Archive: Yes, anywhere and everywhere Spoilers: Mild ones, I guess, up to and including 5th season Category: MSR, Angst Rating: NC-17, for language, violence, and sexual content Synopsis: Tracking a serial killer brings an old acquaintance of Mulder's into the picture, a friend whose attraction toward Scully causes tensions to rise. Disclaimer: If I owned them, we wouldn't need to write this stuff. I'm just borrowing them so they can have a little fun. Chris Carter and various legal entities own them. Author's Note: This story contains scenes involving abuse and violent sexual impulses towards children. You have been forewarned. They aren't that explicit, but if you find such things offensive, DO NOT READ this story. I don't want nasty e-mail telling me it's sick and perverted. I know that. It's a plot device. I also don't want safe sex feedback. It's an imaginary world. Besides, since when do Mulder and Scully have enough of an outside life to be picking up diseases? Let them have their fun. And that section will be clearly marked. It's pretty much at the end of the story, so you don't have to read the MS sex section if you don't want. Doesn't really further the plot, but I figured after all the work our heros do, they deserved a little R&R. And now....on with the show.... So Long (1/3) by e.b.e. Ten year old Joshua Merker trudged home, scuffing his toes in sidewalk cracks and rustling small piles of autumn crisp leaves. The chill breeze nipped at his cheeks, the detested knit hat dangling from a gloved hand to reveal bright blond hair sticking up in wild tufts. Normally, he rushed home to shed his bookbag and throw himself into play, but he today was different. He feared his mother's reaction when she found out. She knew his math test was due back today. And she was not going to be pleased by his grade. He was deep in thought, contemplating if she would take away his allowance or his Playstation. He did not notice the black car pull up and park a half-block ahead. Nor did he see the man, wearing sunglasses and dark clothing exit on the driver's side and open the passenger side door. No one else noticed either. Ten seconds later, the man, the car, and Josh were gone. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "Mulder, that still doesn't explain why we were assigned to this case. Where's the paranormal angle?" He sighed, eyes weary. His suit jacket was tossed over his chair, tie loosened, shirt-sleeves rolled up. It liked like he hadn't slept in a couple of days, and the dark stubble on his jaw suggested he hadn't shaved in about as long. He hated cases like this. Missing kids. Worse yet, kids who were kidnapped only to turn up dead. Butchered. Murdered. She knew how rough these assignments got. They had just gotten back from a frustrating cases involving supposed alien abductions only to discover the two "abductees" were both former mental patients, both clearly delusional. How the case had ever been cleared as far as it had was an X-Files in and of itself. And now a serial killer. A child killer. They had been specifically requested to try and track down the worst monster, albeit human, that Mulder could imagine. He tossed the file onto the desk and motioned for her to look it over. "Two reasons, Scully. An old acquaintance of mine is a homicide detective in there. He not only asked for Bureau assistance, he asked for me by name. He's more familiar with my VC work than my current assignments." She was staring at one of the victim photos, wonder what kind of person could do these sort of heinous things to a child. Numb, detached, she found an autopsy report and scanned it, repressing a faint shudder after skimming the contents. Sexual assault, mutilation. Abuse, lacerations, torture. The five victims thus far had died horrible, painful deaths. They were just kids. "And the second reason?" Her voice was calm, placid to most, but he caught the hint of tension and anger underneath. He rubbed his neck. "Politically motivated, I'm afraid. Pressure's on for this one. The latest victim, Joshua Merker? His father is Senator Kline's nephew. When the locals decided to request the feds, Kline let it be known he wanted the best on this one." "And you're the best the FBI has to offer." A faint, wry smile flitted across his somber features. "And you thought being the best was a good thing." She closed the file and sat on the corner of his paper-strewn desk, looking down into stormy dark eyes. "But you aren't with Violent Crimes anymore." Even as she pointed this out, she knew it didn't matter. Their superiors could send them anywhere, especially considering he really was the best at this sort of thing. Even if this were not true, Scully knew he would accept the assignment. It wasn't something they even needed to discuss. While he would never have sought out such a case, she knew he could not turn his back once it had come to his attention. He knew his abilities could help stop a killer. Not matter what the personal cost, he would not abandon this. She favored him with a small, gentle smile and slid off the desk. "I'm going home to catch a few hours of sleep. I'll go over the file in detail on the plane. What time is the flight out?" "Scully...I don't want you to take this the wrong way, I always want you...um, let me rephrase that..." If he wasn't so tired, she would have assumed he was trying to joke with her. As it was, she knew his fatigue-dulled mind simply couldn't express itself with the usual eloquence. She waved her hand a bit, her faint shadow of a smile letting him know she understood, that he should continue. "It's just that...this case is going to be rough, Scully. If you'd rather sit this one out, I'll understand. I'd like you to come, but if you don't want to..." She raised her hand to stop the rambling flow. "Mulder, I appreciate the offer, I really do. But you aren't ditching me if I can help it. I can handle it. And you need me." His eyes smiled, though his face was too weary to follow. "I always have, Scully. I always have." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The need was escalating. This latest one hadn't lasted long. The thrill, the flush was fading fast. Like a drug addict, the urge to dip into his addiction was growing, throbbing through his veins. Blind desire flooded, and the past burned. He no longer questioned the guilt that surfaced with the drive, the kill, the consummation. Fathomless, inexplicable the despair rose and crested, enhancing the surging passion. He needed another fix, another hit. He wanted to feel his blood pulse, another's life drain. The ecstasy and torment. He shuddered, noting with detached interest that he was physically aroused. His eyes scanned the sea of faces, sifting, selecting. And settling, with grim finality, on his next victim. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Mulder and Scully had just managed to retrieve their luggage when a voice rang out above the airport crowd. "Hey Mulder...Fox, is that you?" They both turned around to face an energetic, handsome blond man. Smiling genially, his hand extended, he walked up to the two agents. Mulder smiled slightly in return and shook hands, tolerating the friendly thump on the shoulder. "How have you been, Black?" he asked. Keith Blackwell grinned and pumped Mulder's hand, blue eyes twinkling. "Man, it's good to see you again, Fox! Or do you still go by that old nickname?" Mulder blanched, terror seeping into his eyes. His gaze flitted to Scully, who was watching with none-so-subtle amusement. "What nickname would that be, Mulder?" Before utter embarrassment was assured, Mulder cut off the eager Keith. "It was nothing, Scully. I don't go by that one anymore, Black." Teeth clenched tightly, Mulder stared hard at the slightly confused man and prayed, hard, that he kept his mouth shut. Under a look that intense, Keith have been blind not to notice. He swallowed back a smile and nodded, trying hard not to laugh at Mulder's obvious discomfort. "I'd hate to make you look bad in front of this one. Bring your wife along for this one, Fox?" His eyes slid over Scully appreciatively, frank admiration plain on his face. Scully found herself flushing slightly under his gaze. Normally, such an overt appraisal, no matter how innocent, made her defensive. There was something different about him, though. He obviously enjoyed the view, but he seemed so open and honest that she had a hard time ascribing to him the baser motives that seemed so transparent in others. And it didn't hurt that Keith was one of the best looking men she'd seen in quite some time. Mulder noticed both Keith's warm gaze and his partner's blushing acceptance. Anger and something suspiciously like jealousy flared and settled to pulse behind his eyes. Jaw clenched, he motioned to Scully. "This isn't my wife, Black, she's my partner. Detective Keith Blackwell, Special Agent Dana Scully." He watched, a dull headache burning through his temples, as they touched hands briefly, her eyes meeting his for an instant before dropping as she bent to pick up her suitcase. She favored him with a quick, brilliant Scully-smile, and Mulder's breath caught with furious pain. 'Get a grip, man!' he thought as he gripped his own luggage tightly. 'I must be more tired than I thought, reacting like that just because Scully smiles at some guy...' Still, he couldn't stop the slight grind of his teeth as he watched his old friend offer to take her bag. She refused, of course, but for reasons Mulder didn't want to explore, Keith's attention still bothered him. He stepped up to Scully, a forced smile on his haggard features. "Are we ready to get going?" "Sure thing," said Keith brightly. "I'm parked right outside, Fox." He strode briskly towards a large set of glass doors, an easy, ever-present smile on his face. "It's Mulder, not Fox." Keith looked back at the agents and saw Mulder favor Scully with a curious expression. She was gazing up at him calmly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to set the detective straight about her partner's name. In fact, it was. "Is that right, Mulder?" Mulder turned his gaze back to Keith, a genuine grin gracing his lips. "That's right, Black. Just Mulder." Keith shrugged and motioned for the doors. "Okay, no problem. Sorry about that." Mulder waved it off, slinging his carry-on over his left shoulder, shifting his bag to his left hand. "Think nothing of it." As they moved down the brightly lit hall, Mulder leaned down low to whisper into her ear. "Thanks, Scully." Her answering smile caused his headache to ease, and when his free right hand settled gently against the small of her back, he suddenly felt better than he had in days. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * He was waiting. Patient, so good at watching and waiting. His new target was at him home, guarded and protected against outside evil. So he sat in his car, slumped against the faded vinyl interior, eyes steady behind dark glasses. Watching the door, watching black non-descript figures move behind curtained windows. The front door opened. His pulse pounded as a small figure emerged. A boy, his blond hair slightly rumpled, a scowl wrinkling his innocent features as he jumped off the porch, a plastic bag of garbage held a arms length. The child plodded toward the metal garbage can resting near the curb, stopping halfway to tie his show, unaware a predator was nearby. The opening of a car door startled him. His fingers tangled in damp, muddy laces, clear blue eyes peered upwards at the stranger looming above. Innocent, trusting, his baby smooth face smiled up at the man. The smile turned to shrieks as he was lifted and thrown into the waiting car. Tires squealed, the boys cries muffled as he pressed his face against the glass of the car window. The last thing he saw, his eyes blurred with tears of fright, was his sister's horrified face as she stepped outside to watch her little brother being whisked away. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "So, how did you two meet?" Scully's voice broke Mulder's train of thought. He was grateful. He'd spent the entire flight trying to get into the killer's head, his thoughts, his motives. It was dark, disturbing, draining work. Sometimes he thought it came only at the expense of his sanity and soul. So a break in this sort of work, while only delaying the inevitable, was a relief. Keith's cheerful voice responded to her query. "We met at Oxford. Entered the same year, took an English class together. 'Course, he didn't have much time for a personal life, what with Phoebe and him being a genius and all, but we had some fun nights together." "Mulder? Fun?" she teased lightly, her eyebrow arched. Mulder looked over his shoulder to give her a menacing glare. "You wound me, Scully. I'm plenty of fun. Why, just last month we spent that exciting night in the woods..." "You think that was fun?" "You weren't complaining at the time." "I was trying to keep you alive..." He smirked as their eyes met and held, the silent communication they shared flowing strongly. Keith's laughter at her last comment interrupted the mood, and Mulder shifted his gaze to watch the passing traffic. "I think I must have gotten his good years, if that's what you consider fun. I could tell you a story or two, especially about the time after Phoebe dumped him..." "I don't think she needs to hear about that, Black." They could both hear the cold strain in his voice, and the matter was quickly dropped. The slight tension was broken by the crackle of Keith's police radio. While he responded to the call, Scully leaned forward to converse with her partner. "How's the profile going, Mulder?" "Pretty well, I think. I'm starting to get a handle on what makes him tick." "Yeah, well, warn me if you feel the urge to sculpt a gargoyle." Their wry shared smile masked the shiver which ran like ice water down their spines. This was going to be hard. On both of them. His pain and torment were her own. Keith was far more somber as he replaced the mouthpiece. With a flick of his finger, the red and blue light mounted on the roof of his vehicle came to life, and the car surged into the far left lane, beginning to pick up speed. His grim explanation was the prelude to a nightmare. "There's been another abduction." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "What's your name?" The boy only sobbed. Tears and mucus dried on his flushed cheeks, choked whimpers making speech next to impossible. The rough rope binding his wrists and ankles ripped and burned his tender skin. Scared beyond belief, he look at his captor and cried harder. *"Shut up! Shut the fuck up, you goddamn piece of shit, or you'll know what pain is. Not a word, not another fucking sound or I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you..."* The man shuddered violently, a sudden cold sweat soaking his thin cotton shirt. "No," he moaned, clenched fists rubbing at his eyes to wipe out the vision of a man standing above him, a bloody fist raised for the strike... He crouched down next to the boy, the knife in his right hand gleaming faintly as he waved it in front of the child's face. "Look, kid," he hissed, trying to maintain his composure, "I don't want to have to hurt you right now, but you're starting to piss me off. Now, what's your name?" Startled, the boy managed a feeble response. "B...Ben," he whispered, terrified eyes following the shine of his captor's blade. "And how old are you, Ben?" Soft, friendly, comforting tones. And bright, pale icy eyes. "Te..te..ten." His smile was equally cold. "Ben. It's nice to meet you. I'm Tyler." Confused, hopeful, Ben watched as Tyler sat down next to him, the man's strange eyes fixed on his fluid-streaked face. "Please, mister...can I go home?" Ben screamed as Tyler used his knife to scrape gently across the boy's waxen features. He drew no blood, not yet. He needed this one to last. He had to slow down, take his time, cool the burning urge. Dangerous to take so many, so fast. Not only would this arouse suspicion, maybe lead the law to his door, but this constant hunger and feeding and death and pain and memories threatened to drag him under, drown his sanity. So he stood, sheathing the knife, and walked away. For now. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "It's all my fault!" The girl's harsh cry was the first thing the three heard as they left Keith's car. Vehicles with flashing lights surrounded the house, blocked off the street. Officers talked with neighbors, the boy's parents. Controlled chaos. And the guilty shrieks of Ben's sister. Keith led them up to the house, flashing badges and nodding to men he knew. "Hey, dick, over here," someone called, and he moved to confer with another cop. Scully glanced around, getting an idea of the setting, and turned to ask Mulder a question. It died on her lips at the expression on his face. Raw, overwhelming guilt. His glazed eyes focused on the girl, trembling in her mother's arms, her previous cry echoing in his mind. Another abduction swam across his vision. *Nixonboardgameblueredpiecesshaking lightscreamfearhoveringlightSamanthalightSamantha* Scully's light touch on his arm ripped him back to the present. "Mulder?" He released a harsh, ragged breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. The past wavered and retreated, leaving only an imprint of loss and grief and guilt. He blinked, jerking his arm away. "Sorry, Scully...I'm fine. I'd like to speak to the girl." He moved to the porch, showing his badge and asking to speak with the child. His face its usual mask of intense, focused professionalism. Scully knew better. She'd seen the look, knew what was going on in that tormented head of his. Shaking her head, she joined her friend and partner as he led the child into the house, sitting her on the couch while he squatted at her feet. She stood behind him, hoping her presence could help quiet the destructive emotions hiding under the surface of this man she knew so well. Mulder watched as the girl settled into her seat, favoring her with a small, sad, comforting smile. Her bottom lip quivered, tears filling red-rimmed eyes. A shaky pale hand reached up to fuss with the blue cap she wore, medium length red-gold hair peeking out to frame puffy, sallow cheeks. She sniffed, wiping her nose as Mulder waited for her to meet his gaze. "Nicole?" Hesitant blue eyes met compassionate hazel ones. She attempted a wavering smile, vaguely embarrassed by her appearance, her tears. "My name is Fox Mulder, and we're going to do everything we can to find your brother. Can you tell me what you saw today?" She nodded solemnly, face contorting as she fought back another wave of grief. Mulder took her hand, offering encouragement and empathy. Her voice shook as she related what little she knew. "Ben went out to take out the garbage, and I heard a car door slam. I went to the door and I saw Ben in the front seat of a car driving away." Mulder nodded, feeling her grip his hand tightly as the memory washed over her. Ben's frightened visage plastered against cold glass, mouth open in a scream she could not hear. A moment frozen in time. She would never forget. "Did you see the person driving?" No, she hadn't, nor had she noticed any of the numbers on the license plate. She knew it was a dark blue car, a larger vehicle, and that it had turned right at the stop sign on the corner. Mulder sighed internally. He'd been hoping for more information, but realistically this was all he could expect. Her most important contribution was quickly notifying the authorities so that the hunt could start sooner. He offered her another small smile and stood, frustrated and depressed. Nicole's quavering voice stopped him. "It's all my fault." "No, baby, it's not!" her mother cried, sitting down on the sofa to comfort the distraught child. "I shouldn't have had him take out the trash. I should have been watching him. I'm supposed to take care of him, he's my little brother..." A hard lump formed in Mulder's throat. *Myfaultsuppossedtotake carelittlesistergonemyfaultmyfaultmyfault...* "...will I ever see him again?" He was filled with sudden, urgent rage. This girl would not go through life with the guilt and pain he knew too well. They had to find this boy, find the human monster responsible for tearing these families apart, destroying life. He knelt in front of Nicole and her mom, silently vowing to stop their torment. "Yes," he said quietly, his conviction blazing like a beacon. "You will see your brother again." "You have to believe." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * He had gagged the boy now, the sobs too annoying, the threats not working. Besides, the noise might attract attention. He was hot, so hot. Sweat trickled down his now bare torso as he stood over the prone child, roughly bound to a sturdy old table. the stench of perspiration, urine, and fear rose to fill his nostrils, fueling the fire which raged within. The knife flicked, almost without conscious thought, to nick the soft flesh at his victim's neck. Ben's eyes squeezed shut with the pain, his body jerking reflexively against the restraints. Dozens of shallow cuts marred his face and neck, dried blood staining his shirt collar and skin. Tyler shuddered, rubbing the front of his jeans, arching into the contact, waves of pleasure washing over him, arousing him further. 'Slowly, slowly,' he reminded himself, fingering the bloody blade. 'Make this one last, make it good, so good...' A slow, lazy smile crept onto his lips as he studied the boy. Carefully, he used his knife to slit through the material of his cartoon character T-shirt, slicing it away from the skinny, shaking chest and stomach. Soft, unblemished child flesh. Perfect, smooth, delicious. Dead, hungry, eyes scanned the newly bared flesh, desire flooding and centering hard in his groin. Need, urgency growing, surging. Breathing heavily, he leaned in, knife poised. He stopped suddenly, paralyzed, staring into terrified, shattered child eyes. Reality wavered. *"Sit still, you little chicken shit! Stay the fuck still, or I'll beat you so bad you won't walk for a fucking week! Don't look at him! You want me to bring him back over here? I'll fuck him up some more, you like watching that, you sick fuck? You like watching me with your brother? God damn, you piece of shit..."* *"No, Dad, no...please, leave him alone..."* *"Shut up! Shutupshutupshutup..."* He staggered backwards, phantom blows raining down on his head, his body. Kicks delivered ages ago bent him double, retching, and he collapsed to the floor, gritty dirt pinching his skin. Tearing, searing pain, and a ripping penetration. And the haunted, angry, hurting eyes of his brother looked on. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * They were all in the large briefing room. Mulder was tense, pacing, as every shred of evidence gathered on the case was examined, theories discussed. Scully sat tiredly and listened, hoping something would break. Keith added a pushpin to a map, marking the site of the most recent kidnapping. "All of the kids were taken in broad daylight. All white, ranging in age from seven to eleven years. All were blond, blue-eyed, and until this last one there were no witnesses." "There's a pattern with the kidnappings, but not the dumps," someone pointed out. "See all the kids were snatched in areas that seem to branch out from a central point, this old business district." There were murmurs of assent. "Yeah, maybe he works or lives around here. Picks 'em up, drives them to where he does the deed, then dumps them in random spots." Keith nodded, excited. "Yes, we need to get people out there, see if anyone has noticed anything unusual." "You're pretty quiet, Mulder." Scully's comment drew everyone's attention to the agitated man who walked about the room. "I'm just thinking, Scully." "Have you developed a profile yet?" Expectant, skeptical officers waited. After all, these FBI agents hadn't offered anything yet, and good old fashioned techniques had pinned down a solid lead on where to start looking. Mulder rubbed his eyes with his palms. "Yeah, I've been working on it." Keith smiled, wanting to hear what his old friend had come up with. "Why don't you share with us?" Mulder sighed and sat down, picking up a legal pad he had tossed on the table earlier, flipping to a page of scribbled notes. He scanned them briefly, collecting his thoughts and impression before looking at his audience. "The killer is a male, mid to late 20's, early 30's at the outside. He's of average to above average intelligence, controlled, meticulous. Probably a homeowner, either currently unemployed or working nights since all the kids disappear in the middle of the day. And these are probably his first killings, but it's something that's been building for a long time." He paused, fingering the pages he held. 'Get inside this guy's head...why is he killing these kids?' "He's getting more frantic. I'm not sure he was a totally stable personality to begin with. The murders have been happening more frequently, and the mutilation and torture have gotten worse." "See, this first victim. Found two days after his kidnapping, evidence of sexual abuse but minimal injuries. No more incidents for two months." Grimly, he tossed a picture on the table. It skidded across the cool metal surface to rest, face up. Documented cruelty. Scully's eyes shuttered closed briefly. How could someone do this to a child? "Victim five, Joshua Merker. Abducted six days after Todd Billings was found, killed and dumped in twelve hours. He was mutilated, raped, beaten and sliced up." "We knew all this," muttered a young officer, looking a bit green as he shoved the crime scene photo away from him. "So what?" Mulder sounded tired, so tired. "He's escalating. The need to kill, the hunger is growing. He's going to keep grabbing these kids." "And the fact that they are all blond, physically similar, is significant. Fixations like that are usually the result of previous, childhood trauma. He may be reliving what someone has done to him, and may therefore resemble these kids. Blond hair, blue eyes." A possible description. That was useful. Otherwise the men were uniformly unimpressed. Even if what this guy was saying was true, how did it help in catching the killer? Scully saw the expression on their faces and was angry on her partner's behalf. This was so difficult, so draining for him, and no one seemed to appreciate the effort. "How does this help us catch him, Mulder?" He looked at her, grateful. He knew why she was asking, knew she was trying to illustrate the usefulness of his work. "We know he needs these kids, his victims. He's exorcising his demons. He won't stop, but he's proven to be cautious so far." "We have to cut off his supply. I know you've been reluctant to issue a public warning, afraid of causing a panic. But you need to at least inform the schools in these areas, in fact in all predominately white areas. Patrols should be stepped up in these areas, especially when kids are going to and getting out of school. And cars parked for long periods of time should be traced, and cars matching the witnesses's description looked into. And I do think a public notice, directed specifically at parents and acknowledging the shared victim characteristics, is a good idea." The group was silent, and Keith raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty drastic. You're going to get a lot of people worked up, and pressure will come to bear if the killings keep going. Are you sure all that is necessary?" Mulder sighed deeply, nodded slowly. "Yes. We have to warn people, so they can protect their kids. Because this guy won't stop." "He'll never stop killing." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It took a while for him to recover. Time slowed, crawled. Half an hour, an hour, how long had it been? He pushed himself up on shaky arms, rolled away from the drying pool of vomit. Filth from the floor covered his sweat, gleaming chest. He stood, grabbing the table for support, wiping rancid bits from his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. The boy had fallen asleep, or passed out from fright. He stood over the child, eyes blazing. Rage burned, searing haunting memories. The need rose sharp and strong, mixed with anger at his own vulnerability, and a past long dead. His breathing quickened, fierce desire settling low and hard, his jeans growing tight. This wasn't going to last. The urges and the pain of events long denied were too consuming, too immediate. He needed to kill. He stooped to retrieve the knife he had dropped, tucking it into his waistband. Restless, urgent, his trembling fingers struggled to remove the rest of the clothing from the prone, unresisting victim. He shuddered reflexively, hands caressing smooth naked flesh, further aroused as the boy whimpered and stirred. He stepped back, one hand rubbing at the aching bulge in his pants, the other tugging the knife free. "Sorry, kid," he muttered, unholy light gleaming from his eyes as he moved towards this fate, this destiny. Sweet bliss and crushing agony. It was time. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Keith offered to drive them to the motel they were staying at, since they hadn't had time to rent a car. The air was quiet, tense. Keith driving, reluctant to discuss the case since it seemed to him that Mulder had added so little. Mulder in the passenger seat, exhausted and frustrated, turning the case over and over in his mind, trying to find a new angle, the clue that would let him solve this. Scully in the back seat, furious at the others, vaguely depressed that they refused to believe in his worth, in him, the way she did. "You guys hungry? We could grab dinner..." Keith offered, trying to lighten the mood. A nice, if pointless, gesture. Nobody wanted to exchange polite chatter over food, and shop talk was out of the question. "I think we'd bother rather just settle in and get some sleep." Mulder caught her eyes in the rear view mirror, seeing her silent confirmation. "Look, Fox...Mulder, I'm sorry that didn't go so well. We've never dealt with a case like this, and most these guys have never heard of a psych profile or know it's potential. You did good work, and I'm sure it'll turn out to be useful, but...give us some time." There was pleading, a request for understanding. Mulder looked over at his nervous, shifting friend. His face was drawn, but placid. "Sure, Black. We're just here to offer whatever assistance we can. This is your show." Keith flashed him a sheepish smile as they pulled into the motel's parking lot. The police radio crackled to life as Mulder and Scully got out to retrieve their luggage. Weary with the strain of the day, their thoughts turned to food, and sleep, and escape from their problems. An excited voice, a yelp of joy cut through their downcast revere. In tandem, they turned to face the beaming countenance of Keith Blackwell. "We found the boy. And he's okay." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "A patrol officer saw faint light from an abandoned warehouse, and when he looked through one of the windows he saw someone standing over what looked like a bound body with a knife raised in the air. Kid's a rookie, he's pretty shaken up. He had to shoot the suspect." The three new arrivals were speechless. The sheer luck involved here was staggering. "So we have the guy in custody?" asked Keith, eyes gleaming. The officer relating the story shook his head ruefully. "No, sir. Bishop only grazed him. We've got people canvassing the area, but it looks like we've lost him for now." "But he's injured. Even if he doesn't show up at a hospital for treatment, he'll be easier to catch, and it may be a while before he can strike again." Scully had a point, but overall enthusiasm flagged considerably. Another police car came to a screeching halt at the scene. No sooner had it's forward momentum stopped than three anxious people emerged from the vehicle. Nicole and her parents ran up to the police barrier, waved under the tape when an officer realized who they were. The shooting had only occurred half an hour ago, and there had been some difficulty getting the captive child released from his bonds. As a result, his family was just arriving as he was being wheeled from the building on a stretcher. Mulder watched the reunion quietly, a strange mixture of happiness and sorrow. They leaned over the gurney, touching, hugging, crying, touching some more. They needed to be sure the boy was solid, real, alive. The contact was minimal, and within a minute they were forced to step back as the boy was lifted into the ambulance. Funny how a mere sixty seconds could turn someone's world upside down. Or fix everything, all with the appearance of a single person. As the ambulance pulled away, the weeping family was escorted back across the police tape to the patrol car that would take them to the hospital. Mulder took an involuntary step forward, a cry rising and just as quickly stifled. He wasn't even sure what he would have said. The movement caught the girl's eye. Before her mother could stop her, she had slipped back under the tape, feet crunching gravel and broken pavement as she ran towards the FBI agent and threw herself against him. Mulder was caught off guard and bent to enfold the shaking child in a cautious, uncertain embrace. She clung to him briefly, tightly, then pulled back. She wiped her eyes, a brilliant shy smile on her face. "Thank you," she whispered. He was confused. He hadn't done anything. "What do you mean, Nicole? I didn't do anything..." Her smile brightened further, full of joy and faith. "You said I'd see Ben again. And you were right. Thank you." Her mom was calling. With a final flashing grin, she took off, slipping into the police car to see her brother at the hospital. She was gone to be reunited with an abducted sibling. Abducted sibling. Mulder shivered, suddenly cold, as he watched the car pull away. He was jealous, but it was a distant, aching sort of feeling. Not sharp and intense. Sometimes he thought he'd never feel anything intense again. A gentle hand came to rest on his right arm. He looked to that side, finding exactly what he expected. Scully. Her face turned up, watching him, eyes sympathetic. There for him, but not pressing. She knew. She understood. And she stuck by him, through all the insanity. He gave her a small smile, and placing his hand over hers for a small, warm moment, he turned his back to the retreating vehicle and walked towards the crime scene. With all the good news, there was still something terribly wrong. A killer was still on the lose. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * So Long (2/3) by e.b.e. see part 1 for disclaimer It had been a long day. After the recovery of Ben Stiles, there had been an exhaustive and fruitless search of the area. Somehow, the killer had slipped away. They had, however, found his lair. There was evidence, in the form of discarded personal effects, that at lest three of the five murders had occurred in the abandoned building Ben was discovered in. Mulder guessed all five had taken place in the warehouse, and no one seemed inclined to disagree. Excitement rose, a teasing in the back of his mind. A hunch, a leap of intuition and experience. This building was they key, Mulder was sure of it. It wasn't just a random, out of the way site that the killer had picked because of the relative quiet of the area, the lack of people. It was an important piece of the puzzle. As it turned out, not everyone agreed. "We need all the information available on this place. Previous owners, reasons for it's abandonment, length of time unoccupied..." Someone interrupted. "It's just an old building. Nothing to it. It's in a deserted neighborhood, no one around except the occasional drunk. You're wasting your time." Scully shuddered empathetically as Mulder turned his full intimidating, condescending gaze on the speaker. Complete with a vaguely disdainful smile. He was angry now, she could sense it, knew he was fed up with the unbelief, with the comments and the criticism. This was never a good thing. "So he just picked this particular building at random, you think?" Mulder almost sounded sincere. It lured his victim in, made him feel like he'd gotten the best of this G-man. "Sure, why not?" the guy shrugged, only a breath away from a sneer. Mulder stepped right up, toe to toe. His voice was still soft, calm. But now edged with superiority. "You're wrong." Indiscretion and indignation rose to counter. "Yeah? How can you be so sure?" Scully groaned quietly. Mulder's eyes glittered. "Because I'm right. This isn't just some random pattern of killings. He's been targeting specific victims, for some purpose other than the joy of murder. If this is so personal to him, if he's that methodical about his choice of child, what makes you think he'd be any less particular about where he kills? He doesn't live here, he's giving up the privacy his own home could provide. Risking capture just to come here, time and time again. So you tell me...why do you think it's 'just a building'?" It was a good point. The officer flushed and looked at the ground, furious and humiliated. The other locals narrowed their eyes, angry at this hot shot for his intrusion, for his attitude. And because he was right. Keith broke the awkward silence. "Let's get the information on the building. Also, we need specialists to check for prints, blood stains, the usual. All right?" Officers scattered slowly, still grumbling over the dressing down given to one of their own. Scully sidled up to her partner as he started walking up to the building. "Do you always have to antagonize local law enforcement?" He smiled, slightly sheepish. "But, Scully, I'm so good at it." She shook her head as they found their way into the dusty, poorly lit room where so many young lived had been snuffed out. They looked around, taking in the table with the cut straps and blood stains, the splattered sheets on the floor, the random scraps and garbage strewn about the room. Mulder bent near the sheets on the floor under the table. A few drops of blood stained the fabric. "He's been careful. Very little blood on the floor. Probably changed sheets each time, and disposed of the others long ago. Clean, methodical." She nodded, lifting the sheet to look underneath. "Mulder, look. I guess he wasn't so careful, at least once." Dried blood flaked the dirty wood. He joined her to examine it. "Yeah, and a good amount of it too. Probably from the first victim." At her questioning glance he expounded as they stood, wiping grit from their hands. "That first murder would have been the catalyst. Maybe not planned as well, if at all. He would have refined his technique with time and practice." She murmured with assent, squeezing past the entering specialists as they exited the building. Keith noticed the pair and trotted over, car keys in hand. "There's not much more we can do tonight. Print guys, all the techs are here. You guys must be wiped out. Let me drive you back to the motel." They nodded and moved toward the car. Keith's normal smile was conspicuously absent. "You didn't have to rip into Welch like that." Mulder shrugged, rubbing his face. "Sorry, sometimes I over react." He didn't sound especially recalcitrant, but as tired and frustrated as they all were, Keith was willing to overlook it. After all, it was an apology. The ride back to the motel was uneventful, and the tension drained slowly away as the partners watched Keith drive away. Raw fatigue quickly replaced the concerns of the day. As they trudged towards the doors of their adjoining rooms, Mulder suddenly turned to her and said the last thing either of them expected. "Scully, I'm sorry." Startled, she faced him, the confusion clearly etched on her face. "What for, Mulder?" His hands threaded through his hair, unconsciously swiping at the stubborn lock that perpetually hung on his forehead. "For putting up with me. I get so...upset, and I shoot off without thinking. And you're always there to smooth things over, pick up the pieces." She gave him a slight, tired smile. "I'm your partner, Mulder. It's my job to help clean up the messes you get us into." His hand reached out to rest on her coat sleeve. "No, it's not." His eyes were dark, sad. She could see the pain both old and new reflected there, and his effort to hide it. She placed her hand over his and squeezed gently, allowing him to see her understanding and patience. His eyes closed briefly. "Thank you," he whispered. She nodded and they separated, exchanging only one more quiet glance before disappearing into their rooms for the night. They desperately needed sleep, a few hours of blissful solitude away from the outside world. Time to recuperate, time to gather up tattered minds and souls. Because there was still a monster to catch. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * He sat in his apartment, shivering, a soaked cloth over the wound in his arm. He could feel the cold seeping in, blood loss draining his warmth, his energy. Using the hand on his injured arm, he began to paw through a dresser drawer, looking for the medical supplied he had stored there, his other hand still firmly clamped down on the bullet hole in his upper arm. And yet all this was secondary. The pain radiating through his body had little to do with the oozing injury near his shoulder. He was angry, furious at the intrusion of the officer, how it had interrupted his work. The pain of failure was far worse than any flesh wound. And it ran much deeper. *"God, you're fucking useless! Can't you do anything right?"* He released a low, tortured moan, a bloody palm pressed against his temple, trying to stop the echoes. Shaking, barely capable of standing, he found the materials he needed. Clean bandages, alcohol, needle and thread. Pale, sweaty, he stripped the shirt he had donned for warmth over his head, a sharp cry of pain ringing in the room as the material rasped over the hurt arm. He braced himself against the dresser, looking at his reflection in the mirror hung from the wall. Slowly, methodically he soaked a bandage in alcohol and began to disinfect the injury, wincing, biting his lip to prevent further sounds of pain from escaping. He watched himself in the mirror, watched as the blood was cleansed from his flesh, watched as the gaping, ragged edges of skin became visible. When he had cleaned away as much of the red fluid as he could, he prepared to stitch himself up. He sterilized the needle and threaded it, then looked back at his reflection. 'Ah, God, no please not again!' his mind screamed. It was him in the mirror, but a much younger version. He was just a boy, a hurt, terrified, battered boy. And standing next to him was his blond-haired, blue-eyes, baby brother. *He washed the blood off his brother's face and chest and arms and legs, careful not to press too hard on the half-healed cuts and bruises. "You okay, Chris?" he asked as he tossed the soiled cloth aside.* *Ice blue eyes filled with the haunted fury of a child stared back up at him. Such old eyes for such a young boy. "Why does Dad hurt us, Jimmy? Why don't we fight back, make that sonuvabitch leave us be?"* *Jimmy tried to laugh, but his throat hurt from the bruising pressure of his father's big hands. He swallowed with difficulty, his voice raspy and pained. "He's bigger than us, Chris. And he's our Dad. We just gotta try harder to be good, not to upset him. Try to be good, okay?" It was a desperate, and useless, plea.* *Chris winced as his big brother began to crudely sew the long tear on his back, compliments of his father's boot. "I try, Jimmy," he whispered, suddenly sad and scared. "How did we do wrong today? So I know to never do it again?"* *Jimmy's heart lurched in his throat, and he stepped around to pull his brother into a tight embrace, feeling the tears against his chest as the boy sobbed. His own tears flowed freely down his cheeks, falling softly onto the blond head below. Trying to heal the wounds that rubbing alcohol and rough medicine couldn't touch.* *"What did we do wrong?"* *A choked sob broke from his abused throat at the plaintive, desperate wail against his chest. Jimmy shook his head, his eyes clamped shut as the tears poured free.* *"I don't know, Chris. I don't know..."* Tyler came to on the floor, blood still seeping from his arm and a fresh cut on his forehead from where his head had struck the edge of the dresser. He moaned and stood up, the needle and thread still clenched in his hand. Absently wiping the fresh tears from his face, he turned back toward the mirror. Eyes vacant and cold, he numbly pressed the needle into his flesh and began to sew. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Mulder and Scully awoke only marginally refreshed. Fatigue seemed as commonplace as clothing, a tattered garment that could not be removed. 'God, we need a vacation,' each thought as they showered and dressed, getting ready to face another tiring and potential gruesome day. They only thing holding them together was the need to catch the monster they hunted, and their faith in each other. They stepped outside at 7 am, as prearranged, to grab a quick breakfast. Mulder looked her over discretely as she turned to lock the door. The finely tailored beige pant suit she wore hung a bit loosely, he noticed. 'Has she been losing weight?' She half turned, her hand moving to smooth the collar of her trench- coat, allowing Mulder to examine her profile, the soft curtain of flame-red hair brushing her cheek. Quick flashes of his dreams of her last night flicked through his memory. He averted his gaze, blushing slightly. More and more frequently she had invaded his visions at night. The first had made sense. She burst into his nightmares, chasing away the blinding light and saving his sister, saving him. He assumed that after as many times as she had saved him in real life, it made sense that she would come at night to rescue him from the greatest misery of his life in the arena of his mind. They were different now. She'd left his nightmares alone and comforted him in other ways. All of them erotic. He could remember having sexual dreams about his partner stretching back for years, especially on the more intense cases, and he'd always attributed them to usual male sexual urges and the fact that she was the only female in his life. A very close female in his life. But the dreams were getting...better. More frequent, more elaborate, and a hell of a lot more disturbing. Very disturbing. He was disturbed even as he placed a gentle hand on the small of her back to guide her towards the bakery across the street. He forced himself to shove the images into the back of his mind until a more appropriate occasion to examine them arose. Like never. It wasn't worth the risk to his own stability, his own sanity. They were great partners and best friends. She was smart, she defended him, she was strong and loyal and fiercely independent all at the same time. She listened but didn't automatically follow. She reined him in when he needed it and let him go when she could. And sometimes, against all science or reason, she dared to believe. So as they entered the store, the tinkle of the bell on the door and the warm smell of bread enveloping their senses, he smiles at her and settle his thoughts and feeling firmly in the platonic realm. The other could wait, a haunting promise of what would never be, for the solace of the night. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * They were going over notes, sipping coffee and picking at a couple of doughnuts when Keith walked in. "They're still digging up the info you wanted on the building. We got prints, but no match yet. A sketch artist is going to go over to the hospital today to see if we can get something from the boy." He sat down, a genuine smile on his lips as he took a big bite of one of the pastries. Scully found his good mood infectious and smiled with him, albeit more subdued, her own mood lifting slightly. Mulder enjoyed the sight of her more joyful expression, though not what had prompted it. Still, what right had he to begrudge her a bit of happiness? 'It's not like you make her that happy, you pathetic shmuck,' his internal voice berated. 'This is reality, not one of your sick fantasies. You could never deserve a woman like that, she would never want you...' Grinding his teeth slightly, he cleared his throat, shoving the nagging thoughts aside, suddenly focused on why they were here. "Lucky break, stumbling on the killer like that. I still think the building is the key to catching him, though." The reminder of yesterday's tension caused the other man's expression to waver and fade. "I know you do, Mulder. That's why I've got people working on it. Have you come up with anything else on the profile?" Scully sipped her beverage, allowing the hot fluid to lightly scald her tongue and throat. Something about Keith set her partner on edge. And old conflict? It didn't seem that way, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what was wrong... Mulder shrugged, fixing his gaze on his hands. He seemed to drift off, collecting random thoughts and impressions. When he spoke, his voice was low, hypnotic, distant. "The abuse...that's especially important. He was abused, badly, repeatedly. That resulted in some violent confrontation, perhaps in the death of his abuser..." "He's remembering more and more now. Whatever triggered the first killing triggered memories long buried. He's reliving them now, reliving and dealing with the hurt and pain and fear, only this time as the aggressor." "As the past continues to surface, he'll become more violent, and potentially unstable. He feels guilty, but aroused...and both sensations are growing." "It's ripping him apart." The last sentence was barely above a whisper, and Scully found herself staring into familiar hazel eyes gone bright with shifting insanity. It frightened her, the way he could sink so completely into a killer's mind and world. She held his gaze, trying to ground him, and reached across the small table to touch his hand. Cold, so cold. "Mulder?" Scully's quiet voice snapped him back into the hear and now. He jerked back, then looked at her gratefully. "Thanks, Scully. I got a little involved there, eh?" She smiled without smiling and withdrew her hand. "You could say that. I think you scared the good detective." Keith had been mesmerized by Mulder's interpretation of the killer's past and motives. "Damn, Mulder, I've heard about profiling and how good you are, but that was...spooky. How accurate is it?" Mulder smirked and swallowed the remainder of his coffee. "We won't know that until we catch him." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Cold now, numb. All patched up, crude but clean. Exhausted but unable to sleep, he lay on his bed, naked to the waist. Dark, sweaty hair plastered to his forehead, hard slate-grey eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling. They were coming more often now, the flashbacks. In saner, calmer moments he analyzed the images. He hadn't thought about his family in a long time. Some parts he'd completely forgotten. But after the first one...a shudder rippled through his entire body as he remembered. He'd been giddy, overwhelmed with the sheer pleasure, hands covered with blood, finally complete. And then a brief, violent vision left him staggering with guilt. The horror was enough to douse the fire of compulsion, for a while. But the memory of the carnal joy eventually overshadowed the haunting pain, and when the opportunity had arisen he'd been unable to stop himself. He'd been more careful, though. Cleaner, more precise. And once again, after the rush of orgasmic pleasure had died, came the answering wave of betrayal and guilt long dead. Now they came at random moments, ghosts and fragments that left him retching and drained. And still hungry for more. More blood, more death, more pleasure and guilt. Hungry so often now, the urges rising in a moment, leaving him burning and hard. He'd been denied this last one. He had to lay low, stay hidden, until the pressure had died. He could hold out for a few days. Just a few quiet days, to heal, to let the intense focus die down. Just a few days. He forced his eyes closed, trying to rest, blot out the scenes in his head. He had to regain control... Because already he was beginning to burn. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "Here's what we managed to dig up." The uniformed officer tossed a file onto Keith's desk. Mulder immediately scooped it up, eager to see if his suspicions were valid. There was little else to do at this point. Mulder perched on the edge of the desk while Keith wheeled his chair over to look on. Scully emerged from an autopsy file, a cup of coffee in hand, and stood next to her partner, scanning the pages she could see. "Building's been abandoned for 15 years, since '83. Company, a local marketing firm, went under." Scully's eyes flickered over the material. "It was sold to that firm in '81 as part of an estate liquidation." "Who died?" Keith quipped, standing so he could get a better look at the pages. Mulder rustled through to the appropriate information. "One William Thornfield. The building was used as storage for his shipping business. A rather successful business, by the looks of these figures. Died in car accident, survived by one son, a James Tyler Thornfield..." It was like being struck by lightning. "What did the boy say the killer's name was?" Mulder whispered. He already knew. Keith picked up the report on the top of his desk. Ben's statement and the sketch of their suspect. It confirmed what they had all just discovered. Mulder had been right. "He told the kid his name was Tyler. That's an uncommon enough name that I'm unwilling to believe this is a coincidence." The excitement had returned to Keith's voice, and for the first time this had started Mulder share the enthusiasm. "We need everything on this guy and his family background..." Keith was already motioning for another officer, quickly giving him the name. All the info they could find, immediately. The tension in the room had morphed from searching frustration to barely contained fervor. Mulder smiled grimly at the ensuing bustle and stared at the police drawing of their prey. The face of a killer. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Before long they were pouring over new material on this promising lead. James Tyler Thornfield, aged twenty-seven. Current resident of the city. Sketchy employment history, but his father's estate was more than enough to support him. Undergraduate degree in biology, but washed out of medical school, apparently with psychological problems. Both parents dead, the father when he was eleven, the mother when he was two. Maternal cause of death: complications during the childbirth of Christopher Joseph Thornfield, also deceased. Died in 1980, at the age of eight, by drowning. "Guy's entire family is dead," Mulder commented. "Father and brother in only a little over a year...let's see what we can find on the circumstances surrounding those deaths." He was scribbling furiously on a legal pad, and after that last request he stood up and donned his jacket. "Where are we going, Mulder?" asked the startled Scully, scrambling to gather her things as he watched her expectantly. He held up a small scrap of paper. "We do have a current address. I'd like to pay this visit." "We don't have anything on him yet, Mulder," Keith pointed out. "We can't search his place or arrest him or anything. I thought confronting serial killers too early just tipped them off and gave them time to get away." He too was pulling on his suit jacket, clearly planning on joining the partners. For some reason, even though Keith was the one with a car, Mulder found this distressing. He shrugged at the question. "It can. But I need to see him. If I do...I'll know." His eyes unfocused slightly. Scully noticed and touched his arm. "Come on Mulder. We'll go check this guy out together." "All of us," Keith returned, and the three of them headed for the door. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It turned out to be minutes too late. In another twist of fate, a uniformed officer had been going door to door in Thornfield's apartment building, investigating a series of break-ins. At the sight of the cop, the resident of apartment 212 had bolted out the door, stunning the surprised man by knocking him into the wall of the corridor and running. By the time he'd recovered, Thornfield was no where to be found. "Dammit all to hell!" Mulder exploded. They entered the shabby little dwelling. A faint musty smell filled the air, a perfume of stale sweat and dust. Scully quickly found the used medical implements, bagging them for evidence. Keith was examining papers on the table when a yelp from Mulder brought the other two into the living room. A recent photograph that bore a remarkable resemblance to the police sketch was clasped between his thumb and forefinger. Even as he handed it to Scully for inspection, he was searching the desk drawer, pawing through stacks of scattered pictures, digging and sifting deeper into the frozen past of their killer. Scully had handed the photo to Keith, who grinned and handed it to another officer to show to Ben Stiles. Someone was dusting for prints, and the small area was quickly filling with officers of all types. Her eyes strayed back to Mulder, and she moved quickly to kneel next to his seated form when she noticed he'd gone rigid. "Mulder, what is it?" Silently, he turned to her, face pale, eyes bottomless and murky. She took the picture he was holding from his nerveless hand, peered at the old, grainy print. And older man stood with arms slung around the shoulders of two young boys. One taller, lanky, longish dark hair falling into sorrowful light eyes, a somber expression on his lean young face. And the other boy smaller, angry blue eyes on a grimly smiling face, a thatch of brilliant blond hair curling behind the ears. He looked like a carbon copy of the victims. They shared a look, silent communication flowing easily. "It's about the brother," Mulder whispered earnestly. "We have to find this guy." She nodded and touched his arm, her faith in his abilities shining in her eyes. "We'll find him, Mulder." "I believe in you." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * He stumbled through the streets, dazed and without destination. He'd run from the building in sheer terror when the cop had showed up at his doorstep. A good twenty minutes passed before he'd stopped running, unsure of his location. He'd been wandering ever since. Aimless, furious and scared. So his shock was understandable when he looked up to find himself staring at the building, it's entrance blocked off with garish yellow tape, warning the few that strayed near here that this was a crime scene. Minutes later he was inside, huddled in a corner, knees tucked into his chest as his body shook. Phantom stacks of boxes pressed against his side, haunting whispers floating in the dim, dusty air. He could almost feel the faint thrum of machinery through the floor, hear the booted footfall of working men. Ghosts of the past... And as he slipped towards unconsciousness, more ghosts arose to taunt his fevered mind. *The hand rose again and again, finding spots to bruise that he never knew existed. His body flinched and convulsed as overworked nerves fired sporadically, trying to shield himself from further injury. 'Please, just let this end...* *The litany of profanity streaming from his father's mouth rippled over his ears, heard and basically ignored as he tried to retreat mentally. 'Lazynogoodfuckerpieceofshitlittlefucker...'* *The sound of a harsh sob broke through his revere. He forced tear-glazed eyes open to find his brother's beaten, bleeding form standing before him, pure hatred blazing from tormented eight-year old eyes. That rage focused on their drunken, flushed father,his large hand still poised to pummel his oldest son. Shocked, he paused, and time slowed and froze.* *'No, Chris, please no, god, no stop Chris don't...'* *"Stop!"* *The high, piercing shriek struck the man full force. The boy's face contorted with righteous rage, and the dam of repressed pain and torture broke free as his older brother watched with helpless desperation. *'ChrisdontohgodpleasemakehimstoppleasenostopChris...'* *"Stop! Stopstopstopstopstop, you fucking bastard, stop..."* *The boy launched himself, fists flying, at his abuser, the screams pouring from his mouth. He struck his father hard, sobbing, screaming and punching and screaming. *"Chris..." his brother whispered.* *It took only a single startled moment for the man to respond. This was his son, how dare he fight back, this God damn little cock sucking son of a bitch!* *The boy's screams shifted abruptly from rage to terror as the man's hand grabbed and lifted, throwing him bodily across the room. There was a sickening thud, a whimper, "Jimmy...", before the attack resumed. A knife appeared, 'WheredhegettheknifeohGod noDadnoChris...', a harsh bellow of anger. Jimmy lay curled on the ground, choking on his fear, trying to crawl towards the struggle between the father he tried to love and the brother he could never hate.* *"Please, Dad no, Chris..."* *His please died, swollen in his throat. Blood, so much blood. And his father lying over the a still little form, slashing with the red-tinged knife, his hips thrusting hard against his dead son's body. A cry of fury and guilt and release rent the air.* *The sound of his other son's head collapsing to the floor followed soon after.* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *A slap roused him.* *Jimmy came to, dazed, his body throbbing with pain. He struggled to move, to sit up. 'WhereamIwhathappened wheresChris...'* *And then he remembered.* *He opened his mouth to scream, but a hand clamped over his mouth to silence him. A large, bloody hand. An uncontrollable shudder of fear and revulsion swept over him, leaving him raw. His vision swam, blurred as his father loomed over him. His eyes squeezed shut. 'Please, just let me die now...'* *"Not a word. If you ever say a word of this to anyone, I'll kill you too."* *He could only nod. Insanity glimmered in those eyes. He knew he had to obey. He could never breathe a word about Chris's death. He had failed to protect him. And now no one would ever know.* *Then the man was gone. And Jimmy lay, his battered form racked with agony, crying for the loss of his brother.* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "Here's what we came up with, Detective." New information, more detailed. Mulder scanned the pages, intense. He was blocking out everything, focusing. Close, they were so close... "Christopher Joseph Thornfield, died May 19th, 1980. He drowned to death, but according to this the body was never recovered. There was some suspicion of foul play, the father was a suspect, but nothing was ever proven." Mulder's eyes shimmered as he turned to look at Scully. "That's it," he said, his voice low, frighteningly intense. "He saw his father kill his brother. He's reenacting that murder." She refused to be drawn into this completely. He was probably right, but someone had to remain objective. "It's possible, Mulder. But we need to catch him, that's our top priority. Where would he go?" He shook his head, gathering himself. "An old residence, maybe. He'd want to go someplace familiar. Check anyplace he lived while his brother was alive." Keith scanned some of the scattered papers. "They moved around a lot. There are seven residences for those eight years. I'll get someone on it right away..." His sentence was stopped short by a yawn. Surprised, slightly sheepish, he stretched and smiled wryly. "While this gets checked out, why don't we take a break and grab some food. I, for one, am famished. There's a great bar and grill right down the street." His words evoked matching rumbles from Mulder's and Scully's stomachs. They looked at each other, faintly amused, agreement quickly communicated. "Sounds like a good idea, Black." It turned out Keith was right, it was a great bar and grill. Though all three of them refrained from drinking alcohol, the food was more than adequate. Thick, juicy burgers were soon consumed, and they all sat back and relaxed while picking over a basket of fries. At least, Scully and Keith were relaxing. She even laughed as he told her stories (the one's he could get away with telling, at any rate) of times he and Mulder had experienced at Oxford. An icy glare had prevented some of the ones Keith wanted to tell, so he'd steered clear of some of the best Mulder tales he knew. Even so, Mulder found himself close off as he watched Scully listen to his friend. Her lips slightly parted, a real smile curving her features, eyes light and happy. She never looked that way with him. With him, she was exhausted and worried, frightened and threatened, somber and distressed. He was poison to the natural joy she possessed. Scully couldn't help but feel better as the images of a younger Mulder filled her mind. The fantasy was certainly better company than reality right now. He had a worn, sullen look on his face, his dark tired eyes focused on some distant point as Keith spun tales of happier times, two buddies drinking and pulling childish pranks. Maybe that was the problem. He didn't want to be reminded of times when things were better, or a past involving Phoebe. Or maybe this case was getting to him, or all the pent up stress of working too long and too hard against an enemy that seemed to ever grow and thrive... Scully shook her head and sighed, her smile having been dimmed by her internal contemplations. If he wanted her to know what was bothering him, he'd tell her. It was probably nothing. Besides, it gave her the chance to examine him without his noticing. She glanced at him Keith paused to munch on another fry. Still staring off into space, a petulant look on his face. He was kind of cute when he was moody, which was a good deal of the time. She even got to watch as he drank the rest of his iced tea, capturing an ice cube with his teeth, sucking on in gently before it slid down his throat, leaving his lips glistening with little droplets of water. She was captivated. It was one of the tamest and yet erotic things she had seen in a long time. It invoked feelings she allowed her partner to evoke only in her dreams. Quickly, she averted her gaze, focusing on the new story Keith was delving into. Letting her partner know he aroused her was a complication their relationship did not need. Keith was cut off abruptly as Mulder stood and excused himself to go to the bathroom. He and Scully watched the tense figure retreat across the restaurant. Scully sighed as he disappeared. "Sorry about the company, detective. Mulder can be..." Keith laughed. "I know how Fox can be, I helped nurse him through his withdrawal from Phoebe. I've seen him a hell of a lot worse than this. Oh...and call me Keith." She nodded and smiled. "Yeah, he can be a handful." She shook her head ruefully. He smiled and watched her. A look of nervousness and embarrassment washed over his face as he gathered his courage. How his paranoid friend had ever managed to work with someone as beautiful as this woman without having the relationship escalate was beyond him. He certainly wasn't going to let the opportunity pass him by. "Um...Dana?" Startled, her eyes met his. 