 
as she looked at Mulder.

"Do you know, Dana, when you were returned to us after your abduction and you were so 
sick, Fox and I talked quite a bit.  It was sort of like this.  Sometimes Missy was there, 
but often it was just the two of us."

He glanced across the bed to see that both Scully and Teena Mulder were interested in 
what Maggie had to say, eyes focused on her in anticipation.

"He told me that there were nights when you were missing when he'd wake up in a cold 
sweat, screaming, thinking about where you were and what might be happening to you.  
He said he kept going over every moment of the last day you'd been together, trying to 
see whether he could have done anything differently.  He said he wished his mind came 
with a switch so that he could turn it off."

Skinner thought he understood exactly what his agent had meant, but began to doubt his 
understanding when Teena Mulder spoke. 

"You know, I imagine, that Fox has a photographic memory."

It was both a question and a statement, but it was obvious she didn't expect or really want 
a reply.

"It's been both a blessing and a curse throughout his life.  Do you know, I wonder, what it 
means to have a photographic memory?"

Again the question was rhetorical.

"As a child, even a very small child, he remembered most everything.  Every little 
detail."  A smile settled over her features as she said, "When he was just two he wanted a 
dog.  Bill told him he was too young to take care of a dog and we'd get him one when he 
was older.  He asked how old and Bill said six.  You know, just to give Fox an answer."

Skinner already knew where this was heading and Teena Mulder confirmed it with her 
next words.  "So on his sixth birthday, we had a party.  He opened one present after 
another as if it was all just some task he had to complete to get to the really good 
presents.  Then he just looked at Bill and me, obviously waiting for something.  We had 
no idea what was going on.  I mean, it had been four years before and neither of us really 
remembered the comment.  At least not at first."

The smile was even wider now as she continued.  "Well, I'm sure you know what 
happened next.  He just sat there, staring at us, the smile on his face fading with every 
second.  Bill asked him what was wrong -- didn't he like his presents?  And he said, 'Yes, 
Dad, but where's my dog?'"  

They were all smiling at the image of a precocious Fox Mulder dragging up a throw-
away sentence from four years before and presenting it as a dyed in the wool promise his 
parents had to deliver on.

"Bill and I just looked at each other in confusion and Fox said, 'You told me that when I 
was six I could have a dog.  I've been waiting and now I'm six.'  He just looked at us like 
we were these pathetic creatures who couldn't remember even the simplest of promises."

That elicited laughter all around.

"So needless to say, we folded immediately and ended up with an addition to the family. 
Scout was smelly and messy and way too big for our house, but Fox did love that dog.  
And he took care of him, too."

After a minute's reflection, Teena Mulder said, "There were so many situations like that.  
He kept us on our toes from the very beginning.  We couldn't put anything past him -- 
and neither could his teachers.  I think they mostly wanted to strangle him, but did an 
admirable job of pretending otherwise during parent-teacher days."

Skinner was relieved to see the look of cautious delight on Scully's face.  She was 
enjoying hearing these little tidbits from her partner's mother.  But then Teena's smile 
faded.

"The flip side of his memory was that ... well, to put it simply, he couldn't forget.  He 
couldn't forget even when he wanted to."

She sighed heavily then, and everyone in the room knew she was thinking about her 
missing daughter and the impact that event had on her family and, specifically, her son.  
She was looking at Mulder with such an air of sadness that it permeated the room and 
became an almost tangible thing.

"For years after Samantha disappeared, I'd catch him looking at something with the 
oddest expression. I'd ask him what he was looking at.  What was wrong?  He'd always 
say, 'I was just remembering when ...' and then proceed to recite some event involving 
Sammy that neither Bill nor I could ever remember."  She shook her head slightly, her 
hands gripped in her lap.  "Every little detail.  Every shared moment of their lives.  He 
remembered it all. Every word and phrase, expression and action.  And for years, it 
affected his sleep."

Skinner realized she was looking right at him.  "I guess I'm not surprised he had 
nightmares about those case files.  He always did put himself into other's shoes.  Tried to 
understand their motivations for doing things.  He always wanted to know why.  In fact, 
there was this time when he was just five ..."  Teena was smiling widely again as she 
looked at each of them in turn.  "You know, I do believe it would qualify as his very first 
case."


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


December 13, 1965
Tuesday, 4:53 p.m.
Mulder Residence, Martha's Vineyard


Teena was at her wit's end.  Dealing with a rambunctious Fox on a tear was one thing -- a 
normal day, in fact.  But dealing with a rambunctious Fox on a tear, his rowdy seven year 
old neighbor, Todd, and a screeching baby for hours on end, while stuck inside on a cold 
and rainy day ...  Well, that was enough to make her seriously weigh the penalties for 
infanticide.

She and her neighbor, Erika, had agreed to exchange baby-sitting detail every week so 
that they could have time to do the shopping without their whirlwind boys in tow.  It had 
been reasonably successful, until now.  She had chased them back to Fox's room to play 
in the hopes she would get a half hour to try to get Samantha calmed down.  Her baby 
daughter was not a happy camper this afternoon.

When the doorbell rang a little before five, Teena prayed it was Erika coming to retrieve 
her son.  She opened the door and almost collapsed in relief.  Stepping back, she waved 
her friend in, and yelled, "Todd, your mother's here.  Boys, get out here."

When she turned back to her neighbor, Erika was laughing quietly.  "Teena, I'm sorry.  It 
looks like you've about had it with them today.  Was it normal disaster or special 
circumstance disaster?"

Teena had to laugh with her friend.  "Oh, pretty normal.  But I couldn't send them outside 
because of the rain, so it was all contained within the house."

The crash that came from behind her didn't even startle her anymore.  She'd grown used 
to such noises over the course of the day.  She turned to see a small end table overturned 
with both boys working to right it.  Nothing was broken, of course.  She'd Fox-proofed 
her house a few years before. When her son stood and looked up at her, she could tell he 
was honestly sorry.  She smiled and waved him to her.

"It's okay, Fox, now come on in here and say hello to Mrs. Callo."

She watched him turn shy as he came down the hall next to his friend.  He was two years 
younger than Todd and it showed clearly in their respective sizes.  Fox was a slight child, 
a good five inches smaller than the older boy, but they actually were best of friends, with 
comparable personalities and interests.  They were usually content to play outside in the 
yard for hours and only had difficulties today because of the rain.

Erika ran her hand over her son's head, trying to smooth the unruly hair.  "You ready to 
head home, kiddo?"  

Teena knew immediately it was the wrong question.

"Can I stay for dinner, mom?  Fox and I were playing Army.  We didn't finish yet."

Teena felt a momentary alarm at the prospect of dealing with the two of them for another 
few hours, but Erika headed the suggestion off at the pass quite effectively.

"Not tonight.  Remember, your dad's going to be home in about a half hour and we're 
supposed to go to Grandma's.  We have to get home and get ready."

Teena smiled broadly as the two boys exchanged pushes and shoves in their own little 
good-bye ritual.  She sighed deeply in relief when she was finally able to close the door 
on her neighbors.

"Okay, Fox, it's just us for a while and I have to get dinner going.  I'm running really late 
tonight.  Do you think you can play quietly for a while by yourself?  Maybe you could 
read?"

Despite the obvious disappointment, her son nodded and wandered off to the back of the 
house.  She managed to get her fussy daughter down for a nap and was almost done 
getting dinner ready an hour later when she heard the yelling coming from Fox's room.

She ran back to his room, heart pounding in fear, and came to an abrupt stop at the sight 
of her son, tears rolling down his cheeks, as he threw things from one spot on the floor to 
another.  He was almost hysterical and after only a few seconds of watching him, she 
could tell he was looking for something.

"Fox, what is it?  What's wrong?"

His strained voice almost broke her heart when he replied anxiously.  "I can't find him.  
Quest is gone.  Help me find him, Mommy."

The 'mommy' almost caused her to cry.  Her little boy had grown up so fast that he had 
started calling her 'mom' the year before.  For him to forget meant that he was extremely 
upset.  She glanced at the empty cage, then dropped to her knees beside him and placed a 
hand on his back.  

He just shrugged it off and said, in an even more frantic voice, "Help me, Mommy."

She nodded and lifted piles of toys carefully, moving from one side of the room to the 
other, thinking hard about what to say to her distraught son.  "Fox, we'll find him.  Don't 
worry.  Gerbil's are known for escaping from their cages."  He didn't answer, so she 
turned to look at him.  

He was sitting in the corner, back to both walls, with his arms around his knees.  He was 
trying not to cry, but his lip trembled and the tears pooled in his eyes, occasionally 
traveling down his cheeks to drop off his chin.  He expected her to make it better.  He 
expected her to find Quest for him and make it all better.

She went over to him, wanting more than anything to make it all better.  She couldn't 
stand to see him so upset.  She sat next to him and was almost surprised when he allowed 
her to pull him close.  She hugged him tightly and leaned down to kiss the top of his 
head.  His hair was mussed and standing in spikes here and there, his cowlicks wreaking 
their usual havoc.  She raised a hand to smooth his hair, then kissed him again.

"Fox, sweetheart, just because you haven't found him yet doesn't mean we won't.  We 
haven't looked everywhere.  He could be anywhere in the house right now."  She reached 
down to take his chin in her hand and tilted his head so she could look right in his eyes.  
"You know how fast that little squirt is, right?"

She was relieved to see the slight grin appear.  The slightly smirking grin that always 
suggested, 'I know something you don't'.

"I'll tell you what.  Why don't we go over everything you remember about the last time 
you saw Quest.  Okay?"

He sniffed loudly, a thoughtful expression settling over his face.  "I saw him when I came 
in to get my six-shooters and I knew they were in the chest next to the cage.  When I was 
looking for them, I saw Quest.  He was eating.  That was the last time I looked in the 
cage."

"When was that?  If we can narrow down the time, we'll have an idea of how long he 
might be missing.  That way, we can figure out how far he might have gotten."

She could tell he was thinking hard, mulling over what she'd said.  He had the oddest 
expression on his face, as if he'd had a revelation of some sort.

"It was right after lunch."

He started pulling away from her so she loosened her grip.  He was so independent.  Too 
darned independent.  She sighed a bit and let him go, watching him think.

"Mom, what time is it now?"

She could practically see the gears turning.  She glanced down at her watch and said, "It's 
almost six."

"That means he could have been gone from his cage for ..."

He was chewing on his lip, trying to work it out.  He'd had a math epiphany the year 
before when he began to understand the concept of addition and subtraction.  The telling 
time epiphany followed close after.

His brow was furrowed in concentration when he said in a quiet voice, "He could be gone 
for five hours, right, Mom?"

She was filled with pride at his deduction, but also with worry at the resulting fact.  
"That's right.  So you see, Fox, Quest could be just about anywhere in the house.  I think 
we need to organize a search and rescue, what do you say?"

She'd tried to say it lightly, but the reality was that there probably wasn't an awful lot of 
hope.  The little thing could be in the ventilation system, for all she knew.

He nodded though, his expression now determined.  She had no doubt he was already 
planning out the search procedures.  She heard the front door open and was filled with 
relief.  Bill was home.  Thank God.  He'd be able to help.  Before she could even shift 
position to get up, Fox was up and running.

When she caught up to him, he was already filling his father in on the details.  Bill 
looked at her with raised eyebrows.  She knew what he was asking.  'Could the gerbil still 
be alive?' They could practically read each other's minds after nine years of marriage.  
She shrugged back to him. 'Maybe.  I hope so.'

Bill was kneeling down in front of their still rambling son.  When Fox paused for a 
breath, Bill said, "Whoa, there.  Slow down, now.  If Quest has been missing that long, 
we need to approach this logically and think it through.  Let's not just jump in with both 
feet, okay, son?"

Fox nodded solemnly, waiting for his father to tell him what to do next.  Bill dropped his 
briefcase and jacket on the floor and took his son's hand to lead him into the living room.  
By the way he sank into the couch, Teena could tell it hadn't been a particularly good 
day.  Still, here he was, taking the time to attack the latest Mulder household crisis.  

Bill pulled his son forward so Fox was standing right in front of him.  Her husband held 
both Fox's hands in his as he said, "Now, if Quest has been loose for five hours, he could 
be anywhere, right?  So I think we need to go room by room and eliminate all the 
possibilities, okay?"

Fox nodded again, understanding.  In the back room, Teena heard her daughter crying 
and exchanged glances with her husband.  She left them, knowing that Bill had things 
well in hand.  She heard movement in the room next to Samantha's and knew they were 
starting the search in Fox's room.  No tears or hysterics now.  Fox had obviously calmed 
down and was attacking the search with great seriousness.

Three hours later, the house had been turned upside down, everyone was starving from 
lack of dinner, it was way past Fox's bedtime, and Quest remained unfound.  She 
convinced her son to eat something and sent him off to get ready for bed.  When she 
came into his room ten minutes later to tuck him in, she could tell he was still wide 
awake.

He was on his side, curled slightly, eyes glued to the cage sitting on the table next to his 
bed.  His eyes flicked to hers when she came in and he said in a small, tremulous voice, 
"The cage door was closed, Mom.  How'd he get out?  I don't understand."

She moved over to the bed and sat down next to him, her hand smoothing back his unruly 
hair.  "I don't know, Fox.  Gerbils are pretty tricky."

He didn't seem to be convinced.  She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, 
whispering, "Try to get some sleep.  Maybe he'll turn up in the morning."

He nodded, but she could tell it would be a long night.  She stood and walked to the door, 
then turned back and said, "Sleep well, sweet boy."

Five hours later, she was awakened from a deep sleep by a buzzing.  She jerked upright 
just as Bill did, and jumped out of the bed, somewhat disoriented.  She heard Samantha 
start to cry and knew what her first priority was.  She'd already taken two steps towards 
her daughter's room when it dawned on her that it was the doorbell.  She turned to find 
her husband already slipping on a pair of pants and a shirt.  

He said, "I'll get it.  You make sure Samantha and Fox are okay."

She heard him opening the door even as she lifted her daughter out of the crib.  She was 
just getting ready to check on Fox when Bill yelled for her.  She practically ran into the 
hallway to see her husband, Erika's husband Allan, Fox, and Todd standing in front of the 
closed door.  Both boys looked scared to death and she couldn't imagine what in the 
world was happening.

Allan seemed to be fighting a smile when he said, "We had a little visitor.  Scared us to 
death.  I figured I'd bring him back to you before you started calling the police."

His words sunk in then and she realized Fox had left the house and gone next door.  She 
struggled with confusion, not able to imagine a reason why he might have done such a 
thing.  Her husband seemed equally confused and waved towards the living room.

"Why don't we all come sit down and figure this out?"

She'd managed to get Samantha back to sleep so brought the baby back to her bed, 
tucking her in carefully before heading back to the living room.  Fox had staked out one 
of the high back chairs and looked lost in it, his little legs sticking straight out in front of 
him.  He had his tennis shoes on with his Star Trek pajamas.  She couldn't really find it in 
her to be angry just yet.  He was a good little boy and there had to be a reason that made 
sense.

With everyone settled, Bill looked across the room to his son and asked, "Fox, can you 
tell us why you went next door in the middle of the night without checking with me or 
your mom first?"

She saw the little jaw jut out and felt a flutter of worry and concern for her headstrong 
son.

"I went to find Quest."

The response surprised her husband as much as it had her.

"But, Fox.  There's no way Quest could have made it all the way next door.  I thought we 
decided we'd talk about it in the morning.  What made you think he could have traveled 
all that way?"

Bill was trying to keep his voice even, but the exasperation was clear.  It didn't help in 
getting information out of Fox, though.

"His cage door was closed when I found out he was missing."

Fox said this as if it would answer everyone's questions.  It only frustrated her husband 
even more.

"Fox, what does that have to do with anything?"

Her son crossed his arms tightly, hugging his chest, then answered, "There's no way he 
could have gotten out of the cage."

"But he obviously did, Fox."

The lip jutted out to match the chin.  Fox merely stared at his father with a look she could 
only describe as disdainful.  It was disconcerting and she decided it was time to enter the 
fray.

"Fox, I don't understand.  Can you explain why you thought Quest was next door."

His little shoulders dropped, and he sighed heavily.  He turned to her with tears in his 
eyes and said again, "The door was closed, Mom. He couldn't have gotten out."

And then something curious happened.  She saw Fox shoot a quick glance across the 
room to Todd.  She watched the little boy drop his head and flush and suddenly it all 
started to make sense.  And she knew Fox was right.  The cage door was closed and 
latched when he found it empty.  There was no way the little gerbil could have escaped 
on its own.

She could tell by Bill's expression that he'd had it with the entire conversation so she 
jumped in quickly.  She turned to their little neighbor and said, "Todd, do you like Quest, 
sweetheart?"

She could see both Bill and Allan jerk in surprise, but Todd didn't seem surprised when 
he answered in a soft voice, "Yes, ma'am."

"You like playing with him?"

Todd just nodded, his little hands gripped tightly in his lap.

"You know Fox loves him very much."

The little boy nodded again and then sniffed loudly.

"Did you maybe borrow him?  To play with him?"

He looked up at her then and nodded again.  He glanced over at his father before ducking 
his head in shame.  She could tell both Bill and Allan were shocked, neither of them 
having put the pieces together in time.

"Todd, where is Quest now?"

The little boy reached into his coat pocket and dug around for a moment before pulling 
out the little ball of fur.  She held her breath for a moment until she saw movement, then 
smiled.  Poor Allan was red with embarrassment and Bill still seemed stunned.

"Sweetheart, why don't you and Fox bring Quest back to his cage and make sure he has 
food and water, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She watched the two boys move out of the room and out of sight before turning back to 
her neighbor with a smile.

