From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 17 Sep 2001 22:54:56 -0000
Subject: Head Over Heels 1/14 by syntax6
Source: direct

Reply To: syn_tax6@yahoo.com

Title: Head Over Heels
Author: syntax6
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Per Manum
Keyword: Alternate universe

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 Head Over Heels 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

XxXxX

Prologue

XxXxX

He carried his labor of love in a sack over his shoulder, 
hunched as he climbed over the crumbling rock of the desert.  
Animals heard his boots approach and slithered away to 
invisibility just as he reached them.  Overhead, the milky 
moon lit the path in front while the night swallowed his 
steps behind, covering the months of preparation that led to 
his solitary journey.  He thought of Mulder, hoped he would 
be the one to get the call.

"Those are my fingernails scratching down the inside of your 
ribs," he said with a grin, "and don't you forget it."

The bones at his back clattered together like drumsticks when 
he jumped down onto the dusty earth.  Another half mile would 
be sufficient, he reckoned.  This was the only part of the 
plan that bothered him, having to leave her out in the middle 
of nowhere for someone else to find.  It could be hours, 
could be weeks -- he had no way of knowing or controlling the 
outcome.  By the time they found her, he would be far away 
composing the second verse of his love letter.

At length he stopped by some brush he thought well-suited for 
his purposes.  Slipping the sack from his shoulder, he opened 
the mouth wide in front of him.  "Trick or treat!" he said 
with a chuckle.  He shook his bag of goodies until they 
rattled, the smaller bones knocking around like beads against 
the longer, hollow ones.  Then he simply turned the sack on 
end, creating a brief waterfall of human remains that fell in 
a pile at his feet.  The small skull rocked back and forth in 
the dirt for a few seconds but stopped when he touched it 
with his toe.

From inside his jacket he produced another bag, this one made 
of clear plastic, which contained the final touches for his 
missive.  What good was a letter, after all, if one did not 
address it and sign it appropriately?  He snapped on his 
gloves and withdrew the strands of red hair he'd pulled from 
her head a few days before.  

The devil is in the details, he reminded himself as he wound 
the hairs around the prickly branch. 

He scattered the remaining items with equal care, then 
stopped to survey his work.  A perfect execution, he decided 
at last.  His imagination come to life. 

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the signature -- two 
tiny toe bones.  They felt almost like teeth in his hand.  
"I'll just keep these, shall I?" he said to the broken woman 
on the ground.  He popped one into his mouth and walked away, 
sucking his prize like a hard candy all the way home.

XxXxX

Sam Nesbith stepped from his Explorer cruiser into the wall 
of summer heat.  He slipped open the button on his shirt 
collar and scanned the desert scene, trying to pick his 
deputy from among the half-dozen men in black.  Luke caught 
him looking and waved.

"Over here, Sheriff."

Nesbith climbed over a rocky slope and acknowledged Luke with 
a nod.  "Simmons.  What have you got for me?"

"Hikers found her this morning, sir.  Kitchner and I got the 
call, and we've been here since oh nine hundred.  Del Hoya 
and Marsh have been helping us secure the perimeter, but I 
gotta tell you, it seems like she's been here a while."

"She's over that way?" Nesbith indicated the brush thirty 
feet across the sand.

"Yes, sir.  What's left of her, at least."

Nesbith frowned and started over towards the body.  "I 
suppose it's too much to hope for any ID."

"Well, that's the thing..."

"Jesus Christ," Nesbith interrupted as he caught sight of the 
scattered bones.  "No telling how long she's been out here."  
He turned to Simmons.  "Nothing else gets touched until the 
coroner gets here, you understand?  And I don't want anyone 
else within a mile of this place. I don't care if God himself 
gave the okay."

"Right.  We're on it."  Simmons hesitated, then nodded at a 
rock a few feet away.  "You might want to see this, though."

"What is it?"

"It's a shield, sir. FBI from the looks of it."

"Shit," Nesbith muttered.  He followed Simmons over to the 
rock, where they knelt by the black leather case.  "You think 
this is from our vic, is that it?  Can't be.  That body has 
to have been out here for months, if not years, to have been 
stripped as clean as she was.  This leather is barely faded 
at all."

Simmons's face fell a bit.  "The picture shows a woman with 
red hair, and we found some red hair caught on the bush over 
there so I just assumed..."

Nesbith turned and glanced over to where the skeleton lay.  
"I've got a bad feeling about his one, Luke," he murmured.  
"Something's way off."  He shook his head and turned his 
attention back to the shield.  Pulling out a pen, he nudged 
the flap of the case open.

Dana Scully, it read. FBI.

XxXxX

Mulder remembered why he had vowed never again to set foot in 
Au Bon Pain as the two girls behind the counter ignored him 
in favor of their conversation about some absent Au Bon Pain 
worker, and whether or not said worker wore falsies her bra.  
When a third round of throat clearing failed to gain their 
attention, he leaned over the counter himself and said, "You 
know, I heard she's actually a man, and that's why she has to 
steal extra money from the tip jar to pay for her upcoming 
operation."

The girls stared at him, dumb-struck for a moment, until the 
dark-haired one with the pony tail found her tongue.  "Uh, I 
don't think so," she said with scorn.  "My brother used to go 
out with her, and he said..."

"You're absolutely right," Mulder agreed, dead-pan.  "It must 
be some other employee.  So I'll just have the grilled 
chicken sandwich then, okay?"

The pony tail girl shut her mouth with a snap and rang up his 
order.  By the time he had picked up his napkins, she was 
back gossiping with her friend again.  Could there really be 
a man hidden in their midst?  Mulder hid a smile and walked 
around the back, where he found Amelia Russell sitting at a 
table full of food.  

