Abattoir Series by Xenith and TBishop

Abattoir by Xenith

From: Xenith <[email protected]> Date: Sat, 18 Sep 1999 21:01:12 -0700 (PDT) Subject: Abattoir—(1 of 6) Source: direct

Title: Abattoir—(1 of 6)

Author: Xenith

Disclaimer: The X-files belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions, not me. I’m only borrowing the characters for now. I’ll put them back when I’m done.

Rating: NC-17;
Warning! This is a gritty, brutal VIOLENT story with explicit scenes; contains scenes of rape. Under 17’s should run away screaming.

Category: SA

Keywords:Muldertorture, Scullytorture, rape

Spoilers: Thru 6th season, without Biogenesis

Archive: Sure! Just tell me!

Feedback: Love it! Love it!

E-Mail address: [email protected]

Discussion List: Yes!!! Yes!!!

Summary: Somebody is kidnapping and brutally murdering FBI agents close to Skinner, then sending him the videotapes. Mulder and Scully are next.

ABATTOIR

Day 1
10:00 a.m. Hoover Building, Washington D.C.

“Mulder, there’s been another one.” Scully poked her head into the basement office door.

Mulder looked up from the videotape he was watching frame by frame, his eyes bloodshot and his face worn-looking. “Damn,” he said tiredly. “I suppose it was too much to hope that the bastard would at least run out of blank videotapes. How’s Skinner taking it?”

“Not well. He wants to see us in his office. Just us.” Mulder looked surprised, but grabbed his suitjacket off the chair and re-tied his tie. As they rode the elevator upstairs Mulder thought back to the previous gruesome weeks. FBI agents had been disappearing from the D.C. area, their bodies turning up weeks later, horribly mutilated. But the bodies weren’t the worst part. The killer had been making videotapes of each agent, first being tortured, then a second videotape of the murder.

Four agents had died so far and all the agents had a common tie: the videos were being sent to Walter Skinner, and each of the victims had once worked closely with him, had been friends with him.

“Do you suppose he’s going to warn us to be careful again?” Scully asked, watching the numbers light up on the elevator.

“How much more careful can we be? The next step is an armed guard,” Mulder replied. The doors swung open and he led the way to Skinner’s office.

“Hi Kim, we’re here for the meeting.” Scully found Kim, Skinner’s secretary, gazing fondly at a new photograph she was placing on her desk. “I haven’t seen him before. Special someone?”

Kim grinned. “Yeah. I’ve known him for about two months. It’s starting to get serious. He doesn’t like having his picture taken, but I managed to get one candid shot without him noticing, just for my desk. He’s a good looking guy, huh?”

Scully dutifully looked at the photograph. “He’s cute, all right.”

“And he even cooks.” Kim sighed. “He’s about the only positive thing in my world right now. You heard about the videotape AD Skinner just got?” Both agents nodded. “Well, Agent Weller is dead. They’d been friends for 20 years. I’ll let the Assistant Director know that you’re here.” Kim spoke softly into the phone then nodded to Mulder and Scully. “You can go in now.”

Mulder and Scully took their accustomed seats in Skinner’s office. Mulder noted that Skinner looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His usually crisp shirt was wrinkled and his face was more than usually lined.

“Agents, as you already know, I’ve had some more bad news today. Agent George Weller appears to be the latest victim of our newest serial killer. We haven’t found the body yet, but that’s only a matter of time.”

Skinner opened a desk drawer and pulled out a videotape.

“Agent Mulder, would you take a look at this videotape and give me any impressions you can form of its contents?” Skinner’s hand shook a bit as he gave the tape to Mulder. “It’s a copy, the original is being examined by forensics.”

Mulder took the tape. “Has there been any progress identifying the UNSUB?”

Skinner shook his head. “No. The conclusions you’ve already given me are consistent with the task force’s findings. The agents who were victimized have only one common tie, their relationship to me. None of them ever worked on the same cases or task forces. We are concluding that this killer wants to get my attention for some reason, that his activities are focused on me. They were taken when they were outside the Hoover building, in their homes, on the street. At this point, the best that I can say is that the victim pool is comprised of people I call friends within the Bureau.”

“That makes sense. I’ve examined the tapes you’ve provided but haven’t turned up any more information than the team has already gleaned. The task force has already determined that there must be two UNSUBs here, one to man the camera and a second to assault the agent. The figure on the screen is always the same: a man clad in dark jeans and long sleeved shirt with ski mask, age probably between 25 and 40, athletic, Caucasian, 6’, 200 pounds. He wears a ski mask and never turns his face to the camera. The videos appear to depict real-time events, with the most gruesome scenes edited in from a larger film archive.”

Mulder gave Skinner a serious look. “The bastards are keeping the camera running for days while they torture the agent to death, then they prepare the tapes from the film store. Is there anything we can do? I know that Scully’s and my investigation of this matter is strictly unofficial, but is there anything more that we can do?

We’d really like to help on this one.”

Skinner gave both Mulder and Scully a grim smile. “I appreciate that. I’ve already warned you to take precautions, but I’d like to warn you again. I don’t want to watch a video starring either of you. But I know better than to pull you off the case. For my money, you two have the best chance of solving this and I’ll take you up on your offer. Too many good people have died….” Skinner’s voice died away. He cleared his throat. “So don’t get sloppy, or I’ll kick your collective asses.”

“Sir, if I might offer a little advice?” Scully smiled hesitantly at Skinner. “You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping. You might feel better if you took a nap.”

“Agent Scully, that’s a fine suggestion and I have no doubt I’d feel more energized, but nothing can make me feel better until that killer is caught.” Nevertheless, as the agents left the office they could see Skinner stretching out on his couch.

4:30 Basement Office

Mulder watched the new video again, then slowed it to a frame by frame resolution. Mulder focused on the figures on the screen trying to force his mind into the killer’s thought processes. He’d already studied the victimology of the five dead agents. Each had either worked with or been supervised by Walter Skinner, and each had been considered a friend by him. The agents tended to be in their thirties and forties, so far only male agents had been taken.

That gave Mulder some silent comfort. If the killers had a preference for males, then Scully was less at risk. He glanced over at her, bent over her desk studying a file intently. Of course, he’d never tell her that. He still valued his life and didn’t want a gunshot wound in the other shoulder.

Mulder rubbed his eyes and put his glasses back on. Damned contacts just weren’t meant for this kind of unbroken staring at CRT screens. He refocused his entire being on the video again and lost himself in the killer’s thoughts.

His concentration was abruptly broken when the screen went dark.

“Hey!” Mulder looked up to see Scully with her hand on the knob.

“Mulder, it’s 7 p.m. and you’ve been staring at that video since noon without a break. It’s time to stop for the day,” she said patiently.

Mulder leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms and neck. “Yeah, you’re right Scully. We can’t let ourselves get too run down on this one, or we’ll do something stupid. Why don’t I drive you home?”

Scully gave Mulder a relieved look. This was going much more easily than she’d expected. Normally Mulder put up a longer fight. “Okay, I’ll get my coat.” She went to the coatrack at the back of the office and collected her trenchcoat. “I have to say I’m glad that we’re carpooling until this crisis is over. I feel uncomfortable with you riding the Metro in to work.”

“Well, we’re carpooling for the duration, but I’ll be glad when we don’t have to fight the traffic.” Mulder led Scully to his car and opened the door for her. “Since three of the agents were kidnapped from their homes and the other two on their way to work (not on the Metro, I might add), I don’t see that riding public transit is a major risk factor.” Mulder saw Scully’s lips tighten, and swiftly added, “But I do think it’s a good idea for us to travel in pairs, for added security.” And so that I can make sure you get home safely, he silently added.

They arrived at Scully’s apartment and Mulder escorted her inside. They both cautiously entered and searched for evidence of intruders before Scully sighed with relief. “Okay Mulder, I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 7:30 and we can search your apartment after work.”

Mulder leered. “Scully, you can search me anytime you want.” Scully just smiled and shut the door in his face.

Day 2 - 7:15 a.m.

Scully mulled over the case while she drove to Mulder’s apartment. She didn’t really believe that they were in any danger. As nearly as she could determine, the agents affected were all older and had worked with Skinner as a peer at some time in their careers. She and Mulder were junior agents; they simply didn’t fit that part of the profile, no wonder what concerns Skinner had about them.

She checked her rearview mirror. Damn, that blue dodge was still tailgating her. She gave the car more gas and was happy when the car turned off the block before Mulder’s apartment building. She parked in front and went in to find Mulder.

His door opened quickly at her knock, and she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Of course she expected Mulder to be there waiting, safe and sound. He was in no danger; of course not.

“Good morning, Mulder. You ready to go?” Mulder looked brushed and dressed, but tired. “How late did you stay up studying the case?” she added.

Mulder smiled guiltily. “Can’t fool you. Yeah, I was up reading it till about 3 a.m. Didn’t reach any more conclusions, though.” Mulder followed Scully down the hallway to the elevator.

“We’ll get him,” Scully said confidently.

“Yeah, but how much hell does Skinner go through until we do? Scully, I’ve never seen him this tense,”

Mulder frowned and folded his arms. “He knows that he’s the real target, and he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Scully looked troubled. “Do you think the killers will go for him?”

“Inevitably, yes. They have to rub it into his face, laugh at him with their triumph. In a way, they’re killing Skinner’s family, since the Bureau is his life. He’s not close to anybody but his friends and associates at work.” Mulder gave Scully a weary look. “But he already knows that. That’s why he called us in. We know him well enough to put all the pieces together. I just wish we could come up with something.”

The two agents stepped out of the building together into a bright spring day. Halfway to the car, Mulder suddenly felt a cloth thrown over his head and a heavy body throwing him down onto the pavement. He could hear a scuffle that said Scully had also been downed. He could feel himself being dragged, probably to a car, and began to struggle harder, trying to shout for help. He felt a cold gun-barrel at the back of his neck and a soft voice say “Stop struggling or you die right now.”

Mulder let his body go limp, and strained his ears for Scully. “You don’t have to do this,” he started, then felt the gun club him on the head. He saw stars and while he was trying not to pass out he heard the voice hiss at him “Shut up, now! Or your pretty partner gets it, but good.”

Mulder clamped his mouth shut. They had Scully, then.

He was hustled into the back of a van, probably business-type panel van, and his hands and legs were bound with heavy cords. He felt hands frisk him and remove his Sig from the waist holster. For a brief second he hoped they’d miss the ankle gun, but that hope was lost when they took that too.

A soft body landed next to his with an “oof!”. He smelled Chanel No. 5 and knew it was Scully.

“Mulder are you ok?” He heard her whisper anxiously. “They told me they’d shoot you if I didn’t stop struggling. I heard them hit you.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’ve got a hard head. I’m tied, how about you? Do you still have your weapon? They took mine.”

“Mine, too. I’ll try to loosen the ties.”

Mulder could feel her struggle, and he did as well. The bindings didn’t budge.

Mulder heard a body moving between the two of them, then felt a cloth pressed over his mouth with a sickly sweet smell. Drugged…he thought drowsily, then the world went black.

Day 2 Location Unknown 10:00 a.m.

Mulder could feel cold cement against his right cheek.

He opened his eyes and saw nothing but blackness, and momentarily feared blindness until he realized that he was in a darkened room. He was lying prone on a cement floor, his hands still bound behind him as well as his ankles. At least the cloth had been removed from his head.

Scully. Where was Scully? He inched his body together and managed to kneel. He peered into the darkness, grateful that his eyes were finally adjusting. He saw a figure in the shadows and moved over to it.

He nudged it with his knee and heard a sigh, then Scully rolled over to her side and flinched away until she realized it was Mulder.

“Scully, are you okay?”

“Yeah…yeah. My mouth feels like an old pair of wool socks, though. You?”

“I’m all right. They must have just dumped us here. I wonder what they’re waiting for?” Mulder sat down next to Scully and watched as she pulled herself into a sitting position.

“Maybe they were out of film. Mulder, we’ve got to get out of here.” Scully looked around the room, searching for exits. Mulder did the same.

“I know,” Mulder said quietly. “But we have to plan for every eventuality.”

“What do you mean, every eventuality?” Scully demanded.

“Scully, we have to get as much information as we can about these people and this place. If we can’t get out in time…” Mulder paused and then continued. “We know that at least one video will go out to Skinner. We have to make sure that something is on it, some clue to lead them to us.”

Day 2 10:00 a.m. Hoover Building

“Sir?”

AD Skinner looked up from his desk. He’d been in since 4:00 that morning after a night spent tossing and turning, and looked it.

“Yes, Kim, what is it?” He stifled a yawn and took a gulp from his mug of coffee, grimacing at the taste.

“Sir, I called Agent Mulder to give him your message about the case, but there was no answer in his office. So I checked and neither he, nor Agent Scully have reported for work today. Nobody has seen them, and telephone calls to their homes aren’t answered. Should I send somebody out to check on them?” Kim stood uncertainly.

Skinner’s eyes widened and took on a look of intense pain. He looked down, away from Kim’s stare. “Call Agent Simmons to check Agent Scully’s apartment. I’ll go myself to Mulder’s. I’ll call in an hour. If you don’t hear from me, call the police and alert the Director.”

He pulled his gun from his holster and checked the clip, then pulled on his trenchcoat and walked swiftly out the door.

As he drove himself to Mulder’s apartment first, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this had been inevitable. Damn it! He’d warned them to be careful, but somehow careful never worked for these two. Another pair of agents…friends…gone.

Skinner rubbed his right eye, damned dust. The past years had been rough. He didn’t have any family to begin with, then Sharon had divorced him. All he had left that he valued was his career, and the people at the Bureau. And now that was being taken from him.

Five agents, first Dave Winship, his first partner. Hadn’t really gotten together in years, they’d kept intending to go out for a drink and really catch up. Now they never would. Joe Bishop and Ed Meers, both talented, smart agents, ex-Marines, now both on a morgue slab. Jerry Carter had always prided himself on his charm and his way with the ladies; had a little black book that was the envy of the bullpen. Not now. Nick Weller left behind a wife and two kids, both under the age of 10.

They were all gone. And now Mulder, irritating, brilliant and intensely loyal, was missing. And Scully. Ah, Scully, if I weren’t your boss….Skinner shook his head. She and Mulder were a pair, and would be a couple some day when Mulder got his head out of his ass. Scully’d been waiting patiently for years for him to wake up.

Skinner pulled up to Mulder’s apartment house and went upstairs to Mulder’s apartment. He pulled a lock-pick from his pocket and opened the door. Inside everything looked fine, no signs of struggle. The light on Mulder’s answering machine was blinking, so Skinner listened to the messages. There were only two, the first from Scully reminding Mulder that she planned to pick him up by 7:30 and he’d better be ready or else. The second was Kim’s message asking Mulder to call back.

Skinner turned back to the empty room. So Scully would have been here by 7:30. Since she was gone, too, she must have come here and been taken too. Skinner closed the door behind him and began walking back to the elevator, his eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.

Downstairs, his cell phone chirped. Agent Simmons had found nothing out of the ordinary. Skinner thanked him grimly and reached the obvious conclusion. They had both been taken, probably from here. He called Kim and ordered a forensics team out on the double.

Day 2 10:30 a.m. Location Unknown

A bright light splashed across the room as the door opened. Two men rushed into the room, grabbed Scully, and began to drag her toward the doorway. Mulder couldn’t see their faces, only their silhouettes against the light.

“Hey! Where are you taking her? Hey!” Mulder yelled frantically. He forced himself into a standing position and hopped as fast as he could toward the doorway. The men slammed the door behind them, leaving Mulder standing alone in the dark.

He kept yelling, and made his way to the door then pressed his ear flat against it, listening hard. He could hear muffled voices, men’s he thought, but not Scully’s.

Damn it, Scully, he bit his lip and prayed silently. Do something! Fight back!

Then he did hear something, Scully yelling, loud and enraged. Then he heard a thud, like a blow falling on flesh and a cry. Then more crying.

That did it. Mulder began to roar and threw himself against the door. Again and again he pushed his whole body against the door and yelled every obscenity he could think of at the top of his lungs. The force of the impact kept throwing him back against the floor, but he crawled back up and tried again, still yelling. The door didn’t budge.

Near tears, Mulder kept trying. When his left shoulder felt too bruised and painful, he began with his right.

The door didn’t move. His cheek was bruised by his last fall, but he pushed himself against the door with all his strength.

He kept pounding, and yelling as loud as he could. He finally had to stop. Panting, he knelt on the floor, despair flooding him. No, can’t give in to that. Gotta get to her.

Mulder stood again and prepared to throw himself against the door again, when it opened. A tall man, dressed in black with ski mask stood there, holding a gun.

“You seem to want out of that room so much, we figured we’d oblige you. Come on.” He gestured with his gun then stopped when Mulder didn’t move. “Oh yeah, I forgot. Benny! Come here!”

A second man in black came over and took the gun from the first. The tall man pulled a penknife from his pocket and cut the ties at Mulder’s wrists and ankles.

Mulder thought briefly of trying to attack one of the two men, but his feet and hands were stiff and numb. And the gun was planted firmly against his left ear. He’d get to Scully first, and wait for his chance.

The big man grabbed Mulder’s right arm in a bruising grip while “Benny” kept the gun at his temple. Together they moved Mulder into the open area.

Mulder noticed that they were in a large building, maybe an old warehouse. He was led to a corner of the building where lights had been set up and tarps laid down on the floor. And huddled on that floor was a naked Scully, tied and struggling not to sob out loud.

“Scully!” Mulder tried to break away from the man, but he anticipated the move and kicked his left leg behind Mulder’s knee, forcing him to the floor.

“Scully! Let me go to her! Please…!” Mulder’s face was ground against the dirty cement as he fought to get away. “Please..let me help her.” Mulder’s voice broke as he pled.

The big man pulled Mulder to his feet and dragged a stumbling Mulder over to Scully.

She cowered, trying to cover herself, until she saw it was Mulder. Mulder could see a long bruise on her cheek and more on her shoulders and breasts. The man threw Mulder at Scully, then stood back.

“I’ll let you get reacquainted. Make one suspicious move and I shoot you both.”

Mulder moved over to Scully, his searching her eyes, and deliberately keeping his glance above her neck. He could give her that much privacy.

“Oh Mulder…“she said brokenly. She moved into his arms and snuggled against his chest. Her arms were still tied behind her, but not her legs, he noted grimly. She couldn’t hug him, but he could hold her. So he wrapped both arms around her while she cried.

“Scully, it’s all right. Whatever they did to you, we’ll get through this,” Mulder murmured into her ear.

“Mulder, they…they were about to rape me. Their hands were all over me, and…and… in me, both of them. When you made so much noise, they got mad and said they were going to get you out here. To watch. Oh Mulder, I’m so sorry and I’m so afraid.” Her voice fell to a whisper against his chest and he knew what it cost her to admit that.

“Hey now, look at the lovebirds Kurt!” Called Benny to the taller man. “She’s really got the hots for him, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, it really is a shame, when he likes her so much, too.” Kurt fingered his gun.

Mulder turned and looked at Kurt over his shoulder, his stare filled with anguish and rage. He said nothing, just held Scully tighter.

“I think we upset him, didn’t we?” Benny grinned. “Maybe we should give him his chance with her, huh?”

Kurt looked at Benny and nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Let’s see if those FBI pricks are as macho as they act….You!” Kurt addressed Mulder. “You got a choice. Either we do her and you watch, or you do her and we watch, give us a little free sex show. So, what are ya gonna do?”

Abattoir, Part 2

Kurt cocked his gun. “Of course, we could just shoot you right there and fuck her anyway. But where’s the fun in that?” He grinned. “So, you and the lady can decide.”

Mulder gulped, not believing his ears. He could feel Scully stiffen in his arms. He glanced down at her, afraid of what he’d see.

“Scully, I’ve been looking around the room and I don’t see a way out. They’re both armed. But I’m looking Scully, I’m looking,” Mulder whispered desperately. “Scully, I can’t do this. I just can’t.”

She looked up at him, tears running down her face. “It’s okay, Mulder,” she whispered. “Whatever you choose, it’s okay.”

“Scully….they want me to hurt you.” Mulder murmured back, fighting his own tears. “I can’t do that.”

“Mulder, you could never hurt me. Not here, not anywhere. I’m so afraid, and I feel so helpless. If this is going to happen, if we can’t stop it…I…I’d rather this happen at the hands of a friend…but I don’t want you hurt.” Scully gave him a long look, her eyes full of trust and love and fear.

“No good. I’m…affected…either way…I’ll do what you want, Scully. It’s your call.” He cupped her cheek and returned her gaze. “All right. Forgive me.”

Mulder stood away from Scully. “I’m only asking one thing. If I do this, none of you touches her again. I’ll do any damned thing you want, and you can do anything you want to me, but nobody touches her. Is that agreed?”

“Yeah, it’s a deal. Besides, you’ll provide a better show than what we’d already planned.” Kurt backed up and turned on a bank of lights. Mulder could see two video cameras already set up. “Skinner will shit his pants when he sees this one.” Kurt chuckled.

Mulder could see Scully squint against the light, her head bowed, her hands still tied behind her. He moved in front of her to shield her. “Untie her. You have to untie her.” Mulder stood his ground. “Nothing happens until her arms are free.”

Kurt moved over to Mulder and crooked an elbow around his throat, pointing the gun at his head. “Okay, Benny—go ahead and cut the ropes. Miss Scully, just realize that one wrong move and your partner, here gets it.” Scully nodded, wide eyed and held out her wrists. Benny cut the tie quickly, then backed away, toward the cameras. They could all hear the click, buzz of first one, then a second video camera rolling. Benny came back and stood behind Kurt, holding his gun on Scully, but careful not to block the cameras.

“Well now, since I’m the director of this flick, I guess I call the shots,” Kurt sneered and pushed Mulder forward, still training the gun on him. “Mr. Mulder, why don’t you lose the clothing…fast.”

“How do you know our names?” Mulder asked tensely as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. “For that matter, how did you know where to find us?”

“I know a lot about you, about all of you. I know where you live, where you work, when you leave each day. And you’ll never guess how.”

“Try me.” Mulder said as pleasantly as he could. His fingers moved more slowly on the buttons, playing for time.

“No, I’m not going there. Let’s just say my source isn’t what you’d expect. Now move faster, or Benny and I’ll take your turn with the lady.” Kurt motioned toward Scully, keeping the gun on Mulder.

“Why do you have to do this? What did we ever do to you?” Mulder moved faster and finished with the shirt more quickly than he liked.

“You’re important to somebody I hate. He’s gonna be awful alone in the world when I’m done. And don’t try any of that psychological shit with me. I know about your background and I don’t want you messing with my mind. So pick up the speed or grow an extra hole in your head!”

Mulder had no choice but to move faster. Soon he was down to his boxers, then regretfully removed them and neatly folded them on top of the pile of clothing.

Kurt gestured with the gun again and Mulder reluctantly moved over to where Scully sat on the tarp covered floor. “Nice accommodations they’ve got for us, huh Scully? A regular honeymoon suite.” Mulder commented as he sat down next to her, studiously trying not to look at her. Scully focused on Mulder’s eyes and attempted to give him a reassuring look. Her hand crept into his, and he grasped it firmly.

“All right now, let’s see some action. How about a little kissing, then you go down on her. Women like that, don’t they Benny?” Kurt folded his arms but kept the gun ready.

“Yeah, they sure do, Kurt,” Benny replied cheerfully, continuing to point the gun at the back of Scully’s head.

Mulder positioned himself carefully atop Scully and whispered in her ear as he nibbled her earlobe. “I’m so sorry, Scully. I’ll keep looking for a chance to make a break for it. Maybe I could rush them, give you a chance to get away.” He nibbled lower on her neck.

Scully gasped and whispered back. “Don’t do anything stupid. They have guns, both of them.” Mulder’s body lay heavy and warm on her cold skin.

Mulder took her face in both of his hands. “I won’t.” He whispered and tenderly kissed her. Scully froze, then sighed and relaxed. This was Mulder, and she trusted him not to hurt her.

“Hey, pick it up there! Let’s see some action!” Scully could see Mulder’s eyes go dark and still, remembering where they were and the circumstances.

She caught his hands, still cupping her face. “Hey, Mulder, nobody here but us. Okay? Look at me. Look just at me.”

Mulder nodded and concentrated fiercely, looking deeply into Scully’s blue eyes. Then he began to caress her body, moving slowly downwards.

Scully kept her gaze locked on Mulder, listening to the loud breathing of the watchers, the whirring of the cameras, and felt despair well up inside her.

Mulder had made his way down to the patch of auburn curls between Scully’s legs. Scully’s loving eyes were like a lifeline and Mulder was sorry to abandon it.

“C-mon! Eat her! Do I have to show you how?” Kurt called, then walked over and stood next to the couple, watching closely.

He did as instructed, using hands and tongue, trying to convey gentleness and love through his touch. He felt Scully’s fingers twine in his hair, then he felt her stiffen, then shudder and he knew he was hurting her, humiliating her. He burned with anger at these sadistic killers, forcing him to this choice. After this, if they survived, she’d never want to see him again; never want to remember…this. He was conscious of Kurt overhead, with the gun. He’d hardly miss at this range. He felt Scully shudder again, harder. She’s scared. I’m hurting her. Damn it. Mulder looked up to see Scully lying back with her eyes closed.

“Okay, now screw her.” Kurt instructed. “Unless you’d rather I do it.”

Scully’s eyes opened, a look of panic in them. “No,” said Mulder quickly. “A deal’s a deal.” Problem is, thought Mulder, I’m not hard and I’m not sure I can be, here and now. Damn. He surreptitiously brought his right hand down to try and help things along, but remained flaccid.

Kurt noticed. “Hey Benny, get this on film! The big FBI man’s got a limp dick! I always thought those Feds were wusses! Don’t know what to do with a woman even if they get one!” Kurt began to unzip his jeans.

“No, wait,” Scully sat up and moved closer to Mulder, and reached warm hands atop his own clammy ones. “Let me help. Look at me, Mulder. Only at me.” She spoke soothingly as she began to caress him, the voice of a hundred quiet fantasies he’d mercilessly squelched for six years. If it weren’t so sick, he’d laugh at the irony of it.

Soon he was erect and Scully lay back and pulled him on top of her, then guided him inside. Mulder pushed into her carefully. She wasn’t as dry as he expected but she was tight and tense. As he entered her she bit her lip, closed her eyes and grimaced.

“Scully, are you all right? Shit! I’m hurting you,” he whispered frantically, fighting tears.

“No. It’s okay. I’m okay.” She whispered back and met his eyes again. Mulder nodded and began to move slowly and gently until Scully began to relax. Mulder saw Kurt out of the corner of his eye and moved faster and harder.

She wasn’t okay. She was breathing heavily and her eyes were still closed, shutting him out, shutting the world out. He felt her shudder again. Damn he had to do something. And more frustrating was the warm feeling of pleasure building in his groin. He had no right to feel anything in this situation. Not anything. And when he stopped making love to her, what then? Then, they kill us, the sour little voice in back of his head chortled. Thus ends my first and only sexual encounter with Dana Scully.

“Mulder.” A soft voice broke his reverie. “You aren’t looking at me. Look at me.”

Mulder fixed his eyes on Scully and found no blame, no resentment of him there. Just trust and love. He let go of his body’s reactions then, knowing that they were a normal response to this woman. “Mulder, it’s not your fault. But I’m glad it’s you, and not them. I’m glad you chose to help me. And I know it hurts…” Scully murmured in his ear as he moved in her.

Soon Mulder reached his climax and grew still, lying in a sweaty heap on top of Scully’s equally sweaty body. Her hands were still twined in his hair, gently stroking it. He’d kept eye contact with her even after the orgasm took him, telling her with his glance that she was still his center.

Rough hands pulled Mulder away from Scully. Kurt had his gun and Benny stood next to him, unzipping his jeans.

“No!” Mulder howled. “That was the deal! Nobody touches her! Leave her alone!”

Mulder rushed at Kurt, grabbing wildly for the gun. Benny tried to help, but was tripped up when Scully tackled him. Benny gathered up Scully and threw her down and away, then launched himself at Mulder.

Mulder, still fighting with Kurt and now with Benny, felt a stab of hope. “Scully! Run!” He yelled. She got up and hesitated. “Damn it, GO!” he cried. She didn’t wait any longer, but dashed out of sight and, he hoped, out a door.

Mulder focused on keeping Kurt and Benny occupied. Benny remembered that he had a gun and turned to run after Scully. Mulder deliberately threw himself onto Kurt, piling the two of them on top of Benny. By the time the tangle resolved itself, Scully would be far away. He hoped.

Mulder felt himself being grabbed by the hair and thrown onto his stomach, a gun at the base of his neck. Kurt had him, and Benny took off after Scully. Run, Scully, for God’s sake, run, he prayed silently.

After a few minutes Benny returned. “Can’t find her. I think she got to the highway and somebody must have picked her up. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Yeah,” said Kurt, staring fixedly at Mulder. “But first, there’s payback.”

Day 3 - 3:30 a.m. Memorial Hospital

Skinner strode quickly down the hallway, his trenchcoat flapping against his legs. At the emergency room desk he flashed his badge.

“I’m Walter Skinner. I’m here to see Agent Dana Scully, Detective Morris called me.” Skinner looked up at the approach of a small boned woman with dark hair and eyes.

“Mr. Skinner? I’m Helen Morris, from the Vernon P.D. Why don’t we go into the conference room and talk. Sitting down at the table, she picked up a file and opened it. “I understand that you are Dana’s superior? She asked us to call you as soon as possible.”

“How is she? Can I see her?” Skinner asked anxiously. “What is her condition?”

“Well, she’s remarkably collected for a rape victim, but her account of the incident was very clear. Of course she could well have a delayed reaction….” Morris stopped when she saw Skinner’s face.

“I…I’m sorry. I thought you’d been told,” she stammered. “Officer Brock told me he’d called you.”

“He just said she’d been found and that they’d located the barn where the agents were held. He also said that there was some video found on site and that he’d get me a copy as soon as possible.” Skinner’s gave Morris a look of barely concealed anguish.

“I’m so sorry. I’m with the Rape Trauma team. I’m normally called to take the victim’s statement in cases like this. Dana’s still in with the doctor, so I thought I’d bring you up to speed. Brock did give me the tape.”

She fished a video tape from a bag on the floor. “I haven’t seen it. The original was sent to the FBI forensics labs for analysis.” She gave Skinner another apologetic look and went on. “If you’d like to view it, there’s a VCR in this conference room. I’ll go check on Dana and see if she’s up to visitors yet.”

Skinner grimly took the tape and watched, unspeaking, while she left the room. Then he walked to the VCR, inserted the tape and sat back to watch.

As the events on tape unfolded, his expression became grimmer and colder. Then his hands began to clench into fists, outrage on his face. At the very end of the tape, he could no longer sit still, nor could he focus on the tape for very long. Finally, the last image faded from view and was replaced by snow. Skinner removed his glasses and rubbed furiously at his eyes. That damned dust again. They really should keep these places cleaner.

“Mr. Skinner, I….” Detective Morris walked into the room, then stopped when she saw Skinner. “I…uh..I came in to tell you that Dana’s dressing and she wants to see you now.”

Skinner just nodded and pulled the tape from the VCR, moving it uneasily from hand to hand. He followed Morris down a hall to a small examining room.

A very battered looking Agent Scully sat in a chair, dressed in oversized surgical scrubs, well wrapped in a blanket.

When he entered the room, she stood up and the blanket fell to the floor. “Sir, they told me they’d found the place where we were held. Is there any sign of Mulder?”

Skinner cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Agent Scully, how are you feeling?” He again nervously shifted the tape from one hand to the other, unable to meet Scully’s eyes.

Scully glanced down at the tape and her eyes widened. “You know what happened, then,” she said flatly.

“Yes, Dana, I do. We have your escape on video, as well as the events leading up to it. And the events which followed after.” Skinner looked down at the tape in his hands as if it were a poisonous snake.

Scully met Skinner’s eyes in a cold glare. “Then you know that Mulder had no choice. I had no choice.”

“I understand that,” Skinner said softly.

“What else did the tape show? I want to see it.” Scully demanded.

“Agent Scully, you’ve been through a lot. You really should rest. I..don’t think you want to see this tape.”

“I want to see it, sir. What are you hiding from me?” Scully fixed him with a stare. “What is it that’s on the tape that you don’t want me to see?” Angrily she reached for the tape as Skinner took a step backwards. “Damn it! I have the right! He’s my partner!”

Skinner stopped and gave Scully a long, measuring look. Then he handed the tape to her. “The VCR is across the hall, in the conference room,” he said with his head bowed.

Scully ran across the hall and put the tape into the VCR. She watched doggedly through her assault at the hands of the kidnappers, then her encounter with Mulder, then watched herself escape while Mulder stayed behind. Then she heard the word “payback”, saw Benny take the gun from Kurt and press it against the back of the agent’s neck. Kurt approached, removed his leather belt, dropped his jeans and shorts, knelt behind Mulder and began to rape him.

Scully turned away, tears flooding her eyes, then grimly resolved to watch it to the very end, as she heard the ugly words from the tape.

“Goddammit, I told you I was the director here. I’m in charge and I call the fucking shots!” Kurt shouted as he shoved roughly into Mulder. Scully turned away from the scene and the sounds that Mulder made. And the blood.

She took a wavering breath and focused tearing eyes on the screen again. She felt Skinner’s arm, warm and heavy around her shoulders. She groped blindly for the tissue he handed her.

“I own you!” Shove. “And you…you piece of shit…you’re garbage! You’re less than garbage!” Shove. “Because of you I lost the best piece I coulda had.” Kurt’s body moved rhythmically, pounding at the screaming Mulder. Then the screen went blank and was replaced by snow.

Scully turned her face into Skinner’s collar and began to sob. Skinner hesitantly put his arms around her, then gently held her as she wept.

Abattoir, Part 3

Day 3 - 7:00 a.m. Apartment of Dana Scully

Skinner drove Scully home, over her strenuous objections.

“You need me. I was there dammit! I can help you find him.” Scully was as close to hysterical as Skinner had ever seen her. He pulled the car to a stop in front of her apartment building and faced her.

“Agent Scully, you aren’t in good shape right now. You need to sleep, to make sense of things. The investigation isn’t stopping, in fact I can guarantee that every resource will be used to find him.” Skinner gentled his voice. “Dana, you can’t help him half-dead with exhaustion. Please, just sleep a little. I’m not going to keep you off this investigation, but I don’t want you getting sloppy.”

A woman dressed in a business suit walked over and stood by the car. Skinner looked up and waved. Scully just glared.

“I’m assigning Elaine Jacoby to you as a guard. If you were taken once, you could still be a target.” Scully focused her angry stare at Skinner but still said nothing.