Allan was obviously horrified and said, "I am so sorry about this.  I had no idea."

She raised a hand and said, "Allan, he's just a little boy.  I'm sure he didn't think about the 
consequences.  All he wanted to do was have some fun."

"I'll talk with him.  I'm so sorry."

They were standing now and the boys had rejoined them.  She was proud of Fox when he 
said to his friend, "I'll see you tomorrow."  It took a great deal of character to forgive 
someone as he'd done.

When Allan and Todd had gone, leaving them alone, Bill knelt down to look his son in 
the eye.  "I'm sorry, son.  You were trying to tell me what happened and I just wasn't 
listening."  She saw Fox smile a little.  Then her husband asked with honest interest, 
"How did you figure it out, Fox?"

Her son tilted his head to the side and seemed to bite at his lip.  Then he said, "I checked 
the cage, Dad.  There wasn't any way Quest could get out.  I saw him right after lunch.  
He was okay.  There was just Mom and Samantha and me and I knew Mom didn't let him 
out.  I knew Samantha couldn't have done it and I didn't do it.  The only other one here 
was Todd.  Todd's always liked Quest."

She could see the pride now shining over her husband's smiling face.  "And you figured 
all this out on your own?"

Fox nodded solemnly.

"But why go over in the middle of the night?  Why not tell your mom or me?"

"I dreamed about it, Dad.  I woke up and I knew I dreamed it right."

"What do you mean, you dreamed it?"

"I dreamed I saw someone take Quest out of his cage and I followed him through the 
house and over to Todd's house and I dreamed I saw Todd playing with him.  I knew I 
dreamed it right and I wanted to get Quest back."

She felt her breath catch and stared at her husband in shock.  In her entire life, she'd 
never solved a dilemma in her sleep.  She couldn't even imagine how it might happen.  
She knelt down next to her husband and, still silent, stared into her son's face, as if she'd 
never seen him before.  Bill was struggling with the concept as much as she, but finally 
she just said, "I'm glad you dreamed it right, Fox.  Now why don't we all go to bed and 
get some sleep?  How does that sound?"

Then she did something she hardly ever did anymore.  She picked him up and hugged 
him tightly and she almost cried from happiness when he wrapped his arms and legs 
around her and rested his head on her shoulder.  She walked slowly, knowing that this 
might be one of the last times he'd ever let her carry him like this.  She wanted it to last.  
She wanted to keep him this age forever.  But the walk ended all too soon and she had to 
lay him down in his bed finally.  He was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.  She 
leaned over anyway and whispered, "I love you, sweet boy."


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


Present Day, Hour 9 of the Wait
Sunday, 7:23 a.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia


Skinner had been growing more frustrated by the second.  A part of him didn't want to 
hear these stories.  It was easier to keep a professional distance when you didn't know 
personal information about your agents.  It was easier not to care what happened to them.

He stood abruptly, deciding he needed to get out of there for a few minutes.  He had to 
stretch his legs, use the restroom, and basically take a break from the sight of his agent -- 
his former agent -- lying broken and quite possibly dying in this room.  He looked around 
at the three women, their eyes glued to him in shock, and felt ashamed. 

He cleared his throat and managed to say, "I'm sorry.  I'm sorry, ladies.  I need to make a 
few phone calls.  I'll be back."

It was a lame excuse and he didn't expect any of them to really believe him.  Without 
even looking behind him he left the room.  He strode down the still silent hallway, 
heading for the double doors that would bring him out of the CCU.  He slowed as he 
reached them and turned to look back.  He couldn't believe he'd been so cowardly.  He 
couldn't believe he'd put himself before his agent.  

He paused there for long moments, trying to decide whether to go back or not.  His 
musings were cut short by the sight of a flashing light above Mulder's door.  A faint 
alarm could be heard echoing down the hallway and then within only seconds, doctors 
and nurses were running towards the very room he'd just vacated.

He was rooted to the floor for several seconds, unable to breathe or even process what 
was happening.  And then Scully, her mother, and Mulder's mother exited the room as if 
propelled, and he was running towards them.  Running to find out whether his agent and 
friend would survive into the new day.

He slid to a stop next to them and discovered he couldn't speak.  Hell, he could barely 
stand.  The rush of adrenaline was still pumping through his system and his heart was 
beating so fast and hard he could practically feel it against his ribs.  His eyes were glued 
to the activity inside the little room.  All the chairs had been pushed out of the way so 
that the two doctors and three nurses could have an unobstructed access.  One of the 
nurses turned and met his eyes, then quickly walked over to close the door and pull the 
curtains.

He heard a gasp from his left and saw that Teena Mulder looked like she was ready to 
collapse.  He finally found the ability to move and went to her quickly, taking her arm to 
steady her and offer a much needed support.  Scully and her mother still stood staring at 
the now closed door in obvious shock.  It was time to move.  He knew he had to get them 
all out of there.

"Let's go to the waiting room.  Mrs. Mulder, Scully, Mrs. Scully ..."

None of the ladies moved and he couldn't tell whether they hadn't heard him or were just 
ignoring him.  He could feel Mrs. Mulder shaking and put his left arm around her 
shoulders while he squeezed her right arm gently.  "Mrs. Mulder, let's go sit down."

The older woman was in a daze but turned her head to look at him.  She finally nodded 
and allowed him to lead her towards the double doors.  He caught Margaret Scully's eye 
and knew she'd bring Dana with her.  He looked back to see Maggie pulling her 
unresisting daughter away from Mulder's room.

The trip to the waiting room was made in complete silence, the only noise coming from 
the scuffling of their shoes and their harsh breathing.  There were others in the waiting 
room now and he steered Mrs. Mulder to a far corner where they'd have at least a little 
privacy.  He helped the woman into a chair and watched as Mrs. Scully did the same with 
her daughter.  He stood and leaned against the wall then, allowing his head to fall back 
against it.  He swallowed hard as he swiveled his head to look at Scully, sitting across 
from Mrs. Mulder.

Scully was white, drained of all color, and visibly shaking. She leaned into her mother, 
who sat on the arm of the chair, holding her daughter tightly. He wasn't sure whether he 
should be more worried about Scully or Mrs. Mulder right now.  

They stayed that way, unspeaking, for over twenty minutes.  Seconds dragged like 
minutes, and minutes like hours.  He felt more and more ill with every passing moment.  
His stomach was clenched in a tight knot and sweat rolled down his back and pooled on 
his forehead. He ran his hand across his face wearily, his fingers pushing at his eyes 
under the glasses. He couldn't believe this was happening.

After everything these two had been through, it seemed obscene that it might end in this 
way.  A partnership brought down by a fucking serial killer.  He closed his eyes and 
leaned his head back against the wall again, irrationally satisfied by the loud thunk the 
motion made.  But then there was a sound -- someone clearing their throat.

His eyes shot open and he pushed himself away from the wall.  A doctor stood there, 
looking at them all, eyes moving almost nervously from one to the other.  He was 
younger than any of the others had been and must have just come on shift within the last 
hour.  Even though he was new, Skinner recognized him as being one of those in the 
room with Mulder.

He couldn't take it any more and blurted out, "How is he?"

The doctor focused on him then when he replied,  "He's hanging in there."

Skinner felt his knees start to give in relief and he had to reach a hand out to brace 
himself against the wall.  There was a rush in his ears and he had to clench his eyes shut 
to regain his equilibrium. When he finally managed to turn to the ladies on his left, he 
found Scully sitting still as stone, eyes glued to the doctor, while Mrs. Mulder sat with 
her face in her hands, quietly crying.  Mrs. Scully was whispering to her daughter and 
while he couldn't hear the words, he knew they were encouraging and soothing.

He breathed deeply and turned to the doctor again. His voice broke when he asked, 
"What happened?"

The doctor again swept his eyes from one to the other before going on.  "His systems 
have been severely compromised.  He's suffered from renal shutdown.  We've got him on 
dialysis right now."  The man paused before saying, "We need to discuss the terms of his 
living will.  I know this was already discussed once, but his condition has worsened."

Skinner watched Scully pull out of her mother's embrace.  She stood slowly, obviously 
struggling to stay upright.  She took a step forward, stronger now, and said simply, "No," 
in a voice that brooked no room for discussion.  She walked out of the waiting room then, 
without turning.  He was damned proud of her, for some reason.  

He turned to the doctor and said, "Can we go back in?"  He already knew that Scully was 
heading there and that she wouldn't take no for an answer.  The doctor wasn't about to 
deny them, at this point.  He merely nodded, then left them alone.

Skinner looked at the two ladies and then at the door that would lead back to the CCU.  
He stayed where he was, deciding to give Scully a few minutes head start.  If anyone 
could get through to Mulder now, it would be his partner.

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

Scully walked straight into the little room, ignoring the nurses and doctors who looked at 
her with their misplaced pity.  They only angered her.  What the hell did they know about 
Mulder?  They knew nothing, if they were so willing to think that it was over.  Mulder 
never gave up.  It wasn't in him.  She stood at the foot of the bed and just looked at her 
partner, willing him to get stronger.  To wake up.  To open his eyes and look at her.  

There was a loud beep that sounded every forty seconds or so.  It was a new sound that 
emanated from the portable dialysis machine they'd installed by the left side of the bed, 
towards his head.  She moved to his right side and stared at him, her eyes moving from 
head to foot, then back.  This couldn't be the last image she had of him.  God couldn't be 
that unfair, could he?  

She took a sobbing breath, then fought down the panic.  The doctors couldn't be right.  
She wouldn't believe them.  Never.

She moved suddenly, filled with the need to convey her thoughts to him.  She knew that 
he could hear her.  She was certain of it.  She leaned forward so she could speak right in 
Mulder's ear.  Her left hand was clutching the cooling blanket tightly and the fingers of 
her right hand were wrapped in his hair.  Her lips brushed at the hair by his ear as she 
whispered to him.

"I know you're tired, Mulder.  I know you want to rest.  But this isn't the way."

She closed her eyes to fight off the tears that had suddenly pooled.  She was done with 
tears.  No more.  She sniffed and cleared her throat and then spoke again, more strongly.

"I need to talk with you about some things, Mulder, and I need you awake to do it.  I can't 
have a conversation with you when you're just lying there."

She moved back and released the grip of her right hand enough to move her hand through 
his hair.  She rested it on the top of his head then.

"I think, Mulder, that you're just taking your own route back to us.  That's okay.  I 
understand it.  But you've got your mother pretty frightened.  And I think you're scaring 
Skinner and my mom, too."

She stroked his forehead, then leaned forward to kiss him, brushing her lips lightly 
against his.  She whispered to him one last time.  "I need you back here, Mulder.  Don't 
leave me alone.  Please."

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

Skinner followed Margaret Scully and Teena Mulder as they walked slowly back to the 
CCU.  His steps were slow and sluggish.  He was filled with apprehension, and admitted 
to himself that he'd started to give up hope.  Maybe Mulder's run was over.  After all, 
how could the man possibly come back from such a weakened state?  As soon as he 
admitted the thought, he became angry with himself.

When he entered the room behind Margaret and Teena, he stopped at the threshold, eyes 
on Scully.  She stood straight, spine stiff, looking at them intently.  Her voice brooked no 
discussion or disagreement.  "He's going to be fine.  I know it."

She was daring them to contradict her, looking each of them in the eye, one by one.  
Skinner just nodded.  Margaret Scully's expression was inscrutable, while Teena Mulder's 
was filled with a hopeful longing.  

The silence grew uncomfortable, no one moving.  He spoke finally, not about to disagree 
with her.  "Scully, no one's given up hope.  Mulder always goes for the shock value."

He waited until he saw her posture relax just slightly and then said, on a completely 
different tact, "Agent Friedman needs to meet with us.  It's important."

Scully appeared flustered for a moment.  He understood why.  She'd clearly written off 
the case as solved and behind them.  Her only concern right now was lying in that 
hospital bed.  But she wasn't aware of the discrepancies that had surfaced, and as one of 
the few people who understood her partner's motivations and thinking, she was needed 
for this meeting.

She rallied quickly, adopting her professional mask, but wasn't about to leave her 
partner's side without more justification.  "Can't it wait, sir?"

He shook his head quickly.  "No.  There are some problems that Agent Friedman brought 
to my attention last night.  The team has continued to work on them, but now we need to 
try to understand them.  In order to do that, I need you, as Mulder's partner, to help us 
understand his thinking."

He could see that he still hadn't convinced her, so added, "The UNSUB doesn't match 
Mulder's profile, Scully.  We want to know why."

That did it.  Her eyes grew a bit wider before she nodded in acknowledgment and 
acceptance.    He was caught by surprise by her next words, directed at Mulder in a no-
nonsense tone.  "Mulder, AD Skinner needs me.  I have to leave for a while to attend a 
meeting on this UNSUB you took out.  I have to go because you're not around to answer 
his questions.  You hear that, Mulder?  AD Skinner needs you."

Her shoulders drooped then, and he understood that she could sustain such harshness 
only so long.  She leaned over and whispered something, something that he couldn't quite 
make out.  But then she stood and nodded to him, walking away from her partner's bed 
without another look.

Skinner nodded to the ladies inside, each of whom had taken up their posts again, then 
turned to catch up with Scully.  She never failed to surprise him.  

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

Skinner caught up to Scully quickly and strode beside her down the short hall.  Friedman 
was standing outside the doors to the CCU, looking as exhausted as Skinner felt.  The 
man was slumped against the wall, his suit wrinkled beyond repair, his eyes bloodshot 
and hair limp.

Skinner nodded to the younger agent, and gestured to the right.  "Let's go to the cafeteria.  
I could use some breakfast."  It had been almost twenty hours now since he'd had 
anything to eat and he was starving.  It looked like Friedman could use a little care and 
feeding, too.  The needs of the body rarely recognize troubles of the soul.  Besides, he 
knew a command was probably the only way he'd get Scully to eat.  He'd figure out a 
way to get the other ladies to take a break after he and Scully got back to Mulder's room.

He turned and started walking, hearing the footsteps of the other agents behind him.  
Over his shoulder he said, "Agent Friedman, could you fill us in please?"

He heard a muffled "yes, sir", coupled with a shuffling of papers.  Then Friedman said, 
"We've been able to get a pretty clear picture of this guy and his history.  SAC Landers 
faxed Agent Mulder's profile together with a history of this UNSUB, Harold Stevens, and 
the facts of the case to the ISU.  One of the profilers who'd consulted on the case before 
Mulder came on board determined that in his opinion, Mulder had misread some of the 
facts.  That Harold Stevens was clearly the man who'd committed these crimes and that 
his psychological make-up was consistent with the type of individual who could do so."

They walked silently then, as both he and Scully considered the words.  He sank his 
hands into his pants pockets and played with the change and keys there.  They rounded 
another corner and saw activity halfway down.  Smells of bacon and sausage wafted 
down the hallway and his stomach growled loudly. He was lost in thought, considering 
what Friedman had told them and trying to ignore the demand of his stomach, when 
Scully's voice broke through the silence.

"Jerry, could you fill me in on the discrepancies between Stevens' background and 
Mulder's profile?"

He glanced behind him and saw Friedman nodding.  He turned forward again and pushed 
through the cafeteria door.  

"Harold Stevens was given a psychological exam upon his application to the Richmond 
PD.  At that time he was found to be borderline schizophrenic, with paranoid tendencies, 
of below average intelligence, and malleable -- easily manipulated."

They were in line now and as if by unspoken agreement, no one spoke until they were 
seated at a table some five minutes later.  Then the conversation resumed as if there had 
been no break.  

Scully was playing with her spoon, dipping it in and out of her cereal without actually 
scooping any.  She was obviously distracted, thinking hard about what Friedman had told 
them.  She took a bite finally and before even completely swallowing was stabbing the 
spoon Friedman's way.

"Jerry, had Stevens ever been convicted of a violent crime before?  Ever even been a 
suspect?"

Friedman nodded and swallowed before replying.  "He was convicted on four occasions 
for misdemeanors.  Defacing public property, that sort of thing.  He had one felony 
charge thrown out for lack of evidence when he was in hi mid-twenties and he was a 
suspect in his mother's death two years ago.  RPD couldn't tie him to it, though."

He mulled the situation over again, as he had earlier, then said, "But according to 
Mulder's profile, the UNSUB would have no criminal record, would be of above average 
intelligence, and would have sociopathic tendencies.  Not schizophrenic."

Friedman nodded, clearly  weary, raised a hand to his eyes, then rubbed slowly, as if even 
that required more energy than he had in him.

Skinner noticed a splash of red on the agent' sleeve and the reality of the day was 
hammered home once more.  He sighed and finished off his eggs, even though he'd lost 
his appetite.  Dammit, there was just no way that this made sense.  Scully must have felt 
similar frustrations because her voice was tight when she spoke again.

"In six years, I've never known Mulder to be so far off.  This can't be right.  Mulder's 
profile suggested that the UNSUB would have no criminal record.  And sociopaths and 
schizophrenics are at opposite ends of the psychological spectrum.  This isn't right."

He sighed again, torn between wanting to lay the case to rest and doing the right thing.  
But there was only one way to go on this.

"Agent Friedman, what progress has been made on filling in this man's history?"

Friedman sat straighter and picked up the thick file he'd brought.  The agent handed it 
across the table and he took it, impressed by its weight.  The team had certainly worked 
hard over night.

"It's all there, sir.  Pretty complete.  We managed to interview neighbors from his 
childhood as well as more recently.  We've got teacher statements, school records, 
medical records, employment records.  Pretty much everything."