'God, such beautiful eyes..." "You don't mind me calling you Dana, do you?" She smiled again and blushed slightly. "No, that's fine...I just don't hear it that often. Mulder almost never calls me that." He nodded slowly, his mind fogging over as he drowned in her gaze. He was forced to break their eye contact so he could concentrate enough to form a coherent sentence. His eyes dropped to watch his hands as they traced random patterns on the table top. "I was wondering...what sort of relationship do you and Fox have?" There was no mistaking his intentions. She noticed his hesitant demeanor, the sudden shyness he exhibited. And he was questioning her about what she and Mulder had together. The truth was, she wished she knew. She could only answer as she always had. The blush still tingeing her cheeks, she developed her own fascination with her hands. "We're partners and friends. Close friends, considering all we've been through together." When she didn't continue, his breath caught. "But that's all?" The hope in his voice caused her to lift her eyes to his again. "Yes, that's all." Keith smiled, elated. 'Is Mulder blind? Jesus, how could he see her every day for years without noticing...' "I was wondering if maybe...you and me...we could go out, get together..." She smiled faintly and almost wished she could. "Keith...we're working together on a case, and as soon as that's over Mulder and I will leave. You're a very attractive, nice guy, but I couldn't just...for only a night or two..." He held up a hand, disappointed but not all that surprised. He didn't think she would be willing for such a short-term relationship, or a long distance one. But you couldn't blame a guy for trying. "I understand, Dana. Really, I do." She smiled at him again, and they both stood and began to don their jackets. When she accidentally knocked her purse to the floor, they both bent to retrieve it. Fingers touched briefly, a jolt of electric attraction passing between them. Panicked, Scully stood up quickly, flushed. Keith's actions mirrored her own, and they were suddenly standing only inches apart. Her mind reeled. Even as she was retreating mentally, she was drawn to him physically, swaying slightly. He was attractive, he was there, oh God this wasn't happening, JesusMaryMotherofGod Mulderno, and then his lips were on hers, soft and lightly pressing, and she was responding, she couldn't help but respond... He hadn't meant to do it. He hadn't meant to touch her. But then he was standing in front of her, desire coursing through his veins from only the mere brush of their hands, and her eyes, God her eyes were so blue and slightly lost and he just had to lean forward and kiss those soft, full beautiful lips and oh sweet Jesus she was kissing him back... A soft gasp and the palpable touch of a pair of dark, searing eyes broke them apart. She knew, Scully *knew* even before she turned what she was going to see. Keith could only stare over her shoulder, his hand still lightly clasping her upper arms, while her head moved, an agonizing eternity, to find the source of the strangled sound. 'Oh, Mulder, I'm so sorry.' He stood less than ten feet away, watching as she moved away from his friend, 'My fucking friend!', a guilty flush suffusing both their faces. Her eyes locked with his, anguish seeping into her chest as they darkened with pain and humiliation. "Let's go," he muttered sharply, and stalked out the door, leaving the other two to follow in his turbulent wake. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * He woke up hours later, drained and shaky. He'd never forgotten, exactly, but he'd pushed the memories away to a dark corner of his mind for a long time. The abuse, the violence. Years of it, leaving faint physical scars and gaping emotional sores that festered and grew. Rape, horrible beatings, weeks of neglect followed by hours of intense physical and psychological agony. He thought he'd left it all behind. Apparently not. The air was rank with the stench of him, sweat soaked clothes, urine and vomit. His muscles felt weak, lax, and despite the urge to run as far away from the nightmare that was his life as he could, he lay on the floor, a huddled pathetic wretch of a human being. He could have stayed there forever. Yes, here, die here, let memories ebb and flow until his body succumbed to hunger or thirst or fever. Fading in and out of consciousness, he tried to focus on happier times, times with his dad and Chris that were pleasant, no blood or hate or fear. And then he heard a voice. A boy's voice. At first he thought it was another hallucination, another construct of his tortured, fevered psyche. Then he heard the movement, the faint rustle of clothing. It wasn't a fantasy. He watched from the shadows as the child entered the room. A delicious child, blond and blue-eyed, those eyes dancing with guilty excitement as he crept into forbidden territory. A crime scene, he shouldn't be here, and the flush of the wicked deed gave his cheeks a rosy glow. Twists of fate. Chance that had torn away his last victim was now granting him another. It was not something he could resist. Even as the unsuspecting youth sensed another presence, felt that something wasn't right, there was a low moan and a sudden flash of movement. And then a fist, a harsh cry, and the lights exploded under his eyelids as a monster in human guise struck again. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Mulder was riding in the back seat this time. He'd been sitting there by the time Scully and Keith had emerged from the bar and grill, still embarrassed by what had happened. Keith because they had been interrupted by an obviously disapproving Mulder, and because he'd wanted it so badly, and because she'd lied, there was something between her and Mulder but she'd obviously enjoyed kissing him... He was confused, and frustrated, and had seemingly hurt and old friend. Scully, understandably, was in an even worse state. Scully was in hell. She was angry at herself for giving into the physical impulse when she knew it was nothing else. She was angry at Keith for initiating the actual kiss when she'd just told him she wasn't interested. And she was absolutely furious at Mulder. He had no right to act this way. He had no claim over her, no reason to walk off like a spoiled five-year old because he'd seen her kiss another man. Hell, it's not like she hadn't seen him with another woman before. Unbidden and most definitely unwelcome, images of Mulder dancing with Phoebe, Mulder in Comity with that blond bimbo of a detective draped over him, rose in her mind. 'See, he has no right to act like this. I never acted like this...' Of course, come to think of it, she had acted in a remarkably similar fashion after the incident in Comity. And he had acted guilty afterwards, despite the fact that he had no real reason to feel guilt, nor she...anger? Jealousy. 'You were jealous...and so is he...' 'No! Not jealous...we have no claim on each other, no bond...' 'Like hell!' Their bond ran deep and strong and true. She knew that, had accepted it and the occasional emotional consequences long before. And up until tonight, 'and Jerse', she had respected the imaginary boundaries. With a flash, she realized the source of her continuing guilt, despite her anger and rationalizations. She felt like she'd betrayed him. Betrayed the implicit line they rarely toed, and crossed even less. The line that formed a circle around only the two of them, keeping them together, separated from the world. When she'd kissed Keith, she'd betrayed that bond. Even if they'd never spoken about it, never even acknowledged its existence, the breech still hurt the one left standing alone. She'd betrayed his love. 'Oh, Mulder...what have I done?' * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * He knew now where his father had gotten the knife that night. The same place he'd gotten his now. Like his father, he always carried a pocket knife. It wasn't as sharp or as large as the one he'd used for the others, but it was definitely functional. The unconscious boy was naked on the floor, his torn clothing being used to bind his arms and legs. His face, just along the right temple and eye, was already swelling, changing colors from the excessive force used to subdue him. He was going to be hurting when he came to. Then the real pain would begin. He couldn't even bring himself to pretend he was going to make this one last. The mere sight of the boy had broken any token resistance left to him. This was what he was. It was the only way he could ever be whole, ever feel again. He needed the pleasure, the guilt, the glory and the passion and the blame and the horror. All of it. And soon. A faint groan from the floor drew his attention. The boy's eyelids fluttered, fighting the agony in his skull and the drugging darkness that clawed at his mind, dragging him back down into the smooth blackness he was trying to escape. The man watched, pulse quickening, as the battle waged, the boy stirring and uttering another pitiful moan before the darkness claimed him. Standing over the child's still form, he panted and rubbed the blossoming bulge in his pants. Trying and failing to repress the shudder that rippled through his body, he allowed himself to fantasize about the upcoming event. It wouldn't be long now. They boy would awaken, and then the fun could begin. The tension, the anticipation was just foreplay. And he could hardly wait for the consummation to begin. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Mulder disappeared into his room before Scully had managed to exit the car. She sighed deeply, unsure how to patch up this rift, or if she should even try. Keith's quiet voice stopped her before she could step out into the night. "I'm sorry." She closed her eyes, bone weary and fighting an aching lump in her chest. She didn't want to talk to him. Part of her blamed him. 'He had to be attractive, and to notice me, and to kiss me...' Still, she knew it wasn't fair to him. She was as much to blame for this mess than him, perhaps more so. And, if nothing else, they still had to work together. She turned in the seat to face him. His handsome features were drawn into a sorrowful, pained expression. She offered him a half-smile and shook her head slightly. "You didn't do anything wrong." He smiled ruefully. "But I didn't do something right, either, did I?" She had no response for that. Gently, he reached across to touch her face. A brief, friendly touch. "You two do have something, don't you?" Frustrated, her voice rose in pitch and volume. "Yes...no...I don't know! We never discuss anything like that." Keith almost laughed. He had no idea how two people could be so dense. Their feeling for each other were obvious from the way they interacted, the way they looked at each other, their reactions to the other's words and actions and their very presence. He was jealous. "I always knew Fox was crazy. Not to notice a woman like you, when you're right in front of him." He was rewarded by her faint blush. "I'm sure you'll be able to work this out." Her eyes were suddenly suffused with raw pain, and he wanted to do something to ease it. But he didn't know how. "I'm not sure I know how." His smile was genuine this time. They were both crazy. "Just tell him." "Tell him what?" His answer both elated and terrified her. "The truth." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Mulder, too, was in hell. 'Is this how she felt in Comity? Furious, humiliated, betrayed...' 'Yeah, but she's not in love with you, you fucking idiot.' Love? 'Yes, love, you pathetic coward. You're in love with your partner, and she'd probably shoot you again if she knew. And she was kissing Black...' He groaned aloud as the memory seared his mind, replaying behind eyelids squeezed closed. Damn photographic memory. The image was haunting, burning him, making him feel wildly out of control, desperate to do something, anything to keep from feeling this miserable. 'I have no right to be doing this. She doesn't know, we have no hold on each other, I should be happy for her, for Christ's sake. She's found someone, she's better off far away from me...' His litany of grief was cut short by a knock on the door. "Mulder...we need to talk." A broken sob almost escaped his throat. His voice was brittle, bitter. "Leave me alone, Scully." "No, Mulder...open the door." Rage bubbled to the surface. He was standing in the middle of the cheap hotel room, hands clenched into tight, white-knuckled balls. "No! Leave me the hell alone, Scully! I don't want to talk to you!" Silence reigned, and both disappointment and relief coursed through his veins. He wanted to see her, needed to, and yet the very thought infuriated and repulsed him, especially as once again the memory arose, her and Keith, to torment him. He collapsed onto the bed, elbows on his knees, head buried in his palms. The dull grind of a doorknob turning filled the air. Adjoining rooms, and he'd forgotten to lock the door. He could only watch helplessly as she walked into his room. "I thought I told you to go away, Scully," he ground out. She stepped over to him, pulled the room's only chair up to rest near the bed, sat down to face him. So calm, so composed. How could she act so rational when he felt raw, exposed, wounded to the core? 'This is a nightmare, a fucking nightmare. I'll just wake up and it'll all be okay...' "Mulder, please...we really need to talk." Shit, this was real. "Talk about what, Scully? Find out something new on the case?" He was trying hard to keep his tone light. It came out tight, strained. Her mask slipped a little, revealing her own anger and confusion in a brief shadow across her face. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts and tumbling emotions to notice. He stood abruptly to pace the room, needing to do something, anything, to relieve the tension. "Cut the crap, Mulder." He turned, sharply, to face her, the familiar phrase ringing in his ears. 'Dammit Mulder, cut the crap...' "We have to talk about what happened in the restaurant." The fury returned. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Scully. Let's just go to bed. Or I'll go to bed...you can go back to Black. Wouldn't want to keep him waiting." That hurt. He'd done that on purpose, thrown a stinging barb out of spite. And part of him hated himself for doing it, for lashing out at Scully, 'my Scully', but he had to pus her away. Now she'd get angry, like she had in Comity, 'God, I hate that town', and push back against his poisoned words. She blinked hard. The blow hit home, hard and low. The temptation to do just as he thought she would, strike back with equal force, was almost overwhelming. 'But then we'll have accomplished nothing, and hurt each other more in the process.' So she simply absorbed the impact, swallowed the humiliating pain. Penance for her betrayal. She could only forge ahead and pray it was enough. "It's not what you think." A harsh, snorting sound pushed it's way past tightly clenched teeth. "Oh, really? Looked like you making out with Black but, hey, maybe old Spooky is just seeing things. Or do you make it a habit to kiss all the cops we deal with along the way? Maybe I should pay more attention..." "Shut up, Mulder! Just because we kissed...it doesn't mean anything." "Oh, it was just for fun then! Feeling a little tension, are we Scully? There are less drastic outlets, but whatever floats your boat." She wasn't sure how much longer she could endure the biting sarcasm without screaming, or leaving, or drawing her weapon. He wasn't making this easy. "I didn't want to kiss him. It just happened...I had already told him no." That got his attention. She'd told him no? But anger still clouded his mind. "It didn't look like you protested too hard to me. I can tell when there are two people involved in a kiss." She sighed a tried a different tack. "Why do you care?" He paused after that one, a dark flush spreading across his face. 'Is there a right answer here?' "I don't care, 'liar!', it just seems...unprofessional." She stood and moved to stand in front of him, eyes blazing with anger and indignation and something he'd seen before but couldn't quite define... "Bullshit." She had called his bluff. Acknowledged the lie that lay between them. They'd never dared to step so close to the other invisible line before, the one that defined the final boundary between them. He was terrified, and exhilarated. And furious. His face darkened, the pain and rage evident in his eyes. Without conscious thought his hands shot out to grasp her upper arms, pulling her closer, staring hard into her eyes. Separated by mere inches, she could feel his tension, see the ragged rise and fall of his chest. "What is it you wasn't to hear, Scully?" he snarled, his voice low, rough, anguished. "That I care if you kiss another guy? You kissed another fucking guy..." His voice trailed off, and only the pain remained. This had to stop, now. "Leave me, Scully, please," he whispered, pleading. Her response was just as pleading. "No." "What do you want from me, Scully?" "The truth." His eyes shuttered closed. Not that, never that. 