Standard Disclaimer: The X-files, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner belong to Ten/Thirteen and are used without permission. Sue if you want, I have no money. Everything else is MINE! This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to anyone, living, dead or otherwise is a total coincidence. If these events seem familiar, I seriously suggest you get professional help. Rated PG for language. Some violence, but nothing we haven't seen before. Some names have been changed to protect the innocent. Comments, criticism, and flames can be directed to Lycana@aol.com (I've got my fire extinguisher ready and waiting!). The Fox and the Hound (part 1) by Lycana Dana Scully was having a pleasant dream. She was having a picnic on a deserted beach, and her companion had just started giving her a marvelous back-rub. His face was a bit fuzzy, out of focus, but she didn't care. She was warm and comfortable. His lips trailed down her neck and... ... she awoke to the ringing of her phone. Grumbling, she answered it. "Hello." She tried for irritated, but her vocal cords were still asleep, and it came out as a growl. "Scully? You all right?" Mulder. She should have known. "No," she replied, rolling over. "I'm asleep." "Well, wake up and pack." "Mulder, do you realize it's only --" she paused, looking at her alarm clock in disgust, "4:30?" "Yes. Our flight leaves at six. I'll be over in half an hour." He rang off. She grumbled, yawned, and got out of her warm, comfortable bed. "This one had better be important." ---------- As promised, Mulder had picked up a still yawning Scully and they'd caught their flight, barely. "What are we after this time?" she asked, visions of glowing bugs and silicon spoors dancing through her mind. "A combination serial killer - kidnapper. His victims are young mothers with one child, always a boy. He murders the woman and takes the kid. He then calls and reports the murder, himself. He claims the children are still alive. He's gone through five, and the local police finally decided to call in the FBI after he let one of the kids confirm his own mother's death in his call." Mulder's jaw clenched. "He lets the kids watch their mothers die." Scully felt ill. "My god," she whispered hoarsely. "Why call us?" "Me to profile the killer, you as pathologist, at my request. We'll be working with another pair, coming in from the west coast. Scuttlebutt has it that they're the best at recovering kidnapping victims. They seem to have a special knack." "Since when to you listen to office gossip?" she asked, taking the folder he handed her and eyeing the flight attendant coming down the aisle with coffee. She scanned the files briefly, including a quick file on the other agents, since Mulder would be heading up the unit, as senior agent. "Mulder," she said slowly, "nobody gets results like this. There must be a mistake in the records." "No, Scully. Those are accurate." She scanned the record again. Agents O'Brien and Cutler, partners for the past five years. Given kidnappings, almost exclusively, since pairing up. All cases solved. Every one assigned, no matter how late they were called in on it. 98% of victims recovered, 68.5% alive. She looked up to find Mulder studying her face, his half-closed eyes holding a familiar sparkle. She gave him The Look. "Don't even think it, Mulder." "There are other profilers in the Bureau, Scully. And every rumor holds a grain of truth, somewhere." "Including the ones about us?" she challenged. ---------- "Why do these calls always come in the middle of the night?" O'Brien complained, yawning. "Consider yourself in good company. Our counterparts coming from back east are probably less than thrilled at coming out here at the crack of dawn." "Just because you don't need more than a couple hours," he muttered under his breath, following his partner onto the plane. He stowed their carry-on luggage and slid into his seat. "What are we after? No, wait! Don't tell me!" He paused, rubbing his temples. "I see... a... kidnapping!" "How *did* you know?" Sarcasm dripped from both voices. "I'm psychic." He closed his eyes, victims of their past cases dancing past his inner vision. Some were happy, returned to their loved ones. Others were grim corpses in various stages of decay. Still, more were quick than dead. He sighed. "Actually, it's a combo. Serial killer and kidnapper." A low growl issued from Cutler's throat. "I think I could learn to hate this job." "Me, too," he replied. "But, if not us, then who?" More importantly, without you, partner, more of my mental dancers would be dead. He signaled the stewardess for coffee. "Who are we working with?" "Special Agent Mulder, psychologist, and his partner, Dr. Scully, pathologist. X-files division." He blinked. "Mulder? You mean Mister 'Spooky' Mulder, himself?" "What?" "You must have heard of this guy. Rumor says he's a real nut, chases aliens and paranormal cases." "Oh." O'Brien tapped Cutler's arm. "You'd better watch it. This guy's a believer." "You just watch your mouth. He probably hates that nickname." "Just like we feel about ours, huh?" he questioned with a wink. ---------- A whisper of static sounded over the cabin's speaker system. "This is your captain. We are prepared to land. The weather is a warm sixty degrees, with a light rain. Welcome to St. Louis." The 'fasten seatbelts' sign illuminated with a soft ping as the whine of the engines changed pitch. The passengers felt the pressure change as their decent began. ---------- A crackle of static sounded over the din of the airport, busy with traffic at all hours. Their names were announced, followed by "Please come