Skinner lay the file on the table and then rested his hand on it.  He and Scully had some 
homework to do, and they needed to do it fast.  A television blared in the corner and 
reports of the shootout and death of the kidnapper and Christian's safe return, along with 
the heroic actions of Special Agent Fox Mulder led the hour.  

He looked over to Friedman and saw the man was looking at him, his face filled with 
questioning concern.  He realized then that his earlier promise to keep the team informed 
of Mulder's status had already fallen by the wayside.

He tried to smile and knew he wasn't particularly successful.  "Thank you for bringing 
this over Agent Friedman, and for keeping us in the loop.  Please inform the team that 
Mulder's still hanging on.  He's just being a little stubborn in waking up."

He looked over at Scully then and saw that there was no doubt whatsoever in her face.  If 
Mulder knew what was good for him, he'd wake up fast and start getting better.  Scully's 
determination was definitely starting to convince him.  He started to believe his earlier 
words himself.

He stood slowly, stretching the kinks out of his back, and tucked the file under his arm.  
He then balanced his tray and started searching for the drop off area.  He was anxious to 
get a look at the report.  He could tell from Scully's lingering glances that she was 
interested as well.

At the door, he turned to Friedman and said, "Agent Friedman, I'd like you to do me a 
favor please."

The man nodded.  "SAC Landers has placed me at your disposal, sir."

He smiled tightly at the thought, thankful at least that Landers was showing good sense, 
if a bit belated.  "Go to the conference room at the Bureau where Mulder was staying and 
bring us his notes.  Any scribble he might have made, no matter how insignificant it 
might look."

Scully was nodding in agreement.  "And bring his computer.  He sometimes keeps notes 
on his laptop."

Friedman nodded to them both, looking relieved at having something to do.  "Would you 
like me to give SAC a message, sir?"

Skinner moved to his left to allow a nurse entry to the cafeteria and thought about it.  
"Yes.  Please inform SAC Landers that in my opinion ..."  He stopped and glanced at 
Scully, knowing that he had her support.  "That in our opinion, there's more to this case 
than we know right now and that any statements to the press should be sufficiently 
vague."

Friedman again nodded, then turned to leave.  He arrested his movements though, and 
turned towards Scully.  "Dana, I'll be sending lot of good thoughts you way.  Let me 
know if there are any developments."

She reached out a hand to his arm and Skinner could see that the respect was genuine.  
"Thank you, Jerry.  I will.  See you soon."

A few minutes later, after a quick stop to freshen up, they walked past the CCU waiting 
room and down the short hallway to the closed double doors. They received dirty looks 
from the numerous relatives who waited for the nine o'clock chime that would signal 
their chance to visit with their loved ones for a whole fifteen minutes, until eleven, when 
they'd be able to visit again.

Skinner wasn't pleased by their special privileges, though, because it only reinforced the 
fact that the medical staff had already written Mulder off. He walked a bit faster to get 
past them all and buzzed at the double doors.  The nurse let them in, with a tense smile 
and he became concerned that something had happened to Mulder while he and Scully 
were gone.

Scully must have thought the same because she practically ran into her partner's room.  
Teena Mulder and Margaret Scully both looked up in shock, making it obvious that there 
were no emergencies here.  He sighed in relief, his knees practically giving out at the 
sight of the two mothers, one on each side of Mulder, hands resting on his arms.

He exhaled almost explosively  and moved to a chair, sinking into it gratefully.  Scully 
still stood near the door, visibly shaking.  Maybe she wasn't as convinced that Mulder 
would make it as she'd let on.  Mrs. Scully stood and moved down a chair, freeing the 
one by Mulder's head.  She then spoke, breaking the tense silence that had settled over 
the room.

"Dana, everything's fine.  In fact, the nurse said Fox's temperature went down a bit. Now 
why don't you come sit down?"

Trust Margaret Scully to take the soothing, reasoning approach.  It worked to calm them 
both and Scully finally did move next to her mother, as if on autopilot.  He watched her 
reach out and touch her partner, forehead, arm, hand, before he actually at again.  But she 
managed to gather her scattered nerves quickly.  

She took a shaky breath, then turned to her mother and said, "Thank you."  She then 
swept her gaze across the bed and added, "Mrs. Mulder, Mom, why don't you both take a 
break, now?  Go get something to eat.  AD Skinner and I will be here."  

He watched her again stroke Mulder's forehead, then allow her hand to trail down her 
partner's arm.  He knew she wasn't really aware of her actions.  

He saw the doubt on both mothers' faces so added, "You just said yourself that he's doing 
fine.  Go on and we'll be here.  Mulder's not going anywhere.  He'll be here when you get 
back."  He put his own hand out then and rested it on the blanketed arm of the younger 
man, as if a physical reminder of why they were all there.

The ladies agreed finally and after a few minutes it was quiet in the little room.  Quiet 
except for the beep, gurgles, whines and whistles of the numerous machines that now 
sustained his former agent's life.  He stared at Mulder and tried to imagine what was 
going on in the man' head.  Tried to figure out what the key was to reaching him.  By 
Scully's next words, it was obvious their thoughts had traveled along similar paths.  

"Sir, do you think he can hear us?"

She was looking at him intently and he felt as if he were on trial.  That his next answer 
would either win or lose the case for him.  Honesty was always the best approach with 
these two.  "I don't know, Scully.  But I do know that he's got an amazing mind that 
doesn't necessarily work the way one might expect.  If he can profile UNSUB's in his 
sleep, based on reading a few case files, then he can probably hear and understand us 
now."

The answer must have satisfied her, because she sat back in her chair, chin propped on 
her upraised fist, while her right hand never lost contact with her partner's.  Her tone was 
musing when she spoke again.  "What did he dream back in the Academy?  The night 
after the exercise?  I assume that was the start of his involvement in the case."

"Yes, it was.  He'd dreamt about Jesse Smith's murder.  It was the most violent and 
gruesome of them all.  The man was hacked into little pieces with an ax and dumped 
behind a public library.  Thank God it was an adult that found the body.  The remains, I 
should say."

He really didn't want to think about it anymore.  The image of the crime scene flashed 
through his mind's eye as if he'd been there himself just yesterday.  His heart raced a bit 
faster and he was happy when Scully distracted him.

"But what did he dream exactly?  What could have been so bad that it actually put him in 
the infirmary?  And what happened afterward?"

He removed his glasses with his right hand and tapped them against his knee, reflecting 
on the question.  Remembering the day.  "Dean got ahold of us early that morning and 
told us what happened.  Doug went on to the Bureau and I headed down to Quantico.  I 
needed to find out from Dean how Mulder had gotten involved and also whether he had 
any ideas about the case."

"When I got there, I went straight to the infirmary.  Dean was there, talking with Fox."

He realized then that he'd referred to Mulder by his first name, but the memory of the 
man, looking so very dispirited, was as clear as if it had happened just yesterday.  The 
image was so clear -- Mulder standing by the window in the room at the clinic, dressed in 
sweatpants and loose tee-shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his body, staring out the 
window, forehead resting on the glass.  Dean standing sitting in a chair, leaning forward 
over his knees, clasped hands hanging down between them.  He remembered standing by 
the open door, looking in the window.  He remembered every word, every gesture, every 
sound so very clearly. 

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


September 4, 1986
Thursday, 7:16 a.m.
FBI Academy , Quantico, Virginia


"Fox, we have to talk about this.  I know you don't want to, but they won't release you 
until I give the okay. "

Fox shifted, pulling his forehead away from the glass, resting it instead against the wall 
next to the window.  The sun was bright, leaving a square of light on the floor. He didn't 
say a word.  He didn't even indicate that he'd heard Dean.

"Fox, you were admitted here a little after two a.m. following a lapse into shock.  You 
were physically ill.  You vomited in your sleep and could very easily have choked to 
death if your roommates hadn't done the right thing and called for help."

Still Fox made no move and made no indication that he was listening.  Dean allowed the 
silence to stretch for an uncomfortable five minutes.  Walter was just about to break the 
silence himself, when Fox finally spoke.  His voice was low -- so low he could barely 
hear him.

"There's nothing to talk about.  It was just a dream.  That's all."

It was said in a somber, monotone voice that made Walter want to scream.  He was filled 
with regret at the dispirited image, so very different from the young man who'd cavorted 
in front of his classmates just the day before.

Dean sat straight in the chair, gripping the arms tightly enough that Walter could see the 
flexing muscles in his arms.  His voice was hard, brooking no debate.  "You have a 
background in psychology, Fox.  Don't give me answers like that."

Fox jerked back from the wall then and turned angrily, arms still wrapped around his 
chest tightly, perhaps in an effort at maintaining some semblance of control.  His voice 
was so strained, it almost seemed detached.  "I've never subscribed to Freud's views on 
dreams."

Dean seemed to droop a bit, perhaps knowing that he wasn't up to a head to head debate 
with the younger man.  Especially not on the topic of psychology. 

Fox turned his back on Dean again, falling against the wall so heavily his head bounced 
against it a bit.  His expression had remained unperturbed, even throughout his brief 
outburst.

Dean stood from his chair, moving slowly, obviously tired.  He went to the window, 
standing just a foot or so away from Fox.  He never looked at the younger man, but rather 
out into the courtyard.  When he spoke this time, his voice was without challenge.  
Gentle, even.

"What did you see?  What was it, Fox?"

Walter could see the younger man's back tense.  Could see that he stood straighter.  But 
then a strange thing happened.  After about a minute, Fox slumped, his head drooping, 
giving the impression that he'd decided to surrender.  To give up.

Walter winced when the younger man spoke again.  Fox's voice wavered and it was clear 
that he was still extremely disturbed by the experience the night before.  

"I dreamt I was there, when Jesse Smith was killed.  I was there when he was picked up.  
I was there when he was tied down.  I was there ... "

The words drifted off then and Fox seemed to stare at nothing.  Head drooping down 
almost to his chest.

"Fox, what do you mean you were there?  Can you describe it for me?"

For the first time, Fox moved to sit, practically collapsing on the bed.  Walter caught 
sight of the man's face more clearly and was shocked by the obvious exhaustion.  The 
darkened circles and puffy eyes.  The trainee raised a hand to his eyes, then dropped it 
into his lap limply.

"It was like I was there.  A ghost.  No one could see me, but I could see, hear, smell.  
There was a bakery down the street and I could smell the bread and the pizza.  It was 
bright and cool.  It was so real."

Fox's voice had turned introspective and Dean made no move or sound, as if knowing 
that the younger man was ready to talk.  Ready to explain what had happened.

"Jesse was working in the store, but it was a slow day.  He decided to go to the bank so 
he left the girl in charge.  She was bored and wanted something to do."  Fox shifted, 
pulling his arms around his chest once again.  "He walked down the street, past the other 
stores, past the bakery.  And the sun was so bright."  Fox shook his head, obviously not 
aware of his surroundings any more.  "He decided to cut through to the next block so he 
walked down an alley.  The stores backed up to the alley where the trucks would unload, 
but there weren't any that day.  There was no one.  Nothing.  Except the car."

Walter barely breathed, finding himself entranced by the story, as well as the teller.  
Dean was also frozen in his spot by the window, keeping his back to Fox, merely 
listening without moving or speaking.

"The car pulled up next to him and he leaned in the passenger window.  He wasn't 
frightened or concerned.  Why wasn't he afraid?"  His voice had dropped so low Walter 
had to strain to hear him.  "And then he got in.  It didn't make sense.  I mean, he had to 
get to the bank.  He promised Hannah he'd be back in just fifteen minutes, but he got in 
the car.  It's so strange."

Walter could see Fox from the side, so the man's face was in silhouette.  Fox's eyes were 
closed and he could tell the younger man was sinking further into the memory.

"They drove for a while -- past the bank -- and then Jesse pointed at something out the 
window.  Like they'd been talking about something and he wanted to point it out.  I don't 
know what.  Then the driver slammed a brick into Jesse's head.  He didn't see it coming.  
Didn't know anything about it.  I saw it happening but I couldn't do anything.  Couldn't 
scream or warn him.  I couldn't stop the brick."

Fox seemed to wake up a bit then, and he sat up straighter and dropped his arms down to 
his lap.  "They drove for a while and then I don't know what happened.  It was like time 
moved forward and hours passed in just a fraction of a second.  And Jesse was lying on 
the floor on his back, with ropes on his wrists and ankle, tying him to stakes that had 
been pounded into the ground."

Fox stirred a bit and actually turned to Dean.  Dean must have sensed it, because he 
turned to confront the younger man for the first time.  "Did you see who did it?"

Fox licked his lips and shook his head slowly.  "There was just this dark, nebulous 
creature.  It was always there, but I couldn't see it clearly.  No matter how hard I tried."  
He raised his head and looked Dean straight in the eyes.  "It was evil.  Pure evil."  His 
eyes dropped away from Dean's again, focusing now on his own hands.  "Jesse pleaded 
with him.  Told him about his baby boy and his pregnant wife.  Nothing worked though.  
Nothing."

The last word was whispered.  Fox started rocking ever so slightly.  "The ax made such a 
loud sound when it hit into the ground, bounced off the concrete.  But there was hardly 
any sound when it cut through Jesse's shin.  Just a little snick.  I never heard anything like 
it before.  Never."

Fox's voice wavered when he said, "The ax just kept chopping and chopping, and Jesse 
tried to scream.  He threw up, but there was a gag around his mouth and he started 
choking.  He couldn't breathe.  His eyes stared right at me, but I couldn't move and I 
couldn't speak or scream.  I couldn't do anything at all."

The younger man looked up at Dean again, as if searching for understanding, or perhaps 
forgiveness.  He was shaking his head from side to side.  "He took a long time to die and 
I kept praying it would happen sooner."  The kid made a strangled sound then, and 
Walter finally realized it was a laugh.  "Do you believe that?  I wanted the man to die 
faster because it was uncomfortable for me.  Because I ..."  

Dean moved to the bed and sat at the foot, facing Fox, several feet away from the 
distraught trainee.  "You know that's normal.  You know it would be an appropriate 
reaction."

Walter couldn't tell whether the words made an impression or not.  Fox still rocked ever 
so slightly, back and forth, back and forth.  Silent and brooding.  

After another minute of quiet, Dean said, "What then?  What happened after Jesse's 
murder?"

Then tension mounted as Fox launched himself once more from the bed and strode over 
to the window, arms wrapped securely around his ribs.  "What -- a dream where a man's 
chopped into little bits isn't enough?  You want more gore?  More sick descriptions?"  
And again there was a strangled laugh.

Dean stood as well, but Walter could tell he was uneasy, unsure of what to do or how to 
offer the younger man any comfort.  He stayed where he was, staring at Fox's back.  
"That's not it.  You know it's not."

"I don't know anything."

Dean walked back to the chair then and Walter was struck by the symmetry of the event.  
Both Fox and Dean were in the exact positions they'd started in.  Fox at the window with 
his forehead against the glass, Dean in the chair, hands clasped between his legs.  Dean 
waited silently for Fox to break the impasse again.

"The ... dark figure -- the assailant.  He ... masturbated over Jesse's body.  Over the 
remains."  Fox took a shuddering breath before continuing.  "Then he put the ... pieces in 
trash bags.  Loaded them in the car.  That's all I saw."  And he turned to Dean, voice firm.  
"That was it."

Dean nodded, then stood.  "There was nothing in the report about the UNSUB 
masturbating at the scene.  Where did that come from?"

Even from the hallway, Walter could tell Fox was shaken by the question.  Perhaps 
taking it as an accusation for something more.  He merely shook his head from side to 
side, in denial.  Whether to Dean or himself was unclear.

Dean approached the window and stopped next to the younger man.  For the first time, 
put a hand on the other's shoulder.  "Fox, you know about the BSU, right?"  He waited 
for the nod before continuing.  "Patterson lectured to your class a couple weeks ago."  
Again, the nod, slow but sure.  "Patterson always tells his profilers that to understand the 
artist, you have to understand his art.  Get into the UNSUB's mind.  His feelings, hopes, 
dreams.  Become the UNSUB.  He told you that, didn't he?"

Fox had turned now so that he stared directly at Dean.  He nodded again, even more 
slowly than last time.

"Fox, there are only a few people in the Bureau who can do what you do.  And while you 
might be thinking right now that it's a curse, the victims you'll save and the families 
you'll bring relief to will say it's a gift.  And they'll thank you for it."

Walter saw Fox raise a hand to his face and wipe at it angrily.  He realized then that the 
man was crying.  Dean dropped his hand from Fox's shoulder and said, "The fact that you 
reacted the way you did to what you dreamt means that you're very much human.  You 
don't need to doubt yourself or your motivations."

Dean moved away then, several feet away.  "Fox, I'm sorry I got you involved in this.  If 
I hadn't left those files out ..."

The trainee shook his head, saying, "No.  No, I shouldn't have read them.  I knew it.  I 
knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway.  You could have had me kicked out.  You still 
could."  He turned so his back was to the window.  So that he again faced Dean head on.  
There was an element of supplication to his voice when he said, "Please don't do it now."

Walter knew how Dean felt.  He was feeling pretty guilty himself.  If only ... If only he 
hadn't brought the files over.  If only he hadn't involved Dean.  But still, a part of him 
couldn't help but be curious about the kid's dream.  He wondered just how much of it was 
accurate.  And if it was accurate, then why did Jesse get in the car?  Was it someone he 
knew or someone he trusted?  And were there sexual elements to the motivation that they 
didn't know about?  He needed to talk with Dean soon.  He saw that Fox and his old 
friend were almost finished now.

