From: "Adrian Van Boeyen" Date: Mon, 30 Aug 1999 23:48:06 -0600 Subject: Fw: Foldback by GenieVB (X-Files novel length, Book 3 of 4 in the "PhaHks" series) Source: direct FOLDBACK PART III Enroute into Parking Level Two: His cellular trilled for attention. "Mulder." "Fox Mulder?" The voice was familiar. "Yes, this is Agent Fox Mulder. Who's this?" "Ian Moss. Do you remember me?" "Uh, yeah-yes, I remember you. Can I help you with-" "You can help me nail the murdering pricks who murdered him." The voice on the phone was distraught. His breath hitched in his throat. "Who murdered who?" "I need to see you, I'll come to DC if you want me to. But they're closing the case after a only a week. Some son- of-whore killed Gary." Mulder tried to remember who was who. Gary had been the hefty cop and lover to Ian Moss. Ian - his former nurse in his former mental home. He shuddered. My entourage. Mulder parked and got out of his car. "Gary's been murdered? What happened?" "Can you come to Boston? I'll pay for your flight, hotel, everything, but I need someone...someone who gives a damn because those homophobic assholes won't even take my calls anymore." "Uh, Ian, I've got my own case right now-" "Please, Fox - Mister Mulder. I don't have anyone else to call. No one will talk to me." Tried to keep the reluctance out of his voice. Sighed. Can't you spare a day for the guy who pretty much saved your life? Mulder cursed his conscience. "Listen, I have a couple of meetings but I'll fly out early this afternoon and home tomorrow. We'll discuss expenses later." Ian let out a breath he'd been holding. "This means a lot to me, thanks." Mulder closed the connection. ** Skinners Office. "Sit down Agent Mulder." Assistant Director Walter Skinner motioned to Mulder. Skinner noted the bruise on the right jaw. The shiner. The hair that had been clipped shorter than the rest across the left side of the top, where the stitches were. Stiffly, Mulder sat. "I-must-inform-you-that-you're-in-deep-shit", Mulder heard in his head. "Agent Mulder, you know there is going to be an inquiry into the events of Wednesday night." Mulder just nodded once. "I have a debriefing in one half hour." "I know. And I'm sure you know that the report you filed with this office, a copy of which was provided to the local jurisdictional authorities has left some unanswered questions." ""I wasn't suppose to be there. I wasn't suppose to be carrying a weapon. My being there may in fact have compromised the situation and put in jeopardy the lives of two field agents. My presence did not prevent the murder of one agent and the kidnapping of another"." Mulder summarized. It was what the debriefing would be all about. Skinner tossed aside said report he'd had under his nose, "Alright. I guess I don't need to tell you that as it stands, it doesn't look favorable for you. It looks as though your actions may have contributed to the circumstances surrounding Beyer's death or Scully's abduction by the UnSub or both. There is also some speculation..." "What?" "There is speculation not only about Beyer's death, but your arrival on the scene just prior to it." "They think I killed him, is that it? Do they also believe that I split my own scalp, that I nearly broke my own jaw? Sounds pretty implausible to me, what else do they believe?" "Mulder, if you're not prepared to answer at this Inquiry, it'll not only finish your career in the Bureau permanently but you could be brought up on charges for the violation to your probationary status and who knows what else. Those violations in conjunction with the death of a Federal Officer are an extremely serious matter. I called you here because I wanted to - off the record - ask you to explain to me the circumstances leading up to Scully's abduction." "It's in the report. It's the same as Thursday. I didn't lie in the hospital for a day thinking up something better." "I just want you to tell me what you think happened, off the record. What happened to YOU." Mulder's first answer was a frustrated headshake. "What you want to know is why I let Scully get taken when I could have stopped it. Why I LET her be beaten and abducted, that's what you really want to know. I filed my report and my honesty is questioned. I tell the truth and people hear it as lies. If I, right now, sitting here, made up more believable sounding bullshit, would you believe it?" Mulder answered for Skinner before Skinner could get out a peep. "No, because what I reported sounds like an X-File." "Is this part of an X-File?" "I don't know. But if these assertions of what occurred that night were coming from anyone else they might be believed without question. But because it's me, they are questioned without belief. We both know why, sir. Because I'm not Agent Mulder, I'm Spooky. Former psychiatric patient and all around general F-Up." "So everyone is out to get you?" Mulder's guts heaved. "No." "You may not believe me but as implausible as your explanation sounds, I'm inclined to back you up and not because I'm your boss. But because during the years you were in my department, I believe that you never lied to me about something that was crucial; about something that I needed to know for the good of another agent. And that's more than I can say for myself. I was hoping that there was something more, something you'd left out that I could take to the Sub-Committee before the Inquiry date." "I'm sorry. There's not." "Fine. Your report stands as it is. You're on your own with this one, Mulder." "I'm aware of that, sir." "I'll do what I can within the boundaries of this office, but I can't take sides." "No, sir." Skinner closed the thick file on his desk. "What do you intend to do?" Mulder didn't answer directly. "I'll be out of town this weekend, but all my calls will be forwarded to my cellular." "You're leaving town, Agent Mulder?" Mulder thought he heard the implied in Skinner's words: Scully's been kidnapped and you're off on a weekend trip?? "It's strictly personal. And I'll deal with my guilt my own way, sir, thanks." Skinner's color deepened but he kept his cool "Your trip has nothing to do with the current investigation?" "No." Mulder stood, on shaky legs he was surprised to feel. He put his hands on his hips and looked at the edge of Skinners desk. Skinner waited for the last few sentences he knew were forthcoming from Mulder. He had learned to spot these mannerisms, and what they meant. "I've thought about it every hour since it happened. It's true what they say, that if you think about something long enough, examine it, question it, pick it apart, pretty soon, it doesn't stand up under the scrutiny. I learned that at GreenLawn. Off the record?: My memory is unclouded and detailed as to what happened to Scully in that subway, and I told the truth about it. I saw and felt what happened to me. I remember _what_, but do I know - really know - for certain who or what caused it? Why I couldn't stop it? No. No, sir, I really don't. But I have my suspicions and I'm going to find out. I'm going to find him and I'm going to find her." "Vigilante justice will only make your own situation worse." "Better than no justice. Which is what will happen with that son-of- a-bitch. He won't even suffer a rash over what he's done. And I'm finally going to get my answers." Something boiled up inside Skinner. ""Your" answers? You have exclusive claim to the truth? Maybe you should stop thinking about your own satisfaction and start thinking about Agent Scully's life!" "I haven't slept for being unable to stop thinking about that!" There were a lot of things Skinner wanted to say to this younger man. This man he saw who, on top of his integrity to ferret out truth and justice, also carried around a chip on his shoulder the size of the Washington Monument. He wanted to say them but not where they were standing. The walls had teeny electronic ears. "Agent Mulder," Skinner stood up suddenly, "come with me, please." Skinner spoke through his main office door to his secretary: "Kim, Hold my calls, I'll return in five minutes." He strode passed Mulder and ignored the agent's comment: "Only five minutes? I take it this is going to be a short and sweet ass-kicking?" Skinner lead Mulder through his side door and to the Executive Washroom. Mulder saw the door Skinner was fitting his key into. "Are you promoting me, sir?" "No, but if I have to listen to anymore of your crap, I'd like to do it in the appropriate setting at least." Voice tight as a piano wire, "Step inside." He steered Mulder over to the urinals. Mulder raised his eyebrows at his boss's odd destination. "Gee," he looked in the bottom of one, "We don't get pretty blue disks in our urinals." Cocky adolescent! "Shut your mouth, Agent Mulder. I want to know what the hell is up with you?" "What do you mean?" "Scully's gone, Agent Mulder. She's been kidnapped by a friendly neighborhood psycho. No word, no demands, not a goddamn clue despite there being an eyewitness!" Mulder colored red at the implication. "I didn't get a good look at