Skinner sighed and forced his eyes to meet hers. “Please. Don’t make me worry about both of you.”

That got through. Scully suddenly noticed how lined Skinner’s face looked and wondered when the last time was that he’d had a night’s sleep. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll go take a nap and then join you and the task force for the meeting this afternoon.” She opened the car door and got out, then looked back over her shoulder. “Will you call me if you hear anything? Anything?”

Skinner nodded. “I will. I’ll see you later today, Agent.”

Scully wearily climbed the steps to her apartment, followed by Agent Jacoby. Once inside she quietly excused herself and took a long, hot shower. A bath was out, she reasoned, because she wanted to cry out loud and knew that the spray would muffle her voice.

If Elaine Jacoby heard anything over the sounds of the water, she gave no sign as she continued to read the magazine she’d picked up.

Day 3 - 7:30 a.m.

Skinner had just settled into his chair with a sigh when Kim magically appeared with a cup of Starbuck’s and a croissant.

“Thanks, Kim,” Skinner said gratefully. “It’s been a night.”

“I know, sir. I heard about Agent Scully. Is…there any word on Agent Mulder?” Kim eyed Skinner anxiously as he put his mug down abruptly, then looked up at her with anguished eyes.

“No. Nothing I’m at liberty to discuss,” he said shortly. Damn, if Mulder’s still alive he deserves some privacy. Bad enough that word got out about Scully. She’ll have to deal with curious stares from the bullpen.

“Oh. Well, if there’s anything I can do to help…” Kim saw that Skinner wasn’t going to say anything further and quietly left.

Skinner heard her go, grateful for the peace. Peace….oh for some peace of mind. What hadn’t he done? What angle of the case hadn’t been addressed? The barn was being meticulously swept for any clues larger than a molecule. Blood, and other fluid samples were being analyzed. And he should be getting a report shortly on the ownership of that property.

He swung his chair around and faced the window. Who the Hell were these thugs, and why were they targeting the people around him? He hadn’t lived a perfect life by a long shot, but he couldn’t think of anybody motivated enough to do this. Even that black lunged smoker wouldn’t do this. Skinner fully expected a bullet in the night from that man, but not today.

He grimaced at the bright, sunny day then turned his back on it, and began to read the file yet again.

9:00 a.m. Apartment of Dana Scully

Agent Jacoby checked the peephole, then cautiously answered the knock at the door. Maggie Scully pushed the door open and walked in, looking around her.

“Where is she?” she demanded, then stopped when she saw Agent Jacoby’s gun.

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Agent Jacoby asked politely.

“I’m her mother. Who are you and what are you doing here? Why are you holding a gun on me? And where is my daughter?” Maggie scanned the room, and finding no evidence of Dana, began to get scared.

“Mom? Is it you? I thought you were in California?” Scully stood in the doorway in flannel pajamas, her face puffy and her eyes red with weeping.

“Mr. Skinner called me late yesterday and told me that you’d been abducted, so I got on the first plane out. When I called his office from the airport, they told me you’d escaped and that you were home resting. How are you? How is Fox?” Maggie asked softly.

At the mention of Mulder, Scully began to crumple. “Oh, Mom…I left him. I left him there with those terrible people. And what they’ve done to him…” Maggie caught Dana up in her arms and led her back into the bedroom, where she tucked her into bed.

“Why don’t you tell me about it, honey?” Maggie said, stroking her daughter’s hair.

In broken phrases, Scully wearily told her about the abduction, what the men had done to her and Mulder.

“Mom, he didn’t have to do it, make himself a victim too. He…he helped me. He tried to make it an act of love…not violence.” Scully paused and looked down. “And he did,” she whispered.

“Honey, he loves you.” Maggie wrapped Scully in a hug. “He always has. He just doesn’t say it.”

Scully looked up, her face swollen with crying. “Mom, I left him. After…after we were done, they were going to…going to rape me too. Mulder just charged at the big one, even though he had a gun. He created a diversion and yelled at me to run. And I ran. I ran away from him and saved myself. I wasn’t there to guard his back. And…Mom…I saw the..the tape they found in the barn later. They…Mulder…oh Mom, they raped him instead of me. And I left him there, for them to do that to him!”

With that Scully broke down into tears and cried harder than Maggie could remember ever seeing.

Day 3 4:00 p.m. Office of Walter Skinner

A.D. Skinner had just taken his seat at the conference table when Dana Scully quietly opened the door and came in. Six pairs of eyes looked up at her, then quickly looked away. They had seen the tape.

Scully paused, her face pale and dressed all in black, her eyes red and bloodshot. She looked, Skinner judged, even worse than she had when he’d dropped her off at home.

“Agent Scully. You’re just on time. I’ve saved you a seat. You already know everyone here, except for Special Agent Davis, here. He’s been profiling the UNSUBs.” Scully nodded politely and took her seat next to him, folding her hands on the tabletop in front of her.

Davis turned in his seat, giving her a compassionate look. “Agent Scully, I can’t tell you how sorry I am about the events that bring us here. I’m currently a profiler for Violent Crimes, and worked with Mulder years ago in the ISU. I want you to know that I’ll do everything possible to get him back alive.”

Scully nodded. “Thank you,” she said roughly, then cleared her throat. “If any of you have any questions for me or need any of my feedback, I am at your disposal any time.” She forced herself to meet his eyes and found honest sympathy there.

“All right then,” Skinner began. “You’ve all had a look at the preliminary findings from the barn, as well as the latest tape. Lets go over our impressions. Davis?”

Davis opened his folder. “Well, sir, I reviewed the latest tape and it merely confirms my conclusions. The subject called Kurt seems to be the leader of the two.

Given the nature of his assaults on Agents Scully and Mulder, I’d say that he has a strong, very strong need for control. His method for abducting the agents shows considerable advance planning, perhaps rehearsal of the kidnappings.” Davis removed a photograph from the folder. Scully could see it was a frame still from the video of her and Mulder.

“The location chosen for the first taping is the same for all victims. I think we’ve isolated it as that barn where Agents Mulder and Scully were held. The actual killings take place at a second location, as yet unknown. I would judge that Kurt has old ties with both places, that he feels secure and comfortable there, consistent with his need for control. I have instructed the Agents researching the title to the property to get a complete title search, for at least the past 50 years. It may be that Kurt’s link with this place goes back to his youth, but I am convinced that there is one. I have also recommended that agents canvas the neighborhood to see if anyone witnessed anything, or remembers a “Kurt” living in the neighborhood.”

Davis softened his voice. “And the assaults against both Mulder and Agent Scully are indicative of his need for absolute control of his victims. Agent Mulder came in for the brunt of that since, by Mulder’s actions, Kurt lost control of Agent Scully and she successfully escaped.”

“Then, to survive, Agent Mulder should adopt a conciliating manner?” Skinner asked, eyeing Scully anxiously. She had gone still with Davis’ last statement and seemed to be fighting her emotions.

“Absolutely. But Mulder will know that and, I assume, will try to be as non-threatening as possible, to avoid further attacks.” Davis also hazarded a glance at Scully next to him, clearly struggling.

“Why don’t we take a short break?” Skinner asked and stood up. “Agents, I believe that Kim should have some fresh coffee about now. Why don’t you get some and come back in 15 minutes?”

The agents filed out, looking back suspiciously. Scully began to follow them, when Skinner caught her arm.

“Agent Scully, wait,” he said firmly. “I think you’ve had a rough day. Why don’t you go home and rest?”

Scully looked up at him with pain-filled eyes. “Sir, I can’t go. Please don’t make me. It’s my fault he was r..r..” Scully stopped, not able to get the word out. She folded her arms and looked down, trying with all her will to stop the tears from overwhelming her. Still looking down, she went on. “If what Agent Davis says is true, it was my escape that sparked the attack on Mulder. I can’t leave him there. I can’t just go home and sleep when he’s still out there, somewhere. And it’s because of me.” Scully looked up again. “Please, sir, let me help.”

Skinner sighed. “All right, Agent Scully, you’ve made your case. But neither I, nor any of the other agents here hold you responsible for anything that’s happened. And I’m confident that Mulder doesn’t either. But please, stay with the team and don’t go off on your own to follow up any leads.”

A small shadow of a smile touched Scully’s face. “I’ll be a good team player, sir.”

Day 3 Place Unknown Time Unknown

Mulder first became aware of pain, terrible pain radiating through him. Then he knew that he was cold.

He’d been cold a long time. He tasted blood in his mouth, split lip, he thought.

Tied, he was tied again, ankles and wrists behind him. No clothes, that’s why it’s cold.

He opened his eyes cautiously and looked around. Big room, bigger than the last one. But there were pieces of iron hanging from the ceiling….hooks? The floor was grimy cement slab, and there were tables, long tables.

What was this place?

Memory filtered back, even though he shuddered against it. The..sexual assault…hell, he told himself, no euphemisms here. I was raped, RAPED…..He shivered at the memory. No, don’t think about it.

But memory came back and repeated, like a loop. He concentrated on breathing through his mouth, fighting down the nausea and forced himself to remember all that happened afterward.

Okay, they had tied him up again and threw him into the back of the van. And then they rode, for a long time. Hurt…the jouncing of the van….must’ve been dirt roads. Nobody to hear, even if he did scream for help. Came here, too weak to fight. Big building, then they threw him in here and shut the door. And left.

No blanket or clothes, guess they were in too much of a hurry. Cold…so cold.

No Scully. Thank God they hadn’t caught her. That meant she was safe, and probably leading the hunt for him.

He considered his situation.

Not sure I want to be found, Scully. At least not by you. I know you forgive me, but that’s not enough. Couldn’t do anything else to protect you. Should have been able to do something to protect you. He’s right. I am garbage. I’ve fucked up your life since the day they assigned you to me. And, oh Scully, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you. And I enjoyed it, touching you at last. I did…that…to you, and I then I came. I had a freakin’ orgasm. I’m not much better than those jerkoffs who did me. And you don’t even hold it against me. Oh Scully, it’s a good thing I’m not in your life any more. Or I won’t be for long at this rate.

He shifted position and felt an immediate stab of pain, then realized that he felt moisture beneath him. Blood, he thought, closing his eyes. God, he felt dirty, inside and out. Can’t do anything about it. Try to think of clean things. The office on Monday morning with bad coffee and freshly sharpened pencils. The smell of Scully’s shampoo. No. Not that. Can’t think about that. The last game the ‘Skins won. Cheesesteaks with the Lone Gunmen. Teaching Scully to bat. No..no..She’s gone. Even if I see her again, she’s gone. I can’t face her. Not after what I did to her.

Then memory of Kurt kept tapping at his mind. No, no flashbacks. Not here, not now. Get away from me! Don’t touch me! Please….let me alone.

He curled into a huddled ball and shivered. Cold in here, so cold. He could feel his life draining out of him, slowly, like the drip of blood. And he didn’t really regret it. So ashamed.

Abattoir, Part 4

Day 3 - 10:00 p.m. Apartment of Dana Scully

Scully tossed and turned in bed. She knew that she ought to sleep, but she just couldn’t. Agent Jacoby was peacefully resting in the guest bedroom, having been persuaded not to sleep on the couch with gun in hand.

Scully was surprised at the support she’d received from fellow agents. She had been receiving quiet greetings in the hallways all day, expressions of sympathy and the hope that Mulder would soon be found.

She’d poured herself into the investigation until Skinner had forcibly put her into a cab at 8:00 p.m. When she’d protested, he’d said flatly, “You are going home to rest, Agent Scully, and that’s an order. Agent Jacoby will drive you in tomorrow morning. And if you disobey these orders, intended to insure your safety and physical well-being, I’ll put you on a stress leave so fast your head will spin.”

Scully’d reluctantly gone home, where Jacoby met her. After a long bath, Scully went to her lonely bed early.

Lonely, that’s what this bed was. Wish Mulder were in it. She absently ran her hands down her body, following the path his fingers had touched.

His touch…had been incredible. It had been a shock, the feeling of his body pressed against hers. They’d been making love at gunpoint, for goodness sake! This wasn’t right, she shouldn’t enjoy something like that, much less get off on the memory of it. But she reluctantly had to admit that she’d enjoyed it, Mulder loving her. A lot. She wanted more.

Her fingers found their way to her clitoris (none of these vulgar words for Dana Scully) and tried to repeat the strokes Mulder had applied so deftly. She imagined him deep inside her again, someplace safe, alone, just the two of them.

A soft moan escaped her lips. It had been hard to keep from moaning in that room, with the cameras rolling. Hard to keep her face a blank when she was having the best orgasm of her life. Oh Mulder….she stiffened and relaxed back against the pillows.

Her thoughts turned dark and suddenly she wasn’t as aroused. He was gone, hurt, alone. How would he feel about her abandonment? He’d told her to go, but she was supposed to be there for him, guard his back, protect him. What would it be like if she never felt his touch again?

“I have to find him,” she whispered to the empty room.

“I have to find him.”

Day 3 Place Unknown Time unknown

Mulder woke from a light doze to the sound of doors slamming open. Overhead lights came on with a glare and for the first time he could see his surroundings.

My God, he thought, I’m in a slaughterhouse.

He looked around him and recognized the overhead hooks as meat-hooks, the tables as chopping blocks. The grime on the floor…Mulder felt suddenly revolted. His blood wasn’t the only red substance there. He suddenly knew where the other videotapes had been filmed, the ones with the killings.

“Well Agent Mulder, and how are you?” Kurt stalked over, carrying a video camera, which he carefully set up in a brightly lit area near one of the big chopping blocks. He moved over to Mulder and squatted down. “I hope you enjoyed our little fuck, Agent Mulder. I got the feeling you’re the kind of guy who likes taking it in the ass.”

Mulder said nothing, just watched him with deep eyes.

Kurt stood up again, towering over Mulder’s prone form. “Good. I’m glad you’ve learned not to make me mad.”

Mulder debated with himself. Textbook theory said that in a hostage situation you should cooperate. His background told him that this man was focused on control and on his rage. It would be dangerous to provoke him, even lethal.

But would that be such a bad thing?

Mulder closed his eyes and pictured Scully, her hair gleaming in the sun, and knew that their partnership was over. It had to be. If she could face him after this, he certainly couldn’t face her. And when word got around the Bureau about what he’d done to her…she’d be humiliated. Heck, it was on tape and the Bureau probably had it by now. He imagined men like Colton watching it and sniggering. What humiliation. Mulder could take it, he was used to it. But she shouldn’t have to. If he died a hero’s death here, he’d get a memorial and Scully’d have the memory of a brave partner who died in the line of duty. Surely that would cancel out a rape?

“This is where they died, isn’t it?” Mulder was surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice. Oh yeah, screaming will do that to you.

Kurt kept arranging the first camera, then began to set up the second. “Yes, it is. Interesting place, huh? It’s an old meat-packing plant. Closed now, of course. I used to work here, in between jobs. I’ve still got my knives, of course.”

Benny came in and began loading film in the second camera, then adjusted a bank of lights. “Kurt, these aren’t as high quality as the other cameras, but they’ll work. Too bad we had to lose the other equipment.”

“Yeah.” Kurt nodded meaningfully at Mulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it back out of him.”

Mulder lay back and struggled to keep his eyes open. What irony if he died of shock and blood loss before those assholes got around to torturing him to death. “So why are you killing FBI agents? Why do you care?”

Kurt stilled, then walked over to Mulder. “You really want to know, don’t you? Okay, I’ll tell you. You aren’t going anywhere. Fifteen years ago, I had a family. Four brothers and my Mom. We had a good business until that asswipe Skinner came around. He was, what do you call it? ASAC? Anyway, he was in charge of an investigation that busted my family.” Kurt squatted next to Mulder, the toe of his boot inches from Mulder’s nose.

“They arrested the bunch of us. Mom and the boys are in for life. I played dumb and got sentenced for conspiracy. In prison I played dumber and got out early on parole. Now I’m gonna take it out of Skinner, what I’ve lost. He’s gonna lose every friend he ever had and be just as alone as I am.”

“Just what business is it that your family was in?” Mulder eyed the boot, wondering idly whether it was alligator or lizard.

“We were assassins. The best in the business.” Kurt grinned, just before he kicked at Mulder’s face. “And I really, really loved my work.”

Mulder abruptly rolled with it and got a split cheek rather than a broken nose. “So, just because Skinner was doing his job, you’re trying to get revenge on him?” Mulder panted. He hurt, hurt bad, deep inside in places he didn’t like to think about. Thought he’d started bleeding again.

“I’ve killed for less. I hear that you and Agent Scully are really close to Skinner. Getting you two, his favorite agents, should really frost him.”

“And then you kill Skinner, too?” Mulder unsuccessfully tried to keep Kurt in sight, as the man paced around him. The next kick took him in the small of the back. Mulder arched away from it and felt another stab of pain that dizzied him.

“No, I don’t kill him. I leave him alone. And that’s what he’ll be. Alone.” Kurt hauled off and kicked Mulder in the stomach. While Mulder was retching and coughing, he and Benny dragged him to the area where the cameras were set up and rolling. Between the two of them lifted him onto one of the tables. As the heaved him onto the table, Mulder saw the trail of blood that marked his path there. No wonder he felt weak and cold, still bleeding.

Mulder recognized the set. He’d stared at it for hours as he watched the videotapes of the other agents as they were slowly murdered. The cameras were set up and trained on one the table. A screen had been set up behind it, hiding the rest of the room from the camera.

He remembered, with photographic clarity, how the agents died. Each one killed the same way: they were tortured over a period of several days, usually beaten, or burned or electrical shock. Then they were strangled to death.

Mulder felt Kurt untie his arms and struggled to lift them, to defend himself. But they felt like lead and Kurt easily grabbed them and tied them to the table. He did the same with Mulder’s ankles, but Mulder was ready for him, kicking out furiously, managing to get Kurt in the gut.

Kurt gave a loud “oof!”, then backed away and called Benny over. Each took one ankle and forcibly tied them down as well. Mulder could feel the cold surface of the table beneath him. When he was secured, Kurt walked over to a side table and removed a long, sharp filleting knife, then returned to Mulder.

“The camera rolling?” Benny waved a yes.

Mulder focused intently on Kurt’s approach, then felt the burning pain as Kurt slowly embedded the knife into Mulder’s right arm, starting just below the ropes and slicing up several inches. Mulder winced and shuddered.

“That’s for kicking me.” Kurt said shortly

“You know, I’m really here for a tattoo. Body piercings aren’t really my style,” he gritted.

Kurt put the knife back on the table and picked up an electrical cord with plug on one end and bare wires on the other.

“Y’know, they use this method in third world countries to torture information out of people. Let’s see if it works here.” Kurt plugged the cord in to an extension cord, and, holding it by the plastic insulation, jabbed it at Mulder’s prone body.

A thousand years later Mulder found that he could breathe again, and was sobbing in pain, trying unsuccessfully to curl himself inward to shield his body. He could see the blood pooling from the slash in his arm. He knew he had internal injuries from the rape, hadn’t stopped bleeding from the rectum yet. He didn’t think he was going to last long enough for Scully to rescue him. He didn’t think he wanted to, truthfully.

And even if they got to him in time, what then? He could imagine the sneering faces at the Bureau when they saw Agent-Mulder-who’d-been-raped. Bad enough that he was Spooky Mulder, the office pariah. But the pity, and the humiliation…

And Scully. Scully’s face, her eyes….she’d have to look at him every day in that little office, knowing what had happened to him. And knowing what they’d done on that cold cement floor.

She’d leave him. Or he’d leave. He just couldn’t face her, day in and day out. In any case, the most important part of his life had already ended. And that hope he’d always cherished that someday, somehow, they’d get together and….well, not now. She couldn’t possibly, now. If she’d ever wanted him before (maybe she had, a little?), she wouldn’t now. She’d always see Kurt or Benny, holding a gun on them, or she’d see Mulder at the mercy of that bastard, screaming his lungs out. I’m sorry Scully. I just can’t do it.

“Hey, Kurt! What kind of dumbass uses the same hideout for every crime? Huh? This is a damned abattoir—that’s French for slaughterhouse, you damned ignorant prick! You sure don’t show much imagination, do you?”

Mulder didn’t see it coming, but couldn’t have avoided

it even if he had. He lurched as Kurt’s fingers tightened around his throat until the world began to swim around him. Then Kurt released his grip and went back for the electrical cord. When he could breathe again, Mulder taunted him, using his best ivy league voice and vocabulary.

The shocks came consistently, applied to all the sensitive parts of his body until he could no longer distinguish their source. Didn’t matter. He deserved it anyway. It would be over soon. All the pain in the various places in his body began to mingle into a red haze. As Mulder dropped into unconsciousness, he hoped that Scully would find somebody and marry, have a real life.

Day 4 - 7:30 a.m. Hoover Building

Dana Scully all but ran into A.D. Skinner’s office. His phone call had been brief but to the point. A tape had been dropped off at the front doorway to the Hoover building, with Skinner’s name on it.

“Have you viewed it yet?” she asked anxiously, closing the door behind her.

Skinner pushed the tape into his VCR, then turned to her. “Just looking at it now,” he said, and hit the power button.

Agent Davis gave Scully a brief smile and wave, before focusing on the tape.

Scully slowly sat down before her knees could give out, and twisted her hands in her lap. She held herself very still and tried to keep her face impassive. She grew increasingly anxious as she watched the tape.

“I don’t understand. Spooky knows better than this…” Davis muttered. “He’s got to know this guy is a control freak. Why is he taunting him?”

Skinner looked at Scully, worried. “Agent Scully, can you give us some insight on Agent Mulder’s motivations?”

Scully watched until the tape ended with Mulder’s unconsciousness (not death, thank God, not yet). Then she slowly began to speak.

“Sir, I…I think I can tell what Mulder’s behavior indicates, and you’re right. He isn’t applying the recommended behavioral model. I would agree with Agent Davis, that Mulder knows better. Mulder has analyzed his attacker thoroughly, and has decided not to apply a strategy that will preserve his life.” Scully stopped when her voice began to tremble.

“Scully, do you mean to say that he’s trying to commit suicide?” Skinner was aghast.

“Sir, I think that…because of the traumas of the past days, that Agent Mulder has given up any hope of reclaiming his life. He’s…decided to die.”

The room was silent for a second.

Scully’s quiet voice began again. “I noted the slash in his wrist. Between that and the other blood loss, he is clearly going into shock. He can’t last long. We have to get to him, now.”

Davis nodded. “Agreed, especially if Kurt’s level of violence against Mulder is escalating.”

Skinner took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “We are having the video from the door-camera analyzed, and should have some still pictures soon. And the title report on the first site was due this morning. Let’s see if it has arrived.” Skinner went to the door and returned with an envelope.

He pulled the document out and laid it on the table top, all the agents reading it closely. Skinner stopped at the third name down.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “I know one of these names. Eva-Lee Willard owned this land.”

“Who is she?” Scully asked hopefully, taking the paper from Skinner’s hand.

“The Willard family. They are, were, a family of hired killers. The father started the business, then when he died of a heart attack. Eva-Lee picked up where he left off. Each of her sons joined the family business, Joseph, William, Carter, John and Kurt. I was ASAC on the case and helped to arrest the lot of them.” Skinner smiled, remembering. “It was my first time as ASAC, and I was so proud of that bust. They all went up on life terms except for the youngest one, Kurt. The jury found him guilty only on conspiracy.”

Skinner remembered where he was and sobered. “That’s it, then. One of them must be out and remembering old scores.” He went to his desk and scribbled down the names, then walked over to the door and opened it.

“Kim, would you contact the file room and have them get these files out of storage? This is a rush!” For the first time in days, Skinner smiled.

Kim smiled back in relief. “Good news, sir?”

“We may have a break in the case. Please tell them to hurry.”

“Kurt…one of the men who had us was named Kurt. The other was called Benny. Maybe it’s Kurt Willard,” Scully said thoughtfully.

Skinner moved to the telephone to track down the whereabouts of the Willard family members. An hour later he put the phone down, concerned.

“It’s just been verified. Kurt Willard was released on parole three months ago. His parole officer hasn’t seen him in over thirty days, but he was last reported living in the Virginia area.”

10:30 a.m.

The files arrived and all three agents dug into the Kurt Willard folder. Scully read over Skinner’s shoulder, looking at pertinent data…date of birth December 15, 1960..that puts the age right. Weight, height were consistent. Then she saw the last place of employment.

“Oh my God,” Scully said softly.

“What is it?” Davis and Skinner clustered near her.

“His last job was with a slaughterhouse. He was a butcher for five years before he was arrested. Mulder called the place an abattoir, a slaughterhouse. When we were kidnapped, he said that we should try to insert clues into the tape.”

Scully grabbed the VCR remote and ran the tape back. There it was, slaughterhouse.

“Let’s get the warrants.” Skinner went to the door and called for Kim.

“Kim, I’m sorry but you’ll have to be late for your lunch date. I need you to type the paperwork for a search warrant for the Buford Meatpacking Company. Here’s the address. And I need that yesterday!”

Davis arranged for the swat team and Scully just prayed.

Abattoir Part 5

Day 4 - 2:00 Hoover Building

“Sir, the lab managed to get a good security-cam photo of the man who dropped off the video.” Davis pulled open a manila envelope and showed Skinner and Scully a snapshot. Scully took a close look at it, then stilled. She looked up at Skinner, her face pale.

“Excuse me,” she said and went into Kim’s office. “Kim, can I borrow that picture of your boyfriend for a minute? Thanks.”

Scully carefully carried the ornate frame into the office and handed it to Skinner. He and Davis both did a double-take.

“That’s how he knew where we lived, and who your friends at the Bureau are, sir. He’s been dating Kim for the past two months.” Scully paused, her hand to her mouth and her eyes stricken. “Oh no, they had lunch today, didn’t they? Kim was doing the paperwork for the search warrants.”

Skinner was bolting through the office door before Scully had finished the sentence.

Kim was flustered, but explained that yes, she did talk about her job. He seemed so interested, thought she was such a fascinating person. His name? Oh, Kurt, Kurt Wilson.

Scully and Skinner cast each other significant looks, then handed Kim the security camera photo. Kim grew pale and nodded.

“That looks like him,” she said miserably.

“Did you tell him about the raid today?” Scully asked urgently.

Kim looked down, ashamed. “I…I was late to lunch. And I know I’m not supposed to talk about it, but he just got it out of me, about the meat packing plant.”

“He knows.” Skinner said flatly. “Damn! We’ve got to get there fast, before he can move Mulder.”

“Or kill him.” Scully voiced the unspoken thought of them all.

2:30 p.m. Slaughterhouse

The door to the building slammed open. Benny looked up quickly to see Kurt stride in.

“Hey, don’t forget your hat!” Benny hissed. Kurt stopped and put his ski mask on quickly.

“He’s not gonna see anything, anyway. He’s half dead.” Kurt gestured to the table where Mulder remained spread-eagled.

“Just the same, I don’t want to go back to prison. Not ‘cause of the likes of him.” Benny gestured toward Mulder. “So when are you gonna finish him off? This one gives me the creeps. I think he wants us to kill him.”

“No time. The Feds have found this place and they’re coming. We have to get out of here. Come on, let’s pack up the cameras.”

Benny began to dismantle the video cameras. “What do we do with him? Do you have another place?”

Kurt stopped packing and stood thoughtfully. “Not for us, no. But for him…maybe.” Kurt disappeared through a doorway.

Mulder dimly heard the conversation through the roaring in his head. The pain had died down and he didn’t want to reawaken it, so he lay still. He felt so tired, groggy. He was mildly surprised to find himself still alive. Wonder how much time it’s been…

“All right, you got the cameras packed?” Kurt came out the doorway, dusting his hands.

“Yeah. But are we gonna leave him here?”

“Oh yeah, but they won’t find him. When the family was in business, killing wasn’t all we did. We made a good income drug-running. Come on, let’s grab him and I’ll show you.” Kurt went to Mulder’s wrists and cut the ropes, then carefully tied the wrists together with new. Benny did the same with Mulder’s ankles. Mulder was slammed out of his soft semi-consciousness when Kurt gave the knots at his slit wrist a jerk that ran fire up his arm.

He pried open his eyes and dimly saw himself being carried down a flight of steps and tried to struggle, but they were too strong and too fast. He felt himself being shoved into a metal, box-like container. The door was slammed shut with a laugh and he was alone in the dark. Small, close, stuffy space surrounded him. The air wasn’t fresh…where was this? It felt…like a coffin, a metal coffin just big enough to hold a man. So, not tortured to death after all, just suffocated, he noted distantly. Then he felt himself beginning to slip away again and, with a thought for Scully, regretfully let go.

Upstairs, Kurt had finished stuffing the last bit of camera equipment into his bag, when they heard a sharp cry from the shadows of the building.

“FBI! Freeze!”

“Damn!” Kurt ducked behind the table and grabbed his gun out of his belt. Benny, at his side did the same.

“Shit! I’m not going back to prison, not for this,” Benny hissed, then jumped up and fired wildly.

A rain of gunfire came from the shadows and cut him down before he could dive for cover.

Scully, in her bulletproof vest and FBI jacket, crouched next to Skinner. “Damn it, sir, call them off! Mulder’s still in here! They could kill him with friendly fire! Call them off!”

Skinner nodded and barked orders into his walkie-talkie and the guns silenced. They could see Kurt crouched behind a large, bloodstained butcher-block table.

“Kurt,” Skinner called. “We don’t want to hurt you. Put the gun down and come out with your hands up. This doesn’t have to end badly.”

“Fuck off!” yelled Kurt and sent a bullet Skinner’s way. Skinner and Scully both ducked as it whinged past them.

Scully anxiously scanned the darkness, looking for some sign of Mulder. Nothing. Just blood stains, so many bloodstains.

Kurt sent another volley of bullets and the agents responded, despite Scully’s pleas. Finally, no more gunfire came from Kurt’s corner and the agents carefully made their way back.

Kurt lay on his back, bleeding from the bullet that had pierced his chest, his eyes half open. Scully knelt at his side, pulled off the ski mask and crisply pulled off her jacket to cover him. “Where is Agent Mulder, Kurt?” she asked.

Kurt grinned and rasped “Where you’ll never find him, bitch!” Then he died.

Scully sat back, stunned. Skinner gave her a worried look and called to the other agents. “Check the building for other gunmen, and also for Agent Mulder. He’s injured, probably incapacitated. When you find him, sing out and Agent Scully will administer first aid until the paramedics can take over.”

Agents poured throughout the building, and Scully searched too. After an eternity, the agents filtered back to the central spot where the coroner was packing up the bodies of Benny and Kurt.

No Mulder. Nobody else in the building.

Scully bit her lip. She had to agree that they’d found nothing, but she was also certain that Mulder was here.

“Agent Scully, I’m truly sorry. They…must have killed him and dumped the body somewhere,” Skinner said with heavy regret.

“No…no. He’s still alive and he’s here. I know he’s here.” Skinner gave her a sharp look, but decided to leave her with her grief.

As Skinner thanked the agents, then reassigned them to forensics tasks, Scully wandered aside. Searching.

She found the open door to the basement and walked down the stairs. The area had been thoroughly searched, she knew that. She just had a feeling…

She entered the dimly lit basement and began to feel the walls, idly touching the surface, feeling dips and bumps in the surface. Then she felt a cold breeze against the palm of her hand. Carefully, lest she lose this clue, Scully left her hand there and reached for her flashlight with the other.

Focusing the bright light showed a faint vertical line, running from floor to ceiling. “A secret room,” Scully whispered, then dropped the flashlight and grabbed her pocket knife and began to force it against the crack.

She ran the knife down the crack until it jammed there. No good. But there was something behind this wall, she felt sure. Scully feverishly applied her nails, her knife and her determination to the door without effect, when Skinner came down the stairs.

“Agent Scully, are you all right…” he began, then stopped as he saw Scully frenziedly trying to open the hidden door. Her hair was in disarray and she was all but beating on it with her fists.

She turned to him. “Sir, Mulder’s trapped in there. I know it! We need some agents down here with axes and pry-bars. Now!” Skinner grabbed his walkie-talkie and barked some orders into it, then he hunted around the basement for a tool to use.

Skinner found a crowbar, and began trying to pry the wall open, his face tense with effort and his muscles straining. More agents poured down the stairs and helped.

Soon the door was destroyed, revealing a large locker-like metal box, clearly meant to be air-tight. It was locked.

Scully was all but dancing in her anxiety. “We’ve got to get him out of there. Fast. He’s probably running out of air.”

Skinner took his crowbar and managed to force the lock. He yanked the door open, and the abused body of Fox Mulder toppled out.

Scully dived forward to catch him, pulling the rest of Mulder’s body out of the locker. She felt for a pulse and he lay limp, cradled in her arms, his face dusky pale.

“Sir, he isn’t breathing. Call the paramedics down here, fast!” She began mouth to mouth resuscitation.

“C’mon, Mulder—breathe. That’s right, breathe for me…” Scully grimly pushed air into Mulder’s lungs. Between breaths, she pulled off her jacket and gently lay in on him. After a minute or two he coughed and gulped a big lungful of air. Scully sat back on her heels and smiled as Mulder’s eyes cracked open.

“Hey, partner,” she smiled into his eyes. “Long time, no see.” Mulder’s eyes found hers, then took on an expression of tormented anguish and he turned his face to one side, refusing to look at her.

“Mulder, what..” Scully began but was interrupted by the paramedics. She stood to one side, then, anxiously watching as they loaded Mulder onto a stretcher and began to remove him from the room. In all that time, not once did Mulder meet her eyes or look at her, even though Scully followed his every motion, listened to every response he gave to a paramedic.

Shaken, she watched dumbly from the sidelines.

“Do you want to ride with the ambulance?” Skinner asked gently.

Scully just nodded and silently followed the paramedics upstairs.

During the ride Mulder lost consciousness, and so Scully was spared his anguished glance. She thought she knew why he was turning from her. She had left him after all, run for her life and left him to be tortured by those sadistic killers. If he couldn’t get past this, couldn’t forgive her this, well…she could understand. But she’d try, oh how she’d try to make it up to him, somehow. If he’d let her.

Day 4 - 11:00 p.m. Memorial Hospital

Scully roused when somebody draped a blanket over her. She yawned and saw that Skinner had arrived and was tip-toeing out of the room.

“Sir?” she said drowsily. “It’s okay, I’m awake.” Scully sat up in her chair, her eyes going automatically to the still form of Mulder in the hospital bed.

“I, uh, thought I’d see how Agent Mulder is doing,” Skinner said, his voice low. He took a seat in the other chair. “What do the doctors say?”

“Well, he had internal injuries stemming from the rape and the beatings. They’ve repaired that, but he’ll be a while recovering. He was knifed in the arm, but fortunately it missed the major blood vessels. There is considerable danger of infection, and he’s lost a lot of blood. But of primary concern is that he was without oxygen for an unknown period of time. There could be brain damage. We won’t really know if there are any deficits until he wakes.” If he wakes, Scully added mentally.