to the service desk in terminal B." The message repeated several times as they grabbed their luggage and maneuvered around their fellow travelers. ---------- "How may I help you?" the perky receptionist inquired. Mulder reached for his identification. "Agents Mulder and Scully," he said, indicating himself and his partner. "You were paging us?" "And us," came a low baritone. They turned. "Patrick O'Brien," he said, extending his hand. He stood perhaps two inches taller than Mulder, his pitch black hair and bright blue eyes screaming 'dark Irish' to the world at large. He caught Mulder's hand in a friendly shake. His grip was delicate as he took Scully's hand, despite the fact he was built like a Greek god and looked like he could snap her in two with a flick of a wrist. Watch it, Scully. Get your mind on business. This man is a fellow agent and a definite no-no. "And my partner, Vikki Cutler." "Hello," she said, her voice flowing in a soft alto. The one inch heels on her boots brought the top of her head even with her partner's chin. Honey-colored eyes in a face of classic movie beauty surrounded by dark brown hair which hung mid-way down her back, she smiled slightly and extended her hand. Two shakes later she asked, "Which of you is Mulder and which is Scully?" Scully smiled, elbowing Mulder sharply before he could open his mouth. "I'm Dana Scully." "I wish we could have met under better circumstances," O'Brien said. "Excuse me," the perky receptionist interrupted, her smile slightly strained, "but there are other people waiting for assistance." "Right," Mulder said. "Why were you paging us?" Her smile had completely disappeared. She beckoned to a pair of young uniformed officers who responded immediately. "Hello, I'm Cooper, and this is Staley. We're to escort you to the precinct, where you can coordinate with the homicide detectives." He spoke quickly, slightly intimidated by the four federal agents. Staley just swallowed nervously. O'Brien was sure they'd been threatened with dire consequences if they did anything to, well, *upset* the agents. "Just let us get a rental, and then we can follow you there," O'Brien said, rolling his eyes in Mulder's direction and getting a nod. Mulder took off in the direction of the rental counter. The two officers bent to help the lady agents with the baggage. O'Brien paused to smile seductively at the receptionist, who was fuming by this point, her fingers beating impatiently on the counter top. He captured one of her hands in his and bowed slightly, looking deeply into her eyes and brushing his lips across her knuckles. "Thank you, so much, for your assistance," he said, his voice dropping half an octave and taking on a slight brogue. "I-I-I-I," she stammered, a blush racing up her face. He released her hand and turned to follow Mulder. He ignored amused glance Cutler sent in his direction. "Is he always like that?" Scully asked, laughter in her eyes. "Oh, no," Cutler replied, "he can get much, much worse." She exhaled in a long-suffering sigh. "He thinks it's his personal job to uphold the Bureau's image of the cavalier agent." "We have that image?" "I have yet meet a single field agent who doesn't think he's another James Bond." ---------- They made a lovely little parade, one police cruiser followed by two nondescript rentals. Cooper had offered, quietly, to run his lights to rush them to the precinct. They had declined. Four figures in the omnipresent trench coats, briefcases in hand, moved quickly up to the doors in the light drizzle. Four hands flickered, and four sets of federal identification flashed before disappearing into pockets. Four shadows floated across the walls, stopping conversations as they passed. The cavalry had arrived. =========================================================================== From: lycana@aol.com (Lycana) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: The Fox and the Hound 2/5 Date: 26 May 1995 21:53:53 -0400 Standard Disclaimer: The X-files, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner belong to Ten/Thirteen and are used without permission. Sue if you want, I have no money. Everything else is MINE! This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to anyone, living, dead or otherwise is a total coincidence. If these events seem familiar, I seriously suggest you get professional help. Rated PG for language. Some violence, but nothing we haven't seen before. Some names have been changed to protect the innocent. Comments, criticism, and flames can be directed to Lycana@aol.com (I've got my fire extinguisher ready and waiting!). The Fox and the Hound (part 2) by Lycana "What's the latest?" Mulder asked after the necessary introductions had finished. They were escorted into a conference room in the homicide division. Pictures of the five women and their sons decorated one wall. A map of the city, marked with the crime scene locations, hung on another. All the files and reports were spread over the table, along with half-filled cups of cold coffee. Phones attached to tape recorders and tracing equipment sat in one corner, ready for the next call. "If he holds his pattern, the next job will be either tonight or tomorrow night," Detective Johnson replied. "He goes after one every week. We figure he must find 'em, check them out, then, when he feels comfortable, attack." "I'd like to see the bodies," Scully requested. "And the last scene," O'Brien added. "And a list of people interviewed, especially anyone who may have seen this guy hanging around. The kids' playmates, neighbors, et cetera," Cutler said. ---------- Scully could find no fault with the medical examiner or