him! I was busy getting my scalp retreaded!" "SHE'S GONE! For the second time! Now doesn't that bother you just a little?" "What is this - "The View"? Of course it bothers me, am I suppose to justify something here? It bothers me! It bothers me right through one side of chest and out the other. It bothers me that she was partnered with a fresh faced kid on the verge of puberty! It bothers me like hell that in order to find out what she was being lead into I was forced to do penny-ante spying on her!" "You sing the tune, Mulder, but I find the lyrics hard to believe, because you have an awfully funny way of showing it." "What the hell is that suppose to mean?" Skinner set his jaw with words he'd wanted to say for quite some time. "It means, after all Scully did for you, after all she's done - your therapy, breaking her own bank, standing up for you - when Greenlawn gave you your walking papers, the first thing you did was buy a one-way ticket west. Now, is it just me, or does that seem like some pretty piss-poor gratitude?" Mulder stared back defiantly. "I tried to get a job here, I had to find something, get on my feet-" "You're lying, Mulder. Out of curiosity just after you left for Seattle, I checked with Recruitment. No record of one Fox Mulder re-applying to the Bureau last year. You could have gotten back on then just as easily as you've done now. Your little vacation in sunny Washington State was a goddamn escape. You tucked your tail and ran! You lied to Scully, a woman you claim to care about. You know, I always thought you were a bit selfish, Mulder, but not when it came to her. I'm beginning to think that I was mistaken. So, as I said, you have a funny way of showing it." Mulder, hands on hips, looked away, stared at the gold-painted wall, turned back. "Is this off the record, can I - can we consider this a strictly personal conversation, man to man?" "Anything's possible." "In those five years, _Walter_, I came to respect your opinion but - FUCK YOU!" He spat it out hard in Skinner's face. "You think I liked what I did? I had nothing to offer Scully. I still don't. Despite that job, I felt like I was going down for the count; making a showing. And we both know that my career with the FBI right now is nothing more than punching the clock. You think that's what I want to bring to Scully? You think that's enough? I have nothing to give her and you think I'm happy with that?! Did it occur to you that if I _am_ a lost cause, if I'm destined to fail, that I might not want to drag her down with me!?" Skinner blinked, mentally kicking himself. Mulder was pale and sick looking. He hadn't slept in days and had been clearly ripping himself apart inside since that night for his failure to save Scully. You didn't see him because Scully's all you've been able to think about, he told himself. He could do no penance for his cutting words other than to hear Mulder out. He let the other man speak uninterrupted. Whose first words long ago inscribed with gold on a heart somehow still beating behind that thin, shaking chest. "I _love_ Scully. But I have fuck-all to offer her. No life, no family. She'll have no kids now because of her association with me! She has a career, a good one." Mulder stopped, panted a little for a second and walked away, half turning back to him, his face a tale of misery. "I owe her my life and she deserves everything. The best. And maybe if - when - we find her, that'll turn out to be you and not me." Mulder swallowed deeply. Skinner watched him struggle to form the next few sentences while, it seemed, resisting the urge to scream or slam his head into the wall. "And if it turns out that way...then I will walk away and be happy for her. It's not about me, Skinner. It hasn't been for a long time. I know how other people see me and I know how Scully does. I spent five years learning that and another two re-learning it." Skinner winced. What had it been like - really? - to have gone through what Mulder had been through? Just how terrifying? Eight years in a prison would be a test of character for most men. It was a thing that took people to the limits of endurance. Most came out scarred in one way or another, and it was usually permanent. Life was rarely the same for them after. Not normal. _They_ were not normal. Not unlike battle fatigue or shell-shock. Mulder had come back alive. Now his battle seemed to be with himself. "Yes, I want answers. I want these cock-suckers to _pay_ for what they've done to her and to me. But I will never do anything to compromise her safety to get those answers. And I will do anything I have to get her back." Mulder sagged. Hands at his side. Wrinkled suit. Rumpled heart. "So don't think you can look at me and know the deal. Who are you to pass judgment? You don't know a goddamn thing!" Skinner wondered if Mulder was going to make it through this one. He looked ill, he might tumble into a million pieces before him and Skinner did not want that. Hoping to stop the avalanche, "I apologize, Mulder. I want her back safe and unharmed. I should have understood that you wanted that just as badly." Mulder nodded. He appeared to have emptied of words. Turned the inner bolt to free the door and himself. "Mulder-" The agent stopped, not turning back, just listening. "I'll help where I can. But if somehow, if you find the ones responsible, if they've...hurt her,if it turns out you're right and that they're beyond the law,....you'll take care of it, won't you?" Mulder turned now to stare at his boss and the meaning underpinning the words. "Yeah. If it comes to that, I'll take care of it. At that point, for me, nothing else would matter." *** Once he was free of Skinner's sparkling bathroom, Mulder found the nearest visitors and kneeled before the porcelain basin giving up his paltry dinner from yesterday. He retched foul soup and his esophagus burned in protest. Lots of gastric-acid juices flowing. Only nothing was digesting well. More particularly not the words he'd just listened to with crushing finality. Toilets and him had a great deal in common, he thought. He was always getting shit on too. Only he hoarded it. Photographic memory and the rank reminders were piling up. He was a selfish, dickless wonder. Scully was gone and he was leaving on a jet plane. Running for the second time. Sure he had disputed Skinner's words. Gotta pretend a little bit. Fool his own conscience into numbness or he might never come back again. Not on a plane or even occupying a broken down body. Scully was all and if she was dead, he'd leave all right. Having miraculously avoided prolapsing, his stomach finally quite it's ballooning and deflated to normal. That is, the feeling of "beachball" went away and he was able to stand. In ten minutes he had a debriefing. What fun. *** Debriefing over, (all the usuals he and Skinner had hacked at), Mulder sought his own tiny corner of the Bureau. The cluttered drawers were dominated by pencils, notepads, an empty coffee cup, an extra neck tie... Nothing of any importance. His desk. Him. A loser, Blunht had said. More near the mark with each passing year. Mulder yanked open the topmost drawer. It jammed halfway as usual. He didn't care, just flipped through one useless piece of paper after another. Grunt work. VCU phone errand running. Not even profiling. Nothing that could be fouled up. Risky to hand anything vital over to a rumored psychotic with one finger on the self-destruct button. Mulder wanted to get some kind of not-like-him order to his life suddenly and starting with the drawer seemed as good as place as any to start. Better than going home to his posh one-room apartment. Vacancies in decent neighborhoods were scarce. It was something he just had to do while inside his father/ his demons/himself said: "Loser, Has-been. Killing time and her too. You've fucked up and want to pretend. Really fucked-up this time. SERIOUSLY fucked up." His fingers sorted and sifted and piled and his mind did it's thing: it went back over recent events like an iron, trying to smooth out the wrinkles he'd created. Over and over, burning into his brain material. Enough times and maybe it all won't have happened and Scully would walk in through those double doors, up to his desk, raise one sardonical eyebrow above delicious eyes and judge his housecleaning attempt as hopeless. He realized he was holding his breath and exhaled. It did nothing for his nausea. Hernia again. Maybe ulcer now, too. Sure. Fine. Whatever. He noted it then dismissed it after he'd been released from the hospital Thursday noon with yet another zipper of stitches holding his scalp in place, and a pocket full of pills to help ease the pain nestled throughout most of his bruised appendages. He was stiff and achy and his stomach wanted to burst. On the way home, he'd stopped at a drug store and bought gravol. He'd taken a couple without water - the nausea was really getting bad - and drove the rest of way, thinking fuck-it to the warning label about driving under the influence of the doping stuff. During