Dean wore a sad smile when he spoke.  "You're too good a trainee and too good a man 
for us to lose you over this, Fox.  Besides, anyone who can cause more than a hundred 
thousand dollars in damages at Hogan's Alley, win at an exercise that no one's ever 
managed to win before, and tick off an entire group of instructors, all within about an 
hour time span, is much too valuable to lose."

And for the first time that morning, Walter saw a ghost of the smile he'd seen the day 
before on the younger man's face.  The kid would be all right.  

Dean slapped Fox on the arm and said, "Try to forget this case, Fox.  I know it won't be 
all that easy, but try.  Now, get yourself some breakfast, get dressed, and get your butt 
outta here.  I think your group's at the obstacle course this morning. If you feel up to it, 
you can join them."

Fox nodded and moved out of Walter's sight.  Dean came out of the room just moments 
later and stopped in the hallway.  Walter smiled tightly.  "We need to talk."

Dean sighed heavily, a frown creasing his face.  "You bet we do.  Come on."

The walk to Dean's temporary office was made in silence, both men reflecting on what 
they'd heard.  Before they were even settled, Dean spoke, his tone pensive.  "He'll be at 
the top of Patterson's hit list when word of this gets out."

"Does it have to?  Why would anyone have to know what happened?"  He felt ashamed 
after he'd said it and Dean's frown merely served to reinforce the feeling.  "I'm sorry.  
Forget I said that."

Dean nodded, then sighed wearily.  Rubbed at his face, then slammed his hand on the 
desk so hard that Walter actually jumped.  "Damn it!"

Walter had no idea why Dean was suddenly angry.  "What?  What is it?"

Dean turned to him, a look of angry disgust distorting his features.  "Don't you get it, 
Walter?  That kid is a natural profiler.  Patterson will scoop him up for the BSU as soon 
as he can.  Do you have any idea what that means?  Weeks on the road, round the clock 
high profile cases, divorce, nervous breakdowns, any number of gastro-intestinal 
disorders.  Hell, we outta just do him a favor and kick him out now."

Walter felt out of his element.  He knew almost nothing about the profilers of the BSU.  
Surely Dean was exaggerating.  At any rate, he felt it was time to focus on the case again. 
"Look, Dean, it's not our place to make decisions like that.  Decisions that will impact 
another person's life and career choice.  He made the choice to join the Bureau.  He made 
the choice to come to the Academy.  He'll then make the choice as to whether he wants to 
make a life out of it.  Neither you nor I have a right to interfere with his choices."

Dean slumped back in his chair and Walter relaxed a bit, feeling as if he'd won an 
argument.  "Can we talk about the case for a few minutes?"

Dean was staring at him, so intently and searchingly, that it made him feel like a bug 
under the microscope.  He grew concerned after a few moments.  "What's wrong, Dean?"

The older man looked disappointed and Walter knew it was because of him.  He'd 
somehow let down the man who had been his mentor and friend. Dean seemed to shake it 
off then.  "Nothing, Walter.  Nothing."  The man shifted in his seat and ran his hand over 
his face again, before dropping it into his lap limply.  When Dean looked at him again, 
Walter could swear the man had aged five years.

"Walter, I think this kid is onto something.  No one ever suggested the UNSUB might be 
a sexual psychopath before.  It hasn't been in any of the previous profiles. I think you 
ought to consider it.  Also, this idea that Smith knew the assailant or at least trusted him 
enough to get in the car with him.  I saw in the notes that this issue had been discussed on 
numerous occasions.  The latest theory suggests that he was overpowered and forced into 
a vehicle or that someone came up on him from behind and slammed the brick into his 
head."

Dean paused and looked at him, as if to make sure that he was following.  He nodded 
quickly.   Dean pulled the stack of files over and found the one for Jesse Smith.  He 
flipped open the cover and rifled through the reports and photos contained within until he 
reached the page he wanted.  "One of the things that bothered me was that the blow from 
the brick clearly came from the side, only slightly from the rear.  If someone had snuck 
up on him from behind, the wound would have been in the back or top of his head."

Walter shifted, thinking quickly.  "But Smith could have heard something and been 
turning.  That could also account for the angle."

Dean nodded slowly.  "Yes, it certainly could."

They sat in silence, thinking about it, when Walter remembered another aspect that 
supported the kid's version.  "You know, the police claim they scoured the route from the 
store to the bank and found absolutely nothing.  They say they checked in the alley as 
well.  You'd think if someone got slammed in the head with a brick hard enough to 
render him incapacitated that there'd be blood."

Dean smiled slightly.  "Head wounds always bleed the worst."  The older agent pushed 
himself up from his chair then and paced a few steps in the small room.  Walter could 
feel the man's nervous energy , and the air itself seemed charged with it.

"Dean, what do you think?  You read the files.  Spent some time on them.  What do you 
think we're looking for here?"

Dean stopped in his tracks and moved more slowly to lean against the desk.  He stared 
out across the little office, over Walter's head.  His arms were crossed over his chest, in 
an unconscious imitation of Fox's earlier stance.  The man took a deep breath before 
answering.  "I don't know.  It's very strange.  But, I'll tell you one thing.  This idea that 
the victims knew the assailant or trusted him for some reason is compelling.  It would 
explain quite a few problems in terms of the initial acquisition.  It would explain quite a 
bit, frankly.  And I think you ought to explore the idea of a sexual sociopath.  It would 
impact your suspect list, such as it is, substantially."

Walter nodded, knowing intuitively that Dean was right.  It was just a gut feeling, with 
little evidence to back it up, but his confidence in the theory had grown with every word 
they'd spoken.  He was sure that the kid had it right.

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

PAST

Fox went directly to his room when he was released.  He changed into the official tee-
shirt and sweats of the Bureau and cursed silently when he saw the time.  He would be 
pushing it at this rate.  He'd have to run all the way to the obstacle course in order to get 
there before they started.  He felt up to it though.  Ready to run off some of the 
frustration and lingering anger he felt over the night before.  He hated what he'd seen in 
his dream.  Hated the fact that his own imagination had come up with so many of the sick 
details.  That was the word he kept thinking -- sick.

He swallowed and glanced around at the room before leaving.  Someone had put clean 
sheets on his bed and made it up.  He owed his roommates big time.  He smiled before 
closing the door and stretched quickly.  After only a minute, he took off, determined to 
beat his old time on the course.  He made it there in only a few minutes and was pleased 
by the greeting he got.

Classmates smiled and said hello.  Shirley whistled, then yelled out above the din, "Our 
fearless leader has returned to us."  Claps and laughter followed the comment.

He shook his head in mock disgust but sighed in contentment.  Chris made his way 
through the crowd and slapped him on the back, while Rob said, "Good to see you alive 
and well.  We were worried there for a while."

This time his grimace was in earnest.  "Sorry about that guys."  He looked first at Chris 
and then Rob before saying, simply, "Thanks."

Their response was cut short when their instructor, Mark Thompson, showed up.  The 
man made no indication that he was aware of what had transpired the night before and 
immediately started organizing the group.

Fox found himself assigned halfway through the pack and smiled.  Being too far in front 
meant you were forced to lead.  There was really no way to determine how good you 
were doing.  Being in the back meant you had way too many bodies to fight through to 
get farther forward and no matter how hard you pushed, you still felt like you weren't 
making headway.  But being in the middle was the best of all worlds.  He'd have some 
ten or so people in front of him with a crew hot on his heels.  Perfect motivation for 
pushing hard and kicking butt.

He wandered over to a group of trees on the right and started stretching seriously.  He 
stretched out his right shin, then left.  Worked on his thighs, bending over at the waist.  
He turned to rest his left hand on one of the trees and saw that Shirley was next to him.  
She was facing him, bent at the waist, and her tee-shirt was delightfully tight in all the 
right places.  She looked up at him, still bent at the waist, and he got a wonderful glimpse 
of the top of her breasts, peeking out over the white lacy bra, through the slightly 
drooping shirt neck.

He smiled at her and winked, then turned his back.  Now was the time to concentrate on 
the upcoming obstacle course, not Shirley's exquisite body.  Her very shapely, very 
accessible body.  He stretched out the other leg and closed his eyes.  Breathed in the fresh 
air.  Listened to the snaps and pops of twigs and leaves underfoot. 

Thompson's voice was loud and clear in the wooded area.  "First up.  Morrow, you go in 
one.  Ellicott and Handley should be on deck."

He managed to block out the unnecessary chatter, as well as the image of Shirley's 
freckled, well-endowed breasts.  He concentrated on the course, knowing the biggest 
challenge for him would be 'The Wall' -- a twenty foot high torture device, probably 
dreamed up by some military first sergeant before the first World War.  The thought of 
the rough ropes made his hands ache already.  This was their third official shot at the 
course.  The first two times had left his palms covered in blisters and blood.  Then 
damned if the instructors didn't send them off to the shooting range in the afternoon, just 
to complete the agony.

He rolled his neck and willed the tension to disappear.  He was determined to beat his 
previous times.  Determined to beat the Academy record before he graduated.  He heard 
his name called then and knew he was on deck.  They were heading out at one minute 
increments on a course that could take as long as half an hour.  He'd be able to overtake 
four or five of his teammates at the minimum.  He knew there were at least one or two 
people ahead of him who would be his greatest competition for best time.

He moved closer to the launch off point and twisted his torso one last time, feeling his 
muscles flex with strength.  Then he knelt in a pseudo-runner's crouch, ready to go at 
Thompson's signal.  He rocked forward and backwards, anxious for the minute to be up.  
At the instructor's 'go' he was off, sprinting down the little dirt lane that had been formed 
after years of runners pounding their feet into the ground.  

The first part was completely flat, well into the forest with tree branches forming a roof 
of green and brown. Within a couple minutes he'd already caught up to Lieber.  He was 
in the groove, running with long even strides when he passed Kudla just seconds later.  
The first hill was in front of him and he hit it at full speed, thinking only about the next 
challenge.  The course started out easy but quickly turned into a series of hills, walls, 
ropes, pits, and logs.  

The smells of the forest were all about him, enhanced by an evening shower which left a 
spring fresh smell that still lingered.  His feet were sure on the grass and dirt, and he 
knew he was doing well.  He could feel the strength in his legs.  The power in his stride.  
And for the first time, it looked like he'd overtake another classmate before finishing with 
the hill.  Gloria Lancaster was just ahead, obviously struggling.

He stretched his legs and drew even with her, nodded, then passed.  He heard her say, 
"Go for it, Fox," and it brought a brief smile to his face.  

He was up and over the hill, with a clear view of the next few hundred yards.  Shriver 
was visible a little distance away, but past the first set of serious obstacles.  It would be a 
challenge to catch the man.  

A series of raised logs, some four feet off the ground was ahead of him.  He hit them fast, 
getting into the groove.  He planted his right hand, simultaneously launching his legs up 
and over to the left.  He allowed his butt to hit the log so he slid off the other side.  Then 
three more strides and he planted his left hand and swung his legs to the right, repeating 
the process for the rest of the eight logs.  It was definitely the best he'd ever done.

He was breathing hard, but evenly, still feeling strong.  He started down a steep hill then, 
taking pains to plant each foot carefully.  More than a couple of his teammates had ended 
up with scrapes, bruises and sprains after tumbling down this very hill.  Still, he pushed 
as hard as he could, drawing ever closer to Shriver.  He was at the bottom finally and 
expelled a held breath hard in relief.  

There was a flat stretch for the length of a football field before the pit and it was his 
chance to catch up with Shriver.  Every stride sent a jolt through his legs that 
reverberated through his body.  He managed to pass Shriver right before they hit the pit 
so he was able to grab the rope first, swinging out over the murky mud and water.  He 
managed a quick "Sorry" and could hear Shriver behind him now, breathing raggedly and 
hard.  But the man said, loudly enough for him to hear, "You show off!"  He could tell it 
was said jokingly, though, and raised a hand to acknowledge his classmate's words.

'The Wall' was ahead and he shook out his arms and flexed his hands to prepare.  It was 
in front of him, only thirty feet away.  He slowed just in front of vertical wall and jumped 
to grab the rope a good eight and a half feet off the ground.  There were occasional holes 
in the wall, as well as protuberances on which he could place a foot here and there.  Or at 
least his toes.  He moved up the wall quickly, going from foothold to wall-walking 
seamlessly, so that he actually started to get concerned about how well it was going.  If 
there was one thing he knew, it was that there was always something, some event, some 
person, whatever, just waiting to bring you down when things are going well. 

When he reached the top, he swung his legs over, grabbed the rope and lowered himself, 
hand over hand.  He dropped to the ground when he was still five feet up and regained 
his footing quickly.  The next challenge was a twelve foot long log over a ditch with 
parallel bar immediately after.  If he fell off the log, he'd have to drag himself through 
three feet of muddy water to get to the other side.  If he fell off the bars, he'd have to 
climb out of a six foot pit.  

He swallowed hard, and breathed through his nose, psyching himself up for the double 
jeopardy obstacles.  He could see Chris ahead, climbing out of the pit, and grimaced for 
his friend.  He was determined to avoid that particular experience, if at all possible.  He 
started slowing ten feet from the log.  When he got a few feet away he launched himself 
onto it, with two hands firmly planted on the rough wood surface.  He got to his feet and 
walked quickly, starting to pick up speed as he gained confidence in his footing.

He ran his hands up and down his shirt, then his sweatpants, trying to rid his palms of the 
sweat that was now flowing freely down his arms, down his back and neck, and left his 
shirt sopping wet.  When he got to the end of the log he jumped, grabbing the bars 
securely.  He swung forward and had sufficient momentum to swing himself easily to the 
next bars.  He rapidly moved hand over hand to the last of the twelve bars.  He dropped 
to the ground and started running hard once more.  Chris was in sight and he knew he had 
a chance to pass yet another person before finishing the course.  He was close to the final 
stretch now, almost done.

The last challenge was 'The Mountain' -- a hill so long and steep that another rope was 
necessary in order to make it to the top without breaking your neck.  But first was a mile 
of winding, rocky, and uneven paths.  Broken ankles weren't uncommon, although their 
own class had avoided it thus far.

This was his favorite part of the entire course.  The woods were dense so that little light 
shone through.  It was impossible to see very far ahead and the only sounds were those of 
the small creatures of the forest, together with his own running and breathing sounds.  He 
always felt as if he were alone -- the only one in the entire woods.

He watched the ground carefully, knowing that if he made it past this trail, he'd be just 
about home free.  He followed the path to the left and glanced ahead of him, almost 
shocked to see that Chris was only twenty or so feet ahead of him.  He smiled, then 
concentrated on the ground again.  Plenty of time to pass his roommate on the straight-
away.

And he did just thirty seconds later.  He slapped Chris on the back as he passed and was 
rewarded with a groan.  Neither could manage words at this point.  

He was feeling on top of the world, euphoric, his energy level still high, when he came to 
'The Mountain'.  It stretched above him, seeming to soar endlessly, but he took his first 
steps without a pause, grabbing the rope simultaneously.  Hanson was about halfway up 
and it dawned on him that if he could push just a bit more, he might be able to overtake 
the man.  It would be his last chance this time around.

He worked his hands quickly, one over the other, grasping the rope tightly.  He could feel 
the rope strands cutting into his palms, but didn't care.  The angle became even more 
steep about a third of the way up and he started to slow.  In fact, his arms started shaking, 
the onset so fast and unexpected that he almost let go of the rope.  And then his legs 
started trembling, almost as violently.  His breaths were coming in hard bursts that 
actually caused pain along his ribs. It caught him by surprise, but then he realized that 
he'd pushed too hard and was now paying the price.

He looked up the steep slope and saw Hanson getting close to the top.  He wanted to slow 
down.  To take it easy the rest of the way, but he knew there was still a chance to catch 
his classmate and just couldn't help himself.  He forced one hand over the other and made 
his suddenly leaden legs move.  His stomach clenched then and he thought he might 
actually be sick or pass out.  He had to slow down for a moment and his hands started to 
slip on the rope.  He wiped his left on his shirt quickly, leaving a stripe of red and black, 
then did the same with his right.

For the first time, when he looked up the slope that stretched above, he was frightened.  
Last night he'd learned that he wasn't immune to terror and now he was terrified to learn 
he might not be impervious to failure.  He'd only failed once in his entire life.  The one 
time that had changed his family's lives forever.  He couldn't fail again.

He forced his legs to move and ignored the shaking.  Ignored the fact that the bile was 
rising in his throat.  He had to finish this.  It wasn't about winning anymore.  It was all 
about not failing.  He couldn't fail.

The next minute was agony as he fought every instinct that told him to slow down and 
stop.  But it just wasn't in him to quit, no matter how miserable, in pain, or hurt he was.  
When he topped the hill, he almost collapsed in relief, but knew he had a mile left to go.  
He dragged his arm up and wiped it across his forehead and face, then let it fall back 
down to his side.  

Every gasp was painful and a stitch in his side caused him to double over for a moment, 
his right hand outstretched in front of him, imploringly.  But he overcame it and ran on, 
eyes staring straight ahead at Hanson's back a hundred yards ahead.  He was no longer 
trying for a speed record but discovered he was growing on Hanson anyway.  The man 
must be worse off than he was.

His head seemed to have grown heavier in the last minute and he had to force it to stay 
upright.  He just focused on Hanson's back and told himself to keep running.  To keep his 
legs moving, his arms swinging.  And without knowing how, he was next to Hanson and 
then passed the man.  For several seconds in time, their gasping breaths coincided under 
the leafy trees.  There were no words this time.  No friendly gestures, no humorous 
groans.  Fox knew that Hanson must have felt about as bad as he did.