his conclusions. The women had died from repeated blows by a blunt instrument to the backs of their skulls and a crushed trachea. There were marks of a severe beating, most likely with the same weapon. The broken bones and bruises on their arms and backs showed that they had tried to protect themselves, unsuccessfully. Blood work and toxicology reports showed nothing stronger than aspirin in any of the victims. She pulled open the drawers, taking a first hand look at the victims, something nagging at the back of her mind like an unscratchable itch. ---------- O'Brien carefully lifted the yellow crime scene tape yet again and walked into another apartment. The outline of the body had been done with masking tape on the blood-splattered carpet. He stepped carefully, eyes taking in the room. There was another stain on the carpet, smelling faintly of ammonia. The boy, according to his notes, was four. He must have wet himself in fear, staining the carpeting. He knelt down, trying to get his head at the same level as a four-year-old. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a sketch pad and pencil, drawing the room, sketching in a shadow where his imagination and the tape placed the body, just like he had at the previous three sights. ---------- Cutler walked onto the school yard, eyes scanning over the circles of children. The principal had been very helpful, answering her questions and repeating the answers he'd given to the police earlier. He was horrified to think the killer had stalked around his students. Her eyes still moving, she worked her way across the playground, kids dodging around her legs in games of tag. Then she spotted the one she was looking for. A little boy, standing alone, watching the world pass him by. She strolled over casually and sank down onto her heels in front of him. "Hello," she said. "I'm Agent Cutler." She pulled out her badge, holding it in front of him. His green eyes widened. "What's your name?" "Timmy," he said in a whisper, digging a toe into the ground. "Do you always stand over here, Timmy?" "Most of the time." He reached forward to touch her badge with one finger. "It must be neat to be in the FBI." She smiled. "Very neat." A taxi pulled up, dropping Mulder off. He spotted her and headed over. "Do you like watching the cars go by?" "Yes," his voice trailed off when he spotted Mulder. Cutler turned, motioning him to stay at a distance. He stopped up far enough to hear, but not scare Timmy. "Is he FBI, too?" Timmy asked in a whisper. "Yes," she whispered back. "We come in pairs, always. Never alone." Timmy's eyes lit up. He was a lonely little boy. "Do you know about the missing boy?" "Yes." "Did you see anything different during the days before he disappeared?" "The policeman asked our class that last week," Timmy said. Then he looked down at the ground. "I didn't say anything." "Why not?" "I see lots of things," he said, his voice trembling, "but I didn't know what the policeman wanted." No slouch, this kid. Probably why he stood alone. "Well, let's see if I can help you, and you can help me. Okay?" He nodded, chin tucked against his chest. She reached forward, raising his face, his eyes to hers. "Remember back, when he was still here?" she asked softly. "Yes." "Were you watching the cars?" "Yes." Her eyes shimmered. "Are they always the same cars?" "Yes, well..." He hesitated. "The parked ones are, usually. All different ones drive by. Trucks, too." "Are the parked cars the same this week as last week?" "Yes. They belong to the teachers and the people across the street. I see the people come out of the houses and go away. And I watch the teachers leave after school, sometimes." "Okay. What about the cars that drive by?" "They're all different." "Do some of them drive by a lot?" "Some drive by every day, like the pizza car and the ice cream truck." "Do any drive by more than once on the same day? Especially last week?" "No." "Never?" Her eyes shifted, the color going from dark honey to a more golden color. "Well..." Timmy struggled with his memory. "There was one that went by a lot, but that wasn't last week." Mulder's ears perked, his attention caught as he watch the boy over Cutler's shoulder. "When was it?" "Three weeks ago." "Can you remember the car?" Timmy's gaze was trapped, his eyes went out of focus. "Yes." "Tell me about it." "It was blue, and it had four doors, and it went by, three or four times, on Monday and Tuesday. I remember, cuz Miss Williams read us 'Planes in the Wide Blue' that Monday. I like planes, too, but not many fly over." "Do you remember the license plate?" Her eyes started glowing. Mulder watched, slightly surprised, as Timmy's eyes dilated and contracted. He struggled again, wanting to remember, wanting to help the pretty lady agent. "It was... it was..." He stopped, his voice trembling like before. Disappointment washed over him. "I don't remember." "Sure you do, Timmy. Remember?" She spoke softly, but the words were loud in his head. "Just look at the picture in your head. Remember." He shivered, looking deep into her eyes, deep into his memory. Her eyes were warm, like the summer sunshine, and his shivers stopped. "It was R, D, J. 8-3-5." She blinked, her eyes like before, and smiled. He blinked, then grinned. "I remembered!" Mulder had already pulled out his phone, calling in the information, demanding a trace of the plate. "You were wonderful, Timmy," she said, still smiling. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a plastic box. Popping it open, she extracted a pair of white business-size cards with some official-looking print, a stamp pad, and a little clear-plastic envelope. "Let me have your right thumb." He extended his hand, eyes wide and solemn. She pressed it against the ink pad, then onto each of the cards, leaving a beautiful print. Fishing in her pocket again, she produced a tissue to wipe away the ink. "What's your last name, Timmy?" she asked, all business. "Logan. I'm Timothy Logan." She pulled out a pen, carefully printing the name on each card. One would go back into the plastic case with the ink pad. The other she slipped into the plastic envelope, removing a wax paper strip and sealing the open edge. Instant identification card. She handed it to Timmy. His eyes widened, and he smiled in delight. There was his name, under the letters F-B-I. The school bell rang, calling the students back in from recess. He looked at her uncertainly. "Go ahead," she said. "I know where to find you if I need any more help." He dashed off, the card held carefully in his hand. Show and tell was this afternoon. She stood, turning to Mulder. "What's with the cards?" he asked. She pulled out one of the printed cards. 'FBI -- Extra-Special Junior Agent' Her name and an 800 number were printed at the very bottom. The other card was a standard ID card like those that come in wallets. "I make these of all the kids I interview," she said. "That way I have at least one print." She looked down at the one she had made for Timmy. "I'll get his address and such from the list the principal gave me." "Why?" "Ever had a witness disappear on you?" she asked. He nodded, understanding. "I have a friend who runs a office supply company. He prints these up for me." His phone beeped. "Mulder." He listened, his expression darkening. "Damn." "What?" He replaced the phone. "The car was reported stolen. No dice." "Is it still missing?" "Pieces of it were found in a chop-shop bust. Too many prints to tell. There've probably been two dozen people in and out of that heap." She sighed, heading off toward the parking lot. Mulder fell into step beside her. "You're good at getting information out of kids." "I have to be. Many times they see more than the adults do. Especially the Timmy Logans of the world." He looked at her, questioningly. "He's special. A little smarter, a little quieter, a lot more observant. Wanting to *know*, wanting what's right. The others don't like him much, ignore or tease him. He's lonely, slow to make friends. There's at least one in every class. They're very easy to spot." "You were one of them," he said. It wasn't a question. "So were you." She unlocked the car, then hit him with a penetrating stare. "Things in the adult world aren't much different, are they?" She got into the car, not waiting for an answer, not really expecting one. "No," he admitted to the empty sky, "there's no difference at all." =========================================================================== From: lycana@aol.com (Lycana) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: The Fox and the Hound 3/5 Date: 26 May 1995 21:54:03 -0400 Standard Disclaimer: The X-files, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner belong to Ten/Thirteen and are used without permission. Sue if you want, I have no money. Everything else is MINE! This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to anyone, living, dead or otherwise is a total coincidence. If these events seem familiar, I seriously suggest you get professional help. Rated PG for language. Some violence, but nothing we haven't seen before. Some names have been changed to protect the innocent. Comments, criticism, and flames can be directed to Lycana@aol.com (I've got my fire extinguisher ready and waiting!). The Fox and the Hound (part 3) by Lycana Chinese take-out cartons joined the clutter on the table as they returned to the conference room at the precinct. "Anybody got any suggestions?" O'Brien asked, loaded chopsticks halfway to his mouth. He had his feet up on the table, leaning precariously back in a hardwood chair. They'd all loosened up, suit jackets hung on the backs of chairs and ties hanging, undone. Cutler leaned against the wall, a mug of tea in her hands as she stared at the map. Scully paced, glaring at the photographs, that thought in the back of her head still nagging. Mulder punched the keys of his powerbook, the killer's profile beginning to take shape. He looked up at O'Brien's question, then down at his watch. "Well, according to the file, the window our killer works in just closed. He would have called by now, if tonight was his night." "So number six has less than twenty-four hours to live," Scully said softly. Her eyes had lost most of their luster. They all looked tired, and felt worse. "Our usual methods don't work well on a serial killer," O'Brien mumbled through his chewing. "Let's move to the hotel and call it a night," Mulder said, closing his powerbook and gathering his notes. O'Brien pitched the near-empty cartons into the trash, assisted by Scully. Cutler's gaze had switched to the photos of the boys. It was always children who suffered. ---------- They were provided with two rooms, joined by a common door. Mulder and O'Brien dropped their bags. O'Brien flopped onto one of the beds, rubbing his temples an muttering about jackhammers. Mulder ignored him, opened the connecting door on their side, and set up on the table, resuming his work. O'Brien rolled up onto an elbow and eyed the figure sitting in the blue glow of his powerbook. He said something about a shower, which Mulder waved at, then disappeared into the bath. Mulder looked up from his thoughts a bit later. He moved across the room and pounded on the bathroom door. "Hey, O'Brien! What'd you do with those sketches