“You mean like swimmers or drowning victims?” Skinner asked.

“Yes. There could be no effect, or he could have just enough brain damage to be manageable…”

“But to end his career at the Bureau,” Skinner finished for her. Scully nodded and laid her hands on Mulder’s left arm, focusing her entire being on him.

Skinner sat with her for a while, then gently took his leave.

After Skinner left, Scully had time to think. Mulder had turned away from her. He knew that she’d left him, saved herself. She’d abandoned him and he’d taken the abuse meant for her, and now he just couldn’t look at her. She couldn’t blame him, she certainly blamed herself. She wondered if he’d even want her as a partner anymore. My God, the rape. He’d have a long recovery from that. She had to be there for him. But would he want her? She knew that if he told her to go away, her heart would break. But she’d do it, if he asked it.

And she thought of the dreams she’d had, tucked carefully in the back of her mind. Waking up on Sunday morning with Mulder, cooking him a real meal, spending days with him—not chasing aliens—but just being. Growing old with him. She’d thought that maybe he was attracted to her, a little. That hallway near-kiss…was never repeated. So she’d never been sure. Now she’d never know.

But she’d wait. And even if he couldn’t forgive her for abandoning him when he needed her most, she still owed him.

Abattoir, Part 6

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is the last part of this story. WARNING!!! There’s some violent stuff in here—if you can’t stand scenes of explicit violence, bail now, or take your Pepto and keep reading. The Mulder rape scenes are fictional, but based on research of male-on-male rape, and are as factual as I can make them. Life is like that. I’ve left loose ends. Life is like that, too.

Memorial Hospital Day 5 - 3:10 a.m.

Scully jerked awake. She lifted her head from where it lay against Mulder’s arm. Something had awakened her. Mulder?

His eyes were fluttering and a soft moan came from his throat. Scully waited tensely, trying to smile brightly but afraid of his reaction.

Mulder focused, then found Scully’s face. He began to smile at her, then the anguished look filtered into his face. He turned his head away.

“Mulder? What’s wrong? Why can’t you look at me?” Scully asked softly.

“You know, Scully. You know why I can’t…just can’t…what happened in that place.” Mulder’s voice was muffled, and so very sad.

Scully took a deep breath and looked down at her lap. That was it, then.

“Mulder…I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am…I can’t expect you to forgive me for this, but I..I have to tell you that I abandoned you there, and I’m so very sorry. I know you blame me for that, and you’re right. I’m your partner, and I..I left you there..alone. Can you forgive me?” Scully looked up, tears welling from her eyes, to find Mulder looking at her curiously.

“Forgive you for what, Scully? Of course you left, that’s why I went for that gorilla: to give you a chance to get away. It was the only way I could protect you. I sure didn’t do you any good otherwise.” Mulder bowed his head, ashamed.

“You don’t blame me? But..why have you been turning away from me? You wouldn’t look at me.” Scully leaned forward in her chair.

Mulder painfully slid back from Scully, putting as much distance as the bed would allow. “Scully, you know why I can’t…can’t face you.” He dropped his gaze and stared at the blankets, forcing the words out. “I…I raped you, Scully. I hurt you. I could tell I was hurting you, while it was happening. How can you stand to look at me, now?”

“Mulder, I asked you to do it. I helped. And remember your training. What’s the definition of rape? Sexual intercourse without consent. Mulder…that wasn’t a rape, not really. The situation was terrible, but you aren’t. I consented, Mulder, that you make love to me.”

Mulder still couldn’t meet her eyes. “I know you don’t hold it against me, Scully. You said as much while we were…um…”

“Fucking? Mulder, I’m a grown woman and I know what we were doing. There’s no shame in it.” Scully waited hopefully for a Mulder leer and remark. It never came. She sighed.

“But Scully, I hurt you. I know I was hurting you, and…” The rest was too low for her to hear.

“What is it Mulder? I can’t hear.”

“Scully..I…came. And I enjoyed it. But I hurt you and then I came. That isn’t right. I can’t live with that.”

“Mulder, I know in my heart that you are not a sadistic man. Do you think that you are?” That got his attention. He looked up.

“No, I hope not.” He mumbled. “But…I don’t really know myself anymore.”

“Well, if you were a sadist, you wouldn’t be bothered by your perception of what happened. Besides, Mulder, how do you know that you hurt me?” Scully asked softly.

“How could I not know? I could feel you beneath me, shuddering. You…you gasped a couple of times when I…when I moved in you hard. I tried to make it gentle, I tried,” Mulder said miserably.

“Um…Mulder..” Blast the man for being perceptive about everybody but her! Okay, Starbuck, just SAY it.

“Mulder, you didn’t hurt me. In fact, I had several orgasms myself…” Scully could feel her face getting red and flushed. She found herself looking away in embarrassment. Damn it, he caused them, why can’t I tell him about it?

Mulder began a slow smile. “Several, as in more than one?”

Scully caught the smile and began to feel a little hope.

“Uh-huh,” she said.

“How many?” Mulder gave her an intensely curious look. His smile broadened to a smug grin when she held up three fingers.

Their eyes met and Scully began to giggle. Then Mulder began to snicker, and soon the two of them were being cautioned against waking any of the other patients.

After a while they both calmed down, and Scully’s face grew serious. “Mulder, I want you to know that I feel terrible about what happened to you there. I…if you need a friend, somebody to talk to about it, I’m here.” She reached out her hand to take Mulder’s. She could see that he was forcing himself to accept her touch and felt saddened at the damage done to this man.

“Scully…how much of the tape did you see? How much do they know at the Bureau? Skinner? Did they see me get…” Mulder’s face flushed with embarrassment, as his voice trailed off. He looked away from her eyes as he waited for her answer.

“Skinner and the task force team saw the tape, a total of eight people. We all gave our word not to disclose the contents, to protect your privacy. The tape itself only showed the beginnings of the attack on you, maybe the first five minutes, then went to snow.” Scully tried to smile. “You and I, now, we’re there in glorious technicolor. I’m thinking of adding that one to the drawer of videos that don’t belong to you.”

Mulder’s smile was as tentative. “Yeah, well, I always did want to be in pictures.” Inwardly, he heaved a relieved sigh. At least Scully hadn’t seen the whole attack, and his reaction to it. No, can’t think about that. Got to forget that it happened, forget the whole thing and get back to life. Just don’t think about it.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired. And you look like you could use some sleep.” Scully got up to go. “Mulder, I’m so glad we found you. I was so worried,” she said softly.

“So was I, Scully, so was I,” Mulder replied gently. Scully leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, then left before Mulder could get over his shock. He sat up in bed, gingerly touching his lips where she’d kissed him, a bemused expression on his face.

5:00 a.m.

Mulder couldn’t sleep. He was glad that he’d cleared the air with Scully about their encounter. He hadn’t hurt her after all….three times? He fought down a silly grin. No, Scully wouldn’t lie and she wouldn’t exaggerate. Mulder felt oddly comforted, especially in the face of all that he hadn’t said to her.

Thank God she hadn’t seen the rest of the attack. Thank God nobody had. He still didn’t know how to react to it. He recalled it, with all too much clarity.

Kurt, pounding into him, pain…terrible pain. Couldn’t get his breath, and when he did it was only to scream.

Kurt’s obscenities in his ears, calling him garbage, worthless…after a while the words were meaningless. He couldn’t fight, couldn’t stop it from happening…helpless. Fox Mulder, FBI Agent, Oxford graduate…helpless. Then Mulder’s body betrayed him. He could feel himself getting hard, arousal out of his control, hoping…praying that Kurt wouldn’t notice. Forlorn hope.

“Hey Benny! Look at this! The Fibbie’s got a hard-on!” Mulder felt Kurt grab a handful of his hair, pulling him onto his knees. “Guess he goes both ways, huh?” Then he was rolled back onto his stomach and, to his mortification, he ejaculated. By the time Kurt was finished with him, Mulder lay face down, sobbing and trying vainly to control the shaking of his body. Then Kurt and Benny had hauled him upright and tied him, then thrown him into the van.

Mulder realized that he was shaking and tried to huddle down into the safety of the hospital bed. It didn’t exist, it hadn’t happened, Kurt and Benny were dead. There was no tape. And if Mulder chose to forget it, it didn’t exist, did it? What was he, anyway? How could his body react like that? Wait, he told himself, remember that expensive psychology degree…This is purely physiological. It happens to male rape victims, it’s meaningless, the simple result of pressure applied to the prostate gland during the attack.

Yeah, sure, fine, he told himself. All this theory was great UNTIL IT HAPPENED TO ME! He curled into a fetal ball and huddled in the bed, waiting till morning.

Day 5 - Memorial Hospital 2 p.m.

Scully stopped by the nurse’s station on her way to see Mulder. She’d gotten into the habit of checking his chart. The nurse on duty stopped her.

“Agent Scully, you really need to talk to your partner,” the nurse said as she handed Scully the chart.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Scully glanced at the chart, nothing abnormal physically.

“The rape counselor stopped by today. Mulder shouted him out of the room, and that’s the only reaction he’s given to anything today. He won’t talk, doesn’t say anything, just stares out the window.”

“I’ll go see him. Maybe he’ll talk to me.” Scully gave the chart back to the nurse and went into Mulder’s room. He lay quietly, staring at the window as she entered.

“Hi, partner. How ya feelin?” Scully asked as cheerfully as she could. She found a business card on the side table. It read ‘William Draeger, Rape Crisis Counseling Center’. “I see you’ve had a visitor.”

Mulder didn’t turn away from the window. “Had,” he said, and fell silent.

“Mulder, this is me. What’s going on?” Scully tried to keep her voice crisp and unemotional. “You seem really down today. Want to talk about it?”

“No,” Mulder said.

“Mulder…dammit! Will you look at me? You already said that you don’t hold it against me, my leaving you. So what is it? What’s going on?” Mulder didn’t answer, but Scully could see his shoulders trembling with quiet sobs.

“Mulder?” Scully reached forward and touched Mulder’s hair. He jerked and cried out. “No..no..Let me go, let me alone…please let me alone..Don’t touch me..please. I..don’t want this. I’m not like that…” Mulder huddled in the bed, pulling the covers around him tightly.

Scully pulled her hand back abruptly. “Mulder,” she whispered. “Just what was on the rest of that tape? What did he do to you?”

Mulder sobbed, then the words began to come out. He brokenly described the rest of the attack, and how his body had reacted. Scully desperately wanted to hold him close, protect him. But she knew that he couldn’t bear any touch just now.

“Mulder, you know that none of this was your fault. You didn’t ask for it, any of it. You’re right, your body was taken out of your control and this was an automatic response.” Scully reached out to him with one hand, then dropped it to lay on the blanket between them. “You should talk to the counselor. You can’t let this fester inside you. If you can’t talk to me, you need somebody.”

“Scully, I…feel like my life is broken into little pieces. No control, can’t even control my own friggin’ body. Don’t trust anybody but you. I’ve tried to repress this, think about something else. It…didn’t hurt this much when I was worried about you, you were more important to worry about. But now,” Mulder gave a shaky laugh, “the adrenaline has died down. I guess I’m freed up to have the flashbacks now.”

Mulder gulped and went on. “Scully, you’re the most important thing in my life, but even I can see what a loser I am. Please, get out now, before I drag you down. You don’t have to deal with this, you don’t have to be here and go through this with me.”

Scully was frightened by the despair in his voice. “Mulder, is this why you deliberately provoked Kurt to kill you?” At his look, she added “Yes, I saw that in the tape. You weren’t even trying. Is this what prompted that?”

Mulder nodded. “That, and knowing that I’d lost you forever. Once I’d touched you, I knew I couldn’t live without ever touching you again. And you deserve better.” Mulder looked into her honest blue eyes and said flatly. “You still do.”

Scully looked back. “Mulder, I decide what I deserve, and I chose you a long time ago. How clear do I have to make it? I love you and I’m not going anywhere. Unless…you really don’t want me to stay,” she ended quietly.

Mulder looked like a man offered paradise. “Scully, do you really mean that? I mean, not just as a friend…”

Scully smiled. “I’ve had romantic feelings for you for quite some time, but you never said anything and I wasn’t sure you felt the same.”

Mulder snorted. “Should I have rented a billboard? Scully, I told you how I felt in Bermuda. I got you back from the arctic tundra. How obvious did I have to be?”

“A hell of a lot more obvious than you were! Who trails you to God-knows-where and saves your ass repeatedly? What was I supposed to think? You didn’t even try to kiss me again.” Scully flared, then noted with quiet satisfaction that Mulder’s mood had picked up. Good.

Mulder grew serious. “Scully, if you’re talking about a romantic relationship, I don’t think I’m going to be much good to you for a while. I want to make love to you more than I can say, but I..can’t handle the thought of sex right now. I don’t even know if…if I can make love to a woman any more. Even touching your hand is rough. I’m scared, and it feels like my body isn’t really mine. I’ve lost boundaries. And then,” Mulder looked down at the blankets. “The doctor told me that my preliminary HIV tests are negative, but it’ll be six months before we know for sure.”

“Mulder, I want a romantic relationship, and with nobody but you. I can wait. I’ve waited six years, I can wait six months. Or as long as it takes.” Scully tried to project as much warmth and love into her eyes as she could, since she couldn’t follow her instinct and enfold him in a hug.

Mulder smiled, hope in his face. “Well, maybe we can work up to it. Mess around….date..”

“Mess around, Agent Mulder?” Scully asked archly.

“Agent Scully, have you ever been kissed in the back seat of a 1964½ Mustang?”

“Mulder, anyplace, anytime you want to kiss me, I’m there,” Scully replied.

Mulder leaned inward and gently caught the back of Scully’s head, pulling her forward. She could see him tremble as he very slowly and very carefully began a tender kiss at the base of her neck, then moved gradually upward, finally arriving at her lips. Once there, the tender kiss became passionate, leaving both of them breathless.

“That’s…my promise to you, Dana Scully. And my commitment.”

End Abattoir

Abattoir: 6 Months by Xenith

Title: Abattoir: 6 Months (1/?)

Author: Xenith

Disclaimer: The X-files belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions, not me. I’m only borrowing the characters for now. I’ll put them back when I’m done.

Rating: NC-17; Deals with the aftermath of rape and sexual assault; much angst, some graphic sex. Under 17’s if you read this, shame on you!

Category: SA

Keywords: MSR, Muldertorture, Scullytorture, rape

Spoilers: Thru 6th season, without Biogenesis

Archive: Sure! Just tell me!

Feedback: Love it! Love it!

E-Mail address: [email protected]

Discussion List: Yes!!! Yes!!!

Summary: This is a sequel to Abattoir, following M & S for the six months after Mulder & Scully’s forced sexual encounter and Mulder’s rape. It falls between Abattoir and 1964½ Mustang.

_______

ABATTOIR: 6 MONTHS

Dana Scully’s Journal February 7

Mulder came home from the hospital today; against medical advice. Why am I not surprised? He developed an infection stemming from his injuries at the hands of Kurt Willard (may he burn in Hell) and the doctor wanted to keep him until the fever was under control.

Mulder, being the independent (cowardly) SOB he is, waited until I’d gone home for a shower before he signed himself out and took a cab home. The only reason I found out as quickly as I did is that I had made friends with the nurse on duty. Sandy gave me a call right after Mulder left, so I grabbed my car keys and rushed over to Mulder’s apartment.

Fortunately for us both, Dr. Barnes had insisted that Mulder take a full supply of his antibiotics and pain pills before he let him leave, AMA release or not. I got to Mulder’s apartment to find him collapsed on his couch and clearly unable to go anywhere else.

“Damn it, Mulder! Why do you DO stupid things like this?” I fumed as I covered him with a blanket. I fished a thermometer out of his medicine cabinet and popped it into his mouth. Mulder began to mumble around the thermometer until my expression made it clear that my question had been purely rhetorical.

I went on. As long as he couldn’t talk back, he was going to get an earful. “Mulder, you had surgery two days ago, you aren’t even on solid food yet, and you’ve developed an infection leaving you with a temperature of…” I read the thermometer. “one hund red one degrees. You need medical attention. I’m calling an ambulance and you’re going back to the hospital.”

“Scully…please.”

I stopped when I heard the quiet pleading in his voice. Mulder the flip, sarcastic funnyman I can deal with. Mulder the vulnerable, stops me dead in my tracks.

“Scully, I don’t want to go back. It’s too…noisy there. Too many people around, and every time somebody touches me…I..” his voice trailed off to a mumble, but I had a pretty good idea what Mulder was getting at.

This time last week we had both been in the sadistic hands of Kurt Willard and his buddy and ex-cellmate Benny Zabrilski. Willard had offered Mulder the impossible choice of either raping me or watching me be gang-raped. Mulder chose to help me, and mad e what could have been a terrible physical violation into a gentler, dare I say loving(?) experience. Mulder didn’t rape me, he made love to me under the worst of all possible circumstances, with cameras recording the event and the certain knowledge that the tape would land on A.D. Skinner’s desk.

I will bless Mulder’s sacrifice till the day I die. He didn’t have to choose to be a victim, but he did. For me. And after Mulder made my escape possible, he survived the rape intended for me. For me. For me.

Ah, Mulder…whatever will I do with you? And then, the poor loving soul believed in his heart that he was just too damaged to remain my partner. That he couldn’t, daren’t face me. I think we resolved some of that by discussing our fears in the hospital . But not all, I think. Not yet.

I still feel guilty and ashamed that I took the chance offered and ran for my life. Forget the fact that Mulder intended me to escape, I still left him. He doesn’t blame me for it; he intended it by his action. But I have quietly determined to make it up to him in any way I can. ANYTHING this man needs, he will get, if it takes my last breath.

I sat down on the coffee table opposite him. “Is it bad?” I watched his face closely. Mulder can lie well, but not to me. He said nothing for a bit, but I could see his lips tighten and his eyes look away.

“Not so bad,” was what he said verbally. But I could see by his expression and body language that he had been desperate to get away to someplace quiet and alone, where he could try to recover himself in privacy.

“Mulder, you still need medical care…” I started but Mulder interrupted.

“No, Scully. I’m not going back there, to be stared at and pitied..those orderlies are the worst.” Mulder snorted. “They sort of clutch at their genitals whenever they approach me, like what happened to me is catching.” Mulder’s eyes were deep pools of anguish and embarrassment. He’d be pleading next, and I couldn’t take that.

“Mulder, what I was going to say is that you can get that care at my place. With your own, personal doctor.” I leaned forward. “I’ll go in to the office and check on you at lunch. You should be okay on your own till dinner time. My guest bedroom is op en. And I insist.”

Mulder looked as if he were about to cry with relief. God, after all that he’d been through, it hadn’t occurred to me that a simple hospital stay could so increase his pain.

“If you’re sure I wouldn’t be imposing?” I shook my head. “Okay.” Mulder said simply. He tried to get up from the couch without success, then commented wryly “I think you’re going to have to pack my overnight bag for me, though.” He shifted position on the couch and winced.

“I think it’s time for one of your pain meds. Here, you take this and I’ll go pack.” I shook a tablet out of the bottle and got him a glass of water. Then I went to pack a bag for him.

It is 11:00 p.m. now. I moved the television set into Mulder’s room. When I checked on him twenty minutes ago, he was propped up in bed against some pillows with the channels on the t.v. set scrolling rapidly past. Then I realized that Mulder had droppe d off to sleep with his thumb still depressing the key on the remote. It took everything I had not to giggle out loud as I gently retrieved the remote and left the television on some stupid show on the Fox Network.

February 8

3:00 a.m.

I woke this morning to an agonized scream. I was halfway to Mulder’s room, gun in hand before I was fully awake.

I charged into his room, to find him huddled in bed, pleading with Kurt Willard to let him alone.

“Mulder, it’s okay, it’s me. He’s gone. It’s okay,” I repeated softly as I approached him. His eyes opened and met mine, the tears still running down his face. With all my heart I just wanted to gather him up and protect him, but I knew that he wouldn ‘t let me touch him. Mulder just looked at me, despair in his eyes.

“Scully…” he gulped and wiped his eyes with the bedsheet. I nodded and slowly sat down on the bed, close but not touching him.

“Mulder, are you okay? Do you need medical help?” He closed his eyes and bowed his head, shaking ‘no’.

“Scully,” he said under his breath. “I was dreaming, and I was there again. And he was there. And I couldn’t stop him, couldn’t stop it from happening. I’m a goddamned trained PSYCHOLOGIST and I couldn’t stop it; couldn’t prevent him attacking you, cou ldn’t save mySELF. I’m the sorriest excuse for an FBI agent I’ve ever met with…” His voice died away into silence.

I had no words. Only rage. If Kurt Willard had survived the shootout, I have no doubt that I would have grabbed my gun and he’d be dead now. And I wouldn’t shed a tear. What could I say? I couldn’t think of anything, nothing I can say will ever undo it.

“Mulder,” I whispered. “You changed things, by being there. If not for your protection, I would have been gang-raped. I owe you, big time; don’t forget that. You saved me from something terrible. I’d like to hold you. Can I hold you? Please?”

He finally looked up, forcing himself to meet my eyes and nodded. I moved slowly across the bed and gathered him into my arms, pulling his head against my heart. I could feel the sobs he was holding in.

“Let it go. It’s okay, just let it out.” I whispered, as my voice got shakier and finally broke. In the end I couldn’t tell where his tears ended and mine began.

—Later—

I had to go into the office for a 9 a.m. meeting with Skinner. I was ready to reschedule, but Mulder talked me out of it. He pointed out (logically) that nightmares and flashbacks are par for the course in his situation. He insisted that he’d be fine a nd that he’d see me at lunch. Reluctantly, I left him.

As I entered Skinner’s office, I know that my eyes were still red and my face puffy. Makeup can only do so much. As soon as I had taken a seat, he fired off a question at me.

“Agent Scully, why the Hell aren’t you on medical leave? Mulder wasn’t the only one sexually assaulted on the Willard case.” He glared at me as only A.D. Skinner can glare.

But I can out-stubborn him any day of the week. “Sir, I am seeing my therapist regularly and feel that I am coping well with the…trauma. I feel better when I keep busy. I don’t want to sit at home and mull over what happened.”

Skinner just looked at me. Being held at gunpoint, in fear for my life (and afraid for Mulder as well) wasn’t a picnic. I need to work, put some distance from it.

“All right, Agent Scully, I’ll allow you back to work if your therapist will release you as fit for duty….Oh,” he said to the sheet of paper I placed on his desk. He reviewed it, attached it to another sheet of paper and filed it. Then he turned back to me and sighed.

“And how is Mulder doing?” he asked searchingly. “Will he be out of the hospital soon?”

I looked down, couldn’t let him see the worry in my face. “He’s already out. He’s staying with me until he feels better; he still needs some help before he can care for himself again.” I smiled at Skinner projecting my best confident aura. He didn’t bu y it.

“Agent Scully, there’s no question in my mind that Agent Mulder’s psychological condition is worse than his physical. I talked to Sandy; she says that Mulder left against doctor’s orders. Tell me the real story.”

I mentally cursed efficient nurses and told him, all of it.

Skinner sat quietly when I had finished. Then he took a deep breath. “Agent Scully, are you sure that you are in any condition to take this on right now? No..” he raised a hand at my protest. “I’m not saying that you should abandon Mulder. Just don’t f orget that you are a victim of those sadistic bastards as much as he is, and you need healing time too.” Sometimes Skinner is just too damned perceptive, but I couldn’t let this one go. I can’t; I owe Mulder. Big time.

“Sir, I appreciate your concern, but I am fine. Mulder is the one who needs our support the most. Please, I owe him so much. I have to do this.” I was as close to pleading as I’ve ever been with him. I guess that helped.

“Agent Scully, your personal life is your own business. Since your therapist has declared you able to work, I will expect you to return to your regular schedule, effective immediately.” He smiled. “However, things have been relatively quiet of late, so I don’t anticipate any cases taking you out of town in the immediate future. But if you feel that you need to take some personal time, for any reason, please feel free to do so.”

I smiled back. “Thank you sir.” I got up to leave.

“Oh, and Agent…” I turned. “Take good care of him,” Skinner said.

I just nodded.

I went home for lunch today and to check on Mulder.

I walked into the living room to see Mulder hunched over my computer, a credit card on the desk next to him. The screen faded out as I approached (Mulder is fast, I’ll give him that), and he was stuffing the credit card into his jeans pocket. I felt a f lush of hope at that. If he’s feeling well enough to surf the porn sites, maybe he’s beginning to feel better.

He looked up at me, flushed with embarrassment. “Uh, hi Scully,” he mumbled.

“Hi, Mulder,” I ignored the computer and put my hand on his forehead, then got the thermometer. Mulder remained silent while we waited for it to read. Temperature was 99 degrees. Good.

Then my nose woke up. “What is it that smells so good?” I wandered into the kitchen and found a pot of chicken soup simmering on the stove. “This looks wonderful. Which deli delivered it?” I grabbed a spoon from the drawer, hygiene be damned, and took a taste. Divine.

“It’s not from a deli.” Mulder gave me an abashed grin. “I made it. It didn’t seem right, my sitting around all day and not contributing something.”

I grabbed a bowl and scooped up a large helping. “Believe me, this is a contribution,” I said, helping myself to a big helping. “But Mulder, you still can’t eat solid food.”

Mulder got a bowl. “I thought of that. I’ve got broth for me, and this tastes better than Ensure anyway.” He dished himself a serving from a smaller pot at the back of the stove and carefully seated himself opposite me. We ate lunch in a companionable silence.

As I dug the last drops from my bowl, and seriously considered picking it up and slurping the last bit, I commented to Mulder, “You never said that you could cook.”

“You never asked,” Mulder refilled my bowl and put it in front of me. “So, how was work today, dear?” Mulder asked, only half jokingly.

Oh I know how much he wants to be back in the office, but he just isn’t strong enough yet, and he knows it.

“Boring. Skinner has me doing background checks and paperwork. I think he’s trying to give me what he’d term ‘light’ work. You aren’t missing anything.” I glanced up and Mulder looked a little less unhappy.

“What are your plans for today?” I asked.

“Oh, I have an appointment with William Draeger at the Rape Crisis Center.” Mulder looked steadily down into his empty bowl.

“I’m glad you found somebody to talk to about this. I’m seeing my therapist too, you know. And Mulder, if you ever need to talk, I’m here.”

Mulder looked up at me, finally meeting my eyes. “I know that, Scully. And if you need a shoulder to cry on, mine’s always available.” He gave me a rueful smile. “We sure are a sorry pair, aren’t we?”

“Oh, Mulder…” I just wanted to hug him, he looked so defeated somehow. I leaned forward and was about to embrace him when he pulled back so sharply that his chair fell out from under him. He landed in a crouch that kept me at arms length. My hurt mus t have shown on my face, because he got up apologizing.

“Scully, I’m so sorry…I just can’t. You..startled me.” He held his empty arms outstretched, then dropped them at his sides. He looked close to tears, and I probably looked the same.

“It’s okay, Mulder,” I said, rather unsteadily. “We’ll go slow; we have time.”

Mulder just nodded and walked with a bowed head into his room. I cleaned up the kitchen area. When I left for work, I tapped on his door but got no answer.

I got home from work before Mulder returned from the therapist. I cleaned the apartment, tidying away the inevitable result of Mulder in residence. And worried about him, about us.

I sat on my couch and thought about the dreams I’ve been having. Since Mulder was rescued and has seemed to be recovering, I’ve had the same dream every night, borne, I am sure of my fantasies and hopes. And every time I think about the dream, I find m yself becoming aroused again.

It starts the same way. We are in the warehouse, naked bodies pressed together. But this time there are no cameras, no rapists watching us. We are alone. And this time, Mulder doesn’t have to be coaxed into arousal.

I feel his gentle lips trailing kisses down my breasts, his mouth suckling first my right nipple, then my left. His hands slowly move down the sides of my abdomen, fondling and exploring my skin. Then he parts my legs. One hand reaches in to roll my cl itoris between long fingers, while the other gently strokes my entrance with two more fingers. I feel him dipping into me, then rubbing my liquid onto my clitoris, swirling his fingers around my center.

Just as it becomes unbearable, and I am gasping his name he stops and meets my eyes, smiling at me, then moves down to caress my clitoris with his mouth. His tongue is moist and hot. With his teeth and tongue he increases the sensations until I can bare ly breathe.

By this time I am pleading for it, whimpering to him to fuck me, please, please Mulder, please fuck me….I feel him enter me slowly. He is inside me, stretching me. It hurts so good. Mulder always did demand 101% from me. I spread my legs farther apa rt, then wrap them around his waist and I mindlessly beg him please, harder, harder, faster, more…He moves powerfully, faster and with more force, taking me to himself and I surrender to him. I don’t submit; he’d never want that, but I freely give all that I have and am. And I take all that he is, gladly.

I wake up in the night, sweating and naked, alone in my bed, feeling the emptiness of the space around me. And I hunger for him.

I feel embarrassed at what I have just written. If Mulder ever saw it, I would be mortified; but I have no one to tell these thoughts to and I must get them out, somehow.

Since Mulder has come to stay, I am afraid that I might awaken calling his name. I don’t know what he would do if he knew about this dream, and I would never want to pressure him. But still, I look forward to the night, and the dream.

When I heard the key rattle in the door I quickly dropped the pillow I’d been holding between my legs, and hoped I didn’t look flushed. Mulder looked worn as he walked into the apartment and dropped his coat over the chair.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” I asked, but didn’t move to grab the thermometer. He looked like he needed space.

Mulder smiled a little. “Hey yourself. I’m okay, just a little tired. I think I’ll lay down for a while.”

I got up, suddenly worried. “Do you want your pain pills?” I trailed him to the door of his room and reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. I could see him consciously controlling his flinch and pulled my hand back.

“No,” he shook his head. “I just need a nap.”

I eyed him closely “I’ll reheat some of that broth for dinner. Let me know when you’re hungry.” He gave a little nod and went into his room, then shut the door behind him. I sat on the couch, listening for any sounds from the room. While I absently le afed through a magazine, I thought I heard quiet sobbing through the door and momentarily considered checking on him. Then I realized that privacy was the best thing I could give him.

After an hour or so, Mulder came out, looking even more worn than he had before he went in. He ate dinner without a word, then spent the evening flipping channels in front of the television set. Physically he was better, his temperature was 98.6 all ev ening. Finally, after scrolling through all the cable channels twice, Mulder took a deep breath and addressed me.

“This won’t work, Scully.” He sat, his arms folded over his chest, seemingly shrunken into himself.

“What won’t work?” I asked cautiously, although I had a good idea what he was getting at.

“I can’t stand being so close to you, but I can’t be with you; not really.” The look he gave me tore at my soul. “Scully, today when you tried to hug me my body just took over. I couldn’t get away fast enough. I wanted…want to hug you back. But I ca n’t, right now, not spontaneously. And every time I rebuff you, I’ll cause you pain. Being here with you in the same apartment is tearing me apart. I want you…so much, and I’d die before I’d hurt you..”

His voice trailed off, then he began again. “Scully, I need some space, to myself. I’ve been thinking about going to the Vineyard, stay with my mom for a while. Draeger has referred me to a therapist there.”

I was quiet for a minute. Since Kurt Willard I have felt as though something inside has awakened; I feel an incredible hunger that I was unaware of before. No, not unaware, but I suppressed it so thoroughly I could safely ignore it. Since that terrible day that Fox Mulder made love to me, I have craved his touch, longed for his presence. And yes, being near Mulder but not being able to touch him, to make love to him, has been difficult. But I could never force him to stay close to me just to feed my own hunger.

“How long will you be gone?” I was surprised at the longing in my voice, but haven’t the ability to hide it any more.

Mulder smiled. “Not long. I’ll be picking you up at 8:00 sharp on Saturday night.”

I was puzzled. “What for?”

“Our first date. We did agree that we were going to start dating, didn’t we?” Mulder suddenly looked worried.

I hid a smile; so he wasn’t that averse to physical closeness after all. Maybe there was hope. “Of course. And the attire? Is this dinner and a movie or something fancier?”

“Oh, definitely something fancier. I want to impress this gorgeous little redhead I met at work.” Mulder paused, “If you’re willing.”

“Oh yes,” I breathed. Maybe there was hope, indeed.

Part 2

February 9

Mulder has gone. When I woke this morning, he had packed and left, with a note on the table.

“See you Saturday. M.”, was all it said.

Why do I feel so bereft? We haven’t been sleeping together, he only stays with me when he’s sick. He’s taken vacations before and I never felt like the most vital half of my soul had just walked out.

Later

I spent the morning working on more paperwork in our tiny basement office, when I had to run upstairs to get some documents from Kim. She’s been depressed since the Willard case. I know that she feels guilty at being Kurt Willard’s unsuspecting dupe, an d providing him will all the data he needed to kidnap and kill five agents, and almost Mulder and me.

“Hi Kim,” I greeted her, admiring the mammoth display of red and white roses adorning the corner of her desk. There must have been 24 roses in the vase. “Wow. Where did those come from?”

Kim grinned. “That’s what I want to know. I was about to call you. Here’s the card, Agent Scully. They were left at the front desk for you and security brought them up here.” She handed me a small card and waited while I slit the envelope. I could h ear the door to Skinner’s office open and knew that he was just as curious as she was.

The card simply said:

“Beautiful flowers for the fairest rose of all. M.”

I know that I was blushing wildly as I closed the card. I leaned forward to sniff one of the roses, when I saw a thin gold chain draped over a stem. Gingerly I pulled it out and found a small bracelet, just the size for a petite wrist like mine, with a tiny charm on it. A gold cross.

“Oh…that’s beautiful,” Kim sighed. “Who’s it from?”

I blushed even more. There’s no rule that says agents can’t date, but I still wanted to hug the secret to myself. I looked up and Skinner’s grin told me all I needed to know.

“Oh, I imagine it’s some secret admirer, finally making himself known.” Skinner said cheerfully and I swear he winked at me.

When I left Skinner’s office, I felt not unlike a parade: Mrs. Spooky on her way to the basement, hauling a truly whopping bouquet of roses (in a vase that I could swear is crystal). Heads poked out of cubicles throughout the bullpen, and I could hear th e speculation buzzing through the halls.

Before long, I was being visited by a variety of secretaries, admin. assistants and agents who had never bothered to find their way to the basement before. It was embarrassing. It was exciting. Okay, it made them jealous, and it was fun to rub their no ses in it for once. Dana Scully had an admirer and she wouldn’t say who. I wore the bracelet for the rest of the day, touching it occasionally to be sure it was safe.

E-MAIL MESSAGE From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: February 9, 1999 Re: Roses

Mulder,

I got the flowers, they are beautiful. Security took them to Skinner’s office, where they promptly gave the entire bullpen a charge. You evil man, you knew that would happen.