He ran on for what seemed like an eternity.  When he forced his eyes and head up to look 
ahead, he saw a small group of people, only a hundred yards or so away, and knew he 
was getting close.  For a moment, he wanted to cry.  It was the final run of the game, and 
the goal was in sight.  He told himself he could do it.  He could finish, if he would just 
keep putting one foot ahead of the other.  But it seemed like he was getting nowhere.  As 
if he were torturing himself with no hope of reprieve.  And his chest was so tight, his legs 
were starting to cramp, he could barely swing his arms and they kept falling down at his 
sides to flop bonelessly.  He kept saying to himself, 'run, run', and then suddenly there 
were people grabbing at him, forcing him to stop.

It took long seconds for it to sink in.  For him to realize that it was all over and he could 
finally rest.  He felt so ill, his stomach roiling, and he was so tired that his legs finally 
gave out under him.  Someone was on either side and he felt his arms being gripped 
tightly, trying to pull him up off his knees.  He didn't have the energy to open his eyes 
yet, but tried to concentrate on the words that were floating around him.  While he was 
trying to understand what they were saying to him, he was forced upright physically and 
made to walk.  They were making him walk and wouldn't let him lie down.  At that 
moment, he hated them, whoever they were.

It was a couple minutes later that he finally began to recover.  Began to catch his breath 
and at least focus on what was happening around him.  Ellicott and Morrow, the first two 
men to finish the course, were on either side of him.  He realized then that Ellicott had 
been speaking to him, although he didn't know for how long.  The man was saying, "Just 
take it easy.  Breathe deep.  Easy now."  

He managed a nod and even tried to stand on his own, without requiring their total 
support.  He took a couple shaky steps and bent over, dropping his head almost to his 
navel.  He stood again and found that Morrow was still there, to his right, a broad smile 
on his face.  Fox wasn't sure why.  He managed a single, whispered word in the hopes 
that it would be clarified.  "What?"

The man actually grinned and Fox wanted to slap the smile off his face.  Morrow said, "I 
think you did it.  I think you broke the record."

Fox was confused.  It couldn't be.  He clearly remembered coming to a near stop towards 
the end.  "What?"

"Yeah, man.  Instructor Thompson said he'd have to verify it, but that it looks like you 
beat the record by more than half a minute.  Congratulations!"

Fox shook his head, still confused, and stumbled closer to the instructor.  He wanted to 
see the time for himself.  He stopped by Mark Thompson's right and waited for one of his 
classmates to cross the line before intruding.  The man noticed him immediately and said, 
"Congratulations, Trainee.  Look like you managed to set another record."

Fox tried to gather his scattered thoughts, but managed to ask, "What was my time?"

Thompson glanced down at his sheet.  "Twenty-two, seventeen.  The record was twenty-
two minutes, fifty-four seconds."

For the first time, he started to believe it.  He nodded his thanks and started a cool-down.  
A few of his classmates wandered over to congratulate him and each one's comments 
made him feel that much better.  Despite the nearly debilitating reaction a half hour ago, 
he was starting to feel better physically, as well.  His strength was coming back to him, 
although he knew that pushing so hard after the night he'd had was probably the stupidest 
thing he'd done in a very long time.  He glanced around and saw that almost all his 
classmates had made it back.  

Chris wandered over, still breathing heavily, and said, "Hey, Fox, is it true?  Did you set 
a new record?"

He felt his face flush, but answered honestly.  "Looks that way."

Chris smiled broadly, despite his obvious exhaustion.  "Jeez.  I think you've just given us 
all a new pastime.  Finding something that Fox Mulder can't do!"

His roommate was very clearly pleased, and he could tell there was no animosity in the 
comment.  He relaxed and tried to strike the right tone for his response.  "Well, I'll take 
that bet, buddy.  Haven't you heard?  There's absolutely nothing I can't do."

Chris only groaned but there was a tinkling laugh from behind.  Fox knew that there was 
at least one thing he'd be doing very soon and he had no doubt he'd be doing it very well.  
He and Chris both turned to find Shirley behind them.  She was delightfully seductive, 
despite the sweat that matted her hair and stained her tee-shirt.  Her cheeks and nose were 
bright red and her hair looked five shades darker wet.  Their gaze met and their smiles 
grew.  Words were definitely unnecessary.  Tonight would be the night.

*******************************************
End Part 7 of ?

*******************************************
Ascent to Hell - Part 8 of ? (8/?)
by Kronos (kronos1@adelphia.net)
Rating:  NC-17
*******************************************

PAST
September 5, 1986
Friday afternoon
FBI Academy , Quantico, Virginia


The Friday afternoon flew by, helped by the knowledge that weeks of flirting would 
finally be realized.  Their class was free to leave the compound at five o'clock and didn't 
have to report back until Sunday night at eight. Fox went directly to his room, thinking 
about long legs and white freckled breasts.  He changed into jeans and a tee-shirt, then 
brushed his teeth.  He stuffed a small duffel bag with toiletries and clothes, keeping his 
additions sparse.  He wrote out a brief note for his roommates, then headed out, grabbing 
his leather jacket on the way.  At twelve after five, he arrived at the parking lot and 
leaned back against the red Mustang convertible which he knew belonged to Shirley.  He 
dropped his bag on the hood, then crossed his arms, keeping his gaze focused on the door 
leading to their quarters.  

They hadn't actually discussed the rendezvous and part of him knew this was a test, 
perhaps on both their parts.  He figured that if they were truly destined to become better 
acquainted, she'd know to meet him here.  He wasn't at all sure what she was thinking but 
figured he'd see soon enough, one way or the other.  Shirley didn't disappoint.  

He saw her as soon as she left the building.  She had a bag over her right shoulder and 
wore her hair down, so that it flew out behind her in the breeze.  She was casual and 
comfortable, also dressed in jeans and a light short-sleeved sweater.  She paused on the 
landing and cocked her hip.  He could see the broad smile even from where he was.  It 
appeared they were most definitely on the same wavelength.

His own smile broadened as she sauntered across the parking lot, slowly and seductively.  
She intentionally exaggerated every step, every swivel of her hips.  He was entranced by 
the demonstration and was laughing out loud by the time she stopped in front of him, less 
than a foot away.  He dropped his arms and reached out for her, pulling her closer in one 
quick move so that her stomach was snug against his hips.  Their lips joined and in mere 
moments he was tasting her, and she him.  Tongues dueled and heartbeats quickened for 
a good minute.  

They pulled back simultaneously, breaths coming in fast, hard bursts, ragged and loud, 
and stared at each other for long seconds.  The smiles returned, and they pulled away 
from one another slowly, hands lingering on sensitive skin.  He pushed himself away 
from the car and took her right hand in his, drawing her toward the passenger door.  She 
reached in her jeans pocket and handed him the car keys.  She was obviously content to 
allow him to orchestrate and lead.  He opened the door quickly and got her settled, then 
practically ran to the driver's side.  It dawned on him, just before he opened the door, that 
he wore a huge smile.  The other thing he realized was that not one word had been 
spoken between them.  Then again, actions did speak louder than words.

He slipped into the car, and fumbled with the key for a heartbeat before fitting it in the 
slot.  He took a shuddering breath at the symbolism and glanced at Shirley.  She was 
watching his every move and stared at him now with an obvious desire.  Her cheeks were 
flushed and the tip of her tongue peaked out of her mouth, sweeping from one side to the 
other.  She was a temptress.

He groaned out loud, tore his eyes away, then turned the key.  Her laughter filled the car.  
Oh yeah -- she definitely knew the power she held over him.  They drove to the little 
town of Triangle, only ten minutes away, and pulled into the Falls Motel.  He wasn't 
really sure what the significance of the name was but appreciated the fact it was so close 
to Quantico.

Their jaunt had turned somewhat surreal.  They still hadn't spoken one word to each other 
in almost a half hour.  It had become an unspoken agreement -- that their tryst was to be 
consummated in silence.  

Registration took only a few minutes and before he knew it, he was opening her door and 
helping her out of the car.  He pulled out their bags, slung them over his right shoulder, 
then locked the car.  He gestured for her to precede him, gallantly, placing his right hand 
on her lower back.  The sun was still bright and it glistened off Shirley's hair.  He looked 
down and saw her firm behind, the jeans hugging her shape tightly.  The breeze blew and 
her hair was lifted up, revealing the back of a long, white neck.  

He wrapped his left arm around her from behind and pressed his lips against her neck 
hungrily.  He placed his right hand against the motel room door to provide leverage.  She 
smelled like baby shampoo and powder, fresh and desirable.  God, he wanted her so 
badly.  He heard her groan and pushed his hips against her behind, having to bend his 
knees just slightly.  He moved his left hand lower, from stomach to hip, then thigh, 
allowing it to drop down to her crotch.  He nuzzled her neck and left a trail of kisses from 
her hairline to her shoulders.

He ran his fingers up the inside of her thigh and almost bit her shoulder when one of her 
roaming hands squeezed his ass.  That caught his attention enough to realize it was time 
to move the show inside.  He forced his hands to drop and pulled away from her, 
fumbling in his pocket for the key.  She was behind him now, pressed tightly to his back.  
Her hands roamed freely over his body, finding their way under his tee-shirt.  She blew 
into his ear and he shivered, just as he managed to open the door.  He swung it open hard 
and it slammed against the wall.  

He took two steps in, turned and grabbed her, pulling her close.  They kissed hungrily, 
lips, tongues and teeth engaged in an untamed duel for dominance.  He reached out with 
his left foot and kicked the door closed with a loud bang.  The bags slipped off his 
shoulder and fell to the carpet with a thud.  He dropped the key on the floor next to them 
and pushed Shirley backwards, step by step, mouths still engaged.  The back of her legs 
hit the bed and they both tumbled onto it in a collection of intertwined arms and legs.  

They rolled once and he found himself on his back with Shirley lying on top of him. Her 
legs fell between his own splayed ones and he wrapped his right ankle around her shin.  
She was a delightful weight that seemed to move in all the right ways.  He grabbed her 
tightly and forced them both to roll again so he was on top.  He straddled her, grinding 
his pelvis into hers.  He was so hard, it was becoming painful, especially with the 
restriction of his jeans.  He hadn't been this aroused since Phoebe, two years before.

Her hands grabbed each side of his jacket and started pulling at it.  He understood where 
she was coming from.  There was way the hell too much material between them.  He sat 
up on his knees and pulled the jacket off quickly, tossing it to the floor without a thought.  
His tee-shirt followed a moment later.  

She wiggled under him and stroked his crotch, then cupped her hand around him.  He 
pushed into it and dropped onto her once more.  She moved both hands up to his fly then 
and worked at the buttons.  Her mouth was open and she was breathing as heavily as he.  
Her tongue wetted her lips and he froze at the sight, realizing that everything was taking 
much too long.  He rolled off the bed and reached down to help pull her off as well.

He pulled her tee-shirt over her head in one jerk and discovered that she'd left her white 
lacy bra at home.  He ran his hands over her breasts, brushing his thumbs over her 
hardened nipples.  He leaned over to take her right breast in his mouth and sucked 
greedily before tearing his mouth away to find hers once again.  He felt her hands down 
at his hips and tried to ignore them, focusing instead on getting her jeans off.  He 
managed to unfasten them in record time and pushed at them, letting his hands run down 
her hips to grab her rear.  Holy Christ, she wasn't wearing any underwear.

He groaned at the realization and felt himself twitch in anticipation.  He pushed against 
her again, hard and demanding.  He wanted her now.  He allowed her to force his own 
jeans down past his hips, his breath catching when the rough material rubbed against him.  
He was overheated and wanted nothing more than to shed every stitch of clothing.  He 
wanted Shirley's skin against his.  Wanted to take her in his mouth and hands.  Wanted to 
pound himself inside her.  Possess her and be possessed by her.

They fumbled with the last of their clothing until the last shred was discarded on the 
floor.  As if they both realized it at the same time, they froze, hands at each others' hips, 
separated by six inches or more.  If possible, his breathing quickened and he was 
consumed with a single thought.  There wasn't going to be gentleness between them.  Not 
now, at least.  Maybe later, in the dark of the night.  But, the needs they were feeling 
were primal and only a primal reaction to them would do.  

He grabbed her again and pushed her against the wall, his swollen penis pushing against 
her flat stomach.  The force of the impact sent a loud reverberation through the room, but 
Shirley didn't object.  He knew without needing to hear it that she wanted him just as 
badly as he wanted her.  Just as badly and at least as urgently.

She bit his shoulder and actually growled, low in the back of her throat.  He swung her 
again and practically threw her to the bed.  She scooted back several inches and he 
dropped down on top of her again, pinning her.  He was driven to new heights of arousal 
when she dragged her fingernails up his back.  She grabbed his ass again and he lowered 
his head to hers, seeking out her mouth.  

They started moving against each other, creating a rhythm and he couldn't wait any more.  
He tore his lips away from hers and gazed into her eyes, his chest heaving.  He'd lost all 
ability to speak -- to vocalize thoughts or desires.  But there was one thing he needed to 
know before they went on.  She smiled just slightly and nodded and he knew her answer.  
There was no doubt in his mind.  She was already taking care of everything that needed 
to be.

Sweat rolled off his nose and dripped onto her left breast.  He leaned down and licked at 
it, then pulled on her nipple with his teeth.  He ground his hips into hers and then reached 
down to push her legs apart, roughly.  They weren't in a gentle mood, either of them.  
There was no love involved.  This was all about lust.  

He reached down to guide himself and pushed hard, driving home in one sustained move.  
She was warm and tight, wet and perfect.  They were both slick with sweat and he lost all 
thought then as he pounded into her in inelegant but effective jerks.  Her hands were 
pushing at his shoulders but her mouth was on his neck, his chin, his mouth, pulling at 
him and encouraging him.  She was making grunting sounds that corresponded with his 
every thrust and they were driving him wild.

He needed this release and knew it was fate that he'd met a woman who thought enough 
like him that he could find it.  He tore away from her mouth then and raised his head and 
shoulders to look at her.  He grabbed her hands in his and wrapped his fingers through 
hers, then pushed her arms down, so they lay on either side of her head.  Her hair was 
spread out around her head, creating a halo, and light from the window caught the 
highlights, making them shine.  Her face wore an intent expression, as if she were 
concentrating hard.  

The blood pounded in his ears and his eyesight clouded.  He gasped for breath and 
prayed for release.  In a heartbeat, the image below him shifted.  It wasn't Shirley's face 
he saw beneath him but rather, Lorri Kiley's.  Empty eyes stared up to the ceiling and he 
saw someone's hands wrapped around her neck, choking the life out of her.  There was an 
urgency that he didn't understand and someone was screaming his name.  Screaming 
words that finally started to sink in.

"Stop it.  Fox, what are you doing?!"

His was able to see clearly again and he focused on Shirley's terrified eyes.  Saw his own 
hands wrapped around her neck.  Her hand trying to push them away, unsuccessfully.  He 
was filled with disgust and self-loathing when he realized what he'd done, as well as an 
underlying confusion and he tore his hands away.  He pulled himself back so fast that he 
fell off the bed with a thud.  His erection had vanished as fast as it had originally 
appeared, shriveled from the shock and horror of his actions.  His stomach roiled and he 
felt the nausea begin to overtake him.  Despite an almost overwhelming weakness that 
caused his legs to tremble and his hands to shake, he managed to get into the bathroom 
before throwing up violently into the toilet.  

He sank onto the cold floor and leaned forward, grabbing onto the bowl lid tightly with 
his outstretched right arm.  His left hand helped to prop him up at first, since every 
instinct told him to curl up into a ball on the floor.  He thought again about what he'd 
done to Shirley and his stomach heaved painfully.  He vomited again and moved his body 
even closer to the porcelain.  He was plastered against the toilet, holding on now with 
both hands, as if for security.  

He started crying uncontrollably at the thought that he'd done such a sick thing.  Tears 
streamed down his face to drop on the rim and in the bowl.  The smell was disgusting and 
reminded him once more of the smells he'd dreamed about during Jesse Smith's murder.  
His tears came harder and he was inconsolable, consumed with guilt and, above all, fear.

He couldn't catch his breath and became terrified that he might hyperventilate and then 
choke on his own vomit, like Jesse Smith.  He wasn't even totally sure that Shirley was 
all right.  Jesus, he hadn't even checked on her!  He could have killed her.  He had to 
check on her but didn't think he could move.  He couldn't even breathe, for God' sake.  

He was gasping seriously now and the sobs were loud in the little tiled room.  But he 
heard a shuffle then and water turning on.  Then there was a cloth at the back of his neck 
and a soft touch on his head.  There was a soft murmuring, but he didn't understand the 
words.  All he knew was that Shirley was all right and he felt the relief course through 
him.  His fingers were gripping the edge of the toilet seat so hard it was making his 
forearms ache.

After another couple minutes he quieted enough to understand what Shirley was saying 
to him.  "Fox, try to calm down.  You have to breathe.  Just calm down and breathe 
deeply.  You're scaring me here."

The knowledge that she was okay and had evidently not totally condemned him for his 
actions, even though she should have, finally sank in.  He quieted further, the retching 
stopping after another minute.  

His eyes were closed tightly, afraid to look at her.  Afraid to see the disgust and 
disappointment in her own eyes.  But then the hand on his head and the cloth on the back 
of his neck were removed. He heard a splash in the sink and a moment later, the cloth 
was being put to his face, as the hand pushed the hair off his forehead.  His body 
shuddered with every breath.

Shirley's gentle voice said, "It's okay, Fox.  Take it easy.  You're going to be okay.  I'm 
here."

Her kind words caused the tears to spill again, as he realized anew that he could have hurt 
her terribly.  He was sick.  Sick.  And he whispered without realizing it, "Sick."