that drive, and the way to the Bureau that morning, (because staying home made everything worse), he took gravol. His blood and brain was tanked on it, yet sleep eluded him like a angry lover. He was so sick of feeling sick. The pressure and pain of it's writhing was a cancer intertwined with his memory and it's power steadily swelled with them. The last thing he'd remembered was Scully's scream and his frozen hands stretched out stupidly in front of him, NOT firing. He remembered Scully being knocked to the ground. And he, Mulder, NOT moving. And he remembered Scully being struck, and manhandled, and he: Doing NOTHING. And he remembered something standing in front of him on that subway platform, blocking him, making him - MAKING HIM - watch and hear every scene. Only the something was almost a nothing. Man. Thing. Ghost. Imagination? Crazy Mulder illusion? Standing there, preventing him from acting like any normal human would have. Maybe he was crazy. He felt crazy. He could prove nothing of course. When he'd bit his lip, swallowed the blood and walked into that debriefing with the six pairs of eyes and ears all listening, questioning, scribbling and evaluating, he'd tried to explain it rationally but, of course, it was bullshit-talk. Their faces said so. Explanations from Spooky Mulder were Spooky Mulder explanations. What had happened in that subway ended up not the way he'd intended. The way his secret following of Scully had started had been under his control. *Things are gonna go like this* he'd thought before rushing down those urine stinked stairs minutes behind Scully. But too late. Mulder went to Scully's office and, after obtaining permission via phone from Director Skinner to enter, he had. It was nice to be humored at least. He rifled through her recent case-reports, In-Box, Out-Box, files and waste basket. Nothing. He pulled open cabinet stuffed with files to see what they might whisper to him, about where she might have been taken and who might have done the taking. Some slipped to the floor, papers and clippings swirling around his feet like leaves. Mulder grabbed the back of the cabinet and threw it over onto its face. The crash brought the secretary running but then she quickly vanished again. In his outburst, he had bumped Scully's corner work desk - with it's neatly docketed notes and alphabetized files - and spilled her little flowered cup bursting with pens and colored felts. Her little brass ruler. A white hair comb. Inner panic gripped and he hastily thrust her belongings back in, straightening it and kicking himself for what he saw as just one more violation of her. He stepped back slightly to examine the results. Yes, it looked just as it had. Smart and tidy. Scully. But it hadn't restored Scully herself. Mulder slammed both palms down on the desk organizer. He rested his head and forearms on the sacred place in the bureau that was hers and breathed hard, hurting and hurting. Scully was gone. He was still there and alive. It mocked him. He hated it. Being there and breathing while she was elsewhere and maybe.... Oh, how history loved to loop and loop and loop. Everything was ending. ** This time he thought he was going to pass out from the pressure of his hernia pushing out on his diaphragm. It was like someone was inflating a beachball inside his belly. Thrice he had to run for the commode because it felt like his guts were going to spill out. They remained as infuriatingly unpredictable as ever and denied him that relief. This was way worse than his flight to Seattle. But the stress of late had been telling on him to such a degree that even he noted it. He was actually worried about himself. Not a self-pity worry, but one where, if things didn't improve a whole lot and soon, he might end up back in Shrink Petrillo's office, trying not to puke while staring into that fucking plastic garbage can for hours on end while his mind _ralphed_ it's own gory wrath. With blessed relief, the plane descended. Ian Moss was meeting him at the airport. He arrived on time in a small, blue Chevy Sierra. Mulder threw his bag in the open box and climbed in the front. "Which hotel?" he asked, fidgeting uncomfortably in a truck not designed with tall people and their long legs in mind. "You're staying with me." At Mulder's expression, "Don't worry, I'm sleeping on the couch." Ian said. Mulder's stomach settled down somewhat. "It's not that I don't appreciate it, it's just that I like my privacy." "So do I. That's why I'm giving you the bedroom and I'm sleeping in the living room. Look, you're only going to be here for thirty-six hours - maybe not even. I don't mean to sound ungrateful but how much can you get done if we spend the next hour or two setting you up in a hotel? I'd like to get home to some beers and tell you what's happened and then you'll be free to tell me if I've wasted your time." Mulder nodded once, "I can take the couch. I'm used to it." Looked out the window at passing traffic and old, ornate buildings. "Sorry, I've been kind of in a bad mood for a few weeks. I really want to thank you for coming. The couch is mine." Decided not to argue the point. "That's okay. I wasn't doing anyone any favors by hanging around the Bullpen." "You're back in DC for good, now aren't you? How's your lady friend, the Doctor?" Instead of an answer, Mulder asked: "Why don't you bring me up to date right now?" Ian heard the unmistakable tone that said mind your own business and made a mental note: Do not mention Lady Doctor. <-----BAD! "Okay. It went like this: After Ross's arraignment and trial - thanks for showing and supporting me by the way - he went to jail and my life went to hell. Gary's fellow's -in-Blue naturally found out he was gay and the harassment started. Phone calls from pay-phones calling him the usual brilliant originals: "fag", "homo", "queer", "Bum Cop", etceteras. Then it started at work. Pictures of naked guys hanging in his locker. Anal plugs with red bow ribbons. A fake pussy in his patrol car glove compartment, glow-in-the-dark condoms, you name it, he found it. Finally, he just couldn't take it anymore and transferred to another precinct, moving his stuff out of my apartment the same weekend." Mulder listened to the stark and painful narration. He'd heard this stuff before. Seen what can happen to a minority when falling under the mercy of self-righteous "Our Way" Groups. Hell, he'd been there himself, with a half-jewish heritage and the obvious features that went with it. Society had become only mildly more tolerant while he was away. "I'm sorry." Was all he could say. "S'okay. Not _your_ fault. You saved my life. I just wish things had turned out different." "What happened then?" Mulder asked. "A couple days went by and I didn't hear from him at all. I wanted to talk to him, though, so one day a few days ago, I called him. Someone answered the phone and asked me if I was a relative or "close family member". I lied, said yes, and they broke the news." "How-" "-Shot him, point blank. Killed him instantly." "Murder, obviously, but why do you think these other cops killed him?" "Because he was a fag. And because nothing was taken. And because the B.P.D. won't fucking answer my questions. They wouldn't even let me view the body!" "On whose orders?" "The County Coroner, they say, but I don't think an autopsy or examination or whatever was done. He had no parents. He did have a wife at one time but she wanted nothing to do with it, I guess. They separated and divorced because, well, you know, because of me. He was buried in less than twenty-four hours." Mulder had to admit that was a bit odd. "We're here." Mulder remembered the condo-type apartments. Nice. Pretty roomy. Ian must be pulling a good salary to afford to stay here while reduced to one income. But then, plenty o' loon's to go around, so plenty of work, too. They elevated to the fourth floor. Mulder held his stomach during the short trip. Ian took Mulder's bag, dumped it on the bed, went to the kitchen where Mulder sat, somewhat stiffly, on one of the two wooden chairs set around the small table. The place was tastefully but simply decorated. It was hard to tell how much of it had been due to Gary's influence or Ian's. Ian Moss didn't seem to be the homey type at all, though he'd had Ross's blood removed from the living room rug. "You want anything?" Ian asked his reluctant houseguest. Mulder shook his head. "No thanks. Listen, I don't know how much I'm going to be able to find out for you with just a day's stay but I'll do my best. Can you give me the names of some of the people you suspect had harassed Gary? That's where I'll start. Background checks, work history, and as much information as I can whittle out of the Local PD. I should tell you now, it won't be much. They have no obligation to help me just because I'm FBI. In fact, they're within their rights to refuse any sort of cooperation in a local murder case, I have no jurisdiction. It'd have to be a Federal crime or a suspected one for me to get that." "Fair