And thank you for the bracelet. I’m wearing it now.

Mulder, sometimes I can say things in writing that I am unable to articulate in person. I want you to know that I’ve missed you. Coming home to a Mulderless house is a lonely experience. I’ve enjoyed having you here; I always enjoy your company.

As I said in the hospital, I chose you a long time ago and my feelings for you have only deepened. If you ever feel that you don’t have the same feelings for me, please don’t be afraid to say so. We have always spoken the truth to each other, and I will never lie to you. And my truth is, that there is an enormous hole in my life when you aren’t there.

I hope that you find Martha’s Vineyard a good, restful place to be. If you ever need me, for anything, please, please call me. I’ll be there.

EMAIL MESSAGE From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: February 10, 1999 Re: Roses

I’m glad you liked the roses. When I saw them, I couldn’t decide whether to send white or red, so I sent both. White for the purity of your outlook and red for your passionate soul. I’m glad I chose right.

You’re right, it is easier to say the things I think by e-mail. Somehow when we’re together, I find myself making jokes, not telling you what I really want to say. My feelings haven’t changed since I told you I loved you in Bermuda (and I’m not on any d rugs now!) I’m glad you believe me now; I guess this means that I don’t have to rent the billboard after all.

Does this qualify as a love letter? Should we be using Uncle Sam’s e-mails for such obviously non-governmental business?

EMAIL MESSAGE

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Date: February 10, 1999 Re: Love Letters

I’d say that the last e-mail pretty much qualifies as a love letter. You can get mushier if you want. I understand that you Oxford grads can get pretty poetic.

Me, I’m just a scientist. I can’t write love letters without using clinical terms like “cardiac” as in “If I don’t see you soon, I will experience cardiac arrest.”

EMAIL MESSAGE To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Date: February 11, 1999 Re: Mushy love letters

You want mushy? How about this:

You are my better half and I don’t feel complete when I’m without you. That time when you were gone, when they had you, I knew that my life was meaningless unless you were there to share it. When you wanted to leave, before Antarctica, I was desperate b ecause I knew that my life was over, my quest was worthless unless you shared it.

And in that warehouse, when I believed that you and I could never share a partnership again because of what I perceived that I had done to you, I didn’t want to live.

Please don’t ever listen to me when I tell you to get away from me. I’m separated from you now, physically, only because I have to be. But my heart will always be where you are, no matter what.

EMAIL MESSAGE From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: February 11, 1999 Re: I love you too

Mulder,

I don’t know what to say, so I’ll just say it. I love you. When you’re cut, I bleed. I’ve been praying for you every night. I know, you aren’t religious. Put up with it.

I can’t wait until Saturday. It’s our first date, isn’t it? Do you kiss girls on the first date?

EMAIL MESSAGE From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: February 12, 1999 Re: First date

I thought you Catholic girls NEVER kiss on the first date. But if your mother doesn’t come out of the door waving a shotgun at me, I think I could manage a passable goodnight kiss. Tongue?

EMAIL MESSAGE From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: February 12, 1999 Re: First Date

Only if dinner ISN’T the super-garlic special at Tony’s Pizza Place. I’ve had to share stake-outs with you after you’ve eaten lunch there.

Dana Scully’s Journal February 13, 1999

I’m waiting for Mulder to come pick me up. I hate first dates. The first question, what on earth do I wear? I have a closet filled with black pantsuits, black and navy business suits and other outfits eminently suited for chasing down felons and mutant s. Nothing for a first date with a gorgeous man.

I did the only sensible thing. I got my credit card and went shopping; Mom came along. She figured out fast why I was so flustered and why nothing, but nothing looked right.

“So, when is Fox going to pick you up?” she asked, oh so calmly.

“Eight,” I gave up any attempt at secrecy and told her the whole thing. Mom’s eyes gleamed. I hate that. She immediately began trailing me past the lingerie shops, then began pulling some skin-tight spandex outfits off the rack for me to try on.

“Mom, I can’t wear this!” I gasped and held up a black spandex knit skirt. It could double as a belt, it’s that short. Mom just smiled and shooed me into the changing room.

Okay, the clingy fabric really does something for my curves, as did the sparkly (and equally slinky) top. Mom bought me earrings (for luck, she said). We did stop for shoes, and I got a pair that will never darken the door of the Hoover Building—very very high heels. No way could I chase aliens in these. But oh, how they look! That and Mulder’s bracelet (and my cross) complete the outfit.

Now I sit here on the couch and worry. What if he doesn’t like the way I look? What if he only likes Dr. Scully, FBI agent and not Dana, the woman? What if he thinks this outfit is too, well, tarty? I don’t normally dress this sexily…God, I hate fir st dates. I’ve only known the man 6 years, and I still hate first dates. Doorbell, he’s here!

Later Finally have time to write a bit. And I need to. Mulder was as good as his word. He arrived at 8:00 sharp, holding a corsage in a box. It was a wreath of baby red and white roses to wear on my wrist.

I think I must have shocked him, because when he saw me he reeled back and it took a moment for him to catch his breath. In a good way.

“My…goodness Scully. You clean up good.” He stammered. I interpret this to mean that he was generally pleased with my appearance.

Of course, he was wearing my favorite black Armani suit with a conservative tie (my Christmas gift to him) and a matching red rosebud for a boutonniere. Yum.

“You aren’t so bad yourself.” I picked up my bag and waited while Mulder closed and locked the door behind me. Then he escorted me downstairs, his hand at the small of my back.

We went to a very small, very chic French restaurant. It was then that I remembered, Mulder was on liquid diet the last time I saw him. What on earth was he going to eat.

“Mulder, I know you’ve been drinking Ensure…will this menu be okay?” I whispered from behind the menu.

“It’s all right. My doctor put me on solid food two days ago, I’m just avoiding things like chili peppers and Frohike’s cooking for the time being.” Mulder put the menu down and ordered wine.

The evening was romantic and perfect. Mulder found a club that plays Big Band music and took me dancing. I couldn’t tell whether dancing cheek to cheek bothered him, but the first time I tripped (damned shoes), he just held me tighter and propped me up (blessed shoes).

At midnight or so, we decided to call it a night. I stood in the doorway, waiting for Mulder to get the car, when I felt a shove from behind that pushed me to the sidewalk, onto my hands and knees. I yelled and looked up to see a man with my purse in ha nd, pounding down the sidewalk. I got up and began to pursue, when Mulder passed me, running swiftly. As I caught up to Mulder, he was just grabbing the thief. I tried to help but Mulder shoved me away.

“Damn it, Scully, let me do this! He might be armed!”

He had that poor thief on the ground before the guy knew what hit him. I held in my rage until after the police had arrived to take the purse snatcher off our hands and had returned my purse to me.

Our drive back to my apartment was silent, until I could hold it in no more. “Damn it, Mulder! I’m just as competent an FBI agent as you are! I am perfectly capable of subduing a suspect! Or helping you subdue him!”

Mulder gave me a long look and was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Scully, you’re right. I’m sorry I yelled at you, but he knocked you down. When I saw you on the pavement…I just saw red. I couldn’t let him hurt you and get away with it. Somebody as saulted you, in my presence, and I couldn’t prevent it. But I sure as hell could catch him and lock him up! And…I guess I wanted to be the one to..to protect you.”

“Oh,” I said quietly. We arrived at my apartment, and Mulder escorted me upstairs. He waited while I unlocked the door, then drew his gun and searched the place. I was left standing in the doorway.

“Wouldn’t you like to come in, Mulder?” I asked the empty space where Mulder had been. Mulder returned quickly, holstering his gun.

“All clear?” I asked matter of factly.

Mulder had the grace to look embarrassed. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m a little paranoid.”

“Well, let’s go in and have coffee.” I led him into the living room and got him settled on the couch with coffee and some fudge brownies I’d had the foresight to bake this morning. The way to a man’s heart…

We sat there quietly munching brownies, Mulder saying nothing. I straightened the brownie plate, then straightened it again. “So, Mulder…” I began uncomfortably. “When you said, uh, mess around..just what did you mean by that?”

Mulder looked a little taken aback, then grinned. “Why Scully, I do believe you are blushing.” He lightly lifted a strand of hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. “I think I’d define ‘messing around’ as something like this…”

He leaned forward and very deliberately and thoroughly kissed me. On the lips. Tongue. Oh my. He tasted of chocolate and espresso. I restrained myself from grabbing both his ears and throwing him backward on the couch. Barely.

The kiss was long and sweet and led to more kissing, and soon I was the one backward on the couch, blessing Mom for talking me into that Victoria’s Secret underwear.

Alas, we didn’t get that far. Mulder pulled back somewhere around my cleavage and sat up. He cupped my face in his hands and gave me a regretful look.

“Too far?” I asked him, putting my right hand atop his. “We’ll only do what you’re comfortable with.”

“Scully..” Mulder began, then looked away. I put my left hand on his cheek and turned him to face me.

“Mulder, the truth is okay. It can’t hurt either of us,” I said gently.

“Okay…I don’t want to go too far, Scully. The..the way I feel now is trouble enough. But I..I can’t lose control of things, can’t make love to you all the way…the AIDS tests aren’t final yet. And I don’t want to go so far that we both forget oursel ves.” Mulder looked abashed.

“Mulder…” I paused, to make sure that I was clear in my own mind what I was offering. Yup, the risk was worth it. Oh yeah, six years is a LONG time.

“But you probably don’t have the disease. And I know the risks. Every day I autopsy a body, I’m protected from AIDS and God knows what else, only by a thin layer of latex. It’s a risk I take because it’s my job.” I looked deep into his melting haze l eyes. “Mulder, I’ve waited six years for this, and I want you. I don’t want to stop here, we deserve more. I..want more. We can use condoms.”

Mulder gave me a look compounded of equal parts lust and regret. “No, Scully, no condoms. No exchange of bodily fluids until I test out clean.”

“But why?” My frustration was showing. “Latex is…”

“Safer sex, Scully, not guaranteed. And if I gave you a deadly disease I couldn’t live with myself. No, we’ll just have to wait.” He laughed a little. “But I’m glad you’re as hot for me as I am for you.”

I flushed, but had to admit that he was right. We said good night shortly thereafter, and the kiss we exchanged was about an 11 on a 1 to 10 passion scale. You make do with what you have.

I’ve taken a hot bath, although a cold shower is probably more appropriate. I’m looking forward to the dream again tonight.

February 14, 1999

This morning I was reading the Sunday paper, when I heard a knock at the door. When I checked through the peephole, there was a delivery man, dwarfed by the floral arrangement he was vainly trying to hold.

I took it off his hands and closed the door behind me, then found the card buried somewhere between the hothouse roses (pink) and the baby’s breath. The card read “Next Saturday night? 8 p.m.—wear knee pads.”

Knee pads?

EMAIL MESSAGE

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: February 14, 1999 Re: Happy Valentine’s Day

I got the flowers, and they are lovely, but honestly Mulder your credit cards must be maxed out by now. And I think I’m getting hay fever. Still, they look beautiful on my table—I’m admiring them now. And one other question…Knee pads?

EMAIL MESSAGE From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: February 14, 1999 Re: Happy Valentine’s Day

I’m not telling. But wear jeans with your knee pads. And Scully: XOXOXO (That’s virtual hugs and kisses)

Part 3

Fox Mulder’s Journal February 14, 1999

Last night was wonderful and frightening. I don’t think Scully saw how scared I was. She looked so confident, so glowing with life, energy. I just wanted to stay close to her fire and get warm. And I am so cold, still so cold.

Part of me is still in that damned, fucking warehouse; never left. While I was staying with her, I surfed Amazon.com and ordered some books, but didn’t want Scully to see me reading them. About male rape, what it is, how to recover. The books have arri ved and they have only one answer…it’s very very difficult and painful.

Staying with her was excruciating. She loves me and worries about me. And I know that she wants me sexually. As I want her. But I can’t have her. Not yet. Not now. In six months? Maybe. Maybe never.

I didn’t tell her about my call to the Rape Crisis Center. After she left for work, it all just built up inside, tearing, howling pain. I knew the next step was to eat my gun. So I took the card and dialed the number, got a female volunteer. Draeger w asn’t there and I needed to talk, just talk to somebody who didn’t know me. Somebody who wasn’t talking to Spooky Mulder, ace FBI agent. Somebody, who’d just talk to me.

I told the woman about the attack and how I felt, and it was hard to get the words out. It’s even harder to write about this here, but I have to. She didn’t believe me. She said that men don’t get raped; they’re strong and they can defend themselves. Then she accused me of being some kind of pervert who was calling the hotline just to harass the volunteers with smutty talk and GET OFF ON IT!!! She actually accused me of masturbating during the phone call. Oh God, I’d have been laughing if I wasn’t so devastated.

I just sat and held the phone. Couldn’t hang it up. Couldn’t move. Thought maybe she was right, I could have prevented this. I have self defense training, I’m not afraid of a fight. Damn it, I’ve been an FBI agent for 10 years! I should have been able to defend myself. Did I subconsciously want this to happen? Is that what this is really about? Was Kurt Willard right? Did he see something in me that I didn’t? Was I really asking for this? Oh God, I couldn’t take this…

Before I hung up the phone, Bill Draeger got on the line. He overheard the last part of the conversation and took over. And he remembered leaving the card. At first I didn’t want to go there, see anybody from that organization, but he talked me into it . We talked for about an hour, and afterward I felt less like killing myself. I can’t say that the thought has ever really left me; not since I woke up in Scully’s arms, and saw the crowd of FBI agents and cops staring at me. Knowing what had happened to me.

Hiding all this from Scully is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I couldn’t protect her from the rape, hers or mine. But I can protect her from my crises, from being forced to watch me disintegrate. Dating is manageable, the structure gives you sp ace. But I can’t be around her every minute of every day. She’s too perceptive for that. And she can’t do anything for me, but worry. I won’t cause her any more pain.

When I got to the center, I sat in the car a good 20 minutes, trying to muster up the courage to walk inside. I still don’t know how I did it. I felt like I had a sign plastered to my forehead “Rape Victim”, and everybody could see it. I was the guy wh o got it in the ass, the one who was so weak he couldn’t defend himself.

The receptionist was very polite. I didn’t meet the volunteer who originally took my call. The waiting room had all women in it, no men. I tried to look like I was there to sell office supplies. No way did I belong in a rape center, nope, not me.

Draeger came out and shook hands with me. He’s tall, about my height, and built like a linebacker, tattoos up both arms. I could feel myself getting nervous around him, his build is a lot like Kurt Willard’s, and his complexion.

Draeger led me to his office, but left the door open when he saw how uncomfortable I was. Then he told me about himself. He’s been through it too. He was a trucker about five years ago and stopped for the night at a remote spot. Two guys tried to rob him but were upset when he didn’t have much money, so they both raped him. The local hospital didn’t know what to do with him. The cops figured he must have asked for it, because everybody knows that men don’t get raped. And a guy this big should be ab le to defend himself, right? Forget the fact that the guys had guns. His wife left him, couldn’t live with it. He lost his job because he got AIDS. He’s stable on AZT right now, and living a day at a time. But what he went through made him want to he lp other men in the same boat.

The local nurses and doctors have his card on file, for cases like mine.

Talking to him gave me a lot to think about. And I realized how much I needed to get away. I told Bill about Scully, and another project I’ve been wanting to work on. He said that some space might be a good idea and gave me a referral to a counselor on Martha’s Vineyard. But we both agreed that I can call him any time, day or night. And I have, usually after midnight when I’ve woken up screaming with a nightmare.

Mom hasn’t said anything about those. Come to think of it, she got used to that when I was 12. She knew then that she couldn’t do anything to prevent them, so she gave me my privacy.

I’ve been sending Scully salacious e-mails. I’ve always wanted to do that, now I have a good excuse. And her e-mails to me cheer me up no end. She reminds me that there is still light in the world.

I sent her flowers today, Valentine’s day. I wish I could make love to her, all day, slowly. Unpeel some of that black lace underwear I know she wears. At night, before sleeping, I imagine making love to her, real love, not just teenaged groping. I th ink about going down on her, listening to her moan my name. Then I imagine (remember, this is fantasy, I don’t know if she’d do it), I imagine her taking me into her mouth and doing to me what she was doing to that Tofutti Dreamsicle that one day at the office. I’ve always thought she had a fiendish look in her eye as she ate that thing. And then, entering her, feeling her tight and hot and wet around me, finally…at last…

Touching her last night felt so good, and so dangerous. I feel like I have no skin; all the safety is gone, all the walls are down. I want to touch her, but it feels dishonest, too. I am ashamed to feel this, but in addition to pure desire (and oh, how I desire her), I also feel a need to prove to myself that I can love a woman again. I guess I’m scared that maybe I’m really gay, and that’s why Willard raped me. I can’t do that to Scully. I can’t use her like that. And she wants me; I can see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch. I want her too, I think it’s honest desire. No, it is honest desire. But I can’t, not yet.

I don’t know if I can. Thinking about sex, any sex starts out good, then segues into the memories. First of Scully and me, doing it on that concrete floor, under the cameras and lights. Then after. And I remember it all, goddamned photographic memory. Sounds, smells, pain..everything.

Bill says to keep things simple right now. My life is bound to get disorganized. Simple. Me? Huh!

February 20, 1999

I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. Probably since batting practice with Scully. I picked her up at 8:00 p.m. sharp, per the plan. She just stood in the doorway, wearing tight jeans and a suspicious expression. No knee pads, but she was dying to know what I had in mind.

I didn’t tell her right away.

We stopped for dinner at Denny’s and had burgers. I could see the wheels turning in Scully’s mind as she tried to figure out my plan for the evening. We talked about work. Skinner still has her doing shit jobs, “light work” I think she calls it. I gue ss I shouldn’t be scornful of it. He’s keeping her safely in the Hoover building, not out running down mutants or something. I don’t want her on the streets without me to protect her.

In any case, we finished dinner then went to Rosie’s Roller Palace, best known for the disco-skate nights (of which tonight was one). Scully was so busy laughing at the knee pads I insisted she rent, we both forgot an important detail. I never learned h ow to skate.

I mean, Sam knew how, but I never learned. That’s a girl thing when you’re a kid. Scully, now, she knows how to skate. Really well, in fact. I guess I kind of assumed that I’d pick it up naturally. I mean, I’m athletic, right?

I was the one who needed knee pads, shoulder pads, helmet, oh and coordination. We started out from the edge of the rink, me clinging to Scully as she propelled us forward. Before long, I lost my balance and pulled us both over. Nobody hit us before Scu lly had hauled us both back to our feet. We set out bravely across the rink again and managed to stay upright. For a while, at least.

I only fell three more times before Scully called it a night. She said that she had no plans to sit with me during another trip to the emergency room, and wasn’t it time I bought her that chocolate sundae I’d promised.

Well, who am I to renege on a promise? We went back to Denny’s and Scully put away a whole sundae plus half of my chocolate shake. If this keeps up I’m going to have to start taking her to salad bar places, just so she doesn’t outweigh me in six months. Ouch…better erase that. I’m dead if she ever sees this.

Scully gave me an ultimatum. Next week’s date is on her. Dinner at her place, 8 sharp. Yeah, I think I can handle it.

We went back to her apartment and I went in for coffee and Kahlua. No brownies, this time. Just a really really mellow Scully.

We just kissed. Okay, we did more than just kiss. With Scully’s help, I got to admire her Victoria’s Secret black lace panties and matching bra. Very tasteful. And so was her skin. Tasteful, I mean. Her lips, her earlobes, her neck. While I was suck ing her nipples, she was making those shuddering movements that I once mistakenly confused with discomfort. But this time she was moaning and holding my head down, so I think I was doing all right. Had to stop there or I’d have been sharing some body fl uids unintentionally. This is going to be a very long six months. No flashbacks during the evening with Scully. A personal best.

February 25, 1999

I think I’m ready to move back to D.C. I haven’t said much about Mom, or how she’s reacting to this. The reason is, she doesn’t know. I just told her I got beat up pretty bad and needed some time off. She’s always respected my privacy and frankly, doe sn’t want to know the gory details of my life. She had enough of that with Dad; now she prefers to remain ignorant.

The local therapist is good, but I’d rather talk to Bill Draeger. He’s invited me (no, too weak a term-he told me) that I’m joining a survivors’ group he runs. He’s in D.C. , so I guess I’m going home. Besides, I’ll be closer to Scully there.

Through the guys, I’m renting a garage in a quiet neighborhood. I won’t tell Scully about it or what I plan to use it for, I don’t want anybody to know about it. I hate this life, the way I am now. I’m nervous wherever I go. I’m always looking around for suspicious people, heck I’m looking for Kurt Willard. Crowds are hard, but groups of men freeze me. Bill says that’s normal, and no doubt it is. But it’ll be hard when I go back to being an FBI agent. If I ever do.

February 27, 1999

I met Scully at her place, 8:00 sharp, as ordered. Since I’m the guest, I brought a bottle of wine (pre-approved by Scully of course) and a bouquet of flowers. She’s starting to accuse me of trying to hay-fever her to death. But I see how her eyes glow when she picks up the bouquet of red and white roses I hand her. This woman has never been given enough flowers in her life. I intend to change that.

She led me into the living room and sat me down, handing me the television remote without being asked. Oooh Scully, you know what I like!

Scully brought dinner into the living room on two t.v. trays and spooned out generous servings of macaroni and cheese along with homemade meatloaf. I must admit I was expecting stroganoff or something. But then she gave me a silly grin and pulled three videos from the television cabinet. “Mulder, I tried to think of the perfect evening for you. Not what I’d choose for a date, but the way you’d enjoy an evening the most. Since I don’t feel like breaking into the Pentagon tonight, I took second best. So here is your macaroni and cheese w ith meatloaf. The apple cobbler is waiting for dessert. And for entertainment,” She picked up the first video and read the title:” ‘Planet of the Apes’, followed by ‘Escape from the Planet of the Apes’, ending with ‘Beneath the Planet of the Apes’.”

I was floored. “Scully…why, that’s the most romantic thing anybody has ever done for me.” She just grinned and popped the first tape into the VCR. We ate dinner, then at my invitation I soon found an armful of Dana Scully snuggled against me as we wa tched the movies.

I must have dozed off. I woke up at about 4 a.m. with snow on the VCR and Scully lying next to me on the couch, her arms wrapped around me and her head on my chest, fast asleep. I felt safe for the first time in weeks. I wish I could bottle her, I’d ma ke a fortune.

She snores. Never heard that in the car, but she makes a funny little whistling snort. I could listen to her for hours. Actually, I did.

The next morning when she woke up, I could tell her memory of last night was fuzzy. Oh yes, don’t get Scully too tanked up on white wine. So I just smiled down at her.

“So, Scully, was it good for you?” At her look of panicky disorientation, I took pity on her and added “The movies, I mean. We both fell asleep. So, now I can safely say that I’ve slept with Dana Scully, can’t I?”

Scully climbed on top of my chest and gave me a good morning kiss that left me in no doubt about how well she slept.

While I was still getting my breath back, she sat back a bit and commented mischievously, “So, Mulder, did you like the kiss? Or are you carrying your weapon in a different place?”

I quickly lifted her off me and set her gently on the floor, then got up myself and headed for the bathroom to reduce the “weapon” to manageable proportions. I never saw this side of her (not much, anyway) before we were dating. Has she been storing al l this up just for me?

February 28

I’ve been thinking about the evenings with Scully. How wonderful they’ve been, and how normal. But things really aren’t normal, are they? Bill Draeger broke the news to me today. The AZT isn’t helping any more, and he’s developed some secondary infect ions, among them Karposi’s Sarcoma. His doctors are concerned. One terrible act by some anonymous evil man, and Bill’s life is being brought to a slow and painful end.

Am I romancing Scully, just so that she can be the widow at my funeral? Do I have the right to put her through this if my turn comes? And even if I don’t get AIDS and die, what then? I’m half a man; all talk and no action. If I faced her naked, I’m no t sure what would happen. I’m scared. God, I’m scared.

Part 4

Fox Mulder’s Journal March 1, 1999

Went to the doctor today for a follow up. My doctor was out sick, so I saw somebody else. Somebody I don’t know. He was uncomfortable with me and I could see that he hadn’t really read my file, just the nature of my injuries. The exam was embarrassing and it hurt like hell. Physically I’m healing well. But then he started to ask me about my “sexual practices” and hinted that I should choose my partners better. Yeah, why don’t I just pick up a gay pride t-shirt while I’m at it?

When I left the hospital, Dr. Barnes said I might need anti-depressants, and if I felt the need I should contact him. I feel the need, but I couldn’t talk to that insensitive prick they had filling in today. I just want the pain to stop. I don’t want t o drink it away, booze is just too tempting. Starting to think about taking up smoking again. Cigarettes always calmed me, but I remember what it was like trying to quit. Got to be something I can do, somehow. I don’t know how long I can go on like th is.

March 2, 1999

My life just keeps getting better and better. I had an auto accident on the way to the grocery store, of all places. I guess I was preoccupied, or something. I saw the light in the distance, but I ran it anyway. I don’t know why.

The next thing I knew, this huge truck was barrelling down on me at 45 miles per hour. He swerved and clipped the the drivers’ side rear corner of my car, spinning me 180 degrees. I came to rest on the curb, next to the fire hydrant. I wasn’t hurt, nei ther was the trucker. My car has a good dent in it, but driveable.

Boy was he mad; he spent five minutes telling me just what kind of an idiot I am. Can’t argue with that. I just stood there in a daze, trying to figure out why I did it, running that light. I mean, I knew it was there. Was I trying to kill myself? Ma ybe something in me really just wants this pain to stop. No, all of me really just wants this pain to stop. Would it really matter if I had died?

I had nightmares last night. I relived the rape, over and over, and I couldn’t stop it and I couldn’t wake up. The pain I feel is indescribable. I think my subconscious was trying to tell me something on the way to the store this morning. I thought ab out calling Scully, but decided not to. It’s unfair to burden her with this.

I think I know what to do about this. I rented that place, just for this eventuality and I might as well get my money’s worth now.

Dana Scully’s Journal March 4, 1999

Skinner has asked me to find Mulder. He’s been trying to contact him for the past two days, but Mulder isn’t answering his home phone or his cell phone.

I tried both numbers. I got his answering machine at his apartment, and nothing on his cell phone. But Mulder’s been known to ignore his machine, so I got my key and went over there. It was clear that the apartment had not been occupied for the past se veral days: his answering machine messages were two days old, there were food-encrusted dirty dishes in the sink and two day’s worth of newspapers on the doorstep.

I called Martha’s Vineyard, hoping that he had gone to stay with Mrs. Mulder. No such luck. She last saw him on Saturday. I didn’t tell her why I was looking for Mulder, and she didn’t ask.

I decided to check his desk, to see if he left a note for me. Sometimes he does that when he ditches me. There was nothing in the drawers, but on the computer I found his journal. I’ve known for a long time that he keeps one, as I do myself. I’d never read it without being asked, but this situation was different. I was getting a chilling feeling that something wasn’t right.

I opened it up and began to read, beginning with his release from the hospital. I could feel myself getting colder and colder with each sentence. He’s been in so much pain and all I could focus on was romance. I should have known that Mulder would hide his feelings away. I sat limply down in his desk chair and kept reading.

That terrible phone call; why didn’t he tell me? I’d have scratched that bitch’s eyes out. Why wouldn’t he let me help him? And that doctor—damn it! There is no excuse for that kind of behavior. And how it must have made Mulder feel.

Then the journal turned from pain to something more serious. Oh my god, I thought, where is his gun? I ransacked the apartment, but the gun was gone as well as his spare clip. And I have no clue where he’s gone.

I’m worried. My next stop is to check with the Lone Gunmen. Maybe they know where he’s gone. Holy Mother Mary let nothing have happened to him. I don’t think I could stand it.

—Later—

I went out to the Lone Gunmen’s place. They were there, as usual, making brunch for themselves. I turned down a serving of juevos rancheros with double salsa and got to the point.

“Have you seen Mulder?” I tried to keep the worry out of my face.

“Why? Is he into something?” Frohike asked casually. “Anything we can help with?”

“No, not that I know of. He…um..hasn’t been himself lately,” I finished lamely. I didn’t know how much they knew about the recent past, and I didn’t want to break Mulder’s privacy.

Byers and Frohike exchanged looks, then both sat down in the chairs opposite me, Langley behind them. This looked ominous.

“When’s the last time you saw him?” I asked anxiously.

“He stopped by on Tuesday.” Frohike looked concerned. “He, uh, he didn’t look right. We asked him what was wrong but he wouldn’t say. He just said he had to be by himself for a while.” Frohike leaned forward. “I’ve seen him depressed, I’ve seen him drunk and I’ve seen him half-dead, but he’s never looked like that. Just what is it that’s going on?”

I looked dumbly at the three of them, then realized that they had to know or they couldn’t help.

Keeping the account as clinical as I could, I explained the situation.

All three were shocked, Langley looked like he wanted to throw up. Byers gulped and adjusted his tie. Frohike just looked sad.

“We don’t know where he’s gone. There is one place you might look, though. We helped him rent a storage space, a garage in town. He just paid the deposit on it a week ago. I think we still have the address somewhere…” Frohike fumbled among the clutt ered paper on his desk and scribbled something on a post-it note.

He handed it to me and I found myself clutching it between cold fingers. I think that the expression on my face frightened him. “You don’t think he’s ditched you, do you?” Frohike stated.

I shook my head. No, not ditching me in the classic sense. I know what he’s been going through, whether he’d admit it or not. Secretly renting a place, an isolated place with concrete floors and cement walls, and keeping it quiet did not bode well. “H e hasn’t been home or answered his phone in two days. And he still has his gun,” I said quietly. I turned to go, moving slowly, afraid of what I’d find in that garage.

“Scully,” Byers called. “Do you want us to go with you?”

I gave him a sad smile. This I would have to do alone. “No. I’ll call you if I need you.”

I drove painfully over to the address on the paper. If Mulder had committed suicide, he’d probably done it yesterday or the day before. There was no rush, really, to find his body. I parked out front of a nondescript building in an industrial neighborh ood. No blood, no signs of disturbance.

I pulled my gun and walked to the side door and quietly rattled the doorknob. The light was on inside, though. Okay, here goes nothing.

“Mulder! Mulder are you in there?” I called, trying to keep the frenzy from my voice. There was no response, so I fished into my pocket for the lockpick kit Mulder had gotten me for Christmas. Good thing he’d also included lessons with it. I got the door unlocked and swung it open.

Part 5

Scully’s Diary —continued…

Once inside I saw an old car up on jacks, then I heard the sound of an Elvis ballad (Blue Suede Shoes?) and a clanging noise. Then I heard a muffled “oh shit!”

A jeans and t-shirt clad form rolled quickly out from under the car, gun drawn, and I beheld Mulder, covered in grease and shaking. He saw me and got up, grinning with relief, then holstered the gun.

“Scully, how did you…mrmph…” I stopped him from making any more silly comments by rushing into his arms and giving him the kiss of a lifetime. And incidentally, getting my new suit all over grease.

I broke away and demanded breathlessly “Mulder, why didn’t you tell me you were out here?” He gathered breath to answer, but had the sense to let me finish. “Do you know what I THOUGHT you were doing out here? Alone, with your gun? Do you? I drove ou t here fully expecting to find your lifeless body! You IDIOT! DON’T do that to me ever again!” I kissed him again, harder. I felt his strong arms wrap themselves around me as his warm, live lips pressed against mine.

When we came up for air, he leaned his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry Scully, I didn’t consider how all this might affect you. I guess I haven’t been thinking at all.”

“Why haven’t you answered your phone?” I demanded.

“My phone? But it’s right here, hasn’t rung in…” Mulder picked it up and examined it, then smiled ruefully. “Battery’s dead. Oops. I’ve spent the last two nights here, and forgot about it.”

I stopped and took a close look at him. He hadn’t shaved in days, and was covered with ingrained grease. Regardless of his reassurances, he still didn’t look right.

“Mulder, I have to apologize for something,” I said slowly. “When I was at your apartment, looking for clues to where you might be, I, uh, read your journal.”

He stilled and his eyes took on a look of betrayal and hurt. “Scully, that’s private,” he whispered.

“I know. I’m truly sorry, but I was so afraid for you. Especially after I had read it. Oh, Mulder, why didn’t you tell me what you were going through? Why did you come out here?”

Mulder grew solemn. “I suppose I owe you the truth. You know most of it, anyway. When I came out here, yeah, I took my gun. And it wasn’t for self-protection.

He looked at the car thoughtfully, pain shadowing his face. “I felt like dying when I got here. I rented this place with two things in mind, a place to restore my car…and somewhere private that I could end my misery if I had to. I couldn’t stand the thought of you finding me, if I took that way out. And I’ve been covered with grease and stubble for two days, haven’t I? What’s the point? A little more dirt, added to all the filth I feel inside.”

He gave a barking laugh, then saw my face. “But when I got here, I remembered the true reason I rented the place.”

He gestured toward the white car. “I got that car when I was 17. This is my first love/first car, my 1964½ Mustang. I worked an entire summer to make the money to buy her, shelving books at the library.” He ran a loving hand over the car’s white-p ainted hood. “Sure, the guys laughed at me, but the pay was better than they made flipping burgers. And they never complained when we all piled in and went cruising for girls.”

He turned to me and put his hands on my shoulders, making me face him. “Scully, I got here and I couldn’t do it. If I died here, I knew she’d never be rebuilt if I weren’t here to it. And if she wasn’t rebuilt, then we couldn’t have that kiss in the ba ck seat. And I really want that kiss in the back seat. And more.”

He gave me a smoldering look and leaned in toward my lips. Wow, that must be some car. That kiss led to others and I was wishing pretty profoundly for a back seat when Mulder pulled away, his face abstracted.

“Mulder? What’s wrong?” He looked a little pale, and I had a pretty good idea where his mind was trapped. “Hey, Mulder.” I pulled his face toward mine. “We’re here, in the garage. It’s okay.” He inhaled deeply and tried to smile, then nodded.

“I’m sorry, Scully. It just hits me like that. In clinical psycho-babble, they’re ‘intrusive thoughts’. I call them a damned nuisance.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to dispel the memory.

“Mulder. I want you to promise me something,” I was suddenly deadly serious and planted myself directly in front of him to make sure he understood. “Mulder, if you EVER feel that bad again, I want you to call me. No matter what time, or where you are, or where I am. Please call me. I don’t ever want to make another drive like today’s. And Mulder, please, I don’t want to have to figure out how to live without you. If you are in pain, let me share it with you.”

I could feel myself tearing up. Damn it, I could feel them creeping down my cheeks as I finished. “And M..mulder, I don’t want to be the one who has to identify your body after you’ve committed suicide. Please, don’t ever make me.”