The cloth was wet again and she washed his face, carefully and gently.  His entire body 
trembled now from the drying sweat as well as the horror in which he'd engaged.  He felt 
her lips at his temple, her gentle hands stroking his face and shoulders.  Her courage and 
kindness gave him the strength to open his swollen eyes.  

He dragged his head up and turned to look at her.  He had to say something to her.  Had 
to apologize.  Somehow make it all better.  His voice was a mere whisper.  "Shirley, I'm 
so sorry."

The tears started falling again so that her image shimmered in front of him.  Still, he 
could see that she was beautiful, with her hair falling straight, the sweat dampened 
shorter pieces curling from the heat they’d generated minutes before.  She shushed him 
and brushed off his attempt to apologize, as if he'd forgotten a meeting instead of just 
tried to kill her.

"Fox, come on now.  You have to get up.  It's too cold to be lying on the floor."

The air conditioning was on high in the room and the air was chilled.  He tried to focus 
on her more clearly and could see the goosebumps.  Could see now she was shivering.  
He realized that he was cold as well and that his own trembling was partly due to sitting 
on a freezing floor, hugging a cold porcelain toilet bowl.  He nodded sluggishly and 
started to push himself away from it.  She had his right arm and was pulling.  He forced 
his legs to move and his knees to work under him.  He was upright finally after a bit of 
give and take, and he wavered, dizziness overtaking him momentarily.  

When he felt reasonably sure of himself, he turned to the door.  He'd only taken a step 
when Shirley stopped him and held out a glass of water.

"Here.  Rinse out your mouth.  You'll feel better."

He nodded and tried to ignore the tears that welled once more in his eyes.  Not of sorrow 
this time, but of shame and embarrassment.  Shirley took the glass from him when he 
finished, then grasped his hand and arm tightly.

"Come on, I've got you."

The walk to the bed was made slowly.  He felt like an old man, unable to walk without 
support and guidance.  When they crossed the distance, they paused as Shirley pulled 
down the bedding they hadn't bothered with earlier.  He fell into the bed then and rolled 
onto his right side, away from her.  He wasn't ready to face her yet.  

He felt the bed dip behind him a few moments later.  There was a shuffling and then 
covers were pulled up over him.  The sheets were cool against his skin and he shivered, 
but the weight of the blanket and comforter gave him hope that warmth was imminent.  
Then he felt her touch at his ribs.  The bed dipped again and she moved behind him, 
spooned tightly, with her left arm wrapped around his ribs and chest.

His body shook slightly now with his gentle crying.  She seemed to understand and ran 
her other hand over his head and through his hair.  It was calming and he released himself 
into her care for several long minutes, the silence broken only by his own snuffles and 
ragged breathing.  She held onto him tightly, not saying a word.  Her actions told him 
everything.  Her touch told him that, despite what he'd done, she knew that such a thing 
wasn't in him.  That she'd wait for the reason.  For the explanation as to what had 
happened.

It was seven or eight minutes before his body started to unclench.  Another couple 
minutes before he started to feel warm again.  Shirley must have felt it because she broke 
the silence then.

"Fox, are you better now?  Can you talk yet?"

A shiver ran through him again, but it had nothing to do with the cold.  He tried to collect 
his scattered wits.  He nodded once, still somewhat shakily and whispered, "Yes."

There was no condemnation in her voice when she said, "Tell me what happened.  Did it 
have something to do with last night?"

The shivering started again, but he knew it had nothing to do with the cold.  She hugged 
him tighter.  "You don't have to tell me if you can't."

He shook his head hard.  He wanted to tell her.  He had to.  He took a deep shuddering 
breath.  "There's a case.  An open case with a serial killer.  I found the files by accident 
and I read them.  I wasn't supposed to, I know.  It was wrong of me.  I know it."

Her hand paused in it's stroking at his words, then she started again.  "What case?  What's 
it about?"

"There have been four victims so far.  Scattered by age, race, sex.  He kills each one 
differently."  He shuddered again and she draped her leg over his.  

"What does that have to do with last night?"

He could hear the unspoken words clearly.  'And with me.'  He swallowed and licked his 
lips before answering.  "I have a photographic memory.  I know all the case details, like 
I'm reading them on a page.  Last night ..."  His voice broke and he had to stop for a 
moment to collect himself.  "Last night I dreamed about Jesse Smith's abduction and 
murder.  It was like I was there, observing everything, but I couldn't control anything.  I 
couldn't stop it from happening or call for help."

Her tone was curious, but respectful.  "How did he die?"

The memory caused another shiver to run through him.  Her warm body, tight against his, 
was reassuring.  The security she offered made the telling much easier.  "He was staked 
to the ground and dismembered with an ax, while he was still alive."  He added, in a 
whisper, "For a while."

He heard the gasp from behind and her arms tightened again.  He moved his right hand so 
that it lay over hers and was thankful when she twined her finger with his.

Shirley shifted against him and he felt her lips on his shoulder.  There was nothing erotic 
about the kiss.  He took it for what it was.  The kindness of a caring human being towards 
another in need.  And for the first time in the last fifty minutes, he started to relax.  

The silence stretched for a while and then he knew he could tell her the rest.  "I tried to 
scream.  Tried to stop it.  But I couldn't do anything at all and I couldn't even wake up.  I 
guess I got sick while I was still asleep and Chris and Rob managed to wake me up.  My 
body went into shock and one of them called the medics.  That's all I know.  I woke up 
this morning and got grilled by Agent Waring.  They released me and I went to the 
obstacle course."

She sighed behind him and the little puff of air hit his shoulder blades.  "Jesus, Fox, that's 
incredible."

He shook his head and replied, "It's sick.  Sick."

He felt her head shaking behind him and her voice was adamant when she replied.  "You 
are not sick.  You're one of the nicest people I've ever met."

It was as if she'd forgotten what he'd done just a short hour ago.  His voice was strained.  
"Shirley, I almost killed you."

She snorted and responded, "Hardly."  She moved then, propping herself up on her elbow 
so that she leaned over him.  He looked into her face as she added, "It's not like you were 
actually choking me.  Your hands were just around my neck."  But then her eyes clouded 
as she listened to her own words and realized just what she was excusing.  She 
whispered, "What happened?"

He thought he had no tears left in him, but they started again at her question.  He shook 
his head, then said, "I'm not sure.  It was you, but all of a sudden I saw one of the victims, 
Lorri Kiley.  She was under me, staring at me with dead eyes, and I saw hands around her 
throat.  It was someone else's hands, not mine.  Then you screamed and it was you there, 
with my hands around your throat."

It had been easier to tell her than he expected and her response did more to calm him than 
anything else could have. 

She said, "That's the most incredible thing I've ever heard."  Her voice jumped with 
excitement and curiosity.  "What do you think it means, Fox?"

He actually managed a little laugh and lifted his head to look back at her.  "Are you 
insane?  I try to kill you and you think that's incredible?"  He shook his head and dropped 
it back on the pillow hard.  "Jesus, I'll never be able to have sex again.  I might as well 
quit the Bureau now and see if there's a monastery with an opening."

Her laughter was gentle behind him.  "That would be way too much of a waste of talent, 
Fox."  

The double entendres hit him a moment later and he laughed with her.  It was exactly 
what he needed and he finally let himself relax totally.  He was tired suddenly and his 
eyes drooped closed.  He took a deep breath and started to drift off to sleep.  

The last thing he heard was Shirley whispering into his back.  "You're a good person, 
Fox.  Don’t ever think otherwise.”

He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Hours later, he awoke to a gentle touch.  He was lying on his back in the middle of the 
bed, his right arm stretched out to the side and his left bent up by his head.  There was a 
weight on his groin and stomach and he opened his eyes to see Shirley above him.  She 
straddled him, and sank down to rub against him when she saw his eyes open.

She was smiling and she looked like an angel.  The sun had set and a shaft of moonlight 
reflected off her hair.  He smiled back at her and sighed, filled with pleasure at the sight.  
She held out her hands and he surrendered his to her.  She linked fingers and gently 
pushed them down on either side of his head.  She moved against him again and he 
realized he was hard.  He became frightened for a moment but he had only to look into 
Shirley’s eyes to know that everything was going to be fine.  He surrendered himself to 
her care willingly.  

She leaned forward to kiss his forehead, his nose, his eyes.  She moved lower and kissed 
his mouth gently, chastely.  Her breasts were soft against his and he could see the flush in 
her cheeks.  He let her set the pace and gave her all control.  She used the power well.  

She moved over him and rose to her knees, then lowered herself onto him, slowly, inch 
by inch.  He felt his heart start to race, but this time, there was no lust.  This had nothing 
to do with lust and everything to do with love.  The love of good friends who want to 
help each other.  Who have respect for each other.  

She set the pace and started a slow rhythm.  Her face was beautiful above him and he 
smiled, squeezing her hands gently.  She leaned forward and kissed him again, a 
lingering kiss of lips pressed to lips.  The change in angle made his breath hitch and she 
started speeding her moves just slightly.  Her control over him was an exquisite torture.

He rocked his hips and pressed his toes into the bed.  She smiled at him again, a soft 
loving smile and he was filled with a peace and contentment that he’d never experienced.  
Even the orgasm she enticed from him was gentle, causing his eyes to fill once more.  
Not in sorrow, but in happiness.  And for the first time since Shirley had awakened him 
that night, they kissed deeply, tongues gently engaged in the dance of the ages.  And life 
was good. 

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


Present Day, Hour 12 of the Wait
Sunday, 10:22 a.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia


Scully rubbed her eyes and set the papers in her left hand down on top of the cooling 
blanket still covering her partner.  She ran her right up and down Mulder's arm without 
really thinking then turned to Skinner, sitting quietly beside her, and wondered if he'd 
made any progress on his stack.  Jerry had brought Mulder's notes and computer forty-
five minutes earlier and she and her former boss had spent the time trying to figure out 
just what Mulder was thinking the last few days.  He turned to look at her and just shook 
his head.  He dropped his own papers and stood, stretching his back out.  

She looked across the bed, seeking out her mother's gaze.  She and Teena Mulder had 
been talking to one another in a soft murmuring the entire time and she couldn't help 
wondering what secrets her mother was revealing.  She felt a surge of guilt at the 
realization that almost the only times she ever saw her mother any more was when there 
was a crisis with either her or Mulder.  Her mother met her eyes and smiled, letting her 
know that she had nothing to feel guilty about.  Her mother loved them both and wouldn't 
be anywhere else right now.

Scully stood up, next to Skinner, and shuffled through the papers now spread out on 
Mulder's bed.  She sorted them carefully and stacked them the way her partner had 
originally organized them, then handed them to Skinner.  She looked up at the older man, 
hoping that he would know what to do next.  She didn't have the energy to think much 
any more.  She searched for her partner's arm again, reassured by the steady pulse at the 
wrist.  "What now, sir?"

He shook his head wearily.  "We still need to go through the files on his computer.  Why 
don't you pull it out?"

She retrieved it from behind them and pulled out the laptop quickly.  She felt stupid for 
not thinking of it.  She rested it on the bed and turned it on, the little chime sounding 
oddly loud, even amidst the machines' various noises.  

Teena Mulder's voice surprised her.  "What exactly are you looking for?"

Scully felt guilty again when she realized they'd forgotten to fill the mothers in.  They'd 
only said that 'something had come up with the case'.  Both ladies deserved much more 
than that.  She glanced at Skinner and decided his silence implied permission.

"We found out that the man Mulder shot didn't fully match the suggested profile."

Teena asked, "But you know that man was the one who had that baby.  He was the one 
who hurt Fox."

Skinner cleared his throat and Scully allowed him the floor.  "Yes, ma'am.  There's no 
question whatsoever that Harold Stevens was holding Christian in that warehouse and 
that he was the one who attacked Mulder.  We don't doubt that.  What's curious is that 
Mulder was very sure about his profile the day before all this started.  Frankly, ma'am, 
I've never known Mulder to be so far off."

She could tell that both Teena Mulder and her mother looked confused, obviously unsure 
of the significance.  She added, "We just want to find out whether there was more that 
Mulder might have been thinking that he didn't actually write in the profile.  That's all."  
No need to get them unnecessarily upset, after all.  There was enough for them all to be 
upset about as it was.

Her mother didn't seem ready to give up the discussion, though.  "I don't understand, 
Dana.  You know that man took Christian.  You know that man almost killed Fox.  
Where's the confusion?"

Dana smiled at her mother's bluntness.  "Actually, mom, we don't know that Stevens took 
Christian.  All we know is that he was found with Christian."

She sat back in her seat and pulled the computer closer.  Skinner sat next to her, 
obviously waiting for her to bring up the right files.  She'd never opened her partner's 
computer before, though, and it felt as if she were rummaging through his private 
drawers.  When the screen launched, there was a security window, clearly demanding a 
password for the default username of FWMulder.

She again felt stupid.  "I should have expected this."  She shook her head and stared.  She 
knew what it used to be, but that just didn't feel right.  Still she typed it in -- trustno1.  
Denied.  She searched her memory for conversations.  Tried to remember every 
discussion they'd had that might give her some idea of the right password.  Skinner 
shuffled beside her and she knew he was getting anxious.  She closed her eyes and 
pictured her partner and friend in her mind's eye.  He was smiling and said, "Scully, 
you're the only one I trust."  She opened her eyes and typed in -- 'trustonly1'.  The word 
Accepted appeared.

Her eyes filled at the sight and what it meant.  She really was the only one.  She heard 
Skinner exhale in relief beside her, but couldn't do anything for a few moments.  She 
cleared her throat then and started searching through her partner's files, looking for one 
that might reveal his thoughts about the UNSUB of the case.  She found the right folder 
quickly, marked 'Richmond-Serial', then viewed the list of individual files.  There was 
one marked 'profile-notes' and she opened it.  

Her breathing quickened and her heart started to pound.  This was it.  Everything was 
here.  Her eyes skimmed the lines.  Each one contained a thought or conclusion or 
question.  Sometimes complete, sometimes fragments only.  Her eyes stopped about a 
third of the way through the file at the lines:


similarity -- DC Murders
schizophrenia/sociopathy -- happening here?? yes.  too early for team.  won't understand.  
Scully/Skinner?  later.


She'd been concentrating on the words so hard that Skinner's voice surprised her.  "Shit.  
What does that mean?"

She shook her head in confusion and looked up at her partner.  He was facing her, 
propped on his left side for now, and she wished he would wake up.  Open his eyes and 
talk with them.  They were in over their heads and he was the only one who could tell 
them what to do now.  She stood and leaned over the bed, raising her hand to her 
partner's forehead.  She pushed back the spikes of hair that insisted on falling forward 
and ran her hand over his head.  She leaned closer and whispered, "We need your help, 
Mulder.  Please wake up and help us."

As she was pulling back, there was a beep that didn't belong.  Her head whipped around 
to the left and Skinner shot out of the chair.  Teena Mulder and her mother seemed 
oblivious to the sound but jumped at their own movements.  She turned to Skinner and 
demanded, "What was that?  Did you hear?"

"Yes.  I don't know.  I couldn't tell where it came from."

There were so many sensors, so many indicators making different sounds, that it was 
impossible to narrow it down.  She pulled her hands away and headed for the door.  
Every machine in the room was being monitored and a record would exist.  She needed 
to know what just happened.

She exited the room into the hallway and searched for a familiar face.  All the doctors 
were new, the shift change an hour ago releasing way the hell too many unknowns into 
the equation.  She shook her head in frustration and headed directly for the control center 
of the CCU.  It was in the very center of the room, raised and glassed, so that those 
within could see every room and alarm around them.  She took two steps in and was 
stopped by a nurse.  Just as the woman raised a hand and opened her mouth to speak, 
Scully said, "Something unusual just happened in Room 107, Fox Mulder's room.  I need 
to see the readouts for the past two minutes."  

The nurse was taken aback, but obviously gathering her thoughts again.  Scully pushed 
past her and walked directly to the control panels, ignoring the woman's words that 
followed her. A doctor came to investigate the commotion.

"What is going on here?  Ma'am, you are not permitted here.  You need to leave 
immediately."

Scully stood as straight and tall as she could.  Her voice was crisp and commanding.  
"My name is Dana Scully.  I am a doctor and the partner of Agent Fox Mulder who is a 
patient in 107.  He's been in a coma and his condition has continually worsened since he 
was brought in.  About a minute and a half ago, there was a …"  Her voice faltered for 
just a second before she could continue.  "There was a sound from one of the indicators 
that was out of place.  Someone needs to check his readouts for the past three minutes 
and identify the source of the inconsistency."

She dared the doctor to defy her.  His eyes narrowed thoughtfully and then he nodded, 
saying, "Time's wasting.  Come on."

The man led her to the control panels and directed one of the nurses monitoring them to 
bring up the recorded readouts for her partner, starting three and a half minutes before.  
Scully stood behind him respectfully, trying her best to look over both the doctor's and 
nurse's shoulder.  She licked her lips and stared at the graphs and charts, the little spikes 
and valleys.  And then she saw it.

"There!"  Both she and the doctor said it simultaneously, pointing to a spike that hadn't 
been before.  She sought out the indicator that it represented and felt her heart start to 
race and her eyes fill.  

The doctor looked back at her, the corner of his mouth uplifted slightly.  "Looks like your 
partner might be waking up."

She nodded, unable to speak, and swiped at the lone tear that had rolled down her face.  
She smiled broadly then and turned her back on the man.  She had only one thought.  She 
had to get back to her partner -- fast.