you made?" Some gurgles floated through the door, and he was sure he heard 'briefcase' in one of them. Sure enough, his case contained the sketch pad. As Mulder reached down and grabbed it, his fingers brushed across something fuzzy. Conscience warred with curiosity, and as always curiosity won. He removed the pad and revealed a black velvet ring box. It snapped open easily, exposing a gold band set with a channel of diamonds. If it wasn't an engagement ring, he'd eat his powerbook. The flow of water stopped. He hastily returned the box and resumed his seat, flipping through the drawings. O'Brien emerged, hair slicked back, dressed in sweat shorts and a muscle shirt. "Find everything?" "Yeah." ---------- Scully and Cutler had also settled in. Their suits hung in the closet, their necessities on the dresser and the bathroom counter. Both had changed into pajamas, Scully in blue and Cutler in green. They had laughed lightly when they spotted the similarity. "Partner barges in, unannounced, at any given time?" "Yes. Midnight emergency calls?" "Been there, done that. You're on the phone, he panics at an extended busy signal." "Definitely. Scares away potential companions, flirts with every female?" "Always over-protective?" "Insists that his ties really do match his suits?" "Refuses to take management seriously?" "Refuses to take paperwork seriously?" "Refuses to take you seriously?" "Refuses to take medical advice?" "Eats like there's no tomorrow and doesn't gain an ounce?" "Eats horrendous foods, doesn't sleep, and complains when he's sick." "Pains, aren't they?" More laughter. "I don't think I'd have it any other way." ---------- "What could be so funny?" "Five gets you ten they're talking about us." "Isn't that thought a bit paranoid?" "No." "Should we talk about them?" "Not if we want to live very long." ---------- "The tapes are back from the lab," Detective Johnson informed them the next day. "Typical street noise. We figure he's calling from pay phones." "Can we get records for the phones nearest each of the scenes and see which the call was made from?" "That will take a bit of time," he answered. "You have something better to do?" Sarcasm, desperation, colored the words. "No, ma'am." ---------- They were reduced to staring at the board they'd made up. Mulder added the notes from the tape transcripts. "He always starts by saying 'They told me to take him and kill her.' We don't know who 'they' are. It could be he's hearing voices, or someone's actually got a reason for wanting these women dead and their sons taken." He made the note. "He identified himself differently on the first four calls, then let the fifth child do it himself. This may be because it was the first time the boy was able to speak, as he is the oldest of the five kidnapping victims." "How'd he identify himself?" Scully asked. "Unh, first as a sprite, then an elf." He paused, adjusting his glasses. "Then a witch." "The man's having a major identity crisis," O'Brien offered. Cutler kicked his shin. "Last, he claimed to be the devil. But his MO doesn't fit with any known form of satanic worship, unless he's doing something with the kids." He removed his glasses. "Scully?" "Evidence found at three of the scenes consists of a few stray hairs that couldn't be matched to any of the people expected, but matched each other. Since none of the women seemed to know each other or have anything in common, it's logical to assume that they belong to the killer. Analysis shows a white male, early forties, with short, straight hair going from brown to gray." She flipped through her own notes. "The lay of the bodies and the nature of the blows suggests a tall man, five ten or better, well muscled. The weapon was blunt, club-like. A pipe, maybe, or a baseball bat. Two of the victims died at the first blow, to their windpipes. The other three survived until he beat the backs of their skulls in." "Well," O'Brien picked up, "that explains why the neighbors never heard them screaming. The most I could get anyone to commit to was a downstairs neighbor who heard the 'thud' when the body hit the floor, or rather, her ceiling." "I got descriptions of mysterious cars from two other kids," Cutler said. "Unfortunately, they were a lot younger than Timmy Logan and couldn't remember the whole plates, only partials. The partials and descriptions were run past DMV, and likely candidates had been reported stolen several days or even weeks before the time the kids saw them. Their fate is most likely the same as Logan's blue car." O'Brien grinned. "You were handing out those cards again." She nodded. "In twenty years, half the agents coming out of Quantico are going to be from your witness file." Scully looked at Mulder, confused. He motioned to her, later. Detective Johnson entered. "I've got those pay phone locations." He pulled out five red tipped pins and stuck them into the map, numbering them as he went. "Still no pattern." "There is a pattern," Mulder corrected him. "We just haven't figured it out yet." He drew lines connecting the women's homes with their respective pay phones, then extending the lines. They didn't precisely intersect, but they all hit in approximately the same area. "We may have something here." He tapped the map. "What is this area?" "That's the old fair grounds. Mostly empty space, some warehouses, some tenements and old houses around there. Not much else." O'Brien started humming under his breath as Johnson left. "That sound familiar," Scully said. "What is it?" He sang a bit, softly. "Meet me in St. Louis, Louis -- meet me at the fair -- Don't tell me the lights are shining -- anyplace but there." He