'Thetruththe truththetruththetruth...' A mantra, a vision they chased and never found in the world. A dream, a wish he could not allow himself to pursue here, with her. Too much danger, too much uncertainty, too much fear. She watched the struggle flit across his face. She had to push, and it could blow up in her face, but it was the only way. Pain now, pain later, what did it matter? They need to have this out, now, before it ripped them apart. "Were you jealous?" His eyes snapped open, burning. "Why did you kiss him?" "Were you jealous?" "Why did you kiss him?" He was yelling now, shaking, his hands like iron bands on her arms, bruising. She refused to flinch from his grip or his gaze. he was close to breaking. Just one more shove and he should topple... "Because I couldn't kiss you." His breath released in a long, shuddering hiss. After he'd held it for a full twenty seconds. It took him that long to remember how to breathe as he absorbed the impact of her statement. 'Me, she wanted to kiss me, how long has she wanted that, oh thank you sweet Jesus, my Scully...' They were the longest twenty seconds of her life. The most stunned expression had settled on his face. She had laid it all on the line, and he just stood there with that look... Then his breath exploded across her cheek and ear, and she found herself pinned against the wall near the door, his mouth covering hers, lips moving with urgency. No gentleness, no hesitancy. Only long suppressed hunger and bruising need. Her hands gripped the back of his neck, intensifying the contact. Tongues met and dueled, the slide of sinewy slickness sending liquid fire pulsing through their veins to settle low and hard. He trembled and pressed himself against her, his throbbing erection nestled against her answering heat. They broke for air, panting and flushed. Her eyes molten pools of aqua, his darkened to near black with desire. "God, Scully," he murmured, his mouth seeking and finding the soft flesh by her ear, the sound of her breathy response making him light-headed. "So long, so long I've been waiting, so long Scully." His teeth nipped at her neck, tasting the soft salty skin, his tongue darting out to soothe the faint marks left behind. "I know, Mulder. Me too, so long, oh God Mulder..." She could feel the heat rising in her blood, her limbs growing heavy. Frantic, she grabbed his head, dragged that teasing, gorgeous mouth back to her own, drawing his full lower lip between her own to suckle it. She became conscious of his hips grinding against her own, that she was thrusting back in counterpoint. So long. They been hiding behind regulations, and danger, and their own hesitation for so long. Hiding from the only truth that could truly satisfy them. The only truth that could make them whole. He pulled away with a suddenness that left her staggering. Slightly dazed, she reached for him, confused and anguished when he grasped her hands tightly but prevented her from moving to him. "Scully?" His voice was suddenly very serious, earnest, though it still bore a trace of huskiness. The tears that threatened to spill from her eyes as she contemplated a crushing remark tinged her own. "What is it, Mulder?" "I know where the killer is." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Masturbation had relieved the tension for only a short time. He was already hard again, aching in his tight jeans, pacing. It was taking too long for the boy to rouse on his own. Lips pursed in a thin, tight line, he crouched next to the still pale figure on the floor, his groin pulsing at the close-up view of the child's smooth hairless flesh. 'Breathe, you sick fucking bastard, breathe...' Reigning himself in, he grabbed the boy's shoulders and shook him roughly. "Hey, kid...wake up, boy." After a few seconds he was rewarded by a weak groan and slitted blue eyes. Scared, terrified eyes. "Where...where am I?" he croaked. The man smiled, a thin crazed twisting of his lips. "Shhh," he cautioned. "We wouldn't want anyone to spoil our fun. What's your name, kid?" "Chris." The moan that erupted from his throat lasted an eternity. He was writhing on the floor, clutching his temples, trying to blot out the sudden flood of images, the taunting whisper of words in his ears. The boy, upset by this violent reaction, frightened by his nudity and the inability to move, began to cry in dry, raspy wails. Past and present became one entity. The man looked up, eyes glazed and unfocused. 'Warehouse? Their bedroom floor...' "Chris?" Reality snapped. He crawled over, smothered the child against his chest, crying freely. Broken cries reverberated through his body as Chris thrashed, trying to get free from this strange man's embrace. "Chris...I'm so sorry...it's all my fault, I should have protected you, it should have been me. Chris, my brother, I love you, don't hate him, forgive me I love you Chris!" No, something wrong, this one was wrong, not Chris, he lied, too small, wrong smell... "What did you do with my brother!" * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Scully snapped her cell phone shut. "Keith will meet us there, but he's quite a ways away...Mulder, are you sure about this?" He swerved sharply to get around a slower vehicle, ignoring the obscene gesture and the screech of breaks as he cut off another driver. "I'm sure, Scully. He ran off, he was confused and scared and probably didn't have a clue where he was going or what he was doing. Whatever it is about his father's warehouse that drew him there to kill will probably draw him back there. It's where he's learned to deal with the past." She nodded. Although Keith had been somewhat skeptical, she trusted her partner's judgement. Even if their normal comfort level was somewhat strained at the moment. "Mulder..." He afforded her a glance, tearing his gaze away from the road long enough to meet her eyes. Confusion, frustration, longing in their blue depths, in her clear voice. There were some things, even now, they couldn't quite put into words. "I know, Scully. We'll talk later." "I promise." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "What did you do with my brother, you no good piece of shit? Where is he, I love him, oh God Chris forgive me take me instead..." He was sobbing, barely coherent, fists flailing and impacting, bludgeoning raw bloody flesh. His knuckles were bruised, scraped and red, covered with blood, so much blood... The boy had given up crying in favor of unconsciousness. "Fucking worthless little bastard. Wake up, you coward, wake up and feel what I felt, what Chris felt, Chris I'm sorry!" His voice broke, an inarticulate cry filling the room. He paused, wiping sweat and tears from his eyes, and pulled out the knife. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It was all business now. They pulled up in the car they had commandeered from the startled guest at the motel they were at, tires spinning in the gravel. Doors flung open, guns drawn as they raced towards the darkened building, the faint glare of streetlamps and the cloud-filtered moonlight casting eerie shadows over the ground, distorting images. Mulder had the lead, running crouched towards the warehouse, gun in his right hand, his left gesturing towards Scully for her to back him up. They advanced, quiet and cautious, straining to hear if there was any noise, any signs of life within. As they arrived at the main entrance, they paused to listen. A loud, animalistic cry rent the air from inside. As one Mulder and Scully tore towards the sound, the haunted strains echoing in the ears. The scene they stumbled on was just as haunting. A frenzied man, dark hair plastered into insanely blazing eyes, moisture rolling down his contorted face. Blood, blood everywhere, and the glinting flash of steel in his clenched fist as he knelt over the naked, broken form of a child. "Freeze!" The man looked up, startled, poised for the strike. Scully noticed with revulsion that his jeans were undone, that he was clearly aroused by the abuse he was perpetrating against the innocent. Then his face crumpled, and he whimpered as if he himself was a child. "No," he whispered. "I'm not done yet." "Just put the knife down and put your hands in the air," Mulder instructed, his weapon trained on the man's head. "You don't understand...he killed my brother." He sounded lost, frightened, confused. He gestured with bloody hands, pointing at the inert form while Scully's trigger finger twitched. Mulder advanced slowly, trying to move in without causing the knife to fall and claim it's victim. "I know about your brother, James. Your brother Chris. Your father killed him, didn't he?" The man stiffened, the hand clenching the blade quavering as it hovered only inches from the boy's chest. "Yes...but it was my fault..." Mulder shuddered in sympathy. "It should have been me." Then the lost child disappeared to be replaced by the enraged man, he cried out and jerked the knife over head to complete the act, the cycle, to finally end this and erase the pain, the guilt, the hunger once and for all... Two shots rang out, one from each gun, and James Tyler Thornfield fell to the ground. And it was over, once and for all. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "The boy will be kept at the hospital for a few days. All his physical damage will heal nicely. Hopefully the mental trauma will heal in time as well." "What about Thornfield?" Scully flipped through the medical chart she held. "He's in critical but stable condition. He lost a lot of blood, especially from the shot to the shoulder that hit the artery. He had to recessitated twice en route to the hospital." Mulder nodded slowly, peering through the hospital window to where the killer lay, a respirator breathing for him, his heart spiking the monitor. "Then he'll be prodded and analyzed for the rest of his life, locked up in some psych ward or prison." The pity in his voice surprised her. "You don't think he deserves that?" Mulder shook his head emphatically. "No, he does. He's a danger to society and himself. It's just...sad. How the sins of the father so often live on in the son. How that one incident, so long ago, can have such a horrible impact on the future." She laid a hand on his shoulder as they turned to walk away. "Thankfully, it doesn't always happen that way." They shared a brief, understanding smile as they made their way out of the hospital to Keith's car. Keith was leaning against it, the wind whipping through neatly combed hair. "Ready to go to the airport?" They nodded, and were soon underway. "I just wanted to thank you guys, you especially Mulder. We might not have caught him without your input, or at least not until he'd done a lot more damage." He sounded totally sincere and a touch apologetic. "And about what happened..." Scully cut him off before Mulder could. "Please, don't. It's over and there's nothing more to discuss." Keith cleared his throat. "Well, I hope you at least talk to each other. I didn't intend to cause friction." Mulder caught Scully's eye in the rear-view mirror and winked at her, reveling in how she looked away quickly to hide the blush rising up her cheeks. "We always talk, Black, about whatever warrants discussion," he said in carefully neutral tones. He didn't want to irk Scully too badly. They rode the remainder of the way in companionable silence. Scully and Mulder soon found themselves saying their goodbyes to Keith. "I am sorry, Dana," the detective commented as they shook hands. "I didn't realize it was that bad," she deadpanned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "It wasn't...I mean, it was good, I'm just sorry about the trouble it caused..." Mulder gave an exaggerated frown. "Alright, you two, break it up. And you damn well better be sorry, Black," he smirked, pumping the other man's hand. Keith smiled, reading between the lines. "You're a lucky man, my friend. You take care of her." "Always." As the partners walked toward their gate, Keith's cheerful voice floated back across the lobby. "I'll keep you posted on the case, Fido." Scully had never seen Mulder turn quite that shade of red before. "Fido?" "I'll explain later," he muttered, ushering her towards their flight with a hand on her lower back. "You have a whole lot of explaining to do, Mulder. About a lot of things..." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * So Long (3/3) by e.b.e. see part 1 for disclaimer Author's note: This is the NC-17, MSR, sappy sex section. It's not really necessary to the story, so you can skip it if that's not your thing. It's my thing, so I decided to try my hand at it. You be the judge... "Mulder?" He was standing on her doorstep, a pizza balanced in his left hand, a single flower in his right, a goofy grin on his face. "I brought dinner. May I come in?" It was two nights after their arrival back in DC. They'd spent the past few days doing paperwork, the air between them remarkably free of tension given the fact that they both wanted to expound upon (in more ways than one) the incident in the motel room. And now here he was. Looking relaxed and handsome, she thought, in his blue jeans and t-shirt, his hair slightly rumpled. It took her a second to respond to his query, she was so lost in looking at him. She nodded, a faint smile gracing her features. She stepped aside to allow him entrance, inordinately pleased by his visit, her pulse quickening slightly at the thought of the possibilities. As he set down the warm box, she noted he seemed nervous. 'This could get interesting...' He was sweating, his stomach tied in knots as he turned to face her. She looked so beautiful, hair loose, a button-down shirt and jeans hiding everything he suddenly was desperate to see. She seemed controlled, neutral, but here eyes betrayed a glint of humor and fire, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly. 'Well, at least one of us is having a good time..' "Is that for me?" she asked, gesturing to the flower. He grinned sheepishly and held it out, feeling like a teen out on a first date. He had absolutely no idea what had possessed him to get it in the first place, but he could hardly take it back now. He watched mutely as she took the single rose and held it to her nose, inhaling the fragrance before moving to the kitchen to put it in water, hiding her wide smile. "What's on the pizza, Mulder?" He cleared his throat, a multitude of emotions warring in his chest. "The usual, Scully. Pepperoni, mushrooms, and peppers." She made a face as she came back into the room. "You know I hate peppers." He smirked. "You always pick them off. Just 'cause you don't like them doesn't mean I have to suffer." She gave and exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes. "The things I do for you, Mulder..." She trailed off and blushed slightly at the sudden darkening of his hazel eyes, the heat flowing from their depths. She broke the gaze, shattering the brief spell that had entranced them both. Soon they had scrounged up plates and drinks from Scully's kitchen and were digging into the hot food. "Black called me today," Mulder commented around a mouthful of food. She waited until she had swallowed. "What did you have to say?" "Thornfield has been declared mentally incompetent to stand trial. Apparently, as soon as he came to it was obvious he'd suffered a complete mental breakdown. He'll be confined to a mental institute once he's released from the hospital, probably for the rest of his life." She raised an eyebrow. "No trial." He shrugged and started in on his second slice. "Not while he's incompetent. They're still debating if he was sane at the time of the offenses. Personally, I think he knew what he was doing, but I doubt he'll stand trial any time soon, if at all. But they did find out what was so special about that warehouse." "It's a UFO hotspot?" she joked. He smiled. "I wish. No, that's where the brother was buried. Just under the floorboards in the room we shot him in." Scully's eyes widened. "I guess that means he didn't drown." Mulder shook his head. "Nope, cause of death appears to be stabbing, from the nicks along the ribs and on the breastbone." She nodded thoughtfully as she chewed her dinner, washing it down with the last of her soda. She settled back in her chair, allowing random thoughts to intrude as she watched her partner start in on his fourth piece. Thoughts about the Thornfield case, mostly, but as Mulder dripped tomato sauce on his chin, she found her mind drifting towards more entertaining images. Most involving food and a tongue bath. 