enough." Ian pulled a pad of lined note-paper from a drawer and handed it to Mulder. Several pages were filled with pen scribbles. "I already wrote down everything I know, names, dates, what happened, phone calls and what was said, as much as I can remember from what Gary said." "Did you talk to anyone about this? Or receive any calls yourself? Threats" "Calls, yeah." "And?" "The usual stuff. "Couldn't make it with a dame?" shit. One guy said he'd cut my nuts off." Mulder nodded, rubbed his eyes. Under the harsh light of the overhead 160 Watt bulb, Ian took a good, long look at Mulder. "You look like shit, Fox." Sarcastically, "Thanks." Mulder regretted his shortness. "It's been a bad decade, sorry." "I'm gonna order out, if you want to, you can use the bedroom phone for some of that unless you need me to drive you some- where?" "No. Uh, the bedroom's fine. I'll have to see what kind of appointment I can get with Gary's old boss - his name and number here?" "First one on the list. Chinese okay?" Mulder nodded and retreated to make his dozen phone calls. While Ian waited for the food to show, he listened in to as much as he could hear of Mulder's conversations. He heard the phone slam down a couple of times during. Forty minutes later the food arrived, and he dished out two heaping plates full of all the sundries that made up typical occidental Take-out. Mulder choose that moment to make an appearance looking, rightly enough, like he'd just had an argument. "What'd they say?" ""They", as in Gary's Lieutenant, said that if I wanted any information regarding the murder of Gary Bilhaltz, I'd have to get a Court Order to re-open the file which has been closed." "Fuckers. They want the embarrassment buried is what they want. Pretend a gay police officer never worked for them, you know: "Gary who??" They're probably hang a medal on the shooter for taking care of their nasty little PR problem." "I'm going down there tomorrow." "Why? If what you said-" "Because people are a lot braver over the phone than they are in person." Ian handed him a plate, a fork and paper towel. He carried the extra soy sauce and fortune cookies into the living room in a paper bag. Mulder followed. "So, you wave your badge and what?" Ian asked through a mouthful of rice. He noticed Mulder playing with his food but not eating any of it. "So I wave my badge and name-drop the Director of the FBI who just happens to be _my_ boss and we'll see who cringes." "You don't like Chinese?" "Just not hungry." Ian contemplated Mulder's gaunt face. He'd been very clearly "just not hungry" a lot before arriving in Boston. "You know, I'm not a doctor. I'm not trained in anything but nursing, long term care mostly, but I know how to shut up and listen." He saw Mulder freeze in place, hand hovering over the food. What he did not see was the things Mulder himself was seeing in those suspended seconds in time and space. Scully. But not pure Scully, clean and beautiful, bright and smiling. He saw her blood. It was coating his food which was her dead body. It was dark, old blood the color of Soya or oyster sauce. It sat in little pools between congealed fat and skin, like the chicken balls he'd been stabbing with his fork. Stabbing but not eating. Ian jumped a foot off the couch when Mulder bolted up and made a lightening dash to his toilet. Stir-fried meat and vegetables sprayed the coffee table and rug where Mulder's foot caught the leg of it, sending both plates cartwheeling. Ian heard horrid retching. Over and over. "Fuck." He followed him, forgetting the new stains seeping into his just-shampooed carpet. By the time he got there and looked in, Mulder had stopped puking and was simply sitting on his butt, staring into the toilet, daring it to ask more of him. "Are you all right?" Mulder nodded mutely but stayed where he was breathing quick and fast. Like something wanted out and he couldn't get it passed a blockage, like a woman in labor. Ian listened as the respiration's grew faster and shallower. Uh oh. Mulder looked up at him beseechingly. "Hernia. Pah-" *Gasp!* " -paper bag?" Ian ran and fumbled through draw after drawer to find one that wasn't plastic or stained with old Chinese food grease. He grabbed a small one that had held, he thought, donuts once, ran back and seeing Mulder's eyes flickering, placed it over the man's nose and mouth himself. "No, no. Come on, Fox, breath, breath...." Mulder'd been naked seconds away from passing out. Ian stayed that way for several minutes holding it while the bag crinkled and expanded. Mulder's eyes were watering and he was as white as a sheet. "That's good. A few more. Slow and deep. Shit, does this happen a lot?" Mulder didn't answer except to close his eyes. Ian wiped Mulder's lids with a bit of toilet tissue. By then Mulder had regained some color and was holding the bag on his own. He tried to stand and staggered. "Whoa - here, just sit on the toilet seat for a minute." Mulder complied and sat with his head down. Ian sat on the edge of the tub. "Feel better?" Mulder didn't answer. What he did do, with a bag still over his nose, is start crying right there on Ian's American Standard. "Scully's gone." He whispered into the pulp product. It muffled the words but Ian still caught them. Ian had wondered if Scully had been the "it" bothering the man. Mulder's reaction he thought had just confirmed that "it". Ian slipped easily into his concerned nurse voice. It was the same voice, just pamper-soft. "Gone? You mean...you mean she's dead?" Sobs, strangled inside an very old wound, and a nod. "Maybe." "You're not sure?" "W-we don't know." "I'm so sorry." Quickly, Mulder seemed to get it under control. The tears stopped and the chokes. Now he just sniffed and wiped at his eyes. Removed the bag but still held it just in case. "My fault." "I find that hard to believe." Mulder nodded again. "I had a clean shot and I didn't take it. The UnSub-" "The what-?" "-The Unknown Subject. The suspect, the one who got her is the psycho she'd been tracking. He's killed dozens of kids, we think. Now he's got her." "Maybe he'll demand a ransom." "There's been no demands, he doesn't make them. No word at all. You don't understand, his people, him and his "group", aren't in it for money. He does it 'cause he likes to kill. It's a high. He isn't touchable. He's beyond the Feds and doesn't care if parents and kids die. We just don't know how he does the deed yet or why. The only hope is that as far as we...I have an idea who he might be,.." "How long has she been missing?" "Almost three days. The more time that goes by, the less likely she'll be found alive. We might never find her at all." "I'm very sorry. And here I call you out to Boston to help me." "I owed you. I owed you and I wasn't doing much good sitting on my ass in DC." "Let's get out of the bathroom. I could use a beer." Mulder followed. "Shit. Did I do that?" Seeing the food mess. "Don't worry about it. I'll clean it up a bit. You sit down. You want a beer?" "Yeah, but I can't have one." "Why not? - oh, the..." "Yeah, the old heaves might happen again." "That's a bitch." Ian settled into the couch with a beer in one hand and another ready to open on the coffee table. He'd brought a glass mug of icewater in for Mulder. "So, what is this case you and the Doc' were working on?" "You must have seen it on the news. And not me, just Scully and her new partner who's dead now. I can't really discuss the details because I don't have all the details but it makes no sense. The UnSub isn't leaving his signature at the crime scene. I mean, he does, sort of. He kills with a single blast, parents and kids. But then kills others a different way. No one can figure out how the hell he's doing that. There's nothing to indicate how these other kids died. Now he's taken an adult hostage but the scenario is all wrong. That just doesn't fit the MO, the signature is missing, the order to his thinking, his pattern I've... come to know is all...wrong." "The Spree Killers? "Children of God" killings? That was what she was working on?" "Yeah. Whole families in their houses. But always one child dead at the scene with no apparent cause. He or she is working the DC and surrounding areas. There were some similar deaths last year in several other states but that could just mean he was moving west to east. You gotta move around a lot in that type of work. And there was a case of mine out west, that's related to this I think-" "-Is this what you do for a living? Hunt sick assholes who like to kill people and their kids?" "Mostly. I used to. Now I'm doing grunt work. See, they think I might be a sick asshole, in some ways. Well, an asshole definitely." Ian smiled, showing capped uppers. "I'm really sorry about Gary." Mulder said to him suddenly and Ian's smile disappeared. Ian leaned back into the brown cushions. He sighed, the false feeling of being in a good mood burst like a bubble. "Yeah. Me too." He hadn't allowed himself the luxury of thinking about Gary. The hurt was too painful. It was raw. "We