When she stepped into the room, she had eyes only for Mulder.  She walked straight to 
him and leaned over, her hands on his head and arm.  "Hey, Mulder.  It's about time.  
How about if you work on waking up a little faster, though?  I'm afraid our mothers are 
going to tell all our childhood secrets if we don't get them out of here soon."  And she 
actually laughed out loud for the first time in days.

She felt a hand on hers and looked across the bed to Mulder's mother.  The older woman 
had a questioning look on her face and Scully realized she hadn't told them anything.  
She swallowed and tried unsuccessfully to wipe the smile from her face.  "There was 
brain activity.  He's starting to come back."

In reality, the news didn't mean that Mulder would automatically get better.  His 
condition had deteriorated so rapidly and seriously that she knew he had a long way to go 
until he could be considered to be in stable condition.  But she knew her partner.  Knew 
her friend.  He was on his way back to them. 

There were people at the door and she turned to see the doctor she'd just spoken with, 
along with an intern and a nurse.  The doctor smiled at her kindly and said, "We need a 
little time here.  I'm going to ask you to step down to the waiting room."

She didn't argue.  She merely nodded and pushed all the papers and computer out of the 
way against the wall.  She realized as they left the room and walked down the hall to the 
CCU exit doors that this was the first time they'd traveled this way that she hadn't been 
filled with fear and dread. 

The waiting room was almost filled to capacity so Skinner led them outside into the little 
garden.  She had to squint as the sun assaulted her eyes.  It had been awhile since she'd 
been outside.  The air was fresh, smelling of the bubbling brook and growing things, and 
the colors surrounding them were vibrant.  She stood by a tree, arms crossed and stared at 
the little fountain that gushed water, her smile even broader now.  She'd learned it well 
after her cancer, but hadn't allowed herself the time to have it sink in to the point it was 
second nature.  Life was precious.  Mulder's life especially so.  She not only needed him 
by her side, but wanted him there.  With every ounce of her being, she knew she wanted 
Mulder with her on this journey.  She sighed with contentment, convinced that he'd be 
back by her side soon.

She heard a shuffle behind her and turned her head to see Skinner next to her.  His 
expression had lightened, but still he looked concerned.  Reality set in then, and she knew 
they still had a case to solve.  She sighed before speaking, feeling guilty at breaking the 
tranquil silence that had surrounded her. "Mulder wrote that there was a similarity to the 
DC Murders case.  He had a theory but didn't want to tell the team because he didn't think 
they'd understand or believe him.  What happened after Mulder became involved back 
then?  I need to know."

The older man nodded and gestured to a bench, across from where her mother and Teena 
Mulder sat.  She settled in, anxious now to know the ending of the story her former boss 
had started so many hours before.  

His voice was pensive.  "The next day was Saturday.  I had planned on going home and 
getting cleaned up, but neither of us had a chance to do anything.  We got a call that 
morning that another body had turned up.  There wasn't a note to indicate that it was part 
of our serial case, but the Alexandria PD wanted us to come out to the crime scene to 
check it out."

Skinner shook his head and sat down next to her, his hands gripped tightly and hanging 
between his knees.  "We were skeptical.  We figured it was way too close to the last 
murder.  The time scale had been about two months in between victims for our UNSUB.  
It had only been a few weeks since Ellen Haggerston had been killed."  He looked over at 
her and added, "And we didn't think the victim was right.  It was a child."

Scully felt a jolt run through her.  She had a feeling she knew where this was going. 

Skinner sighed again and stared off into space.  His voice seemed to come from a far 
distance when he spoke.  "It was a little girl, twelve years old.  She had short reddish 
brown hair, green eyes, and freckles.  She was a cute thing."  A stricken expression 
overtook his face and he amended, "Had been, that is."

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


September 6, 1986
Saturday, 9:21 a.m.
Alexandria Crime Scene


Walter rubbed at his face, feeling the stubble scratch his palm.  He leaned against the 
wall and tried to slow his breathing.  Doug was next to him, softly muttering.

"Bastards.  They said strangulation.  They said female victim.  They did this on purpose.  
Assholes."

Walter pushed himself up straighter and took a step away from the wall, keeping his head 
turned towards the right.  He had no desire to see Margie Conner's body again.  Not yet, 
anyway.  He turned to his fellow ASAC, trying to keep his expression even, and leaned 
his right arm against the wall.  "You're right.  They did it on purpose to see the Fibbie's 
reactions.  I think we've done enough to satisfy them on that score, don't you?"

He was starting to get angry himself now, but understood they'd get nowhere with these 
idiots by waving fists and calling for apologies.  Time to just take it and keep their cool.  
He heard Doug exhale heavily beside him.

"Yeah, you're right.  It's just…"  

Doug didn't have to finish the sentence.  Walter knew.  He knew very well what his 
partner was feeling. 

They were distracted by yelling down the hall and then saw a slim, dark haired man in a 
suit headed towards them.  Doug leaned closer to him and said, "George Haftka, the D on 
the Hannover case."

Doug pushed away from the wall and stood next to him, so they offered a unified front.  
The Detective looked sincerely upset when he spoke.

"I'm sorry.  I just heard what happened.  They should have warned you and I should have 
made the call to you myself.  I don't know what to say."

Doug took the lead.  He raised a hand and said, "It's okay.  We understand about 
interagency rivalry.  We just didn't expect …"

If anything, Haftka looked even more stricken.  "Can we talk about the scene?"

Walter  sighed and looked at Dean.  They both knew that before they could talk about 
whether this might be their serial, they'd have to go back in and look at it again.  Neither 
of them spent more than a few seconds the first time.

Walter cleared his throat .  "Detective Haftka, we need to actually see the site first.  Why 
don't you give us ten or fifteen minutes?  Perhaps you can remove your people."

"Of course."  The man nodded and turned, already yelling out orders with a group of 
people he was quite obviously perturbed with.  A minute later, they stood at the 
classroom's entrance and surveyed the scene.  

They were in a junior high school, where a thousand seventh through ninth graders 
typically spent their weekdays. The desks had all been pushed out of the way and in the 
very center of the room, twelve year old Margaret Conner's naked body hung from one of 
the lowered fluorescent lights.  She'd been hung with an electrical cord, tied in 
unprofessional but extremely effective knots.

Even though he expected it this time, it was still almost too gruesome a vision to look at.  
The child's mouth was open, her tongue protruding and swollen.  There was a puddle 
below her, the smell and color leaving no doubt about what it was.  Dried blood coated 
her thighs and it appeared obvious that she'd been molested at the least.

Walter fought the nausea down and raised a fist to his mouth.  He closed his eyes and 
shook his head.  Jesus, if this is what it took to get ahead, he might just head back to 
Chicago and work anti-terrorism the rest of his life.  He heard Doug move beside him 
and saw his partner move even closer to the body.  He wasn't quite ready to move yet 
himself.

Doug's strained voice echoed through the quiet room.  "Why did you call us?  Why do 
you think this might be ours?"

Haftka spoke up from behind.  "I guess I have a hard time imagining anyone else who 
could have possibly done it.  It just couldn't have been a student.  I just don't see that.  
And it's like there's a message being sent, although I have no idea what it might be."

Walter stepped further into the room and walked next to his partner.  Doug was partly 
bent, staring at Margie's mid-section, obviously looking for evidence.  The sight was 
bizarre and incredibly disturbing.  Walter couldn't tear his eyes off of Doug.  The sight of 
this happily married father staring at a naked little girl was finally too much for him.  He 
felt his head spin and his eyes saw only black.  

The next thing he knew, something pungent was waved under his nose and he opened his 
watering eyes.  The first thing he saw was the soles of Margie's feet, hanging five or so 
feet above him.  He rolled over and stared instead out the door.  A cop stood there, a 
smirk on his face, and Walter felt himself burn with shame and embarrassment.  He 
closed his eyes and rested his head on the floor again, trying to collect his thoughts.

Doug was next to him, by his head, and he heard his partner say, "Hey, Walt, how are 
you feeling?"

The man deserved an answer, so he nodded.  "Okay.  I'm okay."  Actually, he was quite 
comfortable on the floor and wasn't particularly anxious to get up.

"Come on, I'll help you.  I think it's time for us to head out.  Our forensics people are here 
and will work the scene.  Come on."

Great.  Not only did the Alex PD see his little display, but probably his own people did as 
well.  Screw it.  He forced his eyes open and struggled to a sitting position.  His head was 
pounding and he raised a hand to his left temple.  He had a huge knot that was tender to 
the touch.

Doug's tone was contrite.  "Sorry about that, Walt.  I wasn't quite fast enough.  I'm afraid 
your head took a whopping."

He nodded, then let his friend help him up.  He wavered for just a moment before his 
vision cleared and he felt confident he could walk without assistance.  His back was 
turned to Margie and he had no intention of looking at her again. 

He swiped at his eyes with his sleeve and was thankful that Doug led the way.  His team 
was waiting outside the door, most of them looking pale and all wearing serious 
expressions.  Not a one looked at him with anything less than the utmost respect.  He 
understood then that basic human sensitivity was not a crime, nor was it something to 
ever be ashamed of.  He prayed he'd never become so immune to human suffering that he 
would walk past it without thought.

He let Doug take the lead in assigning tasks and then they both walked down the hallway 
together, side by side.  He heard Doug take a deep breath and then his partner said, "I 
don't believe I did that, Walt.  Do you know, for a few seconds I actually managed to 
forget what it was I was looking at.  I'm sorry."

He merely shook his head, not really knowing what to say.  He found words finally, but 
they were strangled and barely clear.  "It was just a shock."

"I know."

They walked in silence to the car.  Ten minutes passed before Walter found the courage 
to launch the conversation they needed.  "Well?  What do you think?"  He knew his own 
mind, but was anxious to hear Doug's opinion.

"I think it's ours."

Walter let out a pent up breath and said, "So do I."  

"Why?"

"I don't know.  I guess it's like Haftka said.  I can't see this girl being a target for any 
normal kind of murder.  Where's the motivation?  And even if someone wanted to do her 
in, why choose such a … such a horrific way to do it?  It was for the shock value."

Doug said, "I agree."  The man drove in silence for a bit longer and then added, "And it 
worked."

Walter snorted a bit.  "You bet it did."

"Alex PD forensics people seem to think she was penetrated."

The switch in topic threw him for a moment.  He breathed deeply and squeezed the 
bridge of his nose.  His head was really pounding now.  "It would be the first time, if so."  
None of the others showed evidence of sexual molestation.  But Dean's words from the 
day before came back to him.

"I know."

"Dean suggested we consider a sexual sociopath."  He hadn't told Doug everything, but 
had at least hit the high points.

"It would fit."

"This would represent an intense escalation.  Less than a month between this one and the 
last."

"I know."

They did know.  Very well.  And they knew that if this was the work of their UNSUB, 
then they'd better start moving a hell of a lot faster, because the next one would come 
even sooner.

Walter said, "We need to bring this to Dean and to Patterson's group.  He said to come 
back when we had more."

"But we don't know for sure this is our guy.  We need to wait for verification before we 
go to Patterson."

He thought about it for a moment a realized that Doug was right.  Patterson wouldn't 
waste his time on looking at this unless they could verify it was part of their serial murder 
case.  He sighed and clenched his teeth.  Just the thought of Patterson put him on edge.  
"Okay, but we can still take it to Dean."

"All right.  We'll be having the team meeting tonight at 7 p.m.  We should have prelims 
by around two.  That should give you plenty of time to see him."

Walter raised his eyebrows and turned to his partner.  "Me?  What about you?"

The man smiled a little.  "Hey, someone has to be here to direct the troops.  Besides, 
there's that little matter of the meeting with SAC Keenan. Did you forget?"

Walter closed his eyes and rested his head back.  "I guess I did.  Wasn't really thinking.  
Sorry."

"No prob.  We're both strung out on this one.  I wish I could have just one day off and 
one night of good sleep.  I guess it'll just have to wait until this is all over, though, huh?"

"Yep.  When it's all over."

And Walter prayed that it would be over and soon.  "Will you be okay with Keenan?"

Doug snorted.  "Sure.  I'll let him yell at me.  He'll probably throw some things."  Doug 
turned towards him with a smile.  "Hopefully not directly at me."  The man turned his 
gaze back to the road before continuing.  "I'll explain that he has his best people on it and 
that we're doing everything we possibly can.  He'll tell me that's not good enough and ask 
if he needs to find two new ASAC's."

Walter laughed, knowing that Doug probably wasn't far off.  He'd come to know Keenan 
a bit during the last week or so and knew the man never took no as an answer.  He 
wanted results, not excuses.  "I'll tell you what, Doug.  The next time Keenan wants to 
meet with us, I'll find you a good excuse and meet with him myself.  We'll take turns at 
the abuse."

The mood lightened and the rest of the trip was made in comfortable silence.  When they 
got back to Headquarters, they headed for Doug's office to summarize what they knew.  
Doug flopped into the chair behind his desk and Walter sank into one of the guest chairs.  
It was hard, incredibly uncomfortable, and looked to be a hundred years old.  Still, his 
aching feet and pounding head appreciated the break.

"Okay, Walter, here's the advance report I got from Haftka.  We know that twelve year 
old Marguerite Conner went missing yesterday afternoon after school.  The last report of 
her to date was a visual from a classmate.  Said she got off the bus at the corner up from 
her house a little before 4 p.m.  Cops are doing door-to-doors right now to see whether 
anyone saw anything.  Mother says she never got home and that she wouldn't have gone 
anywhere without her express permission.  Mother said Margie was quite good about 
such things."  Doug sighed and shrugged.  

Walter shook his head and said, "Yeah, but she was twelve.  Yesterday could have been 
the day she decided to start her rebellious teen years.  Who knows?"  He reached his right 
hand up to rub his neck, then raised his left to look at his watch.  Jesus, not even eleven 
yet.  He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees.  "What do we know about 
her friends?  Anything yet?"

"Nope.  I've got Bretner on it.  His team's working on friends and family."

"Teachers?"

"Leebow's on it."

Walter nodded, amazed at how much his fellow ASAC had coordinated in the couple 
minutes he himself had been out.  "When will forensics be able to give us anything?"

"No later than 2 p.m., but I requested an ASAP."

He nodded, trying to decide whether there was anything else they should do right now.  
"Who's talking with the parents?"  If this was a victim of their serial killer, one of them 
would eventually have to meet with the family.

"Right now I have Bretner doing the initial debrief.  I figured we'd pow-wow before 
jumping into anything."

He nodded agreement again, then leaned forward and picked up the initial report Doug 
had collected on Margie's murder.  He read down the sheet, scanning it for anything that 
struck him as anomalous, then threw it down on the desk in disgust.

"Doug, when do you think we'll get autopsy data?"

His fellow ASAC leaned back and stared up at the ceiling.  Walter could practically see 
him doing the math.  "Not sure.  Later this afternoon."

Walter knew they were both thinking the same thing.  Wondering whether there would be 
body fluids left behind this time.  Actually hoping for semen.  He squeezed his eyes and 
said, "Sometimes I don't much like this job, Doug."

The other man sat forward in his chair and crossed his arms on the desk in front of him.  
"I know what you mean."

They stared at each other for almost a minute.  It was strange.  Until they found out more, 
there wasn't an awful lot they could do.  They were in a holding pattern.  Almost 
simultaneously they looked at their watches.

Walter smiled at his friend.  "I'm going to my apartment to shower and change.  I'll meet 
you back here a little after twelve."  

Doug nodded and stood.  "I'll do the same.  Come on.  I'll drive."

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

A little over an hour and a half later, both were back in the exact same positions, sporting 
freshly shaved faces and clean clothes.  Reports were starting to come in and both were 
reviewing everything that had been gathered.  Walter shifted in the hard chair and 
crossed his legs.  He had a report on potential witness interviews conducted by the Alex 
PD around the area of the school.  No one saw anything of any worth.  The only 
interesting piece of information came from a woman who lived down the block from the 
school.  She reported seeing a small dark colored station wagon late the night before, 
heading towards the school. She said the only reason she noticed it was that it was going 
unusually slowly around 9 p.m.  She'd been expecting a friend to stop by and thought at 
first it was her friend.  Then she saw the same car pass her house going the other 
direction about two hours later.  That time she reported that the car was going extremely 
fast.  It sounded suspicious enough to Walter to warrant further investigation.

"Hey, Doug.  Read this."  He tossed the report over.  "Second paragraph."

Doug skimmed quickly.  "Looks good.  One of us should meet with her personally.  Find 
out whether she saw anyone inside."  He placed the report to the side and waved another 
in the air.  "Listen to this.  Advance data from our forensics folks."  He set the report 
down and scooted forward in his chair.  "The girl was definitely penetrated, but no 
semen.  Bruises and vaginal tears.  Blood.  She was a virgin."

It wasn't unexpected, of course.  She was just a child.  Walter shifted uncomfortably and 
waited for Doug to continue.  His fellow ASAC looked up from the report and stared at 
him intently.

"They're not sure what she was penetrated with.  Their report suggests that the damage 
done was too severe for a … human organ."

Walter felt the nausea return and the sweat start under his arms and on his forehead.  He 
swallowed heavily and asked, "What the hell does that mean?"

Doug looked about as ill as he felt.  The man just shook his head, then sat back in his 
chair.  "I'm not sure.  We hadn't really started linking the sex aspect yet.  I don't know 
what it means.  Maybe Dean will know."  Doug's voice was less sure when he suggested, 
"Maybe we should go to Patterson now.  I think we're way the hell out of our element."

Walter snorted at the words in disbelief.  "Doug, we were out of our element on day 1."

His partner actually looked chagrined at his words.  "Yeah, I guess so."