Mulder stopped and wiped one tear with his greasy finger. I rubbed at the streak he left behind.

“Scully, I don’t know what the future holds or how bad this might get. If I get AIDS…” He stopped, communing with a private agony, then continued. “I don’t know what I might be capable of. I can only promise you this, that I will call you and try to s hare with you what I’m thinking and feeling.”

It wasn’t enough, but it was the best I was going to get. I just held him for a while, afraid to let him go. I think he realized that.

“Hey Scully, I didn’t do it, you know. I’m still here. Let me show you my therapist!”

Mulder ‘toured’ me around the car, pointing out her obvious beauties. The ‘stang is white with a white leather interior, leather seats, chrome everywhere.

He looked at her fondly, and I can’t say I’ve ever been jealous of a car, but I was getting close. “She’s been up on blocks in my Mom’s garage since Oxford, but I check on her regularly. I’ve been planning to replace the transmission and rebuild the eng ine for a while, just never had the opportunity. As it stands now, Skinner is firm that I can’t come back to work until mid-March at the earliest. He says I need the time to ‘work this out’.” Mulder began wiping the grease from his hands thoughtfully, then gave me a long look.

“I need to build something, create something. So much has been destroyed, this is the only little bit of my life really under my control. I’ve already ordered parts and have started on the engine rebuild. Then I’ll replace the transmission, work on t he brakes, rebuild the carburetor give her a tune up and she’s done.”

“Oh…that’s all?” I was seeing an entirely different side of Mulder. Oxford educated grease-monkey? I think I like it.

I fished into my purse for more kleenex and began trying to remove some of the grease from my cheeks. Mulder laughed and grabbed the tissues, then dampened them with spit and began to clean my face. I just stood there grinning, while he meticulously rem oved all the smudges.

“There, all clean. Man, I’m putrid! I’m sorry I wrecked your suit. If you’ll excuse me..” Mulder went to a sink in the corner and carelessly stripped of his t-shirt to scrub his arms and face.

Oh my. Mulder without a shirt takes the breath away. I startled when I saw the fading bruises on his back. Damn. Every time life starts to get a little normal, Kurt Willard comes back to haunt us.

“Mulder, Skinner sent me to find you. He says he needs to see you right away.” I began to ponder the implications of that, now that I was no longer afraid of finding Mulder dead.

Mulder looked interested and energized. He pulled a clean t-shirt from his gym bag and put it on. “Does he have a case for us? It must be pretty important; he told me before that he didn’t want to see me in the office, under any circumstances, until m y medical leave was over.”

I pulled out my phone. “I’ll call him and let him know that I found you.”

Fox Mulder’s Journal March 4, 1999

….So she picked up the phone and dialed Skinner’s office. I wandered back to the sink and tried to scrub two days’ stink off me. It wasn’t just grease (that much was clean dirt), but the terror, the pain, the fear.

I wasn’t lying to her. When I got there I had every intention of shooting myself. Ironically, I changed my mind and decided to die more quietly (and less messily) of carbon monoxide poisoning, so I shut the garage doors and windows, stopped up the crack s and started up the car. I sat myself in the drivers’ seat and prepared to end it all.

It takes a while to die from carbon monoxide poisoning—did you know that? As I sat there, calmly waiting for oblivion, I heard that funny little hitch in the engine. She was running uneven…spark plugs? She was leaking oil, I’d seen it on the floor. Need to fix that, new gaskets…nope, wouldn’t be doing that. I’d be dead soon.

But what about that magic date planned for Scully? That kiss in the back seat, and oh the other things I had planned for her. She’d be begging for mercy by the evening’s end. Or I would. That wouldn’t happen either if I killed myself.

Scully. What would she think? How would she feel about this? She loves me; I know that. Leaving her like this would be the ultimate act of selfishness. She’d wonder if there was something she could have done to prevent it, and she’d feel guilty. Oka y, she’d get over it. Wouldn’t she? And it hurts so much. I didn’t want to die, I still don’t. I just want this pain to go away.

And I considered. If I died in this car, who would ever rebuild her? Who would want her? A suicide car. A death car. She deserves better; a happy future with happy people.

Scully deserves better. She should get her date in the back seat of a 1964½ Mustang. And I guess I deserve better. I deserve Scully. I’ve waited almost 7 years for her. And I want the years ahead, shared with her, as many as we get.

Scully finished her call with Skinner. I’m to meet with him this afternoon at 4:00. She drove me home to take a shower. She took one look at my car and called a tow truck for it, even though I insisted it was just a little dent.

Once at my apartment, she fed me and watched every bite I put into my mouth. I half expected her to pick up the fork and make little airplane noises. Then she forcibly bedded me down on the couch (alone—damn!) for a nap. She’s left now; she’s going to stop by at 3:30 to pick me up.

I wonder what it is that’s so important that Skinner has to see me right away?

Letter, to the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation

Sir,

Please consider this my formal letter of protest over the decision to assign Special Agent Fox Mulder to the Scott case.

As you are aware, a serial murderer-rapist has been operating in the general Alexandria area for the past three years. Although seven bodies have been found, law enforcement has been unable to develop a viable suspect for this crime. Violent Crimes has had the case for a year, and is currently actively at work on several leads.

However, the recent abduction of Erica Scott, the daughter of Senator Gareth Scott, has undoubtedly propelled this case into the limelight. The method of Ms. Scott’s abduction falls into the ‘signature’ that has been developed for UNSUB.

I understand that the Senator, familiar with Agent Mulder’s past work as a profiler, personally requested that Agent Mulder be assigned to this task force and be given a lead role in it.

As we discussed earlier, I cannot express my concern at your decision to assign Agent Mulder to this case strongly enough.

As I stated to you previously, Agent Mulder is currently on an extended medical leave for injuries (both physical and psychological) stemming from his abduction and rape while performing his duties as a Federal agent.

In my opinion as his supervisor, he is in no condition to undertake any duties of this kind. I cannot in good conscience allow him to take this assignment.

You are aware of Agent Mulder’s earlier history of stress-related problems during his time with the ISU; his physical and emotional breakdown as a result of the effects of his work. He has operated as a profiler only one time since then, with questionabl e effects on his health, although the case was successfully closed.

Given Agent Mulder’s recent experiences with his own sexual assault, it is unconscionably cruel to ask him to profile a sexual predator at this time, and I must vehemently insist that this assignment be withdrawn.

Put bluntly, if he works on this case you will certainly damage him psychologically and will possibly kill him. He is too good an agent to waste in this way.

Yours Very Truly,

Walter S. Skinner Assistant Director

Part 6

Mulder’s Journal March 4, 1999

Well, I guess I’m profiling the case that might finally destroy me. I say that facetiously, but I have profound concerns that it might also be true.

I met with Skinner today and he looked grim. As I sat down, he asked me if I wanted coffee (a first), then called Kim to bring some in.

“So, does this mean you’re firing me or promoting me?” I asked as I sipped my Starbuck’s. Man, it must be serious if he brought out the good stuff.

“Agent Mulder, I am very sorry to have to bring you back from leave. How are you doing?” He looked nervous. It isn’t like Skinner to dodge around the main point.

“I’m doing okay, I guess. Physically I’m recovering well, my doctor tells me. I might even play the violin again…” I could see that the joke wasn’t registering with him, so I quit while I was ahead. “What’s the matter, sir? Why did you send Scully a fter me?”

Skinner wouldn’t meet my eyes. He pulled a file folder off the top of his stack and handed it to me. “Erica Scott, the only child of Senator Gareth Scott was abducted on Saturday. The evidence points to a serial rapist-murderer known to be active in t he vicinity. The Senator knows about your work and has personally requested you for this case. The killer’s pattern is to hold a victim for about two weeks before murdering her and dumping the body. He hopes that with you on the team, it might be possi ble to find and rescue her before that happens.”

I felt a shock go through me at the word “rapist”. No. No, surely they couldn’t expect this of me. Not after what happened. I met Skinner’s eyes and saw shame and profound sadness there.

“You should know, Agent Mulder, that I filed a formal letter of protest with the Director over this assignment. I don’t want you on this case; it’s too close to home for you. But it’s been taken out of my hands.” Skinner looked more upset than I’ve see n him in a long time. This was really bothering him. Somehow, I find that comforting.

Curious, I opened the file and began to read it. Erica Scott, age 32, worked as an attorney at a local patent firm. She was kidnapped from her home some time after work by an unknown intruder. No evidence of forced entry. Either he had a key or she in vited him in. Normal enough case. Then I turned the page and saw the photograph. An elfin face with bright blue eyes looked up at me, surrounded by long brilliant red hair. Height was listed as 5 foot even, weight 100 pounds.

“She looks like Scully!” I looked up in shock. Skinner nodded.

“The killer’s victim of choice is female, age 30 to 40, petite with blue eyes and fair or red hair, and so far only professional women have been victimized. We believe that he selects the victim in advance, stalks her, then takes her when he judges it s afe to do so. So far, each victim was taken from her home and there is no evidence of forced entry in any instance.

I just kept looking at the picture. She wasn’t dead yet, maybe she could be saved. Maybe I could save her, return her to her family. She’s probably already been abused, but we don’t know yet. I couldn’t save Scully, couldn’t save myself. But this you ng woman….maybe I could do something. I might well be her only chance.

Skinner tried to talk me out of it for twenty minutes, but I insisted that I was going to take the case.

I took the file with me and decided to take the stairs to the basement. I needed time to think about this before facing Scully. Actually, I sat on the stairs, the file on the step next to me, finally realizing all the implications.

When I profile, in a sense I become the perpetrator. I try to think his thoughts, understand his motives, and most important, anticipate his actions. I’ve walked through the minds of rapists before, but never as a victim myself. The thought of revisiti ng my rape through the mind of a rapist, sickens me, the more so because of the type of victim he chooses. Am I crazy because I accepted this case? Skinner sure thinks so. Maybe he’s right.

I don’t know what this will do to me. I’ve never thought of myself as emotionally fragile before; never thought that I could break. In recent days, I have discovered that I can break, and shatter and live through pain whose intensity I could never imagi ne. Why am I doing this?

I see Erica’s face in my mind. And I see Scully, cowering on that warehouse floor. And I feel my own helplessness and rage in the face of Scully’s abuse. And my own.

Or is this just a socially acceptable way to commit suicide?

Scully’s Journal March 4, 1999

When Mulder came back from his meeting with Skinner, he looked so pale and shaky I was tempted to check him for bullet wounds. As it was, I shoved him into a chair and got him a glass of water.

“Mulder, what is it? What did he say to you?” I pulled my chair up next to his and watched over him carefully as he quietly sipped. His eyes, his eyes looked haunted.

“I have a new case,” he pointed to a file folder he’d just dropped on the desk top. “Skinner asked me to come back from leave early. My services as a profiler were urgently requested.”

“Damn! How can he? Skinner knows what you’ve been through!” I said indignantly. Mulder smiled at me sadly through his water.

“Oh, Skinner tried to talk me out of it. He suggested I see a lawyer, or tender my resignation. He said it was unfair of the Bureau to use me like this.” He sipped his water again. “I’m taking the case. I told him I’d do it.”

“But why, Mulder? My God, two days ago you were ready to commit suicide! And why is this so vital, that you have to come back before you’re ready?” Mulder looked pale to my eyes, and his hands had a fine tremor as he picked up the folder, opening it on to the desk.

“Erica Scott, age 32, the only child of Senator Gareth Scott was abducted on Saturday, we suspect by a serial rapist. He’s known for keeping his victims up to 2 weeks before murdering them and dumping the body. The Senator asked for me, hoping that it m ight be possible for Erica to be recovered alive.”

I was shocked. A rapist. They want Mulder to profile a rapist. Now, after all he’s been through, he has to try to capture the thoughts and motives of a rapist. Oh my God, I thought, no—this can’t be happening.

“Mulder, you can’t do this. You can’t work on this case. After everything that happened to you; you were suicidal just days ago! Let somebody else profile this guy and find her. This time, let somebody else do it.” Mulder just sat, staring at the fol der.

I reached out and put my hand on top of his, stroking the back of it with my thumb. “Why do you have to be the one to do this?”

Mulder looked up at me and grabbed my hand, then turned the pages of the folder with the other. A color photograph of a young woman looked up at me.

“My God, she looks like me.” I studied the photo closely

“The killer’s profile so far indicates that he favors young professional women who are petite. He likes blondes and red-heads. When I saw this photograph, all I could think about was you, Scully. I couldn’t save you, not really. You were sexually assa ulted too, whether you want to talk about it or not. And I couldn’t stop it. This, maybe I can stop. At least she’ll get out alive.”

He looked back up at me, his eyes full of emotion. “I have to do this, Scully. I have to make it right somehow.”

I stood up. “No, Mulder. You aren’t going to use me as an excuse to work yourself to death. I won’t watch you do this to yourself; you’ve been through Hell enough already and I won’t participate in this.” I stomped out of the office and slammed the do or behind me.

I stopped at the restroom to vent some of my tears of rage. It wouldn’t do to look anything less than calm as I walked across the bullpen to Skinner’s office.

Skinner was waiting for me when I got there. He let me pace, stamp, storm and otherwise tell him what a totally idiotic thing he had incited Mulder to do. When I finally ran out of energy, he pointed to a chair.

“Agent Scully, why don’t you have a seat? You’re making me tired.”

I sat. He pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “I see that Mulder told you about the case. And I agree with you, assigning him to it is not a good thing. But this was taken out of my hands, over my strenuous protests. Mulder was given the opti on to turn the assignment down, and I urged him to do so—strongly. He took one look at the latest victim and there was no changing his mind.”

I stared at Skinner, knowing that he was right. He’d never had any ability to keep Mulder off that case, only Mulder could do that—damn him.

“He’s doing this because of me. Because of what happened in the warehouse,” I said softly. “He blames himself, first he couldn’t get to me because he was locked up, then, well, you know what happened. He still thinks he should have protected me. He wa nts to save her.” I picked lint from the hem of my skirt. “He wants to save me, and himself, but it’s too late. It’s already happened.”

Skinner looked at me with a sympathy I’d rarely seen in him before. “I know. I expected this when I saw the file and the picture. That’s why I fought hard to keep him off this. Scully, I need you to trust me on this one. How is he really? I need to know.”

I was silent, still feeling that it would be a betrayal to tell Skinner just what kind of shape Mulder was really in. Skinner sensed that and started talking again.

“Dana, I know he’s not well right now. God knows, he’s lost weight and looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. But I have to know how close to the edge he is, so that we…you and I…can take steps to protect him. That’s the only way he’s going to make i t through this.”

Betrayal, that’s how it felt. Another betrayal of this man that I love, to admit this to Skinner. “He’s close, sir. Very, very close. He…has been struggling with the rape and its aftermath. It hasn’t been easy for him. I think I should be on this case with him. I can at least watch his back.” My skirt was lint-free, but I still kept plucking at it, then smoothed the edge. “The circumstances of Mulder’s condition—do others know about the rape?”

“I wouldn’t try to keep you off it, Scully. And as far as I am aware, Mulder’s rape is not generally known. Of course, the fact of your own assault has been public for some time, although only the original task force has actually seen the tape. Or eve r will.”

I nodded. People had been amazingly supportive. “Who’s leading the team?” I asked.

“Agent Fred Davis. You met him on the Willard case. At least you’ll have a sympathetic SAC.”

“We’ll need all the help we can get.”

When I got back to the office Mulder was waiting. I brushed past him and got my coat and car keys. “Let’s go, Mulder. I think it’s time to call it a day.”

I saw him pick up the file and tuck it under his arm. We walked silently out to the parking garage and it wasn’t until I put the car in ‘drive’ that he said anything.

“Scully, are you mad at me for taking this case?”

“No. No, I’m not. I’m just very very tired and worried.” I glanced over at Mulder, but he was already starting to look remote. He was processing.

“Mulder, are you okay with this? Analyzing the thoughts of a rapist?”

“I’ll manage.” Mulder closed the file in his lap and stared out the window. “And I’ll keep my promise. If it gets bad, I’ll call you.”

I’m home now and, having taken a long hot soak, I’ll say my prayers and go to bed. And I’ll add an extra prayer or two for a woman my age in the hands of a rapist.

March 5 2:47 a.m.

I’m up. What a nightmare, God what a nightmare. Erica Scott’s face kept haunting me, then she faded away and I was in the warehouse again. I was there and I was naked and they were all over me.

Mulder hasn’t seen the video, thank God. He’s never wanted to hear about it, and I won’t bring it up.

I haven’t written about it; I don’t want to. I don’t want to think about it. I want to just ignore it and go ON with my life. There’s been too much trauma already, not another violation, not another one…When will this ever be over?

Mulder says I won’t talk about it. He’s right. I won’t. I haven’t been to my therapist; I lied to Mulder and I lied to Skinner. I want all this to just go away. Mulder is the one we need to focus on, not me. My issues just aren’t significant. They didn’t rape me after all, Mulder just…

They did rape me after all. They just used Mulder as an unwilling tool. Mulder was the one who refused to be used for violence and did his best to transform it into something not so evil.

And before they let Mulder out of the room, they… they took my clothes and they put their hands on my…oh I can’t write this. I can’t think this. I can’t…

I need to. I have to get this OUT. Oh God, I was yelling and fighting, when one of them hit me on the face and stunned me. When I woke up I was naked and my legs had been untied and the younger one, Benny, was pulling my panties off.

Kurt just stood to one side and unzipped his pants, then masturbated himself. He moved in my line of sight so that I would see. I remember that I started crying, sobbing, and was angry with myself for being so weak.

While Benny knelt between my knees and began fondling my pubic area (okay Dana, the clinical vocabulary helps), Kurt started to talk to me. He told me that they had decided to share me, that Benny would use me first, and then when he was done it would be Kurt’s turn. And then…and then they’d both..at the same time…oh I can’t write this. I was shaking and begging them to please, not do this. They didn’t have to do this.

I’ve autopsied so many bodies, so many victims of violent death and of rape. I know the wounds, know the last hours of so many women. Looking up at Kurt, I knew exactly what it was that my future held, blow for blow. And what to expect. Knew what my b ody would look like when they put it on the dissecting table.

Kurt pushed Benny aside and began squeezing my breasts, hard, leaving bruises and marks, laying on top of me. He whispered in my ear, telling me just what he loved to do to bitches like me who thought I was better than him. Thought I was so fine, an FBI agent, with all that college, when I was just…just another filthy cunt…a piece of raw meat. And when he was done with me, there’d be nothing left.

I could hear Mulder yelling and pounding on the door, trying to get out. Oh Mulder, please get out, please, I remember wishing and praying. Benny stood to one side, letting Karl run his hands all over me, then down between my legs, his fingers gouging i nto my center. I could feel his penis against my belly. I remember praying, please God, please get me out of this, somehow.

Just then, Mulder hit the door especially hard and Kurt stopped, his eyes narrowing. I could smell his foul breath in my face.

“I heard that you two were close. I guess that’s true. I wonder if he’d like to join the party?”

I just stared into his eyes and was silent. I heard Benny say “Yeah. Why not get him out here and let him watch the fun!”

Kurt gave his fingers a twist inside, then pulled them out of me. He sat back and pulled his pants back up, zipping them.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

Benny held the gun on me while Kurt went to get Mulder. For Mulder to see me like this…I remember that this was all I could think. I believe I was in shock. I huddled on the floor, grateful that Kurt was gone, for however short a time.

I heard Mulder crying and pleading. I think, I know he was trying to get to me, to help me. But when a figure came close to me, I winced away, afraid it was Kurt. It was Mulder.

And he held me, as though he could keep the rest of the world away. When he held me, I felt almost safe. I wasn’t alone here, Mulder was here and I wasn’t alone. I told him what had happened and he could see my terror.

Then Kurt saw how comforted I was and tried to destroy Mulder and me. He made Mulder choose to watch my rape or participate himself.

Mulder knew what I wanted him to choose, and he helped me. And he asked me to forgive him.

When I felt his body on top of mine, it was strange. It felt like he was gently sponging off their touch and replacing it with his own presence. He’s so much bigger than I am, I felt hidden under his body, away from their prying, evil stares.

He almost couldn’t do it, and I could see Kurt and Benny getting impatient. Impatient meant dead in our situation, so I kept Mulder focused on me, on my eyes. And I looked into his and saw such love there that I felt humbled by it. This man chose to jo in me in Hell, because he loves me. As I relaxed, my body had its own responses, and this was Mulder after all. My body knew who he was, even though my mind was still screaming. I feel guilty, ashamed, at my responses to this, to him.

Mulder…they raped him, horribly, terribly. Instead of me. Because Mulder got me out of there. Me, I was safe in a farmer’s pickup on the way to the hospital while they were doing that to him. I was warm, wrapped in blankets, talking to sympathetic pe ople while he was alone on that cement floor.

I have no right to feel pain, or complain of my situation. I have no right.

And since then, the abuse has continued. Oh, nobody is attacking him now. But the callousness he’s had to endure makes me weep. And he never said anything. He went to that garage to die, I know that. He was going to do it quietly and as cleanly as c ircumstances would allow. He probably was planning on leaving a note instructing them to call A.D. Skinner at the FBI to identify the body.

And he would leave me, bereft. Not even a good bye. I am angry that he would leave me like that, but I can’t stay mad. He’s in pain and he can’t see his way out. I know how that feels, the cancer made me feel like that.

And now…how do I feel? I don’t know. I don’t want to know. I can’t afford to fall apart. Mulder needs me, more than he ever has. He needs me strong and capable and THERE for him. If I die for it, I will be there for him.

March 6, 1999

Davis showed us around the “War Room” where files and evidence had been gathered. Tacked up on the walls were 7 photographs: the victims. I started when I saw those faces. It was like looking in a mirror. They all looked like me.

I could see Mulder wince as he studied each face carefully, gently touching the edges of each photograph as though introducing himself to each woman. I could see him getting sadder and sadder as he looked at them all.

I was, I don’t know…startled. Each woman had a pale complexion, light hair, blue eyes and small features. The stats for each was the same, height under 5′ 2″, the heaviest weighed 106. There were three redheads in the group. All lived alone. All ha d been taken from their homes in the Alexandria area, raped multiple times then stabbed to death.

I found myself walking with my arms folded protectively over my chest by the time I, too, saw the last face. Mulder waited for me at the last picture posted, Erica.

“Are you sure you want to be involved in this case, Scully?” he asked quietly. “I know this is hard for you, and..these faces. You fit the victim profile pretty closely.”

“I’ll have the same problems you will handling this case, and I’m up for it. As to the victim profile, where am I safer than in a group of FBI agents, with guns?”

He still looked worried, and something else seemed to be bothering him. “Mulder, let’s take a walk outside.”

I led him outside the Hoover building and we began a leisurely walk toward the Mall. “What’s really bothering you?” I asked.

Mulder was silent, trying to find the words, then said “Scully, you know how I profile. In a very real sense, I become the perpetrator, think his thoughts, feel his feelings. And you know, that’s why I never do it willingly any more. Normally, I’m in control of my actions because I have a strong sense of who I am. But…” He stared into space a bit, his hands in his pockets.

“But?” I prompted.

“Scully, you fit the victim profile so closely; any of those women on that wall could be you. I’m…..uncomfortable…about what might happen when I really start to channel this guy, and clue in on his motives and emotions. Since the..warehouse..I’ve b een trying to rebuild myself, re-define who I am. I’m not so centered any more.”

Mulder looked more than uncomfortable, he looked terrified.

“Mulder, are you afraid for my safety? Afraid that you might hurt me?” I studied his face closely, trying to get inside his head. Mulder is one of the sanest men I know, granted his definitions of reality are a bit unconventional. He’s the only one I k now of who can stare a mutant in the face without running away in screaming terror.

“I’m afraid of losing myself, losing control. And lately I’ve discovered that there are a lot of things about my life that are out of my control. I don’t want you endangered.”

We had arrived at the Washington Monument. Mulder looked up at the spire and was quiet. I shivered in the wind.

“I don’t want to leave you alone. I’m afraid for you. I don’t believe that you would ever hurt me, no matter what monster you’re profiling at the time. Mulder, look at me.”

He turned away from the monument. I pulled his face down with both my hands and kissed him. “You are a good man, and I know that you would never willingly cause harm to anyone, much less me. I don’t believe that you would ever hurt me, even if you wer e profiling Charles Manson. Please, let me stay with you. I need to be there to remind you who you are. I left you at the warehouse and now….I just can’t leave you all alone in the dark.”

Mulder just looked at me with an unreadable expression, then folded his arms around me and held me close. “Scully, I don’t want you to go. I want you there, always. But if you ever sense that I’m a danger to you , run. Shoot me if you have to, because if I ever did hurt you I’d kill myself anyway.”

I smiled shakily. “Hey, I’ve done that before. I can do it again.”

Part 7

Fox Mulder’s Journal March 5, 1999

Scully came into the office today paler than I’ve seen her since the cancer.

“Scully? What’s wrong? You look upset.” I handed her a cup of cappuccino (nonfat milk, no sugar) I’d picked up on the way in.

She took it and tried to smile, without success. “I didn’t sleep well, that’s all,” she mumbled and made a bee-line to her desk. She promptly opened a file at random (I know it was at random because it was the expense report paperwork) and began to stud y it intensely.

She obviously didn’t want to talk. Three guesses what was upsetting her, and the first two don’t count. I’m not the only one with nightmares.

I’m glad I chose to go into therapy for this. Bill is a great guy, and he’s easy to talk to; all the more because he’s been there. It hurts to discuss it with him, but I feel the pressure eased, somehow, afterward. I wonder if Scully really is seeing h er therapist. She seems so bottled up, well, more bottled up than usual. And that’s saying something.

I got up to put a file into the cabinet, and she jerked suddenly, startled at my movement. I caught a look of terror on her face, too familiar, too DAMNED familiar.

Can’t say anything to her. She’ll just say that she’s “fine” and refuse to talk. We’ve been that road before.

Thank God Davis is out of town and we don’t have to face the task force. A quiet day in the office can be a good thing, sometimes.

So, here I am, sitting quietly at the computer composing a journal entry that I will e-mail to myself. I can’t hold this in until I get home from work.

I’m worried about her. She seemed to take all this in stride at first, but I should have known she was repressing it all with all her force of will. She has a lot of will. Now it’s getting away from her.

And which of us is in worse shape? The one who knows and acknowledges that he’s a cripple, or the one who’s denying it?

My next task is to open the files, all seven of them: one for each woman—I won’t call them victims. They were people, with lives, who were taken from the ones who loved them.

Who is this man? This monster? And how do I prevent his evil from infecting me?

—Later—

I’m so pissed off I’m shaking. As I was walking back from dropping off some reports at Skinner’s office, I heard some guys in the bullpen talking about Scully and me.

“Yeah, ” said the first one. “I hear she’s really hot on the video; she and Mulder are fucking like bunnies. By all accounts, the ice queen was really getting off on it! No way could you call that a sexual assault. Man—that’s my kind of rape!”

The second one laughed. “Well, at least we finally know what turns her on! Kinky sex and she likes it rough. How about him, though? He looks pretty sick these days.”

“I dunno. I heard he got shot or something. Either that, or they’re still doing it and she’s some kind of black widow, sucking the life out of him.”

It was all I could do to keep from drawing my gun and dropping both of them where they stood. So, what Scully told me was right. Skinner had been successful in hiding what was done to me, but he wasn’t so effective for Scully.

Hiding. As though what happened to me was a shameful secret. MY shameful secret; my shame…as if I were the one who had done something to be ashamed of, tainted by it.

And for Scully to be mocked….calm. Calm. Calm. She doesn’t need me up on charges. She needs me here, beside her.

But that doesn’t stop me from doing the next best thing. I marched back into Skinner’s office and had a few quiet words with him. I expect that two very insensitive agents who are definitely NOT team-players will soon be working fertilizer detail.

March 6, 1999

I stayed up late last night and finished reading all 7 files, including autopsy reports and crime scene photos. I am beginning to know the killer.

He is a small man; small in soul and in stature. The angles of the knife wounds on the victims indicate very little height differential. He’s between 5′6″ and 5′8″ tall. I suspect a stocky, muscular build, because he was able to overpower these women. Probably a body builder. His height bothers him, so he’d compensate by building muscles.

He isn’t educated. He sees these women as a threat, these professional women. Two lawyers, one college professor, an engineer, a nurse, an anthropologist and a pharmacist form the group. But he’s chosen small women. Yet these petite women have somet hing he doesn’t, stature. That makes him mad. He’s been unable to form a stable sexual relationship in his life. He is either unattached or in a troubled heterosexual relationship. He has been dependent, on a wife/girlfriend or on his parents.

These…WOMEN….these TINY FRIGGIN’ WOMEN…have it all…money, education….snooty, smug bitches. They look down on guys like me…sure I’m not tall, but I do okay. Except I’m not enough for them; I’m short and I’m a working man. I get my hands dirt y, and wear working clothes. Not like them. They get paid double what I make and they wear clean clothes, nice expensive clothes. And they go with tall guys in nice suits; snub guys like me.

I know what I’d like to do to them….all of them. The china-doll pretty ones are the worst. Pretty baby-blue eyes, blonde hair, red hair, petite, like a little doll. I’d like to smash that little doll, make her scream, make her dirty, dirty, dirty in her nice clean clothes….

Yes, it’s starting. I am beginning to know him, know his desires, his hatreds. He has a lot of hatreds, small and petty, just like he is. I don’t remember writing these paragraphs above, but I know that I must have. That’s my handwriting and my wrist is cramped.

I hope I can maintain control. It’s never easy coming back, when I do this. It will be even harder this time. I hope that I can come back.

Reading over the words, I feel afraid for Scully. She is small, and so bright and so delicate. He would love to smash her into little pieces, because she is so perfect. He won’t. I won’t let him. He’ll die first; or I will.

I’m meeting Scully at the office this morning. Davis is touring us through the “War Room” for this task force. I think I need to talk to Scully about my profiling this killer, and about her personal safety. Maybe it isn’t too late to persuade her to ge t as far away from me as she can. If I do lose control, if I can’t find my way back again and hurt her, I won’t try for a clean end. Just a fast one.

—Later—

Long day at the office. I have copies of the color photos of each victim and am taping them to the walls of my apartment. The key is the women, somehow. I will be visiting the various crime scenes…no, not crime scenes—their HOMES, to get a better i dea of who they were and why he chose them.

I don’t want to stay here and stare at them. I need air, space, something. I feel divided, into many people: Mulder the FBI agent, Mulder the rape victim, Mulder the…rapist? I am, you know. Scully may deny it, but I am. She no more consented to wha t happened than I did, although it was the best choice at the time.

I can’t stand this…the same thoughts are a repeating loop in my mind. Why didn’t I stop them? Why didn’t I jump for them BEFORE they made me rape Scully, instead of doing it AFTER? Did I WANT to fuck her? Of course I did….but…not that way…Why was I only desperate enough to jump them only AFTER I’d had Scully? How many times in six years have I fantasized about just throwing her across my desk and taking her?

I just saw the date. March 6. It was on March 6, 1992 that Scully was first assigned to the X Files. And the rest, as they say, was history.

I’d like to celebrate this anniversary, but I can’t call her. I can’t talk to her. She forgives me, but does she know me, really? Do I know myself?

And so I sit, here in my apartment, with the piles of paper and broken lives lying on my coffee table, and the faces of the lost staring at me from my walls.

Dana Scully’s Journal March 7, 1999

Sunday morning, and I went to mass. It was comforting, even more so than usual. I need it. I had nightmares last night; more Kurt Willard. I woke up, just short of a scream. It was the same thing…the warehouse, Kurt Willard on top of me, telling me …

I needed mass today. The stained glass and incense remind me that there are graces beyond those of this earth. And I am grateful to know that.

I still feel shame, from the assault. I know that it wasn’t my fault, not what they did to me, not what Mulder had to do, not the way I responded… But I feel almost a compulsion to go to Confession and ask for forgiveness and a penance, but for what I don’t know. I just want to feel clean again.

Today is March 7, 1999. On March 7, seven years ago was my first case with Mulder, in Oregon. It seems such a short time, but how we have changed.

I wish I could get Mulder to mass, that he could take the comfort that I do in it. But it wouldn’t work. He finds comfort in aliens, or the belief in sea-monsters. Not anything so truly incredible as a loving God.

Mulder needs love, and has had so little of it in his life.

And last night was a Saturday night but we didn’t have a date. Mulder hasn’t called.

I want my date. I want to keep dating him, whether this damned investigation goes forward or not. We are entitled to have lives, damn it! I’m going to call him.

And ask him out on a date.

Fox Mulder’s Journal March 7, 1999

Scully just called and wants to meet me at my garage, where the ‘stang is. That’s curious. She said to wear my jeans and a grubby t-shirt. I don’t know what on earth she has planned, but it sounds interesting.

—Later—

I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or thank a God I’m not sure I believe in for this woman.

Scully met me at the garage, and already had the door open. Note: Get this woman a key. She’s too good with that lockpick kit.

She had spread a picnic lunch on the floor, complete with checkered table cloth, basket, fried chicken, salad, bread and sodas.

And next to the car sat a large paper sack with a ribbon on it.

Scully stood there with a shit-eating grin on her face. “Go ahead, open it. It’s a happy anniversary gift. We’ve been partners for 7 years now, as of yesterday.”

I crouched down and opened the paper sack and found a carburetor rebuild kit, solvent, gaskets, a Chilton’s manual and several pairs of latex gloves. Huh?

Scully snickered at my expression, and said slowly and patiently, “Mulder, first we eat lunch. Then we rebuild your carburetor. I’ve thumb-tabbed the chapters on the 1964½ Mustang and I think that between the two of us we can handle it.”

God, I love this woman.

We spent the afternoon wearing latex (and don’t think we didn’t know it!), taking the old carb apart, cleaning it, replacing gaskets and reassembling it. That manual had multiple grease stains by the time we were through, but the carburetor worked like a song. How could it not, with the two of us working on it?

Seeing the normally fastidious Scully with grease on her nose was intensely erotic. I may be traumatized, but I’m not dead. And I’ve wanted this woman for so long. And I still do.

I still feel the clench in my gut that the thought of sex brings, but I won’t let it win. I’ve waited so long for Scully, that Kurt Willard and nobody else will take her from me.

She’s a pretty good mechanic, all those surgical skills coming out, I guess. And she’s a natural in latex.

“Scully, that was a fantastic anniversary present, the best I ever had, ” I told her as I wiped the smudge off her nose.

She grinned. “It’s the first you’ve ever had…but not the last.”

“Ooh, Scully, and what are you planning for next year?” I gave her my best leer, and was pleased when her grin brightened.