met in a gay bar. Except he wasn't there for the social life. He and his partner showed up to arrest some dick who'd been pissing off the other customers, there was a fight and Gary hauled that Mary out of there. I saw the whole thing and had to give a statement. You be amazed how little people see in a bar when they're drunk. Anyway, there I am warming the back seat of the patrol car, giving my statement and Gary's sitting there, writing it all down." He smiled at the memory. "I don't know, I just liked the look of the guy. And I loved how he man-handled that prick. I don't know where his partner went but I just started flirting. At first he thought I was being a "flamin' fag", just to get under his skin. But then he started smiling and then laughing and before I knew it, I was handing him my phone number and he was taking it. At first I thought he did it just to be polite or screw with my head. But three weeks later, he calls." "Three weeks?" "Well, the first time is always the toughest. The admitting." Ian slugged back his beer. "We had an affair. Fuck, he felt bad about that for weeks. I mean, he was married and it was killing him. Finally he told his wife and the shit hit the fan. She started divorce proceedings and he moved in with me." Ian opened his other beer. "It was no "Sleepless in Seattle" but fuck, I fell in love with him in a day! I couldn't help it." Ian had been staring at the ceiling, pictures of Gary frozen there. "Then the fuckers shoot him in the back." He heard Mulder's mug fall and hit the carpet, the water seeped into the greasy stain of the spilled dinner. Ian looked over. "What?" "In the back. They shot him in the back?" "Yeah." "Between the shoulder blades." "Uh, yeah, I thought I told you that." "No. Did Gary have kids?" "Um, yeah." "Were they with him that day, the day he was murdered?" "I don't know, but he used to take them out every second Saturday. I never went along, the ex-wife didn't like the idea, so I never met them. You think this was-" "-Fuck!" Ian saw Mulder get up and pace. "We have to find out. Probably just coincidence but we have to find out if those kids are still alive." "What?!" "Our UnSub, he most times, not always but most times, murdered parents with a single gunshot wound to the upper spine. That was the one piece of sequestered information. What the public didn't know about, _how_ they died." "Shit. But this can't be the same, you said your guy was working DC." "But Gary died weeks ago and our guy was moving around. He might still be. He can get anywhere. And he doesn't work alone. Who can I call to see if those kids are okay?" "Uh, the ex-wife's parents I guess. They'd know but they're not gonna fuckin' want to hear from me." "I'll make the call. Can you get the number?" "I have Gary's old organizer. It should be in there." He rummaged around in a bedroom dresser drawer and emerged with the book in hand. Here. Shit, I don't know his wife's maiden name." "What's her first name?" "Terri." Mulder went directly to the "T's". "Here it is: "Terri's parents"." Mulder looked at Ian's surprise. "It was a hunch." A moment later, after speaking in his best sympathetic but official tone and mentioning FBI officiality, Mulder ended his cell call. He turned to Ian. "Gary had two daughters. They were there the night he was killed. One was shot. The other dead on scene but no wounds." "Holy mother and baby." Ian felt sick. He had a fleeting thought that maybe it would have been better not to have met Fox Mulder. "Why would this guy pick Gary? Is it coincidence?" "No. He picked Gary because of me, I think. Because I was here, six months ago talking to both of you. Because whoever knows what's going on doesn't want me to know what's going on. But they must think I already know and that I'm out digging around." That just made Ian's head hurt. "I don't follow you." "I'm speculating why, on three separate occasions, people with whom I've had contact have ended up murdered. I have no idea. Something's missing. It doesn't make sense. I wish I hadn't come here, then or now." Ian's blood drained from his face. "You think he might try and get me?" "I don't know. But I wish I did. I wish I hadn't used your land line to make those calls to Gary's work. I wish I'd used my cell', then nothing could be traced to you, they might think I was calling from my hotel. Now they know I wasn't." "You're fucking scaring me, Mulder. He, they, whoever, you think they're listening in too? Am I a dead man? Am I gonna find a hole in my back tomorrow?" Mulder stared back as if considering the possibilities. "I sorry. I'm sorry I even came here. I should go, the sooner, the better. And you should find some other place to be for a few weeks." "I don't have any other place." Ian talked fast and high, he was scared now. "And you're fucking strung out like a clothes line, Fox, you can't travel. Besides, if I'm gonna die, I'd sure as hell like to know more than you've told me. Jesus Christ! _I'm_ gonna fuckin' die?" He plopped down on the couch. "Holy shit." stared up at Mulder, helpless. Mulder stared down. Helpless. "What the fuck have I gotten into here, Mulder? What the fuck kind of people are they?" "Fuck me." Ian whispered. "You're a babe, Fox, but I wish to hell I'd never laid eyes on you." Mulder sat in the chair opposite. Couch, there. Coffee table, center. Chair, other side. Conversational arrangement. "The more I tell you, the worse it is for you. I don't know if what I know is even accurate. There's no way to substantiate anything especially when it comes to Gary's murder. Or the death's of his daughter's." "They never even told me the girls had been killed too." Mulder closed and rubbed his eyes. They burned like acid. It was approaching eleven P.M.. He hadn't slept for nearly three days but was too wired now to do so. He felt grubby, sick and was so tired that walking was effort. "I'll stay the night. If you want, you can fly back to DC with me. But it would mean leaving your job here, finding a new one there, a place to live. Establishing a new life somehow..." "Would it mean not being murdered?" "Maybe. Maybe not. We don't know for sure whether you're a target." "Why the hell aren't you one? If they don't want you digging around, why not kill you?" "I don't know. It doesn't make sense." "So take my chances here or DC? Sounds about even to me." "I don't know what else to suggest. I could get you into the Witness Protection Program, if I had something more than speculation about a murder that might happen by subjects unknown." "Terrific. This is just _sweet_." Ian sighed heavily. "I hope you brought your gun." Mulder nodded. "Lots of ammo?" Again a nod. "That's better than nothing." Mulder leaned back in the chair, fatigue settling down like a quilt. "I'm sorry." "Will they call you?" At his dull eyed puzzlement, "I mean if they hear anything about Lady-Doc'?" "I already called them." "Nothing?" "Less hope than this morning, I can tell by how they talk to me, by how he does." ""He"?" "The Director." "Oh." Ian's own grief over Gary was fresh each morning, but by afternoon, work and friends and the local nightclub would dull it. By the time sleep rolled around, he could do it: close his eyes and not see Gary and nothing but Gary. He forced it to keep his sanity intact. Doubted if Fox had reached that stage. "You love her a lot, don't you?" "Don't talk about her anymore." Ian contemplated backing off. But he might not be alive tomorrow. "How did you end up at Walburg?" Mulder turned white. Whiter than the white he was when he'd arrived that afternoon from DC. Bleached-out bones white. "Why do you want to know that. Think I'm still crazy? Think I'm making all this shit up?" "No. Gary's and his kids are dead, remember?" Mulder turned his head away, the disbelief he thought he would see having never arrived. "Bad shit happened to me. I was missing for eight years. I was...hurt a lot. Don't remember much about it. Don't want to. Not anymore." Ian listened to the bare facts that told him nothing. Okay. "Just wondered if maybe this had something to do with that, with you, and who I should blame if someone comes in here and blows my heart out the front of my chest." Mulder stared. Dark and wounded. Clipped, "Would it be all right if I took a shower?" Guilt-frosted anger. "Sure. Clean towels on the shelf." Ian knew Mulder was escaping from the questions. Fine. No, not fine. He had a right to know what the hell had happened to Fox and specifically, _who_ had happened to him to end up bringing all of it here and to Gary, so he, Ian, could figure out how to keep the murdering pricks away from _him_. Fat chance. He knew how stubborn Fox could be. You don't daily nurse a guy for six months without experiencing their dark side. The shower started. He listened to it and remembered suddenly the scars he'd seen on Fox's chest. "Fuck." He felt like a shit. He'd asked the man to come here and help him. Barely out of the hospital, his woman gone and he'd demanded Fox come here to help _him_. But it was hard not to be selfish when bad shit happened to _you_! Maybe he should apologize? Ian went to the bathroom and pushed the door open. Mulder was behind the thick plastic curtain, clear once but now coated in hard water deposits. Long, lean, nicely formed tanned flesh merged into darker, mind teasing skin below the navel. But no detail. Ian felt himself flush and sat on the toilet, watching. Just for a second or two, he told himself, feeling like a pervert for peeping where he wasn't suppose to. The shower curtain was pushed aside without warning. Shit! Most people turned the water off first. It was too late, and Ian got full view of healthy Fox Mulder, who hadn't even noticed his bathroom guest, as his long legs stepped out of the tub. Ian grabbed a towel from the rack behind him. "Here." Mulder jumped, looked, grabbed the towel, and blushing to his roots, quickly wrapped it around himself. "You usually spy on your house guests?" The blush was embarrassment more than anger. "Only the good looking ones." Peeved, "Christ, haven't you ever seen a guy before?" "I _thought_ I had." "Do you mind??" Ian retreated, spoke through the door. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything. I didn't plan on ogling you, okay?" //Very, _very_ nice.// "I came to ask you something." "What?" "You,...will you be able to make these assholes pay? Will you be able to stick it to them?" "I don't know." The anger was gone. "I'm going to try. No one is even fully aware of what's going on I don' think, or believes me, even, except maybe Scully." "_I_ believe you, and I want those fuckers to die like they made Gary die." Mulder came out, now dry and still wrapped in the same towel. Ian followed him into the bedroom, where Mulder sat and dialed a number on his cellular. "Who are you calling?" "DC." Ian sat on the bed, waiting while Mulder gave his Badge number, asked for a name and then waited again. "This is Fox Mulder, I was wondering-" The other end must have interrupted. "Have you spoken to-" Again an interruption. "Oh. No word at all, no notes or calls? What about the coroner's office? No-no unidentified-" Interruption and a pause at Mulder's end. Mulder's eyes closed and stayed that way, head cradled by the phone. Breathing shallowly, the phone appeared to the only thing holding him upright. "I see, thank you." "Nothing?" Ian asked when the connection was closed. Mulder shook his head. Weakly, "no". "You gonna go tomorrow?" Mulder nodded, looked at him. "I'm sorry about Gary. About all of this but I can't pursue it, not right now. If I do, it could endanger your life. We just don't know who or what we're dealing with yet." "Ask questions and maybe die, gotcha." He stared at Mulder. The bags under his eyes were like ink stains. "You look like hell, Fox. I don't know when your flight's going to be but you better get in a few hours, man." Headshake, "I usually don't sleep when I'm on a case like this." "Don't sleep? "Usually"? If the Doc' disappeared Wednesday night, then you must be hallucinating by now." "Things are a bit fuzzy, but-" "You're going down. I'm getting you a couple sleeping pills." "I don't want any pills, I'm on enough of that shit already." "These won't last beyond morning and they're not going to fuck your head, they're just muscle relaxants. Don't argue with the guy who's paying for your return flight." "Holy shit, headstrong or what! It's a good thing Gary had handcuffs." Ian smiled at a private joke. "It was often a _very_ good thing." Mulder stammered, "That's n-not what I meant." "Wait right here." Ian returned in a moment with two pills and a glass of water. "You didn't even eat anything." Ian commented as Mulder swallowed and drank. "Don't mention food." Mulder swung his legs under the sheets, still wearing the towel, Ian noticed. "Geeze, Fox, I'm not going to molest you, if that's what you're thinking. Not that I haven't thought about it." "You don't seem to have trouble speaking your mind, do you?" "Why should I? Don't you hate watered-down bullshit talk? In this world, when you come out of the closet, you get used to having to speak your mind. If you don't you don't make it. I'd rather live and be hated by others than fucking hide and hate myself." Mulder looked at him, surprised, "You've got guts. It takes guts to live out your ideals. It leaves you open to be slowly eaten alive. I speak from experience." He pulled the towel off himself and tossed it out from under the blankets. Ian draped it over a chair. "Nice sentiment, you must be a riot at Christmas parties. Speaking of ideals, I guess there's no chance your willingly sharing that bed with me?" "I _offered_ to sleep on the couch." "I'm not talking about sex, Fox, I'm talking about sleeping. Don't be so damn homophobic. You've shared a bed with a guy before, haven't you? At camp or something?" "When I was a _kid_." "Well, then..? Come on this is a king-sized bed, I won't even bump into you. I just don't feel like sleeping in the living room where I'm a hell of a lot closer to the front door and easier gotten to." "Jesus, get in, then. Those bloody pills are making the bed float." Ian swiftly undressed. Mulder looked away from the young, muscled body. For the first time, he realized that Ian was hardly more than a kid. "How old are you?" ""How old am I"? Twenty-six. Why, how old are you?" "Forty-seven. I was just checking. If we die tonight, I didn't want to be found sleeping in the same bed as a minor." "Christ, relax. I'm old enough to hold my own dick when I piss and everything. You don't look forty-seven, by the way, and I have to say it at least once, you are fucking _gorgeous_." "Than's, go-t'-shhleb." "The pills are doing the right stuff, sounds like." "Hmmh..." Mulder was asleep before Ian finished tucking the comforter around his own shoulders. "Mulder." Mulder awoke and she was sitting on the edge of the bed, near the foot. "Scully?" "Hi. Sorry I woke you." Mulder sat up, couldn't believe his eyes. "Scully! Jesus." He reached her but his fingers wouldn't quite reach. "Oh, Scully, I thought you were dead. When did you get back? Why didn't they tell me? Are, you all right? How did you know I was here?" "It's okay, Mulder. I'm not suffering. Everything's fine." "What are you talking about? What about the UnSub? When, why did he let you go?" "Shhhh, I'm at peace. I'm happy. Nothing can ever hurt me again." Mulder stared as the meaning behind her words deadened him. Pain like a sledge hammer to his solar plexus. "Wha-what do you mean? What are you talking about?" He was going mad. Scully was not dead. She was sitting there before him alive and beautiful. So she could not be dead. "I have to go now, Mulder. I just wanted to tell you not to worry anymore. And that everything's fine." "Scully, no, noooo, don't - don't go. No-no-no,..Please, _please_ don't go. You can't be dead, it hasn't been long enough, we'll find you, I'll find you. Just, hang on, please, Scully. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Scully? okay? I just wanted to give you everything,..._please_, please don't leave me....." "It's okay, Mulder. I have to go now." "Noooo." He watched night take her from him. She faded like the last moment of twilight. The grays over to black. His world. All that he owned; the only thing he had left; the very reason he had wanted to come home; the only truth left, maybe; his only hope during those so many times he'd been forced away: Was her. He'd always tried to come back for her. Because of her. Back from the clutches of the northern ice and alien death. Home from the rain-forest. Home from the drying desert sun and the fire-storm. Safe with her from the tortured memories of the past. Saved by her from the torments of eight years in someone's Hades. Scully. Was why. So she must be alive! Had to be. So he could come home again. Shewasaliveshewasalive-alive-alive!.... A soundless scream in his head and then erupted an acoustic one: "No. No! NononoNONONONONOOOOO!!!" His heart burst from it's impact. "Holy shit!!" Ian was awakened by terrorized yelling next to him. He sat up and blindly reached for the lamp switch. Mulder was as still as a corpse but for his trembling and the word he kept screaming over and over. "Fuck!" Ian shook him. "Mulder! Fox! Come on, man someone's gonna think I'm murdering you in here." Mulder's eyes snapped awake. He looked around sightlessly and then lucidness returned and he was seeing Ian's sheet wrinkled face. Ian stared back. "You must have been having the mother of all nightmares." "S-sorry. Yeah, I think I was." "What about?" Mulder didn't answer for a few seconds. He looked at the shadows on the ceiling overhead trying to blend with and overpower the beam of street light that hung in its center. He closed his eyes again. Ian thought he'd gone back to sleep and turned to settle in again. "Scully's dead." Sitting up quickly, Ian thought he'd heard a ghost speaking. But it had been Fox. "What? What are yo?