blinked. "From the 1903 World's Fair, the old fair grounds." Cutler had paled a bit when he started singing. She grabbed a copy of the transcripts from Mulder, flipping rapidly through the pages. Her hands shook as she copied out direct quotes, not Mulder's summaries. I'm the sprite-liest sprite. I'm the nimblest elf. I'm the wickedest witch. I'm the devil, himself. She crossed out all the 'I'm's and added 'Only' at the top and 'or' near the bottom. "Ohmigod." "What is it?" Mulder asked. "You watch the wrong kind of movies, Mulder," Scully said. O'Brien hummed briefly, then sang lyrics he'd used to tease in the past. "Only the sprite-liest sprite -- the nimblest elf -- the wickedest witch -- or the devil, himself --" He let his voice fade out. "Can ever out-fox the Fox." He continued humming. Mulder's eyes darkened. "I hate that name." O'Brien pulled his partner onto a chair. She had gone whiter than a sheet under her tan. He looked sharply at Mulder. "I don't think he's talking about you, Spooky," he said, deliberately using the nickname. "He's talking about Vixen. She's *the* Fox." Then he pointed at himself. "I'm the Hound. We were stuck with those right after we were first partnered." "Vixen?" Cutler turned to Scully, smiling humorlessly. "Awful, isn't it? I go by Vikki. I never forgave my parents." And they never forgave me. Scully studied her for a moment, then turned to the victims' photos, that nagging little thought finally coming to light. "They all resemble you." Now that it was out, the connection was obvious. "Why?" Cutler looked at Mulder. "Play one of those tapes. I want to be sure." He complied, and the lunatic's voice hissed through the room. Cutler covered her face with her hands, shoulders slumping. "Shut it off. It's him." She shook her head. "I don't believe this is happening. Not again." "Again?" =========================================================================== From: lycana@aol.com (Lycana) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: The Fox and the Hound 4/5 Date: 26 May 1995 21:54:12 -0400 Standard Disclaimer: The X-files, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner belong to Ten/Thirteen and are used without permission. Sue if you want, I have no money. Everything else is MINE! This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to anyone, living, dead or otherwise is a total coincidence. If these events seem familiar, I seriously suggest you get professional help. Rated PG for language. Some violence, but nothing we haven't seen before. Some names have been changed to protect the innocent. Comments, criticism, and flames can be directed to Lycana@aol.com (I've got my fire extinguisher ready and waiting!). The Fox and the Hound (part 4) by Lycana <<<"Meet Me in St. Louis" was playing on the TV. She'd made popcorn, just the way they liked it. She felt very grown-up. Their parents had left her in charge for the night while they went to visit friends for dinner and a party. And she was only fourteen! "Hurry up, Vixen, it's starting!" "I'm coming. Hang on." She waltzed into the room, setting down the big bowl with a flourish. Her baby brother smiled, honey-colored eyes meeting hers as he clapped. She settled next to him on the couch. He might only be six, but he was the smartest six-year-old ever. The movie was funny and sad, all at once. The music was beautiful. "Can you sing like that, Vixen?" Popcorn disappeared from the bowl, popping into their mouths. "Can you, Erik?" They'd laughed. Then the man had shown up. He broke in, right through the front door. She'd jumped up, determined to protect Erik. But he just lashed out at her, striking her throat. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't scream. Neither could Erik. He stood there, transfixed by the man's yellow glare, whimpering as he watched the beating continue. Her eyes went yellow, too. Chaos erupted. The man swore, putting more power in the punches. Furniture danced. Papers, books, magazines and popcorn were pulled into a whirlwind. She'd never done so much. Just little games, with Erik. Just play, for fun. She wasn't strong enough. Darkness descended, and Erik screamed. "Vixen!">>> ---------- "He came from nowhere, beat me unconscious, and took Erik. The FBI showed up, since it was a kidnapping. Later they found his body, or what was left of it, in the wreckage of a fire." She blinked, rapidly. "Our parents had gone out for the evening. They'd left me in charge." She took a deep breath. "I'll never forget that face, or that voice, as long as I live." Or the feel of his mind. She looked up, into Mulder's steady stare. He recognized the haunted shadows in her eyes. They were the same ones he saw when he looked in the mirror. "You have no idea why he took your brother? Anything extra-special about him?" "No." Oh, Erik. It was my fault. He saw the pain, remembered the amazingly productive interview with little Logan. And the rumors, the impossible record. His hand flashed out, gripping her wrist, pulling her across the table toward him until they both leaned in, nose to nose. His eyes drilled into hers. "Why you?" "I don't know." She felt panic rise. <...aliens and paranormal...