“Oh, you’ll find out. I’m still looking at the lingerie catalogs.” With that, she snapped off her latex gloves and shot them into the trash bucket. Like I said, she’s a natural.

Journal of Dana Scully March 9

I see the bodies, everywhere I go. And each has my face.

I have reviewed the autopsy data, the photographs, examined those bodies which haven’t already been released to their families.

And I see myself—powerless in the hands of murderers, my body become a thing in the eyes of my captors. And I feel trapped, buried in the clinging filth of their touch. It seeps inside my soul like a corrosive, eating away at my essence until nothing i s left but terror.

And when I feel this way, I think of Mulder and feel him folding me into protective arms. I think I know now why I have wanted him, hungered for him so badly.

He is my safety. He is protection for me, clean and strong and bright. He is the shining glow of love in a dark pit, his fire unquenchable. When I touch him, I feel energized, whole again. I am safe, loved by a man who would die for me.

He doesn’t know how much he did for me. I wish I could make him understand.

Journal of Fox Mulder March 10, 1999

I haven’t written much, haven’t had time. Erica’s body hasn’t turned up and time is running short. I’ve been to her apartment, and the homes of the other victims (damn! I hate that word). Nothing immediately useful. Scully and I have racked our brains trying to find any connections between these women that might lead to the killer. We’ve gathered bills, mail, address books, e-mail and internet bookmarks. Nothing correlates so far.

And every day I commune with the rapist. Scully is afraid for me, I can tell. She watches me silently as we work. I know him better, now: his terrible hatred for women. I know his self-hatred and his rage and above all, his driving need for control.

I understand that need.

The nightmares are changing. I’m still dreaming of the warehouse, of my own rape. But the perspective has changed. I feel removed from it, as though I am watching two separate figures, one brutally assaulting the other. But something in me admires the power of the one on top, his control of the situation. He isn’t weak, isn’t helpless, isn’t crying and sobbing for help that will never come. I despise the weak one, the victim. How humiliating to be so unmanned, an object fit only for contempt.

And then I wake up and I am afraid. I remind myself of who I am, and what I’m about, but I crave the control, the power, but not, please God, the enjoyment of another’s pain. My own pain. I haven’t spoken to Scully about this, but she senses it anyway . I want to run, run far away from this case. But I can’t.

Time is running out for Erica, and I’m the best chance she has.

Scully isn’t holding up well, either. She’s losing weight and, if the circles under her eyes are any clue, losing sleep too. She won’t talk about it, but I can’t complain because I won’t discuss my nightmares either.

We work side by side, but we might as well both be encased in ice, for all the comfort we allow each other. I’m living for Saturday, when we have our regularly scheduled date, our excuse to let the shields down a bit.

I don’t know how much longer I can live like this without turning into a monster myself. The dirt is piling up inside, enough that I’m left soiled by Kurt Willard, now I have the accumulated evil of this UNSUB.

Dana Scully’s Journal March 11, 1999

I am worried about Mulder. He doesn’t say much, but he’s fading away from me. Every day he pours himself into the files, studies each and every detail of the victims’ lives, and comes up with some other bit of ugliness to add to the profile of this kill er.

Where that ugliness comes from frightens me. He admits that he has nightmares, but he won’t talk about them. But then, I won’t tell him about mine. We are both silent in the face of a monster bigger than us both. It grows every day.

I want to reach out to him. I need him. But he shies away, afraid that by being with him I’ll be endangered somehow. Does he think that he somehow brought on Willard’s attacks on us?

Fox Mulder’s Journal March 13, 1999

Oh God…oh god..oh god…got to call Scully, can’t call Scully…I promised I would….I promised…. I have to call Scully….

Part 8

Journal of Dana Scully March 13, 1999

Mulder is finally asleep, thank God.

I am writing this, sitting by Mulder’s bedside in his apartment. He wouldn’t even let me go into the living room, needs me here—close. I’ve begun bringing this book with me wherever I go, to release the thoughts inside when they become overwhelming.

Today I am overwhelmed.

He called me this morning, early, about 4:00 a.m. I picked up the phone, with the groggy feeling that this must be Mulder and something was terribly wrong. Only he calls me at this time of day.

“Yeah…hello,” I mumbled into the receiver.

At first there was only silence, and I was ready to hang it up. Then I heard a low sobbing sound.

“Mulder? Is that you? Mulder—say something! Mulder!!”

The sobbing sound continued, then he began to speak.

“S..s..scully….please…come over. I need you…I can’t…oh god…no, don’t come over. It isn’t safe. Bring your gun….I promised to call…and this is it…but if you don’t get here fast, I don’t know if I can wait for you…..” His voice was edge d with hysteria and clogged with tears. I was already up and moving, dressing as I talked.

“Mulder, I’m on my way. Hold on, just hold on. Wait for me—don’t do ANYTHING until I get there…okay? I’m on my cell phone and we’ll keep talking as I go, so you won’t be alone. Just keep talking to me…”

I pulled clothing on, grabbed my weapon and car keys, then shot out the door my cell phone glued to my ear.

Before long the conversation consisted of my talking to him, a stream of soothing noises, and the sound of wrenching sobs on his end. God, what could have happened?

Halfway there, his line cut out. I couldn’t tell if he’d hung up on me or been cut off. Oh, God, don’t think about it, just drive FASTER. I floored the gas, praying frantically…don’t let him give up, don’t let him kill himself. Oh, Mulder, wait for me, wait for me. Hold on…I’m coming…I’ll be there soon…soon…

I don’t think I’ve ever made the drive to Mulder’s apartment in better time.

I got to Mulder’s apartment to find the door locked. He didn’t answer my knock. I opened the door with my key to find his living room dark and quiet. I drew my weapon and made my way into the bedroom.

Mulder was huddled on the bed, dressed in t-shirt and shorts, curled into a fetal position rocking back and forth. He held his gun in one hand; his eyes were shut and streaming with tears and he was muttering under his breath, “No…no…no, please no… ” The phone had dropped to the floor. No obvious signs of violence.

I approached him slowly, keeping my gun drawn.

“Mulder…Mulder it’s me. What’s happened? What’s wrong?” Gingerly, I sat on the bed next to him and reached out my hand to touch his shoulder. His eyes flew open and he recoiled violently, bringing the gun up to point it at me, the other hand up in front of him defensively. I drew back sharply, and he looked down at the gun. Then he met my eyes in horror and dropped the weapon, covering his face with both his hands.

“Mulder, it’s me, Scully…I won’t hurt you….You called me, remember? I’m here,” I kept up a soft litany of soothing noises while I fished the gun off the bedspread and stuck it into my belt. Then I holstered my own weapon. He put his hands down and hugged his knees to his chest and began rocking again. But this time his eyes were open and lucid.

“Scully…” He choked on a sob and turned his face away. “Don’t look at me; I can’t stand you to look at me….”

“Mulder…I’m going to call the paramedics. I think we should get you to a hospital….” He gave me a panicky look.

“No..no hospital…no people…please Scully..please…”

“Then tell me what’s wrong. Can you talk about it?” I moved a little closer to him, wanting to hold him, protect him from whatever it was that was preying on his soul.

His eyes closed and he leaned back, rolling his head from side to side. When he opened them again, he was staring at the ceiling and not at me.

“I’ve been having nightmares, every night, since…since the rape. But you know that.”

I nodded. “Yes, I know. I have them too.”

Mulder turned his gaze to the blanket between us. “Since we started this case, since I’ve been profiling…my…dreams have changed. I dream HIS dreams…feel his feelings in my sleep….”

As he spoke, he held his arms tighter across his knees, hunching smaller and smaller.

“I feel his needs…his power…his need for control…Every night it’s stronger…And I want his control, I want his power….I want not to be a victim any more….”

I was silent. I understood the need for control; who better? Mulder’s voice roughened and he rocked a little as he went on.

“I’ve dreamed of my rape, these last nights….I’ve been my own rapist, reveling in the power…disgusted with the victim’s weakness…his puling attempts to fight me off….” He wouldn’t look at me, his voice was a soft monotone. Oh, Mulder…

“But I could…could…handle that. I know what a sorry showing I made in that warehouse….I could live with it…” He looked up, finally and found my eyes. His face was pale and stricken, agony written across it.

“I could….live….with the dreams until last night. Last night…I wasn’t my own rapist. I was him, the one I’m profiling. I…kidnapped Erica Scott from her living room and took her..someplace. I started raping her…and she screamed…and pleade d..and I loved the powerful feeling it gave me. And…and…I looked down at her face….she was crying….her voice changed, and her face did….and it was YOU, Scully. You were underneath me, screaming at me to stop…and I didn’t…I didn’t….” Mul der covered his face with his hands, taking gulping breaths, then continued, with his face still covered.

“I…came inside you….then I pulled you to your feet and…and…slammed you against the wall…and you were crying…You looked at me like I’d betrayed you…and I had…I…You…were bleeding….from what I’d done….And there was a knife in my hand ….I stabbed you and stabbed you and watched the life leave your face….. And…and…I felt …that rush…Oh God….I want to die. I can’t ….live….with this….I can’t let this happen…” Mulder broke down then, and crouched forward onto the be d, burying his face in the mattress, sobbing deep, wrenching sounds

Oh…….this was bad. So very bad. “Then you woke up? And called me?” I spoke very softly and gently. Mulder nodded, his face still buried.

“Mulder, do you think that you’ve become the monster?” He nodded, still hiding his face from me.

“Would it help if I told you that I don’t think you are a monster at all? You’re vulnerable right now to these sorts of images, and you’re profiling a very violent man. And I do look like the victims on this case. Mulder, in my eyes you’re a hero, and your telling me this hasn’t changed my opinion.”

He slowly looked up, meeting my eyes. “Scully, if this…personality…gains control over me I could kill you and get off on it. I…I…can’t live with that; can’t allow it to happen. I…know…that I’m vulnerable to this…I’ve known it since I took the case. Since the warehouse…I…know I’m…tainted. I’m your rapist Scully, despite the comfort you’ve tried to give me…I still raped you. How much farther is there to go from that warehouse, to killing you and enjoying it?”

I’d sworn to myself that I would never watch that damned tape ever again, nor would I ever encourage Mulder to do so. But this…he truly believed that he had raped me, and none of my reassurances would convince him otherwise. He’d merged the UNSUB’s mo tivations and needs with his own guilt and trauma, and his memory of what happened to us was colored by that.

“Mulder, I am going to make a phone call in the living room. I’m not leaving you and I’m not calling the paramedics, okay? Just stay here..” He nodded dumbly as I carefully backed away and went into the other room.

I dialed Skinner’s home number.

He answered groggily.

“Sir? It’s me, Scully.”

“Scully, why the hell are you calling at this hour? Is it Mulder? What’s wrong?” I could hear him becoming more awake by the second.

“Yes, it’s Mulder. He’s in a bad way…I’m at his apartment. I need you to do something for me; could you come here and bring the tape with you? The one of the warehouse.”

I could hear him suck in his breath. “Scully, if Mulder is suicidal, are you sure that he should see that thing? Why show it to him? How is it going to help him?”

“He’s reliving the rapes, through our current UNSUB’s eyes. He’s convinced that he’s capable of killing me and enjoying it. I have to show him who he really is, and what he actually did for me.”

I heard silence at the other end, then Skinner said softly, “Are you sure he can take it? Can you?”

“I can stand it. Mulder has to know. And sir, I’m calling in a prescription for a sedative and a hypodermic syringe at an all-night pharmacy. Would you pick that up on your way in? I’m afraid to leave him.”

“I’ll get them, and I’ll be there as fast as I can. And Scully, keep your weapon handy just in case.”

I went back into the bedroom to find Mulder huddled where I’d left him. I found an afghan and draped it over him, then put a kettle on for tea.

Soon I had him sitting up, wrapped in the blanket, cupping a mug of Lipton’s in his hands.

“I’m sorry I’m such a screw-up, Scully,” Mulder rasped. “You keep having to bail me out when I go off the deep end. You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“You’d do the same for me. You have.” I sipped my own tea and watched him carefully. “Are you feeling any better?”

“No.” Mulder wouldn’t meet my eyes. Damn. He was planning what he’d do when I finally did leave. I couldn’t leave him, or he’d die.

I heard a knock at the door and mentally blessed Skinner for being so fast. Mulder started when he heard the knock. “That’s just Skinner, he’s bringing some things I asked for.”

Mulder nodded. I ran to the door and let Skinner in. He peered around the apartment anxiously. “Where is he?” He handed me a small paper sack and a videotape.

“Mulder’s in the bedroom.”

Skinner was eyeing the walls of the apartment uncomfortably. Damn. I’d forgotten that Skinner has never seen Mulder’s apartment when he’s profiling. Mulder has taped up photos of the victims, diagrams of the crime scenes, news clippings, bits of evidenc e, covering his walls with the facts of the seven abductions. Even graphic photos of the bodies, as they were found, were scattered among them. I didn’t have to ask Skinner what he thought about it; it showed in his eyes.

“Can you handle this alone? Do you need me here? Do you think you’re in any danger?”

“No, no danger. We’ll be okay. I’ll call you if I need help. And sir…thanks.”

Skinner nodded and left.

I set the sack and the videotape down on the coffee-table and went into the bedroom to check on Mulder.

Inside the bedroom, I sat down next to him. He was still withdrawn, and pale. “Is Skinner here?” he asked.

“He’s just left.” I studied Mulder searchingly. I hoped that he could endure what I was about to do, but he had to know the truth. All of it.

“Mulder, I’ve known you for 7 years and in that time you’ve never flinched from the truth, no matter how unpleasant. You taught me that an ugly truth is always preferable to an attractive lie, or to ignorance. Since the warehouse, I have asked you to be lieve a truth that you find hard to accept.”

“I know where you’re going with this, Scully, and it doesn’t wash. I know what happened there, and I know how I felt…and how I feel. I’m dirty, tainted by something evil. Profiling this case has made it worse, and it’s changing me into something I ca n’t …can’t live with.”

“Mulder, the truth that I have been trying to tell you is that you are not an evil man, you are not sadistic. You are heroic in my eyes, and nothing will change that belief. The core that is you, Fox Mulder, is a gentle man and violence is as alien to you as it is to any humane person. But I think that you need to see proof. I have some evidence that I want you to see.” I got up and held out my hand to him. He took it hesitantly and followed me into the living room.

I sat Mulder down on the couch and put the tape into the VCR, then sat down next to him. Mulder shied away when he saw the tape.

“No, I can’t watch that. Scully, I can’t live through that again…I can’t. With this…personality…inside me, do you know what might happen? Do you?” Mulder’s voice was trembling and I could see tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. “No, Scully …I can’t. I’ll….I’ll hurt you…or…I don’t want to watch you being hurt….not by me.”

I grabbed his chin and made him look at me. “Then we’ll face it together. Do you think I want to lose you, day by day, minute by minute, behind a wall of silence? I’m tired of being “fine”, I’m not “fine” and neither are you! The truth is…!” I was shouting, I lowered my voice. “The truth is that neither of us is “fine” and we need each other to heal from this. I need you. You need me. I can’t do this alone..and neither can you. I don’t want to try any more. Please?”

Mulder looked deep into my eyes, the first real look he’d given me in a week. “Okay. But do I get popcorn?”

I smiled, a little trembly, but a smile. “Maybe later.” I turned on the VCR.

As the snow cleared, I saw the interior of the warehouse and felt Mulder’s hand slip into mine. I saw myself dragged into the cameras’ range, knocked out and stripped of clothing.

I could see Mulder, next to me, begin to tremble. He held my hand tighter. When I woke and Benny started to abuse me, Mulder sat very close and put his right arm around me protectively. I could feel myself beginning to shake and the tears begin to fall down my cheeks.

Then Kurt began to speak, terrible things, awful things, promises of what he would do to me, what they would do. I saw the despair on my own face; the certainty that there was no way out. I couldn’t watch and buried my head into Mulder’s shoulder. He h eld me close and cried with me, his eyes fixed on the screen.

“Scully…oh Scully, I didn’t know…why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered.

“I tried, but I just didn’t have the words. And you were in so much pain, I couldn’t add to your burden. I couldn’t tell you… And I was so afraid. All I could think of was what was going to happen. I knew what the injuries would be—what they’d do t o me—what my body would look like in the morgue.” I could hear my voice breaking as I began sobbing. “I had no hope.”

Mulder just held me while I sobbed aloud.

Then we saw Mulder stumble in and try to go to me. I hadn’t seen it, only heard it. Oh, Mulder…how you tried. And then he came to me and tried to stand between me and the killers.

By the time the tape got to Mulder’s choice, we sat almost on top of one another, arms wrapped about each other protectively. On the tape, he saw my panic and his own fear, anguish, decision. And I think he saw my acceptance. I hope he did.

While Mulder made love to me, my face showed what I hoped he would see: love and faith and trust. And in his own face, I think he finally saw the determination and love I saw.

When we got to my escape, I saw something new. Mulder’s desperation to get me out of there, and my own hesitation at leaving him. Maybe, just maybe I didn’t betray him? I still felt like I did, but…

After I the scene of my escape, I grabbed the remote, to stop the tape. Mulder put his hand on mine.

“No,” he said softly. “The whole truth, Scully. All of it. We can do this.”

And so we watched to the bitter end. I was crying, and so was he. But, while I ache for him, for what was done to him, I no longer feel personal responsibility for what happened to him. I didn’t cause the rape. Kurt Willard did, and he’s dead.

Long after the tape faded to snow, Mulder and I sat on the couch holding each other close.

“Now do you believe me? Mulder, you didn’t enjoy my rape, did you? It wasn’t entertaining for you. It was…”

“Scully, it was Hell.” He cupped my chin with this hand and looked at me. “You’re right, I didn’t enjoy it. I could never enjoy something like that. And…I didn’t enjoy my own rape…I chose NOTHING of what happened to me. It was forced on me, as it was on you.”

“Mulder, you saved me from what Kurt Willard promised he’d do to me. That was the act of a good and gentle man. Do you remember who you are now?”

Mulder smiled and nodded. “I’m the man who loves Dana Scully.”

I felt an immediate thrill inside. He loves me. He said it. He loves me. I could feel a slow smile growing on my face. Mulder noticed and he gave me a shy smile back.

Then his face darkened a bit. “But the case isn’t over yet. I still have to work on the profile.”

I was quiet, watching his expression. More than anything I want this case to be gone from our lives. The damage it has compounded has been incalculable.

Mulder yawned and rubbed his eyes. He was still in shock from all this turmoil. Reluctantly, I got up and went over to the table and opened the paper sack.

“What’s that?” he asked suspiciously.

“I had Skinner pick up a sedative for you. Don’t worry, it’s mild. I think you ought to sleep.” At his jerk, I added hastily “I don’t think you’ll have any more nightmares. And if you do, I’ll be here.”

“Will you stay in the bedroom with me?” he asked fearfully.

“Of course. I’m not going anywhere.” I swabbed his arm with alcohol (Mulder has a well-stocked medicine cabinet thanks to me) and gave him the injection. Then I helped him to bed, covered him up and sat with him until he fell asleep.

Now I am left alone with my thoughts. The wall is down, the silence broken. Or so I hope.

And my own silence had become so hard to bear. I am still afraid; the case isn’t over and Mulder is still the principal profiler. I hope that he is stronger, and more sure of who he is. I pray that he can withstand whatever this case will throw at us n ext.

Part 9

Journal of Fox Mulder March 14, 1999

It’s late, no…early, very early Sunday, about 4 :00 a.m. I just got home from Scully’s apartment. I have her to thank that I survived.

Early Saturday morning, my first thought was to find my gun and just end the pain, all of it: Samantha, years of being mocked and disbelieved, the rape. But the most horrible violation of all was the sense that I no longer had control of my own psyche, that I could kill someone I love and derive pleasure from it. The darkness was terrible and the possibility, unendurable. I’m glad I remembered my promise to Scully, to call her before I did anything. After the call, I just waited and held the gun and endured.

Scully’s right, whatever else I may be I am not a murderer or a rapist. I still feel shaky, but better. Oh, Scully, what happened to you…I wish I had known. I wish I could give you one quarter of the comfort you’ve given me.

After I slept, I woke up from Scully’s little barbiturate cocktail at about 1:00, with the afternoon sun streaming in the window. At first I didn’t remember the events of the morning, but I could feel a sort of emotional cloud inside…oh yeah, the night mare…my gun…calling Scully for help.

I rolled over and found Scully asleep on the other side of the bed, curled up—yes, like a baby cat. Her journal lay open next to her hand and I saw my name on the page. It’s a very bad habit, for which Scully will kill me, but I read her journal.

Ah Scully, I didn’t know you felt this deeply about me. I wish I deserved it. I’m glad you see me as a place of safety. I wish I really could protect you, that you’d let me. And with all the hell you’ve been through since the warehouse; you never said anything. But I expected that.

Our problem is pretty basic, I guess. We don’t talk. We look at each other, we glance, we touch, we give little innuendoes filled with hidden meaning, but we don’t talk. And even when we do talk, we cloud it in excessive verbiage which intentionally ob fuscates the point.

She isn’t seeing a therapist; she lied. Well, if she won’t talk to a therapist, maybe she’ll talk to a friend. She’s right, we need each other.

I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, brushing the hair out of her face. She opened sleepy eyes and smiled at me.

“Mulder,” she yawned. “What time is it?” Then she saw her journal, open in my hands.

“Mulder,” she started reproachfully, then sighed. “Okay, I guess fair is fair. I read your journal first.” She looked down at the blankets and picked at the lint absently.

“Scully.” She looked up when I said her name. “Scully, I had no idea how deeply you felt about me. Not like this. You’ve never said anything, not right out. I always had to guess, and I was afraid I’d guess wrong.”

“It’s all true,” Scully said softly. “Now do you understand what I’ve been trying to tell you? Do you know how much I love you? The thought of losing you tears me apart inside. And the possibility that you would, of your own will, take yourself out of this life…is unbearable to me.”

I was shaken. I’d never thought of Scully’s feelings for me as being akin to mine for her. She’s strong, a survivor. If I died, she’d go on, marry, have a life. Wouldn’t she?

She took my left hand in the palm of her left and stroked my fingers with her right hand. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you. Please, don’t wait to call me if this happens again.”

I gave her a hesitant smile. “Scully, believe me, if it happens again, you’ll be the first I call. Besides, you bring good drugs with you.”

I cleared my throat and went on. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to be serious, but I am now. Scully, I want to be your protection, your safe place. I know you don’t want me hovering over you protectively, and I respect that. Just as I respect your abili ties. But, when you need a quiet place, I want you to know that I’ll be there for you. Always.”

I found myself with an armful of Scully (very nice) and I think that we were then able to communicate many things non-verbally. We broke up the clinch when my stomach growled. I grinned, shamefacedly.

“Well, I guess it’s lunch time on a Saturday. What’ll it be? Pizza or Chinese?”

She wrinkled her nose and sat up. “How are you feeling? You must be better if you can eat.” She studied me carefully and I could feel her counting my ribs through my t-shirt. Yeah, I’ve lost weight lately. I wasn’t eating much before this case, and I eat even less when I’m profiling.

“I’m better. I feel more centered. The sleep helped. I think that was the first sleep I’ve had without nightmares in weeks.”

Scully’s hand came out and stroked my forehead, ostensibly checking for fever but I know a caress when I feel one. “How are you, really?” she asked simply.

Tough question. “Am I suicidal? No, not actively. I’m satisfied that I won’t hurt you. Will I ever get suicidal again? I don’t know, Scully.” I saw her dissatisfied look and added, “I’m sorry I can’t be more definite, but I owe you the truth.”

She nodded. “Well, you’re better than you were. We need to call Skinner and get you off this case somehow. You can’t stay, it’ll kill you.”

“No, I disagree,” I protested. “I’m still Erica Scott’s best chance and she deserves that. I’ve passed the crisis, I’ll be okay. Really.” Scully just pierced me with that skeptical look she’s patented. She knows a line of bullshit when she hears it.

“So, would you like to go out? It is Saturday, you know.” She looked puzzled, so I added, “Our DATE, remember? It’s my turn to treat you.”

“You are changing the subject.” Scully looked at me, then leaned back, resting against my chest.

“Yes. I am. And I’m still hungry. So, what will it be?”

She gave me a speculative look. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

I leered and answered her. “Agent Scully, for you I am always up for it. And I’m hungry, too. So, what’s for lunch?”

“Thai food. And make it spicy.” Scully and spicy food, now there’s a combination. Most of the fair-haired people I’ve ever known have had no tolerance for hot foods. And then there’s Scully. She likes to say that she teethed on jalapenos, and having grown up in San Diego, she appreciates Mexican food.

“Agent Scully, I know just the place, in Georgetown…” I gently dislodged her head from my chest (reluctantly) and went to shower and shave.

We had a peaceful lunch and a leisurely stroll through Georgetown, window shopping and sight-seeing.

When the sun went down, Scully insisted on making dinner for me at her place. “And besides, I want to show you something.”

“Oh, and what would that be?” I asked archly. Mentally, I was torn between the hope that it was some great new lingerie and the fear that it was some great new lingerie. I’m serious about not wanting to go too far until I test clean. And the idea of s ex with Scully….wondrous, intoxicating…also conjures up demons still all too vivid. I want her, but I’m just not ready yet. I don’t know if I can…even with her.

“You’ll see,” was all she would say.

I discovered, when we got to her apartment, not great new lingerie, but something even more tantalizing: a wide screen television and premium cable.

“Scully, I didn’t think you even watched television.” I picked up the remote longingly. I must have been fondling it, because Scully started laughing.

“Yes, Mulder, I do watch television, and videos. I just thought it was time to get a decent television set and cable to go with it. The man from City Cable was here on Friday to hook up the cable service.”

She snuggled next to me on the couch and wrapped her arm around my waist. “Besides, I have this new boyfriend who really likes television. I thought he might enjoy watching public television with me.”

I turned to Scully, my eyes widening. “Very cultured, your boyfriend, huh?”

She smirked. “Oh, very. He especially likes nature shows, you know, birds…bees…”

As she leaned in for my kiss I whispered “Let’s keep bees out of this relationship, huh?….”

Dinner was late. We spent some time necking on the couch like teenagers. Boyfriend. She called me her boyfriend. I like that sound…boyfriend. Does that make her my “girlfriend”? Are we going “steady”? Can you go “steady” while in your late 30’s a nd no longer a virgin? Hell, I’m just glad I’m her ‘boyfriend’.

After dinner, and some more necking, we tried out the television set. The cable worked beautifully and we spent the rest of the evening watching a Star Trek marathon…and necking some more.

All in all the day ended much better than I expected it to. I’m not on a morgue slab—which was all I could see when I woke up.

I have strict orders from my doctor to spend Sunday quietly at home, but to call her at least once to check in. I always follow my doctor’s orders.

March 15, 1999 Monday

I got to the office early, about 7:30 a.m. Just as I put my coat down, the phone rang and I moved to answer it.

“Mulder? How are you feeling?” It was Skinner’s voice and he didn’t sound happy. He sounded on edge. I could hear noises in the background.

“Much better, sir. Is there something wrong?”

“Yes. Erica Scott’s body just turned up. I’m at the scene….” My gut clenched. Damn, damn, damn, damn…too late. We were too damned late. And I could hear the question he wanted to ask. Was I up to working on this case, or would he be forced to e xplain the suicide of the lead profiler?

“We’re ready to help, sir. Where are you?” I scribbled down the address he gave me.

“Is Agent Scully there with you?” he asked.

“No, she’s still at home, but I’ll call her. We’ll meet you there.”

I telephoned Scully. She was almost ready to leave for work.

“No, you’ll have to meet me at a crime scene. They found Erica’s body. Skinner’s there now. He want’s us.” I gave her the address and she agreed to meet me there.

The body had been found in a vacant lot about ten miles from the Hoover Building, hidden in some bushes. The city police had already arrived and the area was taped off. I pulled on latex gloves and wandered over to where Skinner was standing, surveying the area dismally.

He turned as we approached and gave me a visual once-over. “Agent. The body was found by a jogger about an hour ago. We are canvassing the area for any witnesses who may have seen who dumped her here.”

I walked over to the body and squatted down to examine it, then felt a hand on my forearm.

“Mulder, you don’t have to be here. She’s gone, her father can hardly object if you leave the case at this time.” Skinner was looking at me with something like compassion.

“No, I have to be here. I have to find this guy, or all my work, all my…experiences…on this case will have been wasted. And her family needs the closure.” I could still see doubt in his eyes. “Sir, trust me. I can handle this.”

He took his hand off my sleeve and let me examine the body. The body lay face down and was half covered by dirt and vegetation, but it didn’t hide the stab wounds. Not much blood, though. She was killed somewhere else.

Then coroner turned the body over and I gasped. The resemblance was even more pronounced in person. God, she could have been Scully’s twin. I couldn’t stop staring at her face, her blue eyes open in amazement. Blue eyes so like Scully’s. Scully….sh e sure was taking a long time getting here….Oh well, sometimes she does that.

I wandered over the crime scene, one among many forensics people looking for the same thing: evidence that would lead us to this SOB.

I spotted a small scrap of paper in the leaves near where the body had been and carefully picked it up. It was printed on one side, part of a bill?

It was pink and said “City C..” The rest was torn off. No other writing. I put it into a plastic evidence bag and began studying it. I considered—It could be nothing. ‘City Cafe?’ or ‘City Cat-care?’…then a terrible thought hit me. Oh my God, and Scully fits the profile.

I pulled out my cell phone and frantically called her home number. No answer. I tried her cell phone. No answer. Shit! shit! shit! I started running for my car.

“Skinner! City Cable—the UNSUB works for City Cable! We have to get to Scully’s apartment, FAST!”

His eyes widened and he began to run after me, shouting into his cell phone. I got to my car first, peeling out, leaving him behind as the agents scattered.

From: Xenith <[email protected]>

Part 10

Fox Mulder’s Journal, continued…

March 15, 1999

When I arrived at Scully’s apartment house, squealing to a stop in front of the building, I could see that I was already too late. The area was taped off and police were interviewing witnesses. I didn’t see Scully anywhere.

I flashed my badge at the cop and ran inside. Scully’s apartment door was open and I could see forensics workers combing the place. I hurried over to the detective in charge and flashed my badge again.

“Hello,” he said. “Agent….Mulder? Is the Bureau taking over?”

I looked around, hoping against hope that Scully would be there somewhere. She wasn’t. “Probably. I’m Agent Scully’s partner. Where is she? Can you tell me what happened?”

“I’m Detective Jenkins, Alexandria P.D. A neighbor called and said she heard the sounds of a fight, then saw Ms…er…Agent Scully being carried out the door, apparently unconscious. A man described as,” he looked at his notepad. “Short, stocky, with dark hair and mustache had her in a fireman’s carry and loaded her into a gray or white van. The witness didn’t get a license number.”

I could feel myself slump. I pulled the plastic baggie from my pocket and handed it to Jenkins. “The suspect you want is an employee of City Cable, probably a cable service man. This was found at the scene where the body of Erica Scott was found this m orning. He’s a serial rapist-murderer operating in the Alexandria area, and my partner and I have been assisting in the investigation. You’ve got to call City Cable and find out who this guy is.”

“I’m familiar with the case. She would fit the profile at that.” Jenkins glanced at a photo of Scully and her mother on the side table, and pulled out his cell phone.

I wandered around the apartment, looking, looking for clues, something. I heard a step behind me and found Skinner there, a look of sympathy on his face.

“Agent, there’s nothing you can do here. You’re only getting in the way of the forensics team. Why don’t you go back to the office and wait for developments?”

“What about the suspect? Are they going to pick him up? When can we go?”

Skinner nodded toward Jenkins. “I’ve just spoken to him. The police are already out there and he isn’t home. They’re searching the house and there’s no evidence that he took any of the victims there.”

“I need to see it; see where he lives. It could give me some leads.” Skinner had a familiar set to his jaw that told me he didn’t support the idea.

“Agent Mulder, competent investigators from the police and the Bureau are on scene. I don’t think you’re up to more profiling just now.”

“But I know this guy, I’m the one most qualified…” I started, but Skinner began to shake his head.

“No. You shouldn’t be on this case any more. And with Erica Scott dead, there’s no reason for me to keep you on it.”

“Scully’s my…PARTNER…” I forced the words out through gritted teeth. “She’d give her life for me; I owe her…”

Skinner just gave me a compassionate look and shook his head. I decided to change tactics.

“Has Maggie Scully been told?” I asked. Skinner nodded.

“I called her on the way over. She’s on telephone standby. There’s no reason for her to come out here and watch the police work.”

“I’ll call her,” I started to get my cell phone, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t do it here. From the office, Mulder.”

So here I am, in the basement office at the Hoover Building. The repair man who installed Scully’s cable, Everett Berger, is 5′ 6″, dark-haired, stocky with a mustache. Today’s his day off; he hasn’t been to work and wasn’t at home.

I called Maggie Scully. She was collected and calm, very like her daughter in a crisis.

“Mrs. Scully, I just want you to know that we’ll find her. I won’t leave any stone unturned; I’ll find her.” I was trying to convince myself as much as her.

“I know you’ll do your best, Fox. I’ll pray for you both.”

Now why does that make me feel a little better?

Using a few little tricks the boys taught me, I’ve discovered the address for Berger and I’m going out there to see what I can find. Scully’s life is worth more than my career. Shit! My sorry-ass life isn’t worth more than hers. I’ll do whatever it tak es to bring her home.

—Later—

I’m at home with the bits and pieces I was able to gather from Berger’s house. It looks like he inherited it from his parents. Old but serviceable furniture, no sign of hobbies. He lives alone, no pets. But I found some interesting stuff.

A photograph album, a calendar, some paperback books. I spent a good two hours there, absorbing the atmosphere, learning him.

What I’m about to do probably isn’t my smartest action, but I don’t see any choice. Berger knows by now that the police are after him; he won’t go back home. He has Scully some place that feels safe to him. He’s a planner, stalked Scully and examined h er habits and took her to a place he prepared for her. He won’t be found easily.

He won’t rape her right away. His hatred is so great that he has to gloat over his victims, try to humiliate them first. Scully…..

I have the file here, all the photographs, evidence, everything I need. I’ll find her.

NOTE, LEFT FOLDED ON MULDER’S DESK ON TOP OF FLOPPY DISK.

Scully,

I’m leaving you my journal on this disk; I want you to know my thoughts while I’m lucid. And I want to leave you this letter, while I can. As I write this, you’re being held by that bastard Everett Berger, our serial killer. I can only see one way to f ind you, and Skinner has forbidden me to try. Well, you know how I feel about authority.

You know how I react to profiling. I may actually join Patterson this time; I don’t know if I can find my way back to you. I’ll try. I just want you to know that. But if I don’t make it back, I want you to know how I feel about you.