-how do you know that?" "I just do." "Look, man, don't fucking put too much stock in dreams or what they mean. I went to a fortune teller once and she told me I'd meet my fantasy girl and we'd live in South America. It's bullshit. Dreams are just dreams, they don't tell you shit." "When Scully was taken before,.." Ian thought: Before??" "..I never dreamed about her. Three weeks and not one dream. We didn't get any word that time either. God I loved her, even then. You'd think I would have,.. but no dreams." "So you think - what? - this time you have a drug induced nightmare and that means she's dead?" "She was dying when they returned her." Ian shuddered. He couldn't help it. "Christ. These are _some_ people you hang with. It's only been three days and you're giving up?" "If she's dead, s-so am I." Oh brother. Ian sat up and went around to Mulder's side, crouching down. "Mulder, don't lose it, man. Don't fucking lose it." Mulder was shaking, his face scrunched up as though he was about to scream but he didn't. He wasn't making a sound. "I don't want to see you have a nervous breakdown in my apartment. Why the hell are you giving up so fast?" Mulder just shook his head back and forth. Ian took his rigid right hand in his own and placed his other behind Mulder's, head, making him sit up, then sat beside and slightly behind him so he couldn't lay back down again. The sheet covering Mulder slipped to his hips. Ian could see defined beneath it the man's sex, his own grief over Gary taking refuge in the sight of this gorgeous and tortured man, so vulnerable, before him. Enigma. Intelligent in mind, passionate in soul, fierce in justice, but tender in spirit. Yet hating himself. "Look, Fox. When I found out Gary was dead, I thought I was going to lose my fucking mind, okay? I tore this place apart. I was kicked out of three bars that night. I wanted to fucking kill someone. Or myself." "It's barely been a week since I found out and still hurts like a cunt. But at least I had my shot. The best four years of my life with him and I'm not going to throw them out like the trash. You have _got_ to give it more time. Jesus, give her a chance to come back at least. You're giving up pretty fucking fast." "It should have been me." "Well, it wasn't you! I seem to remember her eating her heart out when you were in the hospial. She waited for you." "If Scully's dead, I w-won't survive it, not this time, I can't stand that she's being hurt, I can't stand to think about it. She's all I have in this world, m-my whole life. Everything, absolutely everything. What am I going to do without h-h-her?..." He bent at the waist, tight fists pushing hard into his abdomen. Now sobs, those scary choking, vomit kind. Fox was losing it, right there in his bedroom. Oh, fuck, oh fuck... Ian pushed Fox's head forward and down. "No, man, don't _think_ that. She's okay, just keep believing that. Jesus, Fox, don't think I don't know how this feels. She's your fucking shadow and your conscience, your voice and soul and fucking life! I know, man, I know. That's why you have to keep going. You just can't give up like this. Be strong for her. If she's got you this tightly screwed up, she must be incredible! So you must be too, right? You are too." Mulder tried to believe the well-meaning voice. But, as it stood, Scully was gone. Most likely dead. If she didn't come back, he would disappear too. He would leave this world. "B-but what if she is, I have nothing without her. I don't want to live in this cock-sucking world if she isn't here with me." "Grief's got you in chains, Fox - it's too soon for that. It's too soon." "I'm so tired." Ian knew he meant something very different than being sleepy. "Don't give up on her, Fox. I know it fucking hurts, I know. I know it feels like someone's cut your insides to shit, like you're bleeding out. I know you feel like you're dying inside, like everything is gone. It's okay to _feel_ it, you just can't _believe_ it." "I don't know how. I'm so stupid. So fucking blind, I can't see anything anymore." Nothing good, he meant, Ian thought. "Fox. I want you to breath. Just breath for me. Easy, man. And listen. I want you to tell yourself to go one more day, okay? Just one more day, Fox, and then one more day after that. Don't you fucking give in yet. Those pricks don't deserve that. They'll pay. Whoever this son-of-a-bitch is, stay around to make him pay! You or someone has to make that happen. And stay around for the Doc', she's going to need you." Ian's voice called to his deep parts, where his conscience and guilt lived. Maybe now wasn't the time to curl up and die. "I can't afford to fall apart." He offered Ian as a flare, a peace- marker that he wasn't six down quite yet. "Well, we agree on that, don't we?" Total sincerety, "If they've hurt her, I'll kill all of them." "Whew. You've got it bad, dontcha?" Mulder stopped the painful-looking shaking but the stress released itself in a few more tears and some deep coughing. "Feeling sick?" Ian asked. "A little. Stomach. It'll pass." More tears, silent. Without the jerky sobs of new grief, just the exausted defeat of old. Ian took a chance that Mulder wouldn't jump away like a frightened cat and stroked a couple fingers through his short hair. Mulder wore it short and brushed straight back from his head. Almost a brush-cut. Not quite. It was a style for a person in a hurry. Run a comb through and go. It suited him. "Fox, this pain you're feeling. This hollow fucking hurt that you think is gonna swallow you up or drive you insane, it is going to go away. I know it sounds impossible now, but it will end. Whether or not the Doc' comes back, it _will_ end. You'll feel real again, I promise you." Mulder's chin was on his chest, shook his head, "No, you're wrong...it could never,...could never be like that..." "Yes it can. It will. I know, Fox. I _know_." Ian could see nothing was going to fix him up, at least not so quickly and not that night. "Come on, scoot over. Don't worry, I'm just lying down beside you." Mulder didn't protest and lay back limply. Ian leaned across Mulder and switched off the lamp, then draped an arm across his chest. Mulder didn't flinch or try to move away. Didn't really care, probably. "I'm not making a move on you, I'm just giving you what I think you need, some affection. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?" Mulder's shoulder's twitched. A shrug. "That's better than no answer I guess. You are one complicated piece of work, FBI man." He continued to stroke his hair. "Do you mind this?" Another shrug. "I want you to just lie there and listen to me. I know there's no guarantee you'll listen but what the hell." Ian moved closer but was careful not to touch too much of Mulder with his own body. He didn't want to spook him. "You seem to have this belief that there's nothing good about you, nothing worthwhile. The doctors maybe, or your lady built some self-confidence back into you, but self-esteem, that's from your own engine. That has to come from you and I sure as hell don't see it happening." Mulder smelled good. He felt good. Ian wanted to do so much more than just touch his hair. "You think you're weak for feeling this stuff so deeply, love I mean, for her; like you can't breath unless you know day by day how she is, am I right?" Ian expected no answer and he wasn't disappointed. "Anyway, that's not weakness. So you couldn't save her. Something tells me you tried like crazy to. You probably damn near died doing it and you're still here. Look at the bruises on your face. You didn't knock them out in the first round, huh? So? The shit you've only hinted at, the shit you've been through that I know about - fuck it makes my balls shrink. But here it is - what? - ten, fifteen rounds and you're still standing." He had always been attracted to strong men. Height, muscles, body hair, a guy who looked like a guy. Goodlooks were always a tidy addition if available. And strong on the inside. Heart-and living-soul strong. Like Fox who had all the above. He was gorgeous. Not just the physical. The man was staggering from the blows delivered but he was upright and still giving the finger to those who had made up the game rules. "I could fall in love with you so easily, Fox. But I know you're straight and I respect that. I respect you. You don't respect yourself, I've noticed. Fucking staying awake for days on end, not eating - Jesus, it's a wonder you're still alive." Had he fallen asleep? Ian raised his head off the pillow to see. No, Fox was awake, the light from the street creating tiny pin-point lanterns on the wet curve of his eyeballs. He was listening, too. Maybe. "I think you need to be reminded once in a while that you're worthwhile. I get the impression that hasn't happened very often." He spoke and ran the tips of his five fingers through the short hair and across the skin underneath. Felt one or two bumps. Suddenly Fox flinched and snapped his head away. Ian's touch turned feather-light. "Sorry- shit!" Felt a three inch scar. The light from the window was just enough to see the stitches closing an obviously spanking new gash. He didn't comment on it. Another for the collection. The man's body was a museum to it's own living history. Ian bent his head down and kissed the scar. "I think you need to feel substantial and understand that you have a lot to offer someone." Mulder turned his head a bit in the opposite direction. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to make love to you right now. But I wouldn't, _couldn't_ do anything to hurt you. Listen to me, you just finished telling me I may be a dead man. You'd think I'd be kicking your ass down the stairs but no, I want to fuck you instead. I'd say that says something about you. I don't even know what, exactly, except you are so full of this..._passion_, it just lights a fire under my ass. You are so fucking beautiful, you know that?" "Don't call me that." "Hey, you're actually listening. Why not - if it's true? You are and not just on the outside, though I'd say it's a good thing you didn't turn out dog-assed ugly, "Fox"." Ian leaned in to gave Mulder a small kiss on the cheek. Backed off again. "Was that gross?" "No. But it doesn't really do anything for me either." It did something for Ian who felt a rush of desire that damn near left him shaking. "I want to ask you for a favor. It's a pretty big one, and I don't have any right to and you're probably going to tell me to go fuck myself." A weary to the marrow of life sigh. "Ask." "You'll be going tomorrow and I'll most likely never see you again. Or I'll die and you'll never see me-" "-What's the favor?" "I want to kiss you on the lips, and not just a peck. I was going to try that before but I didn't want to get a broken nose." "What for?" "Because I'm incredible attracted to you and if I know how you feel, how it feels to kiss you, I might survive it if I never get anything more." Mulder sighed again. "Well?" "Whatever." Ian rolled over until he was half on top of Mulder. He wanted to lay front to front on him but figured Mulder wouldn't put up with that. Ian could feel his own erection though, straining in his briefs. He moistened his lips the tiniest bit and made connection with that mouth and those lips he'd been, in his mind, kissing since he'd first seen the man. Masturbating in the shower lately had been over him too. He'd tried to get off with visions of Gary in his head but the pain of losing him had always welled up and turned the images of joy into death, killing the attempt and leaving him sobbing instead. Mulder's lips were a ride - as soft as they looked. Ian took a chance and opened his eyes to see if Fox had closed his. He hadn't but Ian took the opportunity while look into those fucking perfect things to open his mouth. Fox didn't reject his tongue and Ian dove deeply into him until he was kissing him as hungrily as he ever had Gary. Mulder just seemed to be going with it, neither frowning nor appearing to enjoy it. That was a bit disappointing. Ian kissed him longer than he thought Fox would have allowed and his body was looking forward to more. God, if only... He took Fox's head between his hands and deepened the kiss, tasting the sweet saliva, tonguing him for all he was worth, and positioning himself over Fox until he could feel his rock hardness brushing Fox's lovely, if flaccid, cock. His hands began an exploration Fox's body. Smooth, soft shoulder skin, feather chest hair, muscled sides and abdomen. Masculine hips. Caressed Fox where Ross, in his rage and twisted violations, might have gouged. Where Ross's work-roughened, painful digits had poked and prodded, leaving bruises without a hint of compassion, Ian's stroked and petted to smooth them away. Redeem the wounded flesh. Purify the shattered trust. Ian's mind filled with what lay further down, beneath him, growing and changing. Fox. Creature of extremes. Ice and desert. Isolated. Stray. Loner. Hunter for scraps. Finds the bones and the leftovers from the bigger kills by the bigger killers. Rare, night creature. Curls up in his den when the blinding desert heat or the freezing snow would destroy him. Hunted for his skin. Hated for his wanderings and curious ways. Enduring the odds. Skittish. Sometimes bold, sometimes scared. Beautiful. * Ian gasped. His mind raced: I'm kissing him. So hard I'm kissing him. Oh, god. He - Fox - was looking up at me, curious, wondering. Puzzled. Perfect. He was looking up at me with an expression that made the breath leave my body. Surprise. Surprise that he was enjoying it? Maybe that's just my own wishful thinking. Surprise that I could want him this badly. That anyone could. This man did not feel pity for himself. He had stopped feeling anything a long time ago. That his body could still feel, maybe that was the thing that shocked him. His penis had hardened and teased me with it's potential for fleshly delight and mind-blowing pleasure. I could hardly breath for wanting him. And wanting to tell him, teach him, prove to him that he was beautiful and desirable and deserved all the affection another human being had to offer. As I caressed his body and imagined doing those things that maybe frightened him the most, he looked back with such sweet, goddamn fucking innocence, I almost wept. With my body and mind, I wanted to devour him physically and preserve alive his soul forever. Whatever I had to give I would have served it up. Who was I trying to kid? I loved him already. Every cell in my body told me. If God froze the world over in some bloody damnation, this is how I wanted to be found. Loving this man who had seen and survived things no human being had any business to. Making love to him. * Ian began moving his hips in tiny circles over Fox's hardened shaft, feeling so burning hot he would melt any second. Was Fox feeling as he was feeling?... "Ian, stop." Mulder obviously decided it had gone far enough. "Stop. Now." Ian rolled off immediately. Tried to keep the anguish of his terrible desire from his voice. "Sorry, I got carried away a bit." Mulder was quiet in the dark. Then, "Look, even if I wanted it... straight or not, even if I _need_ it, I just can't. I _can't_. And not just because of Scully." Ian knew he meant Ross. "I know. And your loyalty is one of the sexy things about you. Anyway, I might have injured you. I can be a pretty aggressive lover and I like it rough and wild mostly. Especially with sexy, virgin territory." Ian felt his erection dwindle. The deep heart and groin ache to plunge Fox's body and mouth with it didn't leave though. He remembered vividly the sight of a nude Fox, glistening wet from his shower. Round, chock-full balls, and a rudded- skinned, circumcised and inviting cock so fucking perfectly right _there_, so thick and long and exposed to him, so goddamn-insanely-tempting!, he'd wanted to fuck it, suck it and swallow it down right on the bathroom floor. He hadn't wanted anyone as badly for years. Since before he met Gary. In retrospect, he'd felt quite proud of his self control. "C'we go t' ssleep now?" Fox said, his words slurred. "Yeah, sure, but I want you to listen first." "What." "Don't leave this world without having loved someone, Fox, or, even better, letting them love you. Life just isn't worth a fuck otherwise." No answer. "Fox?" Sleepy, "Mmm?" "Do me another favor and don't hate what just happened. Don't eat yourself alive with guilt over it all right?" He sat up and leaned over Fox again, whose eyes were closed now. "Don't you give up on her." He touched the hair again, it was hard to keep his fingers away. "And,...if...the worst happens, I'll be here, okay. If you just need an ear. Don't isolate yourself. You deserve some happiness, everybody does. Are you listening?" "Yeah. Kinda' hard to sleep with someone _talking_." Ian smiled. Closed the distance and kissed his mouth one last time. "Don't forget." "I won't." *** Mulder let Ian sleep on. Did not rouse him, even when he already had his bag packed and it was sitting by the front door. His taxi would be there any minute. He wanted to say goodbye somehow. Mulder carefully sat on the edge of the bed next to Ian and studied the sleeping, youthful face whose chiseled bones had never suffered a fracture. Ian's shallow breaths did not change when Fox shifted so he could see the lids flickering, the eyes underneath R.E.M.-ing. Mulder hoped it was a good dream. Ian. His healer for the second time. Ian had called for his help and he came. But now he knew he had also come for himself. He had become near mindless with grief over Scully. Was ready - waiting - to plunge headlong into death over her and his failure. Ian had saved him from that mistake. He had been so terrified of losing Scully because he thought he could not survive it himself. He loved her. If she loved him, however undeservedly, he would be glad in it and love her back as much as he knew how. If she loved someone else, he would still rejoice in her life. Ian had given him that. It was a debt he could never repay. The door buzzed - his taxi. Mulder was glad the intercom was down the hall. He didn't want Ian to awake from his peace. ***