> "Why *you*?" He knew! Oh, god. She hadn't been careful enough. She'd been right too long. But the children. She had to save them, she couldn't do less, hide her ability, and let them suffer. She let her mind open, felt her gaze unfocused, looked into him. And saw herself. Their little brother/sister, kidnapped/vanished. Unforgiving parents blaming them. The guilt, the anguish, turned into a holy quest, a drive. To find the truth, save the innocent, to protect the loved. A life buried in learning, discovering, wanting to find more. Minds open, searching, ready for extremes. The loneliness, the inability to trust for fear of betrayal, pain, death, darkness. The knowledge, the unshakable belief that there is more, a reason, out there, waiting to be found. The unexpected spark of partnership, safety, with Pat/Dana. Fear of loss. Fear that there may be no one else looking. Fear that they'd run out of time. Fear that the obsession is pointless, the quest hopeless, redemption eternally out of reach... O'Brien reached out to her shoulders, ripping her away, breaking the gaze. Mulder sank to his knees, forehead pressed against the table top, panting in exhaustion. Cutler curled up on herself, her partner supporting her in his arms. Scully raced to Mulder's side, checking him over. "Mulder, what happened?" "I think I just got a look at my soul, Scully. It's not a pretty sight." ---------- "Damn it, Mulder, I am not going to be one of your fucking X-files!" "How about your brother, Erik? And the killer we're after?" "Erik's *dead*. Leave him out of this." "How can you be sure? The identification of the body was inconclusive!" "Because I'd know if he were alive! I'd be able to feel him." "How can you be *sure*?" She snarled in frustration, his question one she'd tortured herself with for years. Gone were the two agents they'd been yesterday, suits pressed, voices controlled. Now their hair and clothing was messed, their voices were louder, and emotion ran barely suppressed, breaking through a odd moments. O'Brien and Scully had stepped outside, partly to guard the door, partly to keep from interfering. Mulder pushed, again. "Why can you do this?" "I don't know." "Why *you*?" His hands gripped her upper arms, eyes intense. "I don't *know*!" "WHY----" Her eyes flashed. :I SAID I DON'T KNOW!: She gaped at him in amazement as he jerked away from her, clutching his head. Her own head was beginning to pound. "We've got to stop this. There're five boys out there who need us, and we're too busy fighting each other." She panted a bit, nerves raw and screaming. "We can pick this back up later." ---------- The phone rang. "We got our guy on line. He's asking for Fox?" "Transfer it up here and get that trace," Mulder ordered, returning the handset and hitting the speakerphone. "It's too early in the afternoon. The pattern's breaking." "Hello, FBI. The papers say you got here yesterday. Why haven't you come for me yet?" "Where's the newest woman? Is the boy safe?" "Let me talk to Lady Fox. Hello, lady!" Mulder motioned to Cutler. "Where is she?" Hysterical laughter. "The right one! I know it's you. Kill the girl, keep the boy alive. Just like they said. But you didn't die..." he trailed off. "I didn't want to kill them. I couldn't find the right one. But now I have! The job can be finished." "The sixth woman? Where?" "Why, Lady Fox, she's you! Hide and seek, catch me if you can!" The call disconnected. ---------- "We got the trace, but he was gone by the time we got there." O'Brien's fist connected with the wall. "It's on the other side of the fair grounds." "Where is he?" Cutler whispered, her fingers trailing over the map. "Where are you, you bastard?" She paused, memories running. "Are any of these warehouses on the original grounds?" They checked more maps. Scully found the answer. "These are." A small red circle, drawn around four buildings. "He's there, isn't he?" She fingered the gold cross hanging at her throat. "Yes. They found Erik in a warehouse. They figure the guy got scared, torched his own hide-out, and ran." Her eyes widened. "Oh, god." Hands reached for guns and coats. Feet pounded as they raced down the hall and out of the building. Someone remembered to call the fire department as their cars sped across town. ---------- "Which one?" Cool wind blew, setting their coats flapping around their legs. Scully looked at Mulder. O'Brien looked at Cutler. They stared at the buildings. Cutler took a deep breathe, glared at Mulder for a minute, then beckoned to O'Brien. He stepped up to her, ran his hands up her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair, his thumbs resting against her jaw. Scully stared, watching as Cutler's eyes changed from honey brown to bright yellow. O'Brien exhaled heavily, drowning in her eyes. Images of his sketches appeared in his mind, taken from the view of a young child. "Mulder?" Scully asked, her hand resting lightly on his arm. He ignored her, fascinated by the other pair. Vikki opened her mind, looking for memories the matched the drawings. She moved past O'Brien, brushed across Scully's and Mulder's consciousness. Scully shivered, not knowing why. The search continued, moving through the buildings. Her mind found them suddenly, and she felt... {FEAR-PAIN-FEAR} :Mommy! Mommy! NO!: {PAIN-FEAR-HUNGER-FEAR} And another mind, one out of her own memories. The wind picked up, a rush of power. O'Brien hands were jerked away as she pushed him from her. She turned, rage burning, and ran into the warehouse. O'Brien swore, drawing his gun and giving chase, Mulder and Scully hot on his heels. =========================================================================== From: lycana@aol.com (Lycana) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: The Fox and the Hound 5/5 Date: 26 May 1995 21:54:14 -0400 Standard Disclaimer: The X-files, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner belong to Ten/Thirteen and are used without permission. Sue if you want, I have no money. Everything else is MINE! This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to anyone, living, dead or otherwise is a total