Scully, you’re the center of my life, my heart and my soul. You always will be, whether I am able to comprehend that or not. I’ve never found it easy to say “I love you”, but I’ve been learning how important it is in recent days. I do love you, with al l my heart. And I always will.

But if I end up sharing a padded cell with Bill Patterson, don’t waste your time around me. Find yourself a life and go live it. Working with you has been the best time of my life and I’ll always have that.

God, that sounds maudlin, doesn’t it? But I mean it, Scully.

I love you always,

Mulder

UNDATED NOTES ON FOX MULDER’S DESK, WEIGHED DOWN BY SERVICE WEAPON. FOUND BY WALTER S. SKINNER (A.D., FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION)

Damned little women…china dolls, that’s what they are…shrill voices…think they’re better than me.

So I work hard, they despise me because I work with my hands…I’ll show them how I work with my hands. No…they want clean men, well-dressed men…big men.

That little red-head, cute, bossy. Buys that big-ass television set that I could never afford. No. I just get to install it, that’s all. And connect the cable. She wouldn’t know one end of a cable box from another, but she has money. And I saw that g uy that she’s with—designer suits, tall. I hate jerks like that.

Well he can’t have her. She belongs to me. She’ll always belong to me. I’ll be the last man she ever has, and I’ll be the last thing she ever sees.

Extreme rage against women….was he sexually abused by one as a child? Or maybe hurt by one as an adolescent?

Obsessed with height. Obsessed with work—his work, his work is manual labor of some kind—of course, cable and electronics. Not ‘clean’ enough for him…

Where did he take her?

Kills them in a frenzy—multiple stab wounds, over 49 in victim number 6. Restrains them with cords—abrasions on wrists and ankles. Control and dominance uppermost…not much control in his life….

Dumps the bodies in vacant lots, dumpsters. Sees the victims as ‘used up’, as ‘garbage’. He wants their essence, their ‘stature’, takes it by destroying them and tries to infuse it into himself….

Safe place…my safe place….where? where is it? Come on, Everett, tell me…

Home, gotta take them home…not the house, a happy place. Look at the pictures in the scrapbook—a young man standing with elderly people in front of a farm house. Outbuildings in the back. Another picture of a younger man standing over a dead deer, with older man—grandfather.

Safe place.

Grandparents house. Shed out back, or outbuilding. Too much blood to sully happy place…use shed.

Thank God for friends who are hackers. Address for grandparents’ house:

32404 Moorhen Road Gordonton Maryland

Grandparents died 4 years ago, house inherited by an aunt. She’s lives in Florida, so it’s vacant.

Skinner’s number: 202/555-3425

Leave message….Won’t wait for backup. Sorry Skinner…

MESSAGE ON VOICEMAIL (202) 555-3425 Datestamped: 5/15/99 4:02 p.m.

Sir, this is Agent Mulder (slurry voice), I..uh..looked over the files on the Berger case…I think he’s at his grandparents’ house. It’s vacant now..has been for years. Address is…address is….uh… 32404 Moorhen Road Gordonton Maryland…He won’t kill her yet, but we need to get there. I’m on my way…

(long pause—heavy breathing sounds)

I..he’s inside me…I can feel his emotions, his hate. I think..I have some..empathy for Patterson…I..don’t know what’s going to happen, but I have to get to Scully. If it looks like I’m a danger to her, shoot me. Please.

WASHINGTON POST MARCH 16, 1999 MORNING EDITION

Late Monday evening FBI agents and police arrested a man suspected of raping and murdering 7 women, including Erica Scott, daughter of Senator Gareth Scott, whose body was found yesterday.

A woman, not yet identified, who was held captive by him was treated briefly for minor injuries and released. A Federal Agent involved in the arrest has been hospitalized with undisclosed injuries.

From: Xenith <[email protected]>

Part 11

Journal of Dana Scully March 16, 1999

They won’t let me see him. Damn! Skinner told them it was too dangerous and they won’t let me see him.

I’ve argued and explained and threatened but Skinner just looks at me and says nothing.

I might as well describe everything that happened. I’m so upset it might calm me. As I write this I am sitting on a couch in the hospital waiting room for the special section. I am NOT going home until they let me see him.

On Monday morning, after Mulder’s call, I was finishing my makeup, but still needed shoes and my gun when the doorbell rang. I checked the peephole and saw the guy who installed my television set and cable there. Suspecting nothing, I opened the door.

“Hello Ms. Scully,” he smiled. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I realized that I installed the wrong splitter for your type of television set. Your reception my be okay now, but it won’t last long. I’d like to exchange it for the proper one, if you don’t mind. It’ll only take a minute.” He held up a small gadget and looked at me appealingly.

“Well, I’m in kind of a hurry, but okay, if it’s fast.” I opened the door and let him in, then turned my back to lead him to the t.v. set. Big mistake.

I felt a blow to my head and the reality of the situation hit me just as the unconsciousness did. This was HIM, the one who killed all those women.

I must have been out for some hours, because when I woke up the late afternoon sun was slanting through the windows of the shed where I lay. I was still fully dressed and was tied, wrists and ankles. I could see daylight through the holes in the corruga ted iron that formed the walls of this place. Wooden floor, and old farm implements made up the rest of the decor.

Damn! I recalled all too well waking up in that warehouse and what happened after. Only this time, there was no Mulder to share it with me. I struggled with the cords but there was little give. But the killer wasn’t here, and I was grateful for the ti me to plan.

I got mad. No, I got enraged. I would NOT be made a victim a second time. I’d die first and take him with me. Somehow. And knowing Mulder, he’d be moving heaven and earth to find me. He’ll get here. I know he will. What would Mulder do in this sit uation? He’d psych the guy out. What had Mulder said about him? Small of soul and of stature. Small ego. Play on that.

Whatever the other women had tried didn’t work. They died. Well, I’m a Federal Agent, I have training. That has to count for something. And dammit, I’m tired of this.

About half an hour later he came into the shed.

I tried to look non-threatening and asked hesitantly “What’s going on? Why did you take me?” That’s right Starbuck, play innocent. He doesn’t know you’re FBI, so we won’t tell him.

“You wouldn’t understand. All you women, you little ones especially.” He studied me closely. “You’re friendlier than the other ones.”

Good. Keep him thinking that way. “When you came out on Friday, you seemed so nice, like such a pleasant guy. I just don’t understand why you’re doing this. What do you want?…” I gave him what I hoped was a non-threatening, pleading look.

“You’re lying. Women always are. They don’t want a guy like me; I’m short and I’m a working man.”

“So the only way to get a woman is to kidnap one?” Uh oh, wrong tack Dana. He tensed up and looked like he wanted to hit me, so I followed up. “That doesn’t seem like you. I think you’re very good looking. I…uh…was kind of hoping on Friday that y ou’d ask me out.”

He calmed down and looked surprised. “Really? You really think so?” Then his face hardened. “You are lying to me. You bitches are all the same.”

So much for the soft soap. Time for plan number 2. He approached me and I couldn’t control my flinch away from him. He looked at me intently then bent over and began kissing me. I held still and endured it until he pulled away, then began unbuttoning my blouse.

Good, get closer..closer..my hands were tied in front of me this time, and I knew exactly where I was going to drive my knees, just as soon as he was in position. I was about to knee him in the groin, when I heard the sounds of a car on a gravel driveway. He heard it too and abruptly pulled away from me, grabbing a handgun on his way out.

I heard voices outside…Mulder! Then Mulder walked into the shed, followed immediately by my kidnapper, the gun trained on Mulder’s back.

“I told you, I’m not armed,” Mulder said as he walked in, hands up. “You can see that my holster is empty. Everett, I had to talk to you, get you to see reason.” Mulder glanced around the room, his eyes glancing impersonally over me.

“And what reason would that be?” The man, Everett, held the gun firmly on Mulder’s chest.

“You have to get out of here. The FBI knows where you are, they’re on their way. You’re doing a good thing, teaching all those bitches a lesson. Damned women…look down on honest working men….” Mulder was rambling and didn’t sound like himself.

“And why do you care so damned much about my welfare, huh?”

“I understand your frustration. Working guys never have a chance with women like this…And this…this piece of garbage,” Mulder shot me a look filled with venom. “She deserves everything she gets. But the Feds are coming and you’ve gotta get out.”

Mulder walked over to me and knelt next to me, then grabbed my hair in with his hand and forced his tongue into my mouth, kissing me as brutally as Everett had planned to.

He sat up and grinned at Everett, who by now had lowered the gun, somewhat. “She isn’t worth your time, slutty piece of trash just like the rest…” I could see Mulder’s hand reaching down to his ankle, where he wore a hidden gun.

Everett had aimed the gun toward the floor by now. He was believing Mulder.

Mulder eased himself to his feet and brought out the gun, pointing it at Everett.

“Freeze. Hands where I can see them, I’m a Federal agent, ” he said calmly enough. He’d had me frightened there for a moment. His demeanor had been a haunting twin to my kidnapper.

Everett, shocked, dropped the gun and stood with his hands up. Mulder kicked the gun away and cuffed the man to a support post, then came over to me.

“Mulder…My God, you had me worried for a minute there…” I feasted my eyes on his face and body as he untied me.

He gave me a worried grin. “Don’t be relieved yet, that bastard is still in my head. I figured out enough about him to lead me here. Skinner should be here in a few minutes.”

I rubbed my wrists and nodded. Mulder helped me to my feet, then quickly drew his hand away as though afraid to touch me. He holstered his gun and began looking around the shed.

“He’s got trophies here, I know it…” While I watched, Mulder rummaged in some metal cabinets, then came up with various articles of women’s clothing, a necklace, a watch. He fondled them absently, his eyes going vacant.

I reached for the items in Mulder’s hands. “Mulder? Mulder you shouldn’t handle those without gloves….Mulder!”

Mulder had grabbed my wrist and with a strange look in his eyes he said “Nobody touches these but me. They’re mine.” He gave me a sideways look that chilled me. I wasn’t talking to Mulder any more. It was him, Everett.

“I won’t touch them, it’s okay.” I backed away from him slowly, hoping that Skinner would get here soon. “Mulder? I’m glad you found me. When did you call Skinner? Will he be here soon?”

The distant look faded from Mulder’s eyes and he met my glance finally. “Scully? What…what happened?” He looked down at the handful of silk in his hands, then up at me, a frightened expression on his face.

“It’s happening again, isn’t it? I was him.”

I couldn’t answer him and still tell the truth. It didn’t matter, he saw the truth in my eyes, and nodded. He slowly reached for his gun and pulled it from the holster, then put it on the floor between us.

“Take it, Scully. I shouldn’t have it. It’s too dangerous; I might hurt you.”

“Mulder, you’re still you! This will pass, it has to. I can’t take your weapon…” I crouched down so that I was even with him.

He smiled at me forlornly and shook his head. “Be logical, Agent Scully. I’m not competent to handle a weapon, and I’m a danger to both myself and you. You keep it for me.”

“For now. Temporarily.” I picked up the gun hesitantly and tucked it into my belt. Mulder slowly got up, as though a weight had fallen off his shoulders.

I heard a scraping sound and turned to see our prisoner trying to dislodge the pole and escape. Mulder saw him too, and launched himself at him, then began to punch at Everett’s head and body frantically.

“Mulder! Stop! Mulder!” I ran forward and tried to pull Mulder away. I could hear Mulder’s voice muttering

“I’m not a victim…you’re the victim..I’m in control, not you….I have the power, not you! And she’s MINE, not yours!”

I pulled at Mulder and he lost his balance, falling away from a now cowering Everett. Mulder got up from the floor, looking at me with burning eyes. The man looking at me was Mulder…but it wasn’t him. It was happening again.

“I’m in control. You damned women, you’re all alike…trying to take over….But you’re mine..” He approached me, he hands reaching out for me.

I pulled the gun and backed away. “Mulder, it’s me, Scully…” I tried to keep my voice soothing, remind him of who he was. “We’re partners, remember? You and I work together, we’re friends…remember roller-skating? You like pizza with anchovies and I hate them…” I kept up a monologue, easing backward for the wall, until I could feel my shoulders against corrugated iron.

I couldn’t shoot him point blank. But I had to. I could feel my finger beginning to squeeze the trigger.

Mulder blinked, then staggered back a few steps, his eyes widening. “Oh my God, Scully…” He looked down at his hands, then retreated from me sharply, falling over backwards, holding his arms close to himself, his eyes squeezed shut. Then he began rock ing.

I could hear cars pulling up on the gravel driveway. Skinner, at last.

“Mulder, there here. It’s okay….” I holstered the gun and knelt next to him, but he just crouched there, rocking.

Skinner ran into the shed, gun drawn and saw me. He looked around.

“Agent Scully, where’s…?” He saw Everett, battered but restrained. And then he noticed Mulder. “Damn.”

Skinner came over and squatted next to Mulder.

I put my hand on Mulder’s shoulder and began to make soothing noises. “Mulder, it’s okay; I’m all right, nobody’s hurt. You got Everett. It’s okay. Can you hear me?”

Mulder just rocked. I exchanged a worried look with Skinner.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Minor bruises, no real damage. But I think we need the paramedics, just the same.” Skinner nodded and went over to the doorway to make the call. Meanwhile, agents were pouring into the shed, beginning the forensics work necessary to closing the case d own.

I stayed with Mulder throughout the ride to the hospital, but he never said a word.

—Later—

Skinner got word that I was refusing to leave the hospital unless I saw Mulder. I think Sandy ratted on me.

Skinner came over to my couch and sat down next to me.

“Agent Scully, ” he began kindly enough “You’ve had a hard day. Why don’t you go home and rest?”

“Not until I see Mulder. Nobody will tell me anything. What’s wrong with him? Is he conscious yet?”

“He’s not really himself,” Skinner said uncomfortably. “I’ve spoken with him. He drifts away, then comes back. But the reason you’re excluded from seeing him, well, it wasn’t my decision. It was his.”

“What do you mean, his decision?” I asked incredulously. “Why wouldn’t he want to see me?”

“Dana, Mulder was having trouble maintaining his own personality while doing this profile even before this incident, you know that. He left you a note and his journal.”

Skinner handed me the note and his own laptop to read the disk with.

“You’ve read this?” I asked.

“Yes. I needed the insight into his state of mind. Under the circumstances, I have to agree with his decision. It is too dangerous for him to see you right now.”

I picked up the laptop and read his journal entries, then read over Mulder’s notes. I could see the beginnings of disintegration on the page. And lastly I read his note to me. His goodbye.

He expected this to happen before he came after me, damn him. And he won’t let me near, so that I can at least share his pain.

Part 12

Dana Scully’s Journal March 16 —later

I got in to see him, finally. I snuck a white lab coat, grabbed Mulder’s chart and bluffed my way in to see him when the shift changed. The new nurse doesn’t know me and unlocked his room for me.

He was sleeping when I went in, restrained at his ankles and wrists. He looks so pale and thin, especially in that hospital gown. I sat down in the chair and began to read over his chart. Not much of a physical nature. Brain scans were normal, no chem icals in his blood stream, no new physical injuries.

And he’d been put into restraints at his own request. He didn’t want to chance hurting anybody.

I rubbed my eyes and closed them for a second. He hadn’t been evaluated by a psychiatrist yet, but he’d be seeing somebody tomorrow. And then the anti-psychotic meds would begin, maybe a long stay in a mental hospital. Damn those faceless gray men who value politics over a man’s life.

I looked up to find him watching me, such a sad look on his face.

“Hey, Scully. I might have known that locked doors wouldn’t keep you out,” he said quietly.

“Mulder.” I paused, uncertain what to say. “Mulder, why?”

He gave me a deep look filled with longing, then stared at the floor. “You know why. I can’t trust myself, not like this. Scully, for a moment, I was him. I was looking at you through his eyes.” He shook his head. “No. I can’t risk it. I can’t risk hurting you. He’s still in my head.”

“Mulder, he is a set of ideas and concepts you picked up while profiling. You’re an empathetic and imaginative man, that’s why you’re a good profiler. And that’s why this happens to you.” I surveyed him calmly, suddenly angry, at him, at the situatio n. “And besides, Mulder, since you elected to have yourself restrained, you can’t stop me from staying here and visiting with you. I’m in no danger.”

I leaned back in my chair. “So, what do you have to say to that?”

“I..guess I have no choice.” Mulder favored me with a surprised little grin. “Besides, I always did think you had a thing for bondage.”

I couldn’t stop my own grin at that. I spent the rest of the evening with him. He faded out several of times, but came back when I spoke to him loudly. But he was frightened when he realized what had happened. He was very clear that he wanted the rest raints to stay on.

I reluctantly said good night when a nurse came in to give him a sedative so that he’d sleep. I plan to return early tomorrow morning. I want to talk to his psychiatrist.

March 17, 1999 7:00 a.m.

I was very surprised to find Dr. Heitz Werber deep in conversation with Skinner this morning. And pleased, I think. Dr. Werber is unconventional, but at least he knows Mulder.

I joined Skinner, who was conferring with Werber in the hallway.

“Do you have a prognosis yet, Dr. Werber?” I asked anxiously.

“I’m hopeful. A.D. Skinner and I want to discuss that with you.”

“You know each other?” I was incredulous. Skinner nodded.

“We’ve met before. I spoke with Dr. Werber before Mulder was assigned to the X Files.” Skinner looked uncomfortable. “I suppose you should know, since you’re listed as his next of kin. This isn’t the first time this has happened to him.”

“I know, when he was profiling Roche he had problems.”

Skinner shook his head. “No, Dana, those were minor. No, the reason he left the ISU, and did it so abruptly was because he was beginning to…well, evidence the mannerisms of a subject he was profiling: Monty Props. He realized it himself and sought Dr . Werber’s help.” My eyes went wide. Monty Props, the famous serial killer that Mulder had known so thoroughly his profile had been the key to apprehending him.

“How bad was it?” I didn’t want the answer to this, but I had to know.

“He assaulted Patterson himself and broke the man’s nose before he was restrained. He was put on involuntary medical leave.” Skinner pulled off his glasses and began wiping them. “We were barely able to save his career by calling it a stress-related le ave. With rest, he was able to pull himself together again, and lose the voices. The X Files were proposed as an interim assignment for him until he recovered fully, and could return to the ISU, and I agreed to supervise the division.”

“But I wouldn’t agree to his return,” Dr. Werber said quietly. “It would destroy him. He is far too suggestible and imaginative for that type of work. Fox approached me and indicated that he enjoyed the X Files and wanted to stay. It seemed he had a p artner he liked working with there, as well, so I recommended that he retain that assignment if at all possible.”

“And I met with Dr. Werber at that time to make sure that Mulder was fit for duty. With this new…incident…I called him last night, assuming that Mulder would want him on the case.” Skinner straightened up.

“We are now presented with a similar problem. If Agent Mulder begins standard psychiatric treatment, including anti-psychotic medication, he can kiss his career good-bye. He’s already bordering on suicide, if he loses his career on top of that…” Skinn er’s voice trailed off as he looked down at his hands.

“He’ll die,” I whispered. “What can I do to help?”

Werber and Skinner exchanged looks.

“I have an idea, sort of a rest-cure, if you’re willing.” Werber began. “With some difficulty I’ve succeeded in persuading the Assistant Director that this is the best thing to do. I don’t believe that Fox is a true danger to you or to anyone but himself .”

“I have a vacation house in North Carolina. I don’t use it much. I had already approached the Director.” Skinner’s face took on a grim look. “Given the content of my earlier letter to him, he has agreed to extended, fully paid medical leaves for you bo th. Why don’t you go stay there for a while, both of you, and heal up from all this? It’s in a beautiful area, it’s peaceful and it will give Mulder a chance to recover.” Skinner fished into his pocket and handed me a key. “Sharon and I…spent our ho neymoon there. It’s a nice place. You’ll like it.”

I took the key. “Thank you sir. But are you sure Mulder will agree to it? I know that he would never hurt me, but he’s afraid that he’s a danger to me. He’ll hardly want to be locked in a cottage with me for weeks.”

Skinner grinned. “He doesn’t have a choice. Either he does this or he is given a medical retirement. He’ll agree. But it’ll be up to you to convince him that he isn’t the killer he thinks he is.”

Mulder’s Journal undated

They let Skinner loan me his laptop. It’s not pointy, like a pen or pencil; not a potential weapon. And the restraints are off. I guess that’s good.

It’s nice to be able to write my thoughts again; not that they’ve been very private lately. It seems that Skinner as well as Scully read the contents of the CD and my note to her. I’d be angry if I wasn’t just so damned tired of it all.

They’ve come up with a jack-ass scheme to save my career. Scully and I are going to a cottage in North Carolina that Skinner owns. The very thought terrifies me. I could hurt her and never even realize it until it was too late. Scully looks remarkably calm at the prospect and just reminds me that she’ll have a gun, not me. And yeah, I know she’ll shoot.

Well, at least the ‘stang is going with me. I called Frohike and he’s arranging for it to be shipped to Skinner’s place. I’ll keep working on it, hopefully it’ll keep me sane. Or maybe get me sane. All alone with Scully for two months. Once that was my fantasy, now…? Now I’m just scared. And unsettled. Who am I really? Who am I now?

Dana Scully’s Journal March 31, 1999 Calabash, N.C.

Well, we’ve been here almost two weeks now. It’s been peaceful so far. The cottage has two bedrooms, so Mulder sleeps in one and I have the other. To my disappointment, but not my surprise, Mulder has stopped touching me, kissing me like we were begin ning to do before.

If he’s lapsed into the other personality, he hasn’t let me see it. Mostly he’s just silent, thinking. I’m trying to give him space, let him heal, but the silence is beginning to wear on me. There is so much left to be said between us

The cottage is pretty, a white-painted clapboard house with a deck and two matching adirondack chairs facing the sea. This week I’ve been working in the garden and my nose is cherry red. It’s been clear with the temp in the 60’s and 70’s. The roses hav e run wild; I don’t think Skinner has come here much recently, so I’ve made it my task to prune and care for the garden.

Mulder has been working steadily on the Mustang. He won’t let me help, says it’s a guy-type of job, even though I’m the one who assembled most of that carburetor. Nevertheless, I understand his need to do ‘masculine’ things. And the car is something un iquely his, that neither the X Files nor what’s happened to him can take away.

And I….? This is the first real breather I’ve had since Kurt Willard, and I’m starting to deal with the vestiges of the emotions that experience left behind. No, not vestiges, great seething cauldrons of rage, and shame and pain. I could never spend time to work these through before; Mulder needed me. He still needs me, but I sense that he just needs quiet. And he’s still keeping a distance from me. I think he’s afraid that the voices will come back and he’ll hurt me. At his insistence, I wear my gun and have promised him solemnly that I’ll shoot him if I need to.

I’ve begun seeing a local therapist twice a week. It does help, talking to somebody who doesn’t know me as Dana Scully, FBI agent, although I sometimes wonder if this gentle woman really believes half of what I tell her. Mulder seems to be sleeping thro ugh the night. Now I’m the one with nightmares: the warehouse, the shed…what would have happened if Mulder hadn’t found me when he did.

The most difficult part of this living arrangement is the sheer physical closeness to Mulder. I don’t mean to say that we don’t talk, we just don’t behave in an intimate way.

We’ve gone back to the “we’re-platonic-partners-that’s-all” facade. When I make overtures, Mulder shies away. My Mulder-dream is back. I should feel repulsed at the idea of sex, but I’m not. Not at all. And facing him across that kitchen table three times a day is hard. I want him so much, and we’re alone here. Nobody watching. Does he want me? Or have I l ost him?

So our daily routine is fairly simple. Mulder gets up first and makes coffee for both of us. If the morning is clear, I usually pour myself a cup and join him on the deck, sipping and watching the sea. I grab an afghan and wrap it around myself and si t in the second adirondack and quietly drink my coffee. Then, when the coffee is finished, I make breakfast. (Soup is the only thing he can cook.) On foggy days we do the same thing, in front of the fire.

After breakfast he works on the car and I read, or garden or just think. This is the first extended time I’ve had for myself in a long time when I wasn’t either in a hospital or rehab.

And of course, Mulder watches television. I’ve never known a man so addicted to the tube. But I don’t complain. And funny, even though we have cable here, nary a porn movie has he seen while I’ve been here with him. The rape turning affecting his desi re for sex? Probably. God, how I wish… I wish a lot of things…and I can’t do a damned thing about them.

Fox Mulder’s Journal April 1, 1999

I hate to say it, but I’m getting bored. Is that sick or what? The guys shipped me a stack of Playpen Magazines, but I just don’t feel like looking at them. All the women are just…not Scully. Ditto the porno movies; you see one blonde bimbo, you’ve seen them all. Boring. Not..intelligent, feisty, witty, with red hair and peaches and cream skin…Whoah. Cold shower time….

—Later—

I’m working on the car. The engine rebuild is going well, and I’ve ordered new brake pads. I’ll finish her off with a full detailing. But Scully doesn’t ride in her until I’m clean. Won’t know for sure until August. A long, long time.

I’m using my own laptop, now, and have internet access (naturally). I’ve been corresponding with Bill Draeger by e-mail. He isn’t taking patients any more. Too sick. I haven’t mentioned what’s happening to him to Scully. Somehow, this is one sorrow I want to keep to myself. And the fear. I don’t want to burden her any more than she is.

The voices have died down. I catch myself thinking Everett Berger’s thoughts less and less often. Thank God. Maybe Dr. Werber was right; it was stress…all the terror and pain and need for control just bunching all together inside.

I’m also checking in with Dr. Werber regularly, by phone and e-mail. The rape nightmares are dying back some, although I still don’t sleep well. I think Scully’s starting to have problems, though. I heard her crying in her sleep last night, and just di dn’t know what to do for her. Should I get up and hold her as I’d like to? Would she be scared of me? She doesn’t say anything, so I guess she wants her privacy.

Scully. It’s so hard being cooped up in this house alone with her. There are times when I just want to throw her across the kitchen table and fuck her silly….And then I remember her rape, and mine and know I could never never do that. Her permission has to be clear before we go anywhere. And nothing until I’m okay, and I know I’m okay. I can’t sentence her to what Bill is going through.

I watched her gardening yesterday. She wore some skimpy little white shorts and a navy tee shirt. No hat, little Keds sneaks, no socks. I wanted to sneak up on her and just kiss my way down her neck…no, don’t go there. Don’t make this any harder tha n it has to be. Hell, don’t make yourself any harder than you have to be.

I need to talk to her about this…this romance. I want it. I want her. I haven’t brought it up because I was never sure that I would ever be me again. Frankly, I couldn’t be sure what would happen in the heat of passion. Would it be me or him, B erger? I know what he does when he feels passionate; and it’s like a time bomb inside.

I still want that kiss in the back seat.

April 10, 1999

Scully woke up crying early this morning, like she has the past week. I couldn’t just stand by any more. I got up and went into her room to her bed.

“Scully? Are you okay?” I asked, my voice low.

“M..mulder? Is that you?” Her voice was trembling, so I sat on the bed next to her. She was wearing her cotton flannel pajamas, her hair sticking up in all directions. Cute as a button.

I smoothed down her hair. “Are you all right? It sounds like you were having a bad dream.” I reached an arm around her and gathered her in close. She snuggled against my chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Yeah. It was a nightmare.” Her voice was muffled.

“Anything you’d care to talk about?” I kept stroking her hair gently, pushing it away from the part of her face that I could see.

“Just the usual. Abduction. Experimentation. Kurt Willard. Rape.”

At the last word I tightened both arms around her and just held her until she’d cried herself out. When she seemed calmer, I moved to go back to my room but she stopped me.

“Mulder, will you stay with me tonight? I don’t mean for sex, just would you stay?”

“Of course.” I climbed into the bed next to her and we spooned for the rest of the night, her hands holding onto mine where they were clasped around her waist.

Dana Scully’s Journal April 16, 1999

The nightmares have gotten worse. Thank goodness for Mulder. He’s started sharing the bed with me because of them. I think I woke him up the other night; he came in to check on me. Since then, we’ve shared the bed but not our bodies.

It’s so comforting to have him there. And, he makes a wonderful electric blanket. He normally sort of drapes himself around me anyway, and I’ve found myself sleeping more warmly and definitely more securely since then. I still crave him, and, judging by what I often feel pressed against me, the feeling is mutual.

We have to talk about our relationship. He hasn’t brought the subject up, so I know it scares him silly. It scares me too. But it’s like the elephant in the living room that everyone ignores. It’s there and it isn’t going anywhere, so it is pointless to pretend that it doesn’t exist. I’ve stopped caring whether he hears me call his name in my sleep. I think his ego could use a little boosting, and, well, he already knows I dream about him. He read my diary, so he has to know how I feel.

April 20, 1999

Uneventful. We’re still spooning at night, but nothing more. I’m getting frustrated. Mulder finished the engine and is starting the brakes. I’m beginning to be jealous of that car.

April 30, 1999

A funny thing happened today. I was searching for some cleanser in one of the closets and found a set of Skinner’s wedding photos. Mulder found me looking at them and stopped to see what I was doing.

“What’s that?” he asked, wiping the grease off his hands and sat down next to me on the couch.

“Skinner’s wedding photos. He did say that he and Sharon spent their honeymoon here.” I handed a formal photo to Mulder. He grinned.

“Hey, Skinner has hair! He looks so young.” Mulder studied the photo. “And happy.”

“I think they were very much in love,” I said, looking at other snapshots of the Skinners on a picnic, at the beach, clowning at a party.

“Yet they divorced,” Mulder said thoughtfully.

“Sharon told me once that Skinner was too good at keeping secrets, that he never opened up much. I think that killed the marriage. She loved him, but she just couldn’t live with the silence.” I was quiet a moment, thinking about the parallels. I think Mulder was too.

“Scully, I haven’t said much these past weeks, and I know how you must feel…” he began, but I interrupted.

“Mulder, you have no idea how I feel. Why don’t you try asking me?”

He looked at me, a little frightened. “Okay, how do you feel? What do you feel?”

“I feel angry that we seem to have lost the…the intimacy we were building. I’m tired of being shut out of your life, even though I think you’re trying to protect me. It never works, anyway. And I feel…I feel…” I could see the fingers of my left hand gripping my knee. Mulder’s right came to rest on top of it, and he clasped my hand.

“You feel like one wrong move and we’re history, right? And if that happened, the sky would tear apart and the world would end because being together is all that matters.” Mulder held my hand in a suddenly tight grip. “I don’t know if you feel like that , but I do. I don’t want to lose you, Scully. But it’s hard to say things. It’s just easier to do things than to say them.”

“I know. I’m not exactly forthcoming myself. Okay Mulder, here it is. I’m hot for you. Living in this house with you is wonderful and excruciating. Sleeping with you is the most comfortable, cozy experience I’ve ever had, and the surest test of self- control I’ve ever met. How’s that for openness?”

I looked up to meet his deep hazel eyes. He was grinning.

“Why are you smiling, damn it?”

“I’m happy,” he said. “It’s good to know that I’m not the only one going crazy here.” He paused and gently put the wedding picture on the coffee table. “I’ve been quiet, because I wanted to be sure that Berger was out of my head. I think…he’s faded away. Finally. Agent Scully, would it bother you if I kissed you very passionately on this couch?”

“Agent Mulder, it would bother me not at all.”

To my delight we found ourselves making out on the couch, pretty passionately. I took great pleasure in removing Mulder’s shirt and running my hands over his chest. His skin is so soft…who’d have thought he was ticklish? This time was my turn. I kis sed my way across his chest and down his abdomen heading steadily south. Okay, no bodily fluids must be exchanged, but that doesn’t mean I can’t look, does it? Or touch? I’d wash my hands later…

Mulder had lost his shirt and jeans and I was missing my shirt, shorts and bra and we were both going for the last bits of underwear when Mulder stopped suddenly and pulled away.

“No, Scully—we can’t. We can’t…” He was panting and his eyes were closed.

“Mulder, what’s wrong?” Damn! Voices in the head? What? I was panting pretty hard myself, and flushed from Mulder’s kisses.

“I can’t…It just feels…wrong. Every time I get close to you, I’m back there. In the warehouse. And I want to touch you, love you so much…When is this damned thing ever going to end?” Mulder looked at me with anguish.

I gave him a careful hug. “Mulder, you’re still better than you were. And you’re getting better all the time. We’ll get our chance.”

“Scully, would it bother you if we kept this dating thing at the, well, the courtship level? Dates, kisses, holding hands, that kind of thing? I think I can handle that. And I think…I think I need to talk to somebody about this.” Mulder looked abashe d. “I never thought I’d have to see a therapist for something like this.” He grabbed his shirt and slowly began to pull it on.

I picked up my own shirt from the floor and began dressing too. “Mulder, it’s okay. And I think the therapist is a good idea. Like I said, we have time.”

“Okay, but Ms. Scully, may I escort you to dinner and a movie next Saturday night?”

“It would be my pleasure.” I gave him another hug and he hugged back, hard. May 5, 1999

I was taking Mulder some coffee while he was reading his e-mail this afternoon when he stiffened in his chair, as if he’d been hit with a body blow.

“Mulder, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” I put the coffee down and crouched down to his eye level.

Mulder gulped and faced me. He said in a low, flat voice, “Bill Draeger’s dead. His secretary is answering all his e-mails. He died yesterday. Of AIDS. The funeral is tomorrow.” Mulder paused, then went on. “He was only 40 years old.”

Part 13

Dana Scully’s Journal —continued

Mulder looked up, his face filled with pain. “I have to go back. I have to get to the funeral, and see the others from the group. God…” He fell silent, then began to speak slowly. “Bill never wanted to talk about it, being HIV positive. He just w anted to focus on life and get as much living in as he possibly could. And help as many people who were…hurt…like he was, as he could.” Mulder scrubbed at his eyes and got up, wandering toward his bedroom.

I followed him in and watched him pack a bag.

“When are you coming back? Are you?” I couldn’t keep the longing out of my voice. Mulder looked back, over his shoulder at me.

“I’ll be back. I think I’ll stay a night or two in D.C., then come back on Saturday. For our date.” Mulder smiled a little and I smiled back. His face changed, and an anxious look crossed his face.

“Will you be all right, all alone here?”

“I’ll be…” I started to say ‘fine’, but something stopped me. I gathered my breath to finish the sentence, but I couldn’t. He was going. My support, my warm, safe place. Just me, alone in this house, with my nightmares. I hadn’t been alone since m y kidnapping by Berger; I’d stayed with Mom until Mulder was ready to travel.

And before that, I’d been too preoccupied with Mulder and keeping him safe to go into my own feelings of exposure, shame, terror. I had ruthlessly pushed them down, dimly aware that they existed, but determined not to succumb. Here, in solitude I’d had a chance to open the coffin-lid just a bit, and now, while I stood there in front of Mulder, the lid was flying out of my hands and releasing, God only knew what.