Walter forced himself out of the chair and reached for his copy of the reports.  "Let me 
put it to Dean and get his opinion on Patterson."

"Okay."

"Good luck with Keenan.  I think you're going to need it after this."

"Gee, thanks buddy."

He grinned at the other man, feeling somewhat guilty at managing to escape the meeting 
with their SAC, but not about to suggest that he not go.  He stuffed the papers in his 
briefcase and nodded.  "Later."

He was practically out the door when Doug's voice stopped him.  "Hey, Walter."

He turned and looked back, questioning.  "Yeah?"

Doug was as serious as he'd ever seen him.  "We have to get this guy, Walter."

He didn't need to answer.  He knew it.  "See you soon."
 
*******************************************

The drive was fast, with little traffic to slow him down.  He pulled into the parking lot at 
a little before two and tried to decide where to go.  He had confirmed that Dean was at 
Quantico today, but had no idea of exactly where.  He figured he'd try Dean's office first 
and then the lecture hall, although since it was a Saturday he couldn't imagine a class in 
session.

The day was overcast and cool, with clouds getting increasingly darker.  It looked like a 
storm was approaching.  He pulled his jacket tighter and was relieved to get inside.  He 
got to the office Dean used in just a couple minutes.  Although it was empty, the lights 
were on and the door was open.  Walter shook his head, frustrated at the lack of paranoia 
his friend seemed to possess.  He stopped at the threshold and looked for a familiar stack 
of files.  He didn't see them anywhere obvious and sighed internally in relief.

He stared up and down the hallway and finally decided to check at the lecture room.  He 
entered from the ground floor, at the podium level.  It was darkened, but not completely 
dark, with a few track lights providing some illumination.  He only needed to take a 
single step in to realize that it was deserted.  He shook his head in frustration and turned 
to leave when the room's overhead lights were flipped on.

He squinted and looked around, trying to see who was responsible.  A door creaked and 
he looked up the steps towards the back of the auditorium.  Someone was standing in 
silhouette in front of the AV room.  He raised a hand to shade his eyes and tried to make 
out the form.

Dean's voice boomed out then, eliminating all doubt.  "Walter?  So you found me after 
all.  Get your butt up here."

He smiled, amused and also thankful that he'd found the older agent.  He walked up the 
stairs, taking long strides, and shook Dean's hand when he reached the top.  "I'm glad I 
found you.  Did you hear?"

The man nodded slowly and gestured to the AV room.  "Yes, I heard a little girl was 
found naked, hanging in her school.  I thought you might be by."

Walter was confused for a minute.  "And that's why you weren't in your office?"

"I always knew you were smart, Walter.  I just hoped you weren't smart enough to track 
me down."

He froze in the doorway, unsure whether he was welcome or not.  "Dean, I can come 
back.  We can talk later.  It's just…"

"It's just.  Yes, I know.  It's just that the UNSUB's out there, maybe escalating, and you 
need to solve this case."

Walter started getting angry and shoved his free hand into his pants pocket.  "I would say 
that the Bureau needs to solve it, Dean.  Or the police.  Frankly, I don't give a good 
goddamn who solves it, but somebody sure as hell better."

Dean merely glared at him for long seconds but finally softened.  "Oh, come in and sit 
down, Walter.  Just don't think I'm pleased that you dumped this on my desk."

He glared back at his mentor for a half minute and finally realized that if he didn't bend, 
they'd be there all day, glaring at each other.  He took a step inside and sat down stiffly.  
Dean took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes before putting them back on.

"Oh, stop looking at me like that.  Can you blame me for being unhappy?  Here I was, a 
simple agent, lecturing three days a week to a bunch of wet-behind-the-ear Trainees, 
advising on basic VCS cases on the other two days, and you come and dump this in my 
lap.  And Fox Mulder isn't the only one having trouble sleeping, so forgive me if I'm 
grouchy."

Walter remained silent, but stopped the glaring.  He did understand.  In a way, it was the 
same thing that had happened to him.  He was ripped out of his Chicago office and 
working on the case in a day.  At least he chose it.  He hadn't been dragged into it 
unwillingly.  He sighed and hung his head.  "I'm sorry I got you involved, Dean, but you 
are the best investigator and the best analyst I've ever known."

The other man seemed to sink further into his chair and finally said, "I don't know the 
details of this one.  Only what was reported on the news.  Do you think it's him?"

He shifted and crossed his right leg over his left.  Gripped the chair arms and nodded.  
"Yes, Doug and I both believe it is."

"But?"

"We won't be able to confirm until we get the note."

"And?"

He smiled a little.  Dean knew him pretty darned well.  "And there was something new 
with this one.  If it is ours, then your Fox Mulder was right."

Dean's eyebrows flew up.

"The girl was definitely penetrated, but forensics doesn't know yet with what.  We're still 
waiting on autopsy results."

Dean nodded slowly then breathed heavily, making a little snorting sound.  "The sexual 
psychopath who masturbates over his tortured victim."  Dean looked at him, straight in 
the eyes, and said, "Tell me."

He dropped his leg to the floor and reached down to his briefcase.  He pulled out the file 
on Margie's murder and started citing facts.

"Twelve year old girl, Marguerite Conner.  White from a good neighborhood.  Never in 
any significant trouble.  On the school swim team.  Lots of friends.  Average student.  
Got on the school bus Friday afternoon, got off near her house, never made it home.  No 
one saw anything.  A woman near the junior high school reports seeing a car -- a small, 
dark station wagon of some sort -- drive by around nine, going towards the school, 
driving very slowly."

He shifted and turned the page.  "Two hours later, the same car drives by again in the 
other direction, driving very quickly.  This morning a little after 7 a.m., a janitor almost 
has a heart attack when he discovers the nude body of Margie hanging from a light in one 
of the classrooms.  No way she did it herself.  There was blood between her thighs.  She 
was definitely alive when hung.  Her tongue exhibited signs of engorgement and she lost 
control of her bladder."

He shifted again, terribly uncomfortable in the wood chair.  "I have initial reports from 
interviews -- friends, family, teachers, classmates, neighbors.  Also from forensics.  Not 
complete, yet.  Still waiting on autopsy results."

He handed the file out and was relieved when Dean reached for it.  Walter was shocked 
at how old his mentor looked all of a sudden.  The man was worn, obviously disturbed by 
this case.  He began having serious doubts about getting the man involved.  "Dean…"

"No, it's okay, Walter.  You were right.  Someone does have to stop this man.  I just don't 
think I'll be able to help you much.  It's all beyond me.  I spent most of yesterday and last 
night in the library, trying to find out whether there had ever been a serial killer that 
resembled, in any way, what we have on our hands here.  You know what I found?"

Walter shook his head, although he was pretty sure he did know.

"Nothing.  Nada.  Not a single case that bore any resemblance at all.  I thought maybe 
this was a man who was copying other killers.  That would have explained the mix or 
organized and disorganized scenes.  It would have explained the different victims and 
modes of death."  Dean shook head again and raised his hands, palms upwards.  
"Nothing."  He dropped his arms then and leaned back in the chair, obviously exhausted.

"What does that mean, Dean?"

"I'm not sure.  But he's smart.  He knows about evidence gathering techniques.  
Otherwise there would have been something found.  A hair, an eyelash, a fingerprint.  
Something.  But this man …  He's too smart.  He's doing it on purpose, Walt."

"On purpose?"

"He's causing confusion because he can.  He knows enough about our classifications, 
about crime scene treatment, about evidence, that he can avoid being caught and throw 
everyone into a headspin at the same time.  And he's enjoying it.  It's a game and nothing 
more to him."

Walter remembered the notes and knew Dean was right.  'Play the Game if you dare'.  
They'd played all right, but they were losing terribly.  He looked up at his mentor as he 
realized the significance of the other words the man had said.  "What are you saying, 
Dean?"

The man didn't answer for a long time.  Just as Walter began to give up hope of ever 
getting a straight answer, Dean said, "I think you need to look close to home on this, 
Walt."

It wasn't the answer he'd wanted, but was the one he'd dreaded.  His voice actually caught 
on his next question.  "You think it's one of us?  Someone in Law Enforcement?"

Dean again raised his hands out, palms up, but dropped them without speaking. 

Walter licked his lips nervously and swallowed hard.  "So what do you suggest?"

"Something I can't believe I'm suggesting.  Something that makes me sick even thinking 
it."

"What?"  He was getting more anxious now.  "What is it, Dean?"

The man stared at the wall blankly for a good thirty seconds before turning back to look 
at him.  "I suggest we let Fox Mulder take a look at the file when it's compiled."

"What!?"  He launched out of the chair, unable to help his reaction.  "Are you crazy?  I 
don't have any desire to be kicked out of the Bureau just now, Dean, at least not before I 
solve this God forsaken case.  I can't show this file to non-Bureau personnel."

Dean raised an arm and propped his chin on his fist, then stared at him, gaze unwavering.  
After a long silence, broken only by Walter's shuffling feet, Dean said, "I understand that, 
Walter.  I also know that Patterson won't be able to help you until you can confirm these 
cases are related.  And whether you want to admit it or not, the kid's already involved.  
He picked up on the sexual aspect before we did.  He also picked up on something else."

Walter reached down behind him and guided himself back into the chair slowly.  He felt 
tired.  Exhausted.  He wanted this case over.  He closed his eyes and searched his 
memory, trying to understand what Dean was implying.  He remembered then.  "Jesse 
Smith got in the car willingly."

"That's right.  According to Fox's dream, Jesse Smith trusted the person in the car.  That's 
how he constructed it."

"Law Enforcement."

"That's right.  Person in the car flashes a badge or is wearing a uniform.  Talks the person 
into the car on some pretext.  They go willingly, being good citizens or concerned by 
whatever the cop tells them.  Trust.  That's what the kid dreamt."

Walter licked his lips and thought about it again before nodding.  "How do you want to 
do it?"

Dean shook his head and slammed his hand on the desk.  "I don't want to, Walter.  
Understand that now.  But I think this kid might be able to look at things in an unbiased 
light.  That's all."

The man sat back again and linked his hands in his lap.  "I'll talk with him.  He should be 
back tomorrow night at the latest.  His class had the weekend off.  I'll probably wait until 
next week, until you have all the reports.  In the meantime, you should collect everything 
you can.  And start looking close to home."

Walter nodded and stood, tapping his fingers awkwardly against his legs.  "Is it wrong, 
Dean?"

The man stared at him again, just as he had the day before.  "Does it matter?"

He didn't know what answer Dean wanted from him.  He was confused, unsure about the 
balance of the greater good and the good of a single person.  "I guess not."  And again, 
Dean looked disappointed in him, but the man didn't correct him.  Didn't suggest 
anything different.

"Goodbye, Dean."

His old mentor nodded and waved to him.  "Bye, Walt.  Drive safe."

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


Present Day, Hour 14 of the Wait
Sunday, 12:09 p.m.
Mercy Hospital, Richmond, Virginia


Scully sensed Skinner's sadness and knew he regretted his choice.  His face was lined and 
his head hung down, nearly to his chest.  She realized that he'd probably been younger 
than she was now when he was put in charge of the case with Doug.  She tried to imagine 
what it must have been like.  The pressures and the fear that the UNSUB would never be 
stopped.  She saw Skinner's hands, clenched tightly and hanging down between his legs.  
She reached over and, just for a moment, rested her hand on top of his.  His look of 
thanks was heartfelt.

She took a deep breath and stared up into the sky.  The sun was directly overhead and she 
wondered what was happening inside.  She glanced at her watch and realized that well 
over half an hour had passed.  She looked across at her mother and Teena Mulder, both 
of whom were solemn after Skinner's story.  "I'm going to check on Mulder.  Find out 
when we can go back in."

Skinner and the ladies nodded to her.  She was only two steps into her journey, though, 
when the door opened and Jerry Friedman walked out.  His face was almost white and a 
thunderbolt of fear shot through her body at the sight.

"Jerry, what's wrong?  What is it?"

He actually looked confused for a few moments before shaking his head.  "Nothing.  I 
was told you were all out here and I just got worried.  I thought something had 
happened."

Her shoulders dropped in relief.  "Don't do that to me, Jerry."  She took a deep breath and 
tried to get over the temporary fright.  She realized then that Jerry was frozen to the spot, 
looking incredibly guilty, as well as exhausted.  Time for fence-mending.  "Jerry, 
Mulder's doing fine.  In fact, he showed brain activity for the first time.  That's why we're 
out here -- so they can run some tests."

A wide smile came to Jerry's face, reminding her just how long it had been since she'd 
seen it.  He strode towards her and grabbed her, actually lifting her off the ground so her 
feet dangled for a few seconds.  "Dana, that's wonderful.  I knew Mulder would pull 
through.  I knew it."

She heard a throat clearing behind her and realized that Skinner was there.  That sobered 
her quickly and she stepped back, adjusting her clothes self-consciously. 

"Agent Friedman, have you got anything else to report?"

The other agent straightened visibly and his smile faded.  "Yes, sir.  Agent Chang spoke 
with Stevens' neighbors.  One of them reported that Stevens told her he had a new job.  
That he was excited about it because it was something that he was really good at.  The 
neighbor didn't ask any questions because she was frightened of the man.  Wanted to get 
out of there as soon as possible.  According to IRS records, though, they don't know 
anything about a job."

Jerry was growing more excited now.  "In fact, we haven't been able to determine where 
Stevens got all his money from.  His mother had a small amount saved away.  When she 
died two years ago, Stevens inherited about thirty thousand dollars.  But the old woman 
had set it up so that he could only get a few hundred a month.  The weird thing is that he 
hardly even touched any of it after the first year.  So for the past year, he's got sporadic 
deposits into an account, but there's no record of where he got the money."

Scully was confused.  "I'm not sure I totally understand the implications of what you're 
telling us, Jerry."

The man turned to Skinner and then back to her.  "I'm not sure, Dana.  All we know is 
that he was getting money from somewhere.  Makes you wonder just what kind of skills 
he had worth paying for, that's all."

Skinner made a frustrated sound and both she and Jerry looked at him.  They were both 
surprised at his words.  "Mulder originally asked that a list be made up with people who 
had applied to the Bureau and were later kicked out, either during the Academy or after.  
Was that list ever completed, Jerry?"

The other man looked taken aback, but finally shook his head.  "No, sir.  We were 
working on it and had made progress.  When the report came in that Mulder was at the 
warehouse, we stopped pursuing it."

Skinner nodded and said merely, "Finish it.  Fast.  I want to see that list."

"Yes, sir."

Jerry turned to leave and Scully reached her hand out to grab his sleeve.  "Hey, Jerry.  
Thanks for being concerned about Mulder.  I'll let you know if anything else happens, 
okay?"

The other agent smiled and waved at them before turning to leave.  Before the door fully 
closed behind him a doctor exited.  It was the same man who'd chased them out of 
Mulder's room and she walked towards him quickly.

"Doctor, is everything all right?"

He smiled and nodded.  "Yes, Dr. … I didn't catch your name."

She felt like an ungracious idiot and immediately held out her hand.  "I'm sorry, doctor.  
I'm Dana Scully, Mulder's partner."  She gestured next to her and said, "This is Walter 
Skinner, Mulder's … boss.  And friend."  Next she waved to the mothers who were just 
now standing.  "This is my mother, Margaret Scully, and Mulder's mother, Teena."

She turned back, grateful that the introductions were over and prayed the man would just 
answer her original question.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you all.  I'm Nathan Parish.  Dr. Scully, I spent a while 
looking over all your partner's records from the past twelve hours or so and I have to tell 
you that what we're seeing now looks like very good news."

She felt her knees weaken and held her breath.

"His temperature has gone down and he seems to have regained kidney function.  That's a 
huge hurdle.  We're more optimistic now, but you still need to understand that he has a 
very long way to go.  He's still in much worse shape now than when he was first out of 
surgery.  But, I'd say your partner's a fighter.  He has a good chance."

She replayed every word he'd just said and finally smiled.  She turned behind her and 
grabbed both her mother's and Teena Mulder's hands, squeezing them for a moment.  Her 
mother hugged her and kissed her forehead before releasing her, then before she knew it, 
she was in Teena Mulder's arms.

The doctor's voice cut through the little celebration.  "Please, you have to understand.  
This doesn't mean that he's out of danger.  I don't want you to get the wrong idea or a 
false hope."

She turned back to him, fierce with determination.  "Dr. Parish, you don't know Mulder.  
Once he's made up his mind, there's no changing it.  And he's made up his mind here.  I 
know it."

The doctor was now looking at her like he was considering prescribing a sedative.

"Dr. Parish, I know you've spent the last twenty minutes reviewing his records from last 
night.  If you want some really interesting reading, take a look at his records from the 
past six and a half years.  That's how long I've been partners with him and I can tell you 
that you won't find more interesting reading."

She crossed her arms and cocked her head.  "Now, I know my partner.  I've sat at the side 
of more hospital beds than I care to count.  I understand that you don't want to give us 
false hope and I appreciate that.  But the truth is that he's already made up his mind and I 
fully intend to be there when he wakes up and opens his eyes."

It was a challenge, thrown out intentionally to let him know clearly what her stance was.  
He got the message.

He smiled, just at the corner of his mouth.  "If he's anything like you, Dr. Scully, I don't 
doubt that he'll be just fine in record time.  And since it appears that your presence has 
been helpful, all of you, and that he might actually be responding to your voices, I'll let 
you stay."  The man smiled more broadly and gestured towards the door.  "You can go 
back in now."

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

End Part 8 of ?
(Feedback to kronos1@adelphia.net is greatly appreciated)
Ascent to Hell
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