'Down girl!' she thought, her mouth quirking as he continued his meal, apparently unaware of his messy face. 'There's still a lot of things that needs to be discussed before anything like that happens.' She just hoped the discussion wouldn't take too long. Her steady gaze drew Mulder's attention. He looked up, a vaguely confused expression on his face, sauce smeared across his chin. She suppressed a laugh; he looked like a little boy. Keeping her more erotic impulses firmly in check, she moved to sit next to him on the couch, a paper towel in hand. He could only sit, mesmerized, as she reached up to wipe his face. Coherent thought fled. He stared at her, spellbound, as the rough material swept over his flesh, the warmth of her fingers seeping through to heat his skin and blood. 'She's touching me,' he thought, his breathing becoming more shallow as decidedly unpartner-like scenarios began running through his mind. She leaned back after a moment, holding up the paper towel for his inspection. "You had sauce on your chin," she explained, holding his eyes with hers. Deep, bottomless pools, changing color even as she watched. She loved his eyes. A small shiver ran through her body, and she pulled back quickly hoping he hadn't noticed her reaction. And hoping that he had. Which was fortunate, because he had, and his expression suddenly shifted to become teasing, bold. "So, Mulder, why did you come over tonight?" she asked hurriedly, force of habit compelling her to try and reassert their normal atmosphere. Though, for the life of her, she couldn't think of why she would want to do that. "You could have told me about the case at work tomorrow." His face was serious, but his eyes were dark, heatedly intense. His voice, low and gravelly, made her blood burn. "Don't you remember, Scully? I promised we'd talk." She tried to laugh, discovered her throat was dry. Was it getting warmer in the room? "That's right," she managed, avoiding those entrancing eyes. "You promised to tell me about that nickname." He smiled, slow and lazy. "You're avoiding the real issue." She could feel her heartrate triple. "Am I? What would the real issue be?" Mulder suddenly sounded strangled. "Please, don't play with me about this. If you don't want to talk about it, if you want to pretend it never happened, I'll understand, but don't act like right now you don't know what I'm talking about." Time stood still while he waited for her response. His heart compressed into a painful, throbbing lump in his chest, his breath caught in agonizing anticipation. He could only wait, helpless, while the woman who held the key to his heart and happiness to decided what to do with it. Ignore it, or dare to contemplate turning the lock. When she finally spoke, it was almost a whisper. "I think we should talk about this, Mulder. I don't want to...I can't just forget." His smile of pure relief met her shy, nervous one. "I'm so glad, Scully. I don't want to forget either." Her light chuckle filled the room. "You can't forget, Mulder, you have an eidetic memory." "For once, I'm extremely grateful for that fact." She smiled slightly, warmed by his words. They sat in comfortable silence for a time, enjoying their closeness but unsure of how to proceed. So much they had to work out still, so much to decide. They had kissed, and though both knew it could have gone much further, they hadn't done anything yet that couldn't be explained. They could still go back, resume their friendship and partnership, chalk it up to stress. Or they could move forward and see what happened. Though she couldn't speak for him, she desperately wanted to move forward. And though he had no clue how she felt, his vote lay in a similar direction. "How long, Mulder?" His eyes betrayed his confusion. "I don't quite follow." "While we were kissing, you said that it was something you had wanted for 'so long'. How long, Mulder?" She was blushing slightly, watching her hands twist in her lap, both afraid to hear his answer and so anxious to know she could hardly sit still. She knew her desire for him had been growing, albeit hidden even from herself, for years. Had he longed for her as long, or as deeply? He moved closer to her on the couch, taking one of her small hands between his own, rubbing it gently with his thumb. His voice was quiet, sincere, hinting at emotions too close to the surface. Emotions he hadn't felt in a long time and was unsure of how to deal with. "A really long time, Scully. I've noticed you were attractive since we met, of course, but as we got to know each other better..." He trailed off, searching for the right words. "First, you were just a partner, almost an annoyance. I couldn't bring myself to trust you, but at the same time I was desperate to do so. And then I did, and I kept waiting for you to betray me, or leave me, but you never did." "Then you were a friend, someone to open up to, someone I could actually be myself around without fearing ridicule or censure. When you were taken," he paused and swallowed, his hands tightening on hers, "I realized that you were the most important person in my life. I still considered you a friend, but the best friend I'd ever had. The thought of losing you...it drove me crazy." He stopped talking, waiting until she looked up at him. The sight of him, anxiety and tenderness and naked desire written plainly on his features, caused her breath to catch. He was so open, so vulnerable, and it almost hurt to see him like that. "I'm not sure when it happened," he continued, gazing into clear, shining blue eyes. "It sort of snuck up on me. By the time you were sick...I didn't really know it, though. I buried it deep, I couldn't deal with it consciously, not and work with you at the same time, work to find a cure. The only time it became an issue was in my dreams. Then, I saw you with Black..." She couldn't bear to watch the sudden flash of pain in his eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, choking on the sudden lump in her throat. "I didn't mean for it to happen..." "No, I'm glad it happened," he announced, startling her. She examined his expression, found it earnest and almost amused. "Seeing you kiss another man kind of forced me to acknowledge my feelings for you. Who knows how long I'd have been able to deny them otherwise?" She smiled, a genuine, rare smile seen only when she was truly happy. He always felt blessed when she favored him with it, and he couldn't help but return it now. "So, does that answer your question?" She laughed. "I assume that was the long version." "I try to be thorough." "I certainly hope so." The implications in her voice left his mind reeling. But he needed to know something first. "And you, Scully? How long?" He looked truly frightened. She knew how difficult it must have been for him to open himself to possible rejection. Everyone he had ever been close to had left him, hurt him, abandoned and betrayed him. And he'd still been brave enough to tell her how he felt, leaving himself vulnerable to a potentially lethal blow. Fortunately, she was in a charitable mood. She smiled into his wide, hopeful, timid eyes. "I'll try to keep this short," she teased mildly. "I've known for quite a while now. Since before the cancer, but since I didn't know how you felt...I couldn't risk alienating you. Couldn't risk dying by myself if you felt uncomfortable, if my feelings pushed you away." "Never," he broke in solemnly, seeing the bright shine of unshed tears in her eyes. "I could never leave you." "I believe you." One of his hands left hers to gently cup her face, tracing her cheekbone with this thumb. Soft, so soft her skin, the pressure of his hand. It took a good deal of effort for her to continue talking with his warm hand searing her flesh and soul. "I...I was attracted to Black, I can't deny that." Again, pain sparked in his hazel eyes, but he allowed her to continue. "But even when he...we...you were in my mind." Her embarrassed expression draw a tentative smile from Mulder, his hand still caressing her face, urging her to meet his gaze. "It kind of pissed me off, too. I knew how I felt, but since I didn't really know how you did...it's kind of frustrating to feel like you're cheating on someone you've never even kissed." He chuckled, understanding penetrating the guilty haze in her eyes. "Yeah, that does sort of suck, doesn't it?" Their shared laughter filled the room, musical to both their ears. With their lives so filled with danger and lies and death, they had sometimes wondered if happiness was even possible. Genuine smiles were unusual; laughter was so infrequent it was almost shocking. But it felt so good to be laughing here, now, with each other. When it finally died away, they were breathless, flushed, eyes locked, and the tension of expressing themselves was slowly being replaced with another, more pleasurable sort of tension. Scully shivered lightly as Mulder's hand moved, barely skimming, to trail from her face to her exposed collarbone where it peeked from beneath the collar of her shirt. "So," he murmured, they husky timbre of his voice betraying his attempt at casual conversation, "now that we've kissed, what do we do?" Her eyes glinted with mischief. "Don't tell me I have to explain the birds and the bee to you, Mulder. With all those educational videos you have, I'd have assumed you'd be the teacher, not the student." Intense heat flared in his eyes, burning through her defenses, liquefying her control. His voice was a growl. "You realize what you're suggesting, Scully." "Oh God, I hope so." His breath caught and held, thoughts tumbling wildly, ears buzzing with the throaty promise of her whisper. "Scully, are you sure? Because there's no turning back..." "I'm sure, Mulder. I've never been more sure of anything in my life." His eyes shuttered closed, a ragged sigh escaping his lips as he silently thanked a deity he didn't believe in. Right now, he was willing to believe in anything or anyone that had made this miracle possible. Scully's lips curled into a smug smile at his reaction. It was heady, the power she held over him. She decided to take advantage of the situation. Mulder was jolted back to reality by the sensation of small hands sliding up his chest, exploring the muscles under the thin cotton shirt. Then traveling back down, the nails dragging, catching his flat male nipples and causing his entire body to tense. Yeah, he was definitely starting to believe in the possibility of a God. "Scully..." he whispered. She was too busy tugging his shirt free from the waistband of his jeans to respond. "Lift up your arms," she ordered, her voice low and husky, as she moved to straddle him, settling on his lap, her butt supported by his thighs. He grinned, dangerously dark eyes watching her from underneath hooded lids. "Bossy, aren't you?" he asked even as he complied with her demand. Her mouth quirked as she slipped the garment over his head, noting how it made his hair stick out in odd tufts. "Are you complaining, Mulder?" His quip became a hiss as her lips descended to his bare neck, nipping, kissing, licking the sensitive skin. Her hands eased along his sides, tracing his ribs with her fingertips, palms brushing his flexing abdominal muscles. "Complaining is the last thing on my mind, Scully," he moaned, hands gripping her waist. "Good boy," she mumbled against his throat. His mind had shut down. His world had compressed to include only her and the sensations she was causing. Her faint floral scent floated up to his nostrils as she bent her head to tongue his chest, leaving cooling trails of moisture across his hot flesh. When her lips found one of his small hard nubs and closed over it, he groaned and bucked against her. She raised her head to look at him, her hair fanned out around her face, a sly grin gracing her red lips. "You like that?" He sucked air into his heaving chest, fighting to regain his equilibrium after the jolt of electricity her touch had generated. "It's that obvious, is it?" His voice, something between a growl and a moan, caused a delicious shudder to run down her spine. She'd always loved his voice, sandpaper and silk, but now it was even more alluring. Dark, low, thick with arousal. Funny how something could change like that. And be as effective as a touch at stirring her own desire. She could only nod, her own voice deserting her. One of his hands left her waist to slide up her back and grip her neck, drawing her head toward his own. Mouths met in a languidly passionate kiss, tongues touching and sliding over each other. They explored each other's mouths, tasting and searching with increasing urgency. The need for oxygen eventually overcame the desire for contact and they broke, gasping. Eyes locked, they said everything they wanted without opening their mouths. 'I need you.' 'I want you.' 'I love you...' '...with all my heart.' She had never seen has face so intense. Never looking away from her, he began unbuttoning her shirt, fingers brushing her as more skin was exposed. "No bra, Scully?" Her head tipped back as his thumb found and rubbed one of her nipples. "I wasn't expecting company, Mulder..." He used his free hand to guide the shirt off her shoulders, the other continuing to tease her sensitive breast, causing the tip to tighten and swell. It was not something he could resist. "Expect the unexpected..." he breathed, warm air hitting her flesh the instant before his lips found their target. The air rushed from her lungs in an audible explosion. The firm, constant suction he was applying had her drawn taunt, everything focused on the point where his hot, moist mouth met her aching nipple. His tongue flickered and stabbed at the nub, alternating with the fierce tug of his lips, causing bolts of desire to spin out and center in her abdomen, a rush of heat and moisture. She threaded her hands through his hair, winding short, silky strands firmly in her fingers as she pressed him to her, whimpering as he switched his attention to her other breast. The sensation was sending her into overload, stripping her control and reason. And she didn't want to lose them at least not yet. Not until she had some fun first. There was an audible pop as she dragged his head upward recapturing his lips with her own. Sucking at his mouth, capturing that full, sculpted lower lip with her teeth, swallowing his lustful moan. She pulled away, traveling over his jaw, his ear, letting his evening stubble bruise her sensitized lips. "Scully..." His animal growl broke through the haze surrounding her senses. She met his black, enflamed eyes, noting with satisfaction his erratic breathing, dilated pupils, the slight sheen of sweat beading his brow. Arousal personified. "Can we move this, Scully? I think we'd be more comfortable in the bedroom..." She nodded and slid off his lap, purposely pressing her bottom across the prominent bulge in his jeans. He gasped, clutching the sofa cushions as a sudden spasm coursed through his body. "Evil woman," he managed to get out as he stood, taking her hand as she started towards her room. "You love it, Mulder. Don't pretend you don't." "I love *you*, Scully." The statement floated quietly, filling the air around them. Those words, cliche but true, finally spoken aloud. She stopped just outside the bedroom, turning to face him, seeing the excitement and anxiety on his face. Her throat tightened with a surge of long repressed emotion, and she smiled tremulously. "I love you too, Mulder." The anxiety fled, replaced by tenderness and fierce desire. He captured her other hand and raised them both to his face, pressing his lips to the knuckles. Her smile widened, and she walked backwards, pulling him into the room toward the bed. He followed eagerly, freeing her hands once they reached their destination. Shaking slightly, he unbuttoned his jeans, slid down the zipper, toed off his shoes and shucked off his pants and boxers in under fifteen seconds. When he looked back up, he felt her hungry gaze sweep over his body, palpable like a touch. She drank in the sight of him. Long, lean arms, defined chest under a light sprinkling of dark, wiry hair, strong, firm thighs and calves, sculpted from running and covered with more of that dark, springy hair. Then she allowed her gaze to settle on the real object of her interest. His erection, straining upward, hard and proud and so very beautiful. Her lips curved upwards in a smile of anticipation. This visible evidence of his desire for her made her feel loved, feminine, and very powerful. He swallowed, allowing her this opportunity to study him. It was nerve racking, humbling, but when he saw her smile and the sudden glint in her deep blue eyes, he relaxed, confident he hadn't come up short. "Turn about's fair play, Scully." She shivered at the raw emotions evident