I could feel myself beginning to shake. “I’ll be…I’ll…I…” I couldn’t get the words out. I wasn’t fine. I hadn’t been fine for a long time, and I couldn’t side-step it any more. But I’m the strong one, the independent one. I nurture Mulder, he doesn’t nurture me. That isn’t the way it works..

“Scully?” Mulder moved forward to hold me, but I stepped backward. I could do this. I had to. I’m strong and I can’t be a dependent, wilting female, or I’m no good to myself or anybody else.

“No…Mulder…I’m fine. Really, I’ll be fine.” Mulder’s face changed from caring sympathy to anger.

“So you’re fine, huh? Who is it has nightmares every night? You may not wake up, but I hear you crying in your sleep. You don’t eat enough to keep a mouse alive. Don’t you think I’ve noticed how your clothes are starting to bag on you?” He plucked at my wool sweater and pinched a good two inches of fabric.

“I haven’t said anything, because you’d only deny it. Damn it, Scully! When are you ever going to learn to accept help? Sure, you’re ready to be open and share a few of your feelings, but only when I’m the official patient, and you can be the comfort ing earth-mother. Every time I need you to let me in, you pull this “I’m fine, Mulder” crap!” He walked back to the suitcase and began throwing clothes into it.

“Well, I am fine! I can handle this. I’m seeing a therapist.” At Mulder’s frown and disbelieving look I added, “Well, I am. Really! And as for being more open, just because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve and run around telling the universe my life story, begging to be laughed at doesn’t mean I…Oh my God, Mulder…I’m so sorry….” One look at his face told me everything I needed to know.

“Well, you obviously don’t need anything from me. I don’t think you ever did. You can take care of yourself. I’ll see you on Saturday, DR. Scully.” With an angry look, Mulder grabbed the suitcase and the car keys and slammed out the door.

I ran after him and watched him pull the car from the driveway, tires squealing, and zoom down the street.

Damn him! He had to know I didn’t mean it. I was only angry, he’s used to my temper, or he should be by now.

He’s been gone for three hours and 36 minutes now. I sit in this quiet house and listen to the tick of the clock. Today is Wednesday, and so he’ll be back in two days. I can take care of myself just fine. I’m an adult woman who has been living alone f or years. I don’t need him to protect me or watch over me. Really.

May 6 3:15 a.m.

I woke up. I’m cold, the bed is so big and empty. I had a nightmare; I dreamed that a man had broken in to this house and I could feel his shadow cast across me. I jolted bolt upright in bed and grabbed for my gun with one hand, the light switch with t he other. Nobody was there. I’ve searched the entire place. I’m alone.

My therapist has been nagging me to write more in my journal; to express my emotions more. I have written something of what I’m feeling but..well, not much. I can feel it trying to push its way out.

I’m afraid. The house is quiet, and remote and so empty. And I feel anguished at what I said to Mulder and alone and empty. That’s what I am, an empty thing. To Dwayne Barry, I was a bargaining chip. To those faceless gray men who took me and surgica lly removed any chance at motherhood, I am just a thing, a repository for a valued commodity. To Kurt Willard, I was an animated sex toy, to be played with, terrorized, destroyed then discarded. To Everett Berger…I was an enemy, an opponent to be humi liated. A thing. To all these men I have been a thing.

My universe has told me for some time that who I am, as a living breathing woman doesn’t matter. I am a pawn, a thing, to be used then dropped.

I feel….too much. Too much. I don’t want to write. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to be alone. Oh, I want Mulder….but he’s miles away. And I sent him away, pushed him away. Why?

I’ve always been a private person. In a big family, you don’t go spilling your secrets where your brothers can make hay with them. And when you’re short, you have to be self-sufficient, so they respect you.

And I need Mulder to respect me. What he thinks matters to me. But if that’s the case, why don’t I let him in? He’s right. I don’t tell him things unless I’m pushed. I want him to talk about his feelings and I listen without judgment. Mostly. But w hen he wants to support me, I turn him away.

He doesn’t think I’ve seen the hurt look on his face when I do that. I do, but I can’t stop myself.

And now…I feel alone. So alone in this empty place which creaks and echoes with the night.

I’ll try to get some more sleep.

8:00 a.m.

The house is still silent. I had a nightmare about the warehouse. I was alone, on that floor and Kurt Willard had his fingers inside me and was whispering obscenities into my ear….and I was alone and trapped. And I knew it was a dream, but I couldn’t wake up. Then Kurt turned into Berger. And this time Mulder didn’t arrive, and Berger raped me, and raped me and ….

I’m awake now. I don’t want breakfast. The nightmares weren’t this bad when Mulder was here.

I think I’ll call Millie’s office and see if she can see me today. I need to talk.

3:00 p.m.

I just got back from my therapist’s office. I told her about my fight with Mulder. She just sat back and nodded. “You feel a strong need to be self-sufficient, don’t you Dana?” I nodded and she went on. “Has it occurred to you that receiving the supp ort of others graciously is as important as giving that support? Giving Mulder your help and love makes you feel good, doesn’t it?”

I nodded again, suspiciously. I knew what she was going to say next, but didn’t have to like it. “So you think I should let Mulder have the pleasure of helping and supporting me once in a while.”

Millie smiled. “From your description, he’s a generous man. He’s shared himself with you for some time, as much as you’d allow. Now it’s time for you to return the favor. That is, if you intend to continue having a relationship with him.”

Intend? Of course I intend to have a relationship with him. “Of course I do!” I responded angrily, then a sudden flash of Sharon Skinner ‘s face took me by surprise. She had said that Skinner was good at keeping secrets, that he’d built a wall to keep everybody out, especially his wife. She loved him, I could tell.

Mulder. And me. Could I lose him Skinner lost Sharon? Am I shutting him out as surely as Skinner walled Sharon from his soul? The full enormity of the last four months finally struck me. God. I could lose him. I could drive him away from me, even Mulder couldn’t wait forever. Or worse, we still didn’t know his HIV status for sure. He could get sick just like his friend Bill. He could die.

I’ve always known that Mulder has a talent for hurting himself and coming back from cases half dead. I think that maybe my unwillingness to let him in has something to do with that. Losing him would hurt so much, so very much. And I’d die to save him, just so that I wasn’t the one left behind. Alone.

And what do I have to offer him, really? A scarred body, empty of the future, a chip in my neck that keeps the cancer from devouring me alive; a used up shell, abused by three criminal men: Benny, Kurt, then Everett. And a temper. And an unwillingness to fully trust myself to the only man I’ve ever really loved.

Millie was waiting patiently for me to continue. I just looked at her wordlessly for a minute, then everything crumbled. I found myself crying bitterly as she handed me kleenexes.

I stumbled through an explanation of these thoughts, crying and snuffling through the words. Millie, a gentle and kind woman, let me talk until I was left weary and silent.

“Dana, I think that you should write about your feelings more. Let them out on paper. And don’t be so hard on yourself. You have proof that Mulder loves you, and you have no evidence that you’ve been abandoned. But examine your own feelings about inti macy with him…” As I started to interrupt, she held up a hand. “And I’m not talking about sexual relations. I’m talking about sharing yourself, warts and all. Do you really think he’s unaware of your faults? Or your fears?”

She sent me home with a lot to think about. I am sitting now, a cup of tea at my elbow, examining the Skinners’ wedding picture. Such a happy couple, young and hopeful. But Skinner couldn’t bend, couldn’t give enough of himself to keep the marriage ali ve. Even though he loved her. I think he still does.”

May 7, 1999 2:00 a.m.

Another nightmare. Worse, much worse. Back in the warehouse and I couldn’t stop them. I was powerless and they were using me. God…

So now, here I am, with cup of tea generously laced with Jack Daniels, sitting in bed, shaking. I’m afraid, so afraid that somehow one of them will reappear. I know Kurt and Benny are dead, I saw them die. But I’m still scared. Berger isn’t dead; I’ll have to see him eventually. At his trial.

Even though I’ll be in a room packed with people, including the various FBI agents there to testify, and even though I’ll have my gun, and even though Mulder will be there, right beside me, I’m scared.

4:30 a.m.

I just got off the phone with Mulder. This is the first time I’ve been the one calling in the middle of the night.

“Yeah..” He sounded groggy, I must have waked him.

“Hi Mulder, it’s me.” I was quiet, struggling to find the words.

“Hi Scully. What’s up? You don’t usually call this late. Are you okay?” I could hear the alarm in his voice.

“I’m fine….no, wait…” No, I can’t go on being ‘fine’. That isn’t why I called. “Mulder, I’m sorry for the things I said. I lost my temper and took it out on you. Please forgive me.”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “Well, yeah, you were pretty harsh. But you’ve forgiven me some things. It’s okay, Scully.”

“How was the funeral?”

“Sad. His family was there, and most of the people from the Crisis Center. A lot of his patients. He helped a lot of people.” Mulder was quiet for a bit. “He made a difference, you know? His end was terrible, but he really made a difference. The wo rld is an emptier place now that’s he’s gone.”

“I know.” Mulder, I know just what you mean. I can think of somebody this world would miss if he were absent. “Mulder, there’s another reason I called. Um…I had a nightmare and I woke up shaking. I….just wanted to hear a friendly voice. I miss yo u.”

“You do?” He sounded eager, like a child who’s been given a gift.

“Yeah. I’ve kind of gotten used to having you around. I dreamed about the warehouse again. Mulder, you were right. I do close myself off; I do shut you out, and I don’t want to do that any more. Would you…please come back?”

I heard him draw in his breath. “Do you mean that, Scully?”

“I need you, Mulder. I’m…afraid of all the emotions I’m feeling and I don’t want to do this alone.” I could feel myself tearing up. I know my voice got shaky.

“I’m on my way, Scully. Just hang on, I’ll be there soon.”

He hung up and I just sat, staring at the cell phone in my hand. Mulder was coming back, a day before planned. Just for me.

10:00 p.m.

When Mulder arrived I could hear all the angels of heaven singing. And his kiss….well, it was wonderful. After he kissed me, he just held me for a while, then we moved to the couch and did some more serious holding, while the fire flickered in the fi replace. After a while he spoke, and I could hear his voice rumble from where my head was resting against his chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I could feel his hand stroking my hair, gently.

“When you went away I had time to think. Really think. Mulder, I pushed you away because….because the thought of you leaving me alone was intolerable. And the thought of letting you see me vulnerable was just as bad. I’ve been fighting off the night mare and my fears, trying to do it by myself; telling myself that I needed to be strong. I’m strong, but I’m not that strong. Sometimes, I need somebody to lean on.” I could feel his lips against my hair.

“Go on.”

“It’s all become…overwhelming…” I began to tell him things, the details I haven’t told my therapist, feelings I haven’t even written down. I told him about the nightmares, in detail, feeling helpless, feeling like an inanimate object of no value, exc ept to be used and cast aside. I told him about my first abduction, what I can remember about it, and the terror I still feel when I think about it. About the despair of childlessness, feeling time slipping away from me without a husband, children, a ho me. I told him about sitting by his bedside in Dead Horse Alaska, knowing that his life was hanging by a thread and that the only thing left for me to do was to pray. And I told him about the warehouse.

I told him how anguished and terrified I was, and how protected he made me feel even in the middle of Hell. And I told him about seeing the warehouse tape for the first time, and going home to cry privately in the shower so that nobody would hear me wail out loud. And how Mom sat with me while I cried some more. I told him about how frantic I had been, searching for him in the warehouse, sure that he was there somewhere, and how I began to claw away the false wall that imprisoned him with my fingernail s because I knew he was somewhere behind it, and then he wasn’t breathing when I did manage to get him out. And about how devastated I had felt when he had turned away from me; as though my heart had been ripped out.

And I told him about the nightmares, the flashbacks, the fear that I didn’t want to show anybody I felt. How afraid I was that I would be thought weak and discarded as useless, and how scarred and battleworn and tired I feel. And empty.

And at last, I told him about Sharon and Walter Skinner. She and her husband once had a glowing love that withered because one partner withdrew, tried to be a tower of strength. I told him that I never want to be so strong and so independent that I drov e him away from me. I never wanted for us what happened to Skinner, and I’d do everything in my power to prevent it.

And I told him that he’d never shown me anything but respect. He has my trust and faith that he will continue to do so; I can trust him with my heart and my soul. And I do.

Mulder was silent while I spoke. We lay together on the couch, side by side, his right arm around me. But I found it hard to meet his glance while I was showing him my soul. I felt his hand caress my cheek and looked up into his glowing eyes.

“Scully, that’s the most generous gift I’ve ever been given. I’m honored.” He leaned down and gave me a feathery kiss on the lips. I snuggled in against his chest and gave a relieved sigh when his other arm wrapped around me. I felt, feel lighter some how. It’s as though my burden has been lessened, be being shared.

Mulder nuzzled my hair with his lips and gave a rueful laugh. “Well, as long as we’re sharing truth, I owe you some. I didn’t just go to the funeral, I saw a therapist today, my first session with her. You’re involved, so you have the right to know. S he specializes in sexual disfunction, and I’m going to her because of the problems caused by the rape. She said she might want to talk to my ‘significant other’, was the way she put it. I’d like you to meet with her, if you’re willing to go.”

I looked up at Mulder. He looked uncomfortable and scared. “Of course I’ll go. This issue concerns me, too, since I plan to become your lover the instant it becomes possible.”

“Yes ma’am.” Mulder grinned back. He went on. “I told her about our partnership, and our long relationship and, well, how I feel about you. She seems to think it’s a good sign. I have some homework, in fact.”

“And what would that be, pray tell?” I asked archly (and a bit hopefully).

“Um..fantasizing and, uh…” Mulder looked really uncomfortable now.

“Masturbating, huh?” I said forthrightly in my best clinical tone. “It’s okay, Mulder, I’d expect that. It’s safe, you can trust your partner and you don’t have to worry about birth control.” I grinned at his blushing face. “And I’ve been known to do it a time or two.”

“Oh, have you, Agent Scully?” Mulder looked interested and less embarrassed. “Well, that’s my homework…”

I must have looked hopeful because he shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m solo for now. I don’t want to lose control, and with you Scully, I would. Please understand, I want you. I want you bad. But I want you so much, and I’ve just gone to Bill’s funeral . He died. Of AIDS. That a rapist gave him. And…and since the warehouse, every time I’ve tried to…to jack myself off, I replay the what I did with Kurt Willard.” He turned his eyes away in disgust. “The way it felt, when I came, and how dirty an d helpless and I felt. Ashamed.”

“Mulder, you didn’t do anything with Kurt Willard. It was done to you. It will take time to heal from this, but I’m not going anywhere. And besides, Ann Landers says that statistically, women prefer being cuddled to intercourse anyway.” I lay back and waited for Mulder’s reaction. It came in the form of tickling me until I cried for mercy.

While we both laughed on the floor where we’d landed, Mulder started talking again. “Two more things I need to discuss with you. The first is…Scully I’ll have to ask you to forgive me for hiding something important from you. I did it, thinking I was protecting you from pain, but now I know that it was unjustified. You are strong and you can handle this.” His face was solemn. “Scully, you can have children some day, if you use in vitro fertilization. When I was looking for a cancer cure for you I was able to steal back a vial of your eggs. They were in a cryogenic storage facility. The guys have them safely stored, available whenever you need them.”

“Wait a minute. The three stooges know about my eggs but you never told ME? Mulder, how could you?” I was furious. I sat up and faced this man, who I knew had betrayed me with this secret. Then I saw his face. He was ashamed, afraid of losing me. ” What else, Mulder? What else haven’t you told me?” I held myself on edge, waiting for the next blow to fall.

“I was married before, briefly, to Diana Fowley. It didn’t work out and we were divorced within a year. She went off to Europe and I, well, I stayed with the X Files.” Mulder waited for the explosion from me, but I surprised him by being calm.

“I knew that, Mulder. The Gunmen aren’t the only good hackers around. When Diana showed up, I ran the best background check on her I could. Why do you think I hate her so much? She’s your ex. You committed your life to her once; you loved her. Maybe you could again….and I’d be left alone.”

Mulder caressed my chin and pulled my face up to meet his eyes. “I never would love her again, Scully, because I love somebody else now. And that won’t change. She was part of another life, another me. You’ve made me whole. I know I keep saying that, but you do.” He pulled me close and kissed me, deep and tender. I sighed and leaned my forehead against his.

“Are those all your secrets, Mulder?” I asked tenderly.

“Yeah. Do you forgive me?”

“Yeah. I don’t know whether I’m happy or mad about the eggs, but it’s nice to know that I have choices. That’s more than I’d have had without you. Now I can have little green-eyed babies if I want them.”

Mulder pulled up short. “Do you? Want them, I mean?” He examined my face, trying to read my expression. “If you could have little green-eyed babies with, say, a guy with a big nose who talks too much, would you?”

“I dunno, Mulder. Does he have a job? Can I take him home to mother?” I grinned at him.

“Yes, and you already have. Although I don’t think your big brother likes him much. But I do know that even though he has a big nose, he loves you and hopes you can look beyond it.”

“Oh, I think I could ignore the nose.” I ran my fingertip down Mulder’s ‘distinguished profile’. “I have a little nose and I think we’d balance out in our kids. They’d have average noses.”

“That’s a thought. I hope at least one has red hair.” Mulder leaned back against the couch and took me with him. “Y’know, as a honeymoon spot this place is pretty nice, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. I think Skinner would loan it to us again.” I mused. So. It is understood where we are going. Nothing so formal as a ring and a declaration, but then we’ve never needed those things.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mulder frown and his face cloud over a bit. “Mulder, what’s wrong?”

“Scully, if I don’t test out clean….If I get sick like Bill did….”

“Then I marry you anyway.” I said firmly. “I finally managed to snag you, I’m not letting you get away.” I turned to face him fully, sitting indian style on the floor. “Mulder, I believe in the ‘in sickness and in health’ part. You stuck with me when I was dying of cancer. Could I do less for you? If you get sick, I’m there for it. We’d both be out there looking for treatments, a cure if possible. And if not, I’m still there, making damned sure that my face is the last one you see. But I won’t lose a single minute of my time with you.”

Mulder looked shaken and, for once, was speechless. That was okay, because I kissed him and we didn’t talk for a while.

As I write this now, Mulder is asleep on the couch (no t.v. necessary for once) and the house is quiet. But it isn’t the empty, rattling, unnerving quiet anymore. It feels like a home. And I feel at rest.

May 15, 1999

We are packing up the house, preparing to go back to work on June 2. Mulder will be driving the now fully restored Mustang back to D.C. while I take the rental car. We both decided to go back early so that Mulder can start therapy in earnest now. And I want to see my old therapist at the Bureau. Both Mulder and I now have a reason to heal, as fast and as thoroughly as we can.

July 15, 1999

I haven’t had much time to write. The backlog of cases is horrendous. Mulder is still in therapy, as am I. We still date; Saturday nights are sacred and we’ve adopted a little diner as ‘our place’. It serves burgers and fries, as greasy as Mulder like them but also has a veggie burger to die for.

Every other Saturday I cook for Mulder. I’m enjoying cracking open my old cook books and, believe it or not he’s starting to get a little pot on his tummy. I think I’ll cut back on the lasagna with him. Or put him on a diet.

Of course, there’s always exercise. But the kind I really want isn’t forthcoming. August makes it six months since the rape. Mulder is tense about it and so am I.

We’re both trying to be open about this and I know he’s as scared as I am. I worry about him, but as I said to him, if the worst happens we go through it, together. He’ll have to pry me off with a crowbar.

I know he’s gone in for a full battery of tests. Physically, he’s healed well from Willard’s abuse. Emotionally, he’s still in therapy and working hard to overcome the mental scars it’s left.

Me—I’m still talking to the therapist, but I feel better. Oddly enough, opening up to Mulder and accepting his support has helped more than anything. I’m not alone any more.

All that’s left is the HIV question. And so we wait for the results. And I pray. I’ve lit candles for Mulder and said novenas. He laughs, but says he’ll accept any help he can get and if I’m on good terms with any saint or supernatural deity, it’s oka y with him. I’ve got Mom praying too.

And so I wait. And I worry. Oh how I worry about him. And how precious he’s become, even more so than he was six months ago. How did that happen? I loved him then, but now…

August 1, 1999

Mulder just called. He says he’ll stop by in half an hour to pick me up for dinner and an evening out. He sounds…happy, light, joyous. I think I’ll wear that new silk slip-dress he hasn’t seen yet.

—Later—

My gallant knight arrived on his white horse to rescue me today…..

THE END

Author’s note:

To read the rest of the story, go to TBishop’s lovely smutty sequel “1964½ Mustang”.

If you want to read any of my other stuff, the URL for my homepage is in the intro to the story.

Writing this story has been hard work but great and fulfilling fun. I’ve enjoyed the feedback, especially the ones who said that they were sure they couldn’t read any more because it was so violent, but they just couldn’t stop. I felt that way too while I was writing some of the more realistic bits.

Many thanks to all those who encouraged me and beta read different parts of this saga: Katvictory for her good humor and encouragement early on, TBishop for her smutty good humor and wonderful good sense, Spygirl for some of the real-life stories, and Wylfcynne for insisting I write MORE, FASTER, MORE!

Now I will retire from writing until mid-November to crank out some research papers. Those of you with a deity, pray for me. I’m gonna need it.

1964½ Mustang

By [email protected]

[email protected]

Rated: NC-17

Category: MSR-Smut V

Author’s note: This is a Post fic follow up to Abattoir by Xenith. I received a very complimentary request by the author to write this piece. (I think she felt guilty for what she did to poor Moose and Squirrel, and wanted to make it up to them. She should!!!) I’m sure she would have done a wonderful job with this herself, but she begged the favor as she didn’t have the time. Bestowing me with flattery like ‘Maven of Smut’ and other such strokes to my ego, how could I refuse? So for better (hopefully for better) or for worse, here is what my hot and horny little muse dreamed up to honor her most worthy story.

Summary: Oh, come on, you know. S.E.X.

Disclaimer: This Mulder and Scully belong to Xenith, she’s letting me play with them only if I promise NOT to play nice. Chris would never, I mean never, let his Mulder and Scully do anything like this!

Feedback: It will only encourage me. Be warned: Flames will be forwarded to that dark part of my writer’s imagination that roams the night in search of victims.

***Undying gratitude to Shoshana, Shell and David for beta and then some! And especially to Xenith for writing such a marvelous story and flattering me with this opportunity to add to her tale.

A final note of thanks to Grasshopper for keeping up the archive.

“Agent Scully, have you ever been kissed in
the back seat of a 1964½ Mustang?”
–From Abattoir by Xenith

1964½ MUSTANG

My gallant knight arrived on his white horse to rescue me today. Okay, it was Mulder in a white 1964½ cherried out Mustang, but you get the general idea. It’s six months to the day since Mulder’s first HIV antibody screening and though he never said a word about it, I knew he had been given another clean bill of health the moment he showed up in that car.

He rescued me from six months of worry and frustration, six months of fear that the man that I loved might be infected with a fatal disease. He steadfastly refused to have sex or intimate contact with me, however protected, until he was given the final word from his doctor. I argued with him that I was at just as much risk due to the nature of my work as a pathologist, having only the thin barrier of latex to protect me there as well. But he countered that I took that risk of my own accord and he would not allow himself to be responsible for giving me a deadly disease. There was just no changing his mind. So we did things his way. Why change now?

You’d think after almost seven years of a platonic relationship, six months would have been no hardship for us… think again. Now that we were involved romantically, dating and well… I think it’s traditionally known as courting, the urge to be intimate had become acute.

Mulder’s definition of ‘messing around’ left much to be desired, and I desired so much. After six months of hand holding, tender kisses and lustful looks, I was ready to fuck this man to within an inch of his life…

“Here we are, Scully, lover’s lane.” He announces with a grin as he shuts off the car engine. Mulder’s version of the classic make out place is an empty boat launch parking area overlooking the Potomac.

“Well, that’s refreshingly honest of you, Mulder. At least you didn’t insult my intelligence by claiming to have run out of gas.”

“I don’t see any reason to pretend here, Scully.” As he says that, he reaches over and places his hand on my thigh. The heat of his touch through the thin fabric of my dress effectively sets me off. The aching, the longing, the hunger for more of him is instantly activated by that simple act. His fingers play with the delicate black silk, slipping it up little by little until he accesses bare leg. The look that he’s giving me says everything I need to know, tonight, finally, the waiting is over. A shiver runs through me… and I feel my body respond in wet and wonderful ways to Mulder’s touch.

My heart starts to pound faster as he traces his fingertips back and forth along the inside of my thigh, inching ever so slowly closer to my sex. I’m already breathing faster as I watch with fascination his hands steadily advance. I’m almost squirming by the time he finally reaches his destination, and I gasp at the jolt that hits me when his fingers first brush against my curls.

Mulder gasps too. “Scully, you’re not wearing any underwear.” His eyes smile joyfully at this discovery, shining with approval.

“I didn’t see any reason to pretend either.” I confess, offering him what I hope is a seductive leer.

He bites down on that delightful lower lip of his to stave off the immediate urge that I see threatening in the dark pools of his eyes. I become so lost in those hypnotic depths, unaware of anything but a sea of beautiful Mulder green, that I jump and hiss when he dips a long finger into the dripping heat of my center, coaxing even more lubrication in preparation of our imminent coupling.

“Jesus, Scully, you’re so wet.” He works his finger around my clit in tight little circles.

I grip the sides of the cool leather seat and let my legs fall further apart, opening myself to his touch. The sensation of this contact goes well beyond the sensitive folds of nerve and flesh. Every part of my body is responding, nipples hard, face flushed, respiration and circulation increased, even my thought process has become muddled… reason and self-restraint have been lost. More fingers join the assault on my raging desire, leaving me moaning and helpless to his will.

Mulder breaths in deep. “Mmmm, Scully, can you smell that?” His voice is like distant thunder.

“What?” My reply is breathy and rough. How quickly I am his slave.

“You. You smell delicious.”

Oh, God! Muldermuldermulder you’re making me crazy. My hips now rotate with the gentle rhythm of his fondling. After months of forced denial, at long last he rewards me. “Oh, God, yesss.”

And then suddenly he stops, and I whimper as he pulls his hand away, fingers wet with my liquor. I watch him admire the dripping testimony of my arousal, the evidence of his control over me. He notices me watching and slides his tongue across his lips to tease me, then proceeds to lick each of his fingers clean in a most seductive manner, sucking the juice off them, one by one.

“I was right. You’re delicious, Scully.” The storm rumbles again, and while I’m still reeling from his erotic show, he plunges his hand back between my legs returning to his task.

“Oooh… Mmm… More.” Only Mulder could make me croon.

But seconds later he cruelly abandons me yet again, and I nearly scream with frustration… until I see his intention.

“Your turn.” He says bringing his glistening hand up to my mouth.

If he means to totally unhinge me, then the man has reached his goal. I feel the thrill of something decidedly indecent rush through my body as I oblige his request and taste my own juices. Using just the tip of my tongue to clean the rich salty essence from each of Mulder’s long slender fingers, I make a production of the process, moaning and watching his reactions through heavy-lidded eyes.

Mulder’s eyes roll back with pleasure and his other hand finds the bulge in his jeans, stroking with gentle pressure meant to soothe his aching need. His hips move reflexively at the contact. For him too, the process is beyond his control.

“Let me get that.” I whisper, reaching across the white bucket seats to touch the rock hard erection straining beneath black denim.

I feel the length and girth of his rigid cock twitching for release, begging to be set free of it’s prison. When I reach for the zipper, Mulder’s hand grips mine with such intensity it’s all I can do not to cry out. I search his face for meaning, but his eyes are closed to mine. I begin to panic, fearing he may still be unable to accept such intimacies after the trauma he suffered at the hands of that animal bastard Kurt Willard.

Finally, Mulder looks at me and my fears are reduced to ashes by the fire I see burning in his eyes.

He only manages two words. “Back seat.”

And then we are both opening the doors and stepping out into the cool night air. Mulder slides his seat all the way up, folding it forward, making as much room as possible for his lanky six foot frame. I do the same out of consideration for my tall, dark and handsome, partner/lover/knight in black armor… Okay, it’s a leather jacket, and he just took it off, but what the hell? We both climb into the back seat, closing the doors behind us.

I kick off my heels. No need to tear up this beautiful upholstery.

Immediately Mulder makes his move, reminiscent of a hormone-enraged, high school boy going after his prom date… descending on me with roving hands and probing tongue. However, I’m no virgin prom queen, as Mulder quickly discovers when I persist with my earlier task of wrestling him out of those too tight designer jeans.

“Scu..llee…” He chuckles, amused by my eager and single-minded pursuit. His voice sends a shiver through me and his hot breath feels cool against my ear, where only moments ago his tongue played havoc. With his help, I am able to divest him of both pants and briefs, pushing them down past his knees to bunch around his ankles.

I’ve got him where I want him now.

I waste no time climbing onto his lap, straddling his hips and position myself over that impressive hard-on he has proudly on display. The aching is almost unbearable now.

Our mouths collide in a fiery kiss of teeth, lips, tongues and passion. I am driven to only one objective, impaling myself on the rod of steel and hot flesh that’s teasing my entrance… but Mulder’s hands are at my waist, firmly holding me back from paradise.

I struggle against him. Please, Mulder… God, please! I need you. I want you. I have to have you inside me again. It’s been too long… too damn long.

His fingers are digging into me, bruising me, in an attempt to hold off our union. I fight him harder, determined to have what I have only been allowed to dream of for months. I need this. God, Mulder, please don’t deny me any longer. Please, Mulder, please! I can’t stand it anymore. I pull back from his lips.

“Damn it, Mulder!” The desperation is quite clear in my voice. We’re both breathing hard, and the car’s windows are already opaque.

Freed from the frenzy of our kiss, my mind clears enough that I am, if but only briefly, able to consider something besides my own lust.

The pained expression Mulder wears is like a slap in my face, bringing me back to reality.

Shit! I just yelled at him. How could I be so thoughtless? Maybe this is too much for him too fast. He’s still in therapy for Christsake, Dana.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… God, Mulder, I didn’t mean to yell at you like that.” I try to calm myself. To cool down a few hundred degrees and give Mulder some time, but it’s so unbelievably hot in this car. Trickles of perspiration run down along my temples and across my fevered cheeks. My dress clings to my sweat-dampened skin.

“It’s okay, Scully.” He says shutting his eyes and trying to compose himself.

“If you’re not ready for this…” It’s killing me, but I have to say it. I have to think about him, he’s come so far in his healing process. I don’t want to set him back.

“No! I’m fine, Scully! God damn it, don’t coddle me! We both want this. I’m fine.” He doesn’t look fine. I know he’s remembering.

“Are you sure?”

His answer is to suddenly shove me down on to himself, penetrating me deep with an upward thrust of his hips. “Yes!” He says through gritted teeth, but my scream of pleasure/pain drowns out his affirmation.

Lust-darkened eyes meet and we begin a wild dance of thrust counter thrust to the music of our impassioned cries. So good… so fucking good to have him inside me again. He fills every bit of me, and I greedily take everything he’s got. This is what I have been waiting all these long months for, and it’s perfect.

The last time Mulder laid claim to me, the situation was horribly different. I had a gun to my head, and my partner and I were being forced to perform for the perverted amusement of our kidnappers. Despite the depravity of the situation, and the overwhelming fear of being killed, Mulder managed to make what could have been a traumatic forced rape, into a tender act of friendship and love.

I was determined not to let those monsters take from us the emotional bond we’d always shared. And thankfully, the trauma we both suffered that day has only served to strengthen that bond.

And now that we can at long last indulge our fantasies and give in to our wanton desires, I release myself from any inhibitions and enjoy.

I ride him hard, and before very long I’m dizzy and afraid I might pass out from the heat I am generating. “Hot… too hot.” I pant, but can’t bring myself to stop sliding up and down his hardness.

Without missing a beat, Mulder pulls my slip-like dress up and over my head. And then his deft fingers quickly find the clasp at the back of my bra and relieve me of that last scrap of clothing. His hands begin kneading my breasts, squeezing my nipples… God, yes! I am rocking my hips, writhing as I continue faster and harder. The heat is stifling now. I can’t take much more.

Mulder shifts position a little beneath me and…

Oh! “Yes! God, yes! Right there. Don’t stop!” He’s hitting a place inside me now that has me on the verge of an orgasm, and I will die if he doesn’t take me all the way there.

“Fuck, it’s hotter than hell in here.” Mulder curses, but he continues his task. When he brings his mouth down to suckle my breast, I go tumbling over the edge in rapturous free fall.

As my body goes limp, Mulder takes full advantage. He lays me down across the back seat and moves on top of me. Wrapping my exhausted legs around his middle, I give him the freedom to penetrate me as deep as he can.

I run my fingers through his soaking wet hair, stroking, soothing and encouraging him, as he pounds into me seeking his own release. The leather seat sticks mercilessly to my bare skin. My body still tingling from the aftermath of one orgasm, is suddenly thrown into another.

“Oh, God, Mulder!” I claw at his back, and this time he joins me in my ecstasy.

“Sculleee… Ahh, Jesus!” His super-heated body collapses on top of me.

Oh, dear God in heaven, I can’t breath! “Mulder!” I try to push his crushing weight off of me. “M..uld..er, I can’t… can’t… breathe!”

“That’s because there’s no more air in here, Scully.” He huffs with effort, as he pushes up and away from me and sits back down on the seat.

I scramble up, and all I can think of is getting out of this kiln. Modesty abandoned, I grab the handle and swing open the door. The blast of cool fresh air is welcome but not nearly enough to bring down the fever raging within me.

Mulder is just getting out of the car, zipping up his pants, when I flash him a grin and break into an all out sprint for the bank of the river. In a splash I disappear beneath the night blackened water, letting the chilly currents wash away heat and sweat and remnants of our amorous encounter.

It is glorious beneath the water and I stay below far longer than I intended. When I realize I need air I am still an agonizing, desperate swim from the surface. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies my panic is enough to feed the muscles that produce a much needed fast ascent. I surface a few yards off shore, gulping lungs full of the sweet evening air.

Treading water, I turn to see Mulder still standing on the bank, running fingers through his sweaty mane. He does not look happy. My poor Mulder, he was probably about ready to call and have them drag the river for me.

I swim back closer to the shore and Mulder slides down the embankment to stand at the water’s edge.

“Coming in?” I invite him, holding out a hand.

There is no hesitation. He strips out of his clothes and plunges into the river beside me. His naked body tangling around mine, holding me protectively.

We kiss, and this time it’s a tender, sweet exchange. The moonlight shimmers off the rippling, glassy blackness all around us. I feel as if we are washing away more than just transudation and the residue of our sexual encounter, we are cleansing ourselves of six months of angst and the painful memories of a hateful warehouse and an bloody Abattoir.

END

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