coincidence. If these events seem familiar, I seriously suggest you get professional help. Rated PG for language. Some violence, but nothing we haven't seen before. Some names have been changed to protect the innocent. Comments, criticism, and flames can be directed to Lycana@aol.com (I've got my fire extinguisher ready and waiting!). The Fox and the Hound (part 5) by Lycana He found her. Her power surged, anger and pure hate fueling it. His answered, backed by fear and insanity. A battle of wills. "FBI! Hold it!" Mulder's command was ignored. "Mulder! Over here!" Scully had found the missing boys, scared witless and dirty, but physically not much worse for ware. O'Brien had found something else. "Bomb," he said softly. "We were expected." "Get those kids out of here." Scully led the older boys, O'Brien picking up the two smallest and following. Mulder returned to the fight. Unnatural wind whipped around them, forcing Mulder back. Everything was shivering, moving, except for the two struggling, each to subdue the other. They were locked, motionless, barely breathing, eyes blazing. :Join or die!: Mulder sucked in a breath, hearing thoughts directed at another in his mind. :Join or die!: :Why?: Her mind screamed back. :Why ERIK?: :JOIN!: :WHY NOT ME?: An wave of anguish, guilt, came with the thought. A moment of sanity lit his face. :THE SECOND CHILDREN WERE STRONGER! THEY HAD TO BE COLLECTED! THE FIRST ARE EXPENDABLE!: Cutler lost her grip on him, her mind recoiling from the images or dozens of boys and girls removed from their families, gripped by strange hands or surrounded by cold, white light. He clutched at her, sanity slipping, as Scully and O'Brien returned. "Bomb squad's on the way." His grip on her sure, he held her hostage, his arm around her neck. "But you," he hissed. "You were a sport, an unexpected mistake. The talents in the first set were recessive. A photographic memory, nothing more. You should not have been able to use the abilities. So you have a choice. Join or die!" "Join who?" Mulder shouted. "Who do you work for?" Maniacal laughter. "I work for THEM!" Blinding white light fell in a circle from above. A static filled their ears. And a beeping began in the corner. "Mulder!" Scully shouted, raising one hand to the blinding light. He stared up, gun raised. "Mulder, we have to get out of here! The bomb!" The killer and Cutler floated up off the floor, rising in the beam. He laughed again. "Looks like you join me." "Vixen! No!" O'Brien's hoarse shout pulled her back to reality. He raised his gun, but couldn't get a clear shot. She struggled in his arms. "No," she hissed. "Death first!" Cutler gazed down at O'Brien. "Shoot! DO IT!" The gun recoiled in his hands as he fired. She fell limp at the first shot. The second bullet, from Mulder, caught the abductor in the head, and he half-dropped, half-threw her aside. She fell out of the light, landing with a painful thud on the concrete floor. Scully took a firm grip on Mulder's arm as O'Brien lifted Cutler over his shoulder. Together they made a mad dash for the exit, the bomb's timer nearing zero. ---------- They stood in the hospital. Cutler had been rushed into surgery straight from the ambulance. O'Brien paced, his expression like death. The entire warehouse had gone up in a terrific explosion. The fire department had still been contending with it when they'd left to follow the paramedics here. "Could you do it?" he asked her softly. "Could you shoot me, Scully?" "I don't know, Mulder. I hope I never have to make the choice." She watched O'Brien pacing. "He may not be able to live with this." "He's in love with her." He was slightly smug, privilege to such information. "I know." He stared down at her. "How?" Scully smiled sadly. "Women's intuition. We can always tell." She approached O'Brien, laying a hand on his arm. He looked down at her, momentarily startled out of his misery. The doctor interrupted them. "Agent Cutler is out of surgery. We've moved her to IC, where she'll remain until she regains consciousness." "Can we see her?" "Yes, but quietly." ---------- She opened her eyes a few days later, feeling all around terrible and rather surprised to still be alive. Healing was slow and required rest, but she insisted on leaving the hospital as soon as possible, and they could not keep her. ---------- The airport was crowded, as always. They stood together, saying good-byes, making final checks on their paperwork. Mulder and Scully had to return to DC where another case called for their attention. O'Brien and Cutler were heading for Maine, another kidnapping victim needing their unique brand of rescue. The boarding call sounded. O'Brien carefully picked up the carryons, not letting his partner lift a finger. Scully helped him, stacking the briefcases in his arms. "We never finished our discussion," Mulder said, eyeing Cutler. Her gaze was calm as she looked back at him. She reached forward, her fingers coming to rest on his cheek. :You haven't heard the last of me, Spooky.: Her voice was like chocolate, smooth in his mind. :I have a feeling we both know too much, now.: Her hand dropped and she turned. She and O'Brien left, their flight awaiting. "What was that about?" Scully asked. Their own flight call came over the PA system. He dropped a hand to the small of her back, escorting her onto the plane. "I'm not quite sure, Scully. It will have to remain an open file, for now." She threw him The Look. "Mulder..." ---------- Author's Notes: I've never been to St. Louis, so I apologize for any errors. This story takes place before the season finale (aired 5/19/95) and the episodes about the cases Scully mentions.