in his rough voice. Slightly nervous and more than a little shy, she slowly undid her own pants, hooking her thumbs under the waistband of denim and the satin of her panties. Already barefoot, she drew in a deep breath and slowly slid both garments to the floor. His reaction was audible. "God, Scully..." It was a tortured whisper. His eyes roamed freely, taking in her flushed breasts, hardened nipples dark against the paler flesh. Soft, smooth legs, gently rounded stomach, the flare of her hips, the quiet strength of her slender form. And the patch of red hair at the juncture of her thighs, hiding where his suddenly throbbing sex long to be buried. "You're gorgeous, Scully." Her anxiety melted away and she moved into his arms. "I was just thinking the same thing about you, Mulder," she murmured as she kissed his chest, brushing her lips against the rough hair there. "In a masculine sort of way." He laughed, and she felt the rumble in his body as she pressed against him. "I'm pretty sure that's the first time I've been referred to by that particular adjective." She looked up into his eyes, seeing the glint of humor and the heat of desire in their depths. She knew she must have a similar expression on her face. It was so unreal. It had taken so long for them to get to this place, and now that they were there she was afraid that she would wake up to any empty room yet again. "Do you know what you do to me, Mulder? Do you know what this is doing to me?" Her voice was horse, strained, and it sent a shock straight to Mulder's groin. "No," he whispered. "Tell me." She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. It was too close to the surface to articulate. Words didn't seem adequate. So she chose the only logical alternative. "I'll show you." His breath caught, anticipation flooding him. So much promise in those simple words. Her small hands smoothed over his chest, pushing him gently to the bed. She straddled him, the liquid heat pooling in her center causing his to arch beneath her, his pulsing arousal trying to find her, sheathe himself in her. "Impatient, aren't we?" she laughed, the sound thin and breathy as she reacted to the feel of him straining underneath her, his tip bumping against her sensitive flesh. She shifted away, ignoring his hiss of protest. "I can't show you if you won't let me..." "Do you want me to show you?" He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The promise in her fathomless blue eyes, in her sensual whisper, swept over him like a brushfire, igniting his nerve endings, short-circuiting his mind. It was all he could do to form a coherent reply. "Yessss..." She smiled, hearing the urgency and passion in his voice. Her hands ran across the bunching muscles of his chest and torso, fascinated as he tensed and relaxed under her touch. Scraping lightly with her nails, she explored his prone form, delighting in his gasps and reactions as she traced his hips, his arms, his calves and belly and neck. When she stroked the tender skin of his inner thighs, moving upwards at an excruciatingly slow pace, his hips lurched off the bed, silently begging her to end this sweet torture. He felt like he was going insane, his mind reeling, his entire being focused only on the sensation of her soft hands on his burning body. It was spinning out of control, the urge to grab her and enter her was becoming overwhelming. A harsh cry erupted from him when her small hand closed over his engorged member, traveling the length of him in a firm, slow movement that almost shattered what little restraint he had left. Then she did it again, pulling at his shaft with just the right amount of pressure, and he was moaning uncontrollably, his fists clenching the blanket, and he had to stop this now... "Scully...Oh God Scully please...you have to...I'm going to..." She understood, and her hand left him, quivering and agonizingly hard. She waited as his shallow, rapid breathing evened out some before straddling him again, leaning over to kiss him. His arms shot around her, anchoring her mouth to his as he returned her kiss with drugged passion. He tore away to suck at the salty-sweet flesh of her neck. "You're driving me crazy, Scully," he growled into her throat. Her lips found his ear, her tongue darting out to trace the lobe before drawing it into the wet heat of her mouth. "I know, Mulder. That's exactly what you do to me, how you make me feel." "That's what I wanted to show you." She pulled back to look at his expression. Utter amazement shone from his eyes, his lips curved into a shy, boyish grin, softening his features. "I didn't realize," he said softly. "How could you?" she replied simply. He nodded slowly, his grin fading to a quiet smile as he drew her face to his again, kissing her, allowing his love to pour out in the movement of his lips brushing over hers, his tongue slipping inside to stroke her mouth. With a twist and a well placed flip, Scully found herself pinned beneath his welcome weight. He braced himself on his forearms, sliding their chests against each other, enjoying the way her nipples burned against his skin. She rather enjoyed it as well. Her back bowed, seeking the contact of rough, wiry hair on her taunt peaks. Little shivers ran through her body as he did it again, and again, the pleasure bordering on pain when his mouth replaced his chest on her body. While he bite and laved at her breasts, his fingers slide across her firm, soft stomach, slightly tickling. Then lower, to curl around the springy, damp red hair between her legs, flicking gently over the hooded nub of flesh at the top of her sex. An animal-like noise emerged from her parted lips, the bucking of her hips restrained by his legs on top of hers. Her hands clutched at the muscles on his back, nails scoring his skin, as he continued to caress her in languid, teasing circles. Instinctive thrusts upward thwarted, her cries became more fervent as she sought more contact, more pleasure. And when his hand slipped lower still, a single finger seeking and finding entrance to the hot, slick cavern between her legs, her nails broke through the flesh on his back, drawing blood. "Mulder! Oh God..." His finger retreated, plunged in again, setting a lazy rhythm that had her sense reeling. She was blinded, lights bursting under her eyelids, her entire body rigid and thrumming to the tempo he set. Another of his long, slender fingers joined the first, and she could feel herself twitching around them as they moved, causing the tension to escalate, climbing and spiraling towards the pinnacle. "Stop, please...Mulder..." He raised his head from her breasts, her frantic plea stilling his hand. "Am I hurting you?" he asked anxiously, withdrawing completely and moving to bring his face level with hers. She captured his lips briefly with her own, soothing his fear. "No, you didn't hurt me. But we've waited long enough, don't you think? Five years of foreplay is quite enough..." Her hands gripped his slender hips, drawing him forward, cradling him between her thighs. She could feel him lying hot and heavy against her hip, scorching her flesh. "Scully," he whispered, and then her hand surrounded him, guided him to her, and was poised above her, brushing her entrance with his tip. "Yes, Mulder, yes..." And then was buried inside her, his hard length enveloped in pulsing velvet heat. Their groans rose as one, mingling in the air, and he still his body as the relished the feel of their first joining. His face was pressed into her fragrant hair where it fanned out on the pillow, his breath coming in ragged bursts. His self-control stretched to the limit at the sensations running riot through his body, centered in his aching groin. Her voice broke through the haze clouding his senses. "What?" "I said, don't you think this would work better if you moved?" To illustrate her point, she thrust her pelvis toward him, contracting her inner muscles to squeeze him gently. She smiled as his face contorted with pleasure, his eyes unfocusing, his entire form going rigid. "Scully..." he growled. "Don't do that." She laughed, a joyful eruption of sound. "What, this?" she asked, repeating the action, enjoying the reaction it produced. "God, Scully! Don't..." he whimpered, almost collapsing atop her as he shuddered, suddenly weak as the powerful stimulation coursed in waves through his veins. She stopped, sensing his dilemma, allowing him to regain his equilibrium. His chest heaved with the exertion of breathing, his eyes clenched shut with intense concentration. "God, you are evil," he managed to choke out. He opened his eyes to see a satisfied grin on her face. It became a challenge, he needed to wipe that smirk from those reddened, swollen lips. And there was really only one way to accomplish that. He began to move. He withdrew almost completely, a slow, measured movement that left them both aching and unsatisfied, before returning to her, equally slowly, grinding his hips into hers. The way her eyes glazed over, the hitch and expulsion of her breath, had completely erased her smug expression. She looked so much better this way. It was official, she thought. She was going to be certifiable by the time this was over. He was taking forever, long gentle strokes setting her aflame, just brushing her sensitive bundle of nerves, enough to send sparks of pleasure racing throughout her body but not enough to take her higher. She needed more, faster, harder... "Mulder, please..." He shook his head, straining with the effort to maintain this pace. The urge to pound into her with all the force he could summon was escalating as she writhed beneath him, her hands clasping his back and hips, trying to increase the tempo. He resisted still, dancing the fine edge of his own control. "Mulder..." Her voice was raw, desperate. It was good, intense, but not quite enough. She could feel her release building, there, just out of reach. If he would just speed up, stop being so gentle, dammit she needed more... Her legs wound around his hips, heels lacing and digging into his butt, driving him deeper, harder. She cried out, arching into the thrust. Yes, that was better, the fire burning hotter, brighter. "Again," she demanded, a raspy groan. It was too much for his own restraint. His choked grunt joined hers as he withdrew and rammed back into her, hot and wet and close, in short, powerful strokes. Increasingly rapid, increasingly violent. He could feel her tighten around him, her orgasm approaching, and he was determined to wait for her. Although he hoped it didn't take much longer. He was in luck. The friction of his body on her, in her, quick and hard, had her poised on the brink in a matter of minutes. He thrust again, rough again, fast again, deep, again and then she was there, flying. Mulder's name was a cry of ecstasy as she exploded, shattered, ripples of pleasure crashing over her, drowning her, dragging her under in a sea of sensation. Mulder rode it out, nearly joining her as she contracted and pulsed, a hot velvet vise clamping around his rigid shaft. He whimpered softly as her nails found the marks on his already bleeding back, digging into the exposed flesh, the pain taking the edge off his own need as he waited for her to return to earth. She opened her eyes to find him looking down at her, smiling softly. "Welcome back, Scully." She laughed, breathless and happy. "Damn, you're good, Mulder." His grin widened, and he bent to kiss her. "I try my best. You approve?" "Mmmmmm....but I think it's your turn now." Her hips lifted, met his, and his own desire surged with renewed force. His voice strangled, he resumed moving, thrusting, an erratic rhythm of shallow, lightning-fast jerks. "Sculleeee...." "Yes, Mulder..." With a final jolting surge, he was sheathed inside her, erupting in a white-hot blaze. His groan was long and loud, his entire body taunt with an all-consuming pleasure-pain as he emptied himself inside her welcoming body. Shaking, he collapsed atop her as the tremors subsided, leaving him weak and satiated. He pressed his lips to her neck, mumbling incoherent phrases as he used what little energy he had left to raise himself on rubbery arms, shifting his weight off her tiny form. His spent sex slipped from her, drawing disappointed murmurs from them both before he drew her to lay spooned against him, her warmth soothing against his bare chest. "I love you, Scully," he whispered into her hair before sleep claimed him. "I love you too, Mulder," she slurred, content in his arms at last. And then, satisfied and wrapped around each other, they slept. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "So, when do you plan on explaining that nickname?" He gave a gusty sigh, his fingers winding idly through the silky red strands spilled across his chest as she used him for a pillow. They had slept well, exhausted from their physical efforts and enveloped in a feeling of safety. Neither had felt so at ease in a long time, and the resulting sleep had been deep, dreamless, and restful. She had awakened to find herself draped over him, and she hadn't felt inclined to move. So she lay, her head rising and falling with his deep, steady breathing, her fingers intertwined with his. Their discussion had been mostly comprised of somewhat inane endearments until her foggy mind had recalled this pressing issue. "You're really going to make me tell you?" he whined. "You bet your sweet ass I am, G-man." He chuckled at her choice of words. "I always thought you liked my ass, Scully." "Stop avoiding the question." His eyes rolled. "Jesus, you're persistent." She smiled and planted a kiss on his nipple. "That didn't seem to bother you last night. Now spill it, Mulder." He sighed again, his thumb caressing her knuckles. "Alright, alright. Some of the guys at Oxford used to call me that..." "You mean Fido?" she snickered. "Do you want to hear the story or not?" "Sorry." "Anyway...it was sort of an in joke. I was whipped by Phoebe. On a leash. Her lap dog. So they called me Fido. Cheesy joke, but it stuck." She was unsuccessful in her attempts to stifle her laughter. Her body shook with suppressed mirth, little snorts escaping her sealed lips. "I'm sorry, Mulder, but it is sort of funny. I know she hurt you, but...Fido?" He shrugged, a wry smile spreading hesitantly across his features. "Yeah, it is funny, now, in retrospect. And I was pretty pathetic. See how much I've grown? Now, instead of being some manipulative woman's play toy, I'm a paranoid, obsessive, spooky alien hunter." "I guess I should be thankful I got you in your good years." She yelped with surprise as he hauled her up his body, rolling her beneath him, fingers seeking and finding ticklish spots along her ribs. She squirmed, desperately trying to escape, but he was larger and stronger. She dissolved into a fit of giggles as he prodded her sensitive flesh. "Uncle!" she finally gasped. Grinning, he ceased tormenting her and simply watched as her face eased from it's gleeful contortions. 'She's so beautiful. How did I get so lucky?' She beamed up at him, breathing still quick and light. Her hands ran lightly, teasing across the planes of his back, and she got to see his thoughtful expression shift with startling rapidity, hazel eyes turning to dark, deepening pools of color that flashed with desire. And then, inexplicably, he grimaced in obvious pain. "Mulder, what's wrong?" Concerned, she gently probed the skin she had just passed over. He winced again as she touched the gashes. "It's nothing, Scully," he muttered. She maneuvered to inspect the marks. Recognition dawned, and she blushed deeply as she took in the red, angry nail punctures on his smooth skin. "I did that, huh?" He smirked. "Yeah, I'm branded for life." "Sorry about that," she apologized sheepishly, avoiding his gaze, embarrassed. She had lost control so completely she'd torn his flesh, for Christ's sake. His finger tugged at her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his genuinely amused face. "Don't be sorry, Scully. I'm not. If I'm to be marked for life, branded as the property of another...I'm so very glad it's you." Her anxiety fled, and she laughed softly. "You sure know how to make a woman feel good, Mulder." His mouth descended to claim hers, kissing her slowly, thoroughly. The slow burn of arousal flared deep in her belly, and she could feel him stirring, swelling against her thigh. When they broke, panting, his eyes were black. "I'm glad you feel that way, Scully. 'Cause you are never getting rid of me." "I wouldn't dream of trying." "You just love me for my ass." "Shut up and make love to me, Mulder." He was only too happy to comply. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Finis. So, what did you think? It's a first try, so all comments and criticism are more than welcome at the address listed below: ebe1013@hotmail.com Be nice, though. I'm fragile. :)