"Small breakfast," she said in explanation, and pulled back 
her salad, soup and sandwich to make room.

"I braved the Pod People lunch line for you, Russell.  This 
better be good."

"Let me guess," she said, sipping her drink.  "Janine and her 
breasts again."

Mulder looked up from his sandwich.  "Are you on some sort of 
stakeout duty here?  Or have they started drugging the 
croissants."

Russell smiled.  "I prefer the bagels. Oh, and for the 
record?"  She leaned across the small table towards him.  
"Janine totally stuffs."

Mulder covered his mouth in mock horror.  "She doesn't!" 

Russell shook her head and leaned back in her chair, wiping 
her fingers on her napkin.  "Seriously, Mulder, thanks for 
coming.  I'm sorry I was so cryptic on the phone."

Ah, yes, Mulder remembered.  The message so secretive that 
he'd almost expected it to self-destruct when he'd rescued it 
from voice mail.  The message that had specifically stated 
not to bring Scully.  "So what's up?" he asked, trying to 
keep his tone casual.

Russell hesitated for a beat, then pulled out a large 
envelope.  "Grenier would kill me if he knew I was talking to 
you, but I really think we could use your opinion."

"A lead?" Mulder felt the hair on the back of his neck stand 
up.  Ten months evaporated in an instant, and he was running 
though the woods again, screaming Scully's name into the 
pouring rain.

"Could be.  That's what I wanted to talk to you about."  She 
paused.  "And why I thought you should come alone."

"It's..." He traced the sharp edges of the table with both 
hands, his appetite gone. "It's okay.  Scully's with her 
family in California now, anyway.  What have you got?"

"Six months ago a college girl from the University of 
Wisconsin at Madison disappeared on her way home from a 
party."  Russell drew out a stack of photos.  "Mary Horner, 
age twenty-one.  She was missing up until last week, when a 
last-ditch search party organized by her parents found her in 
the woods.  The crime lab says she'd been dead since the 
night she disappeared.  Our division flagged it when we 
learned she had been discovered fully clothed, but with her 
shoes missing."

"Toes?" Mulder asked quickly, even as he flipped through the 
pictures to see for himself.

Russell sighed.  "The little ones are still there, but the 
largest toe on her right foot had been removed, as had two 
fingers on her left hand.  Clean cuts, just like we've seen 
before."

"The ME have any guess about the weapon used to remove them?"

"Smooth blade, no serration.  Definitely not shears, though."

Mulder flinched a little at the memory of the bloody tool 
he'd seen in Carl Quentin's cabin ten months ago.  Scully.  
He fought the urge to pull out his phone and call her, just 
to hear her voice.  "What does Grenier think?" he asked at 
last.

"He thinks it might be Quentin.  We've pulled the missing 
persons reports from the Madison area for the last few 
months.  Two other young women who meet Quentin's victim 
profile have disappeared recently, though no other bodies 
have been found as of yet.  Grenier's out there investigating 
now."

"Uh-huh."  Mulder fingered the pointed corner of the photos, 
looked down at the white body in the woods.  "But you didn't 
go with him."

Russell ducked her head. "No, I...I couldn't go this time.  
It's complicated.  But I don't think Grenier's wrong to check 
into it. Mainly, I just wanted to know your opinion."

"My opinion."  He felt tired, every one of his forty years 
weighing on him as he forced himself to look at the grisly 
photos.  

My opinion, he thought, is that I wish this shit would just 
leave me the hell alone.  Every time I walk away, it comes 
back and bites me on the ass.

"Not him," he said aloud, setting the pictures down flat.

"But the profiles match, and the shoes are missing..."

"Look, you wanted my opinion, and you've got it."

Russell said nothing for a moment.  "Right," she said softly, 
collecting the photographs.  "I'm sorry.  I should never have 
asked, not after--"

"He wouldn't change the toes."

Russell seemed to consider this possibility.  "I've seen 
changes in MO before due to increasing disorganization.  Ted 
Bundy, for instance.  Look at what he did in Florida with the 
sorority house -- changing weapon, changing his pattern of 
attack.  Also, Quentin had a close call with us last year.  
He knows we're on to him now.  It could be he's altered his 
behavior to decrease his chances of capture."

Mulder shook his head.  "Altered his appearance, maybe.  But 
this is a man who spent eleven years in prison and resumed 
his killings in an *identical* fashion when he was released.  
It's all about the feet for him.  He wouldn't bother cutting 
off some fingers.  It probably would never even occur to 
him."

"Okay, fine."  Russell rubbed her eyes with one hand.  "We'll 
just have to keep looking, then."

"Hey."  He waited until she looked up.  "I could be wrong," 
he said, attempting a smile.  "I'm rusty at this, you know."

"No," she sighed.  "You're as shiny as you ever were.  But 
Grenier won't believe it until he comes to the same 
conclusion himself.  For what it's worth, I really am sorry 
to dredge this whole thing up again."

"It never really settled."

"Yeah."  She put away the envelope.  "How is Scully doing?  
Okay?"

Scully.  He thought of the endless nights he had spent with 
her after it had happened, eyes cracking from fatigue as they 
watched inane TV movies or played Gin Rummy -- anything to 
keep from talking about the elephant in the room, anything to 
keep from having to go to bed and dream her way back into the 
woods. Scully, always fine even when she was not.

It had been months now, he realized at last.  Months had 
passed since her last bout of insomnia.  These days when they 
were alone she couldn't wait to get into bed.  

"She's good," he said, smiling a little.  He decided he would 
call her when he got back to the office, already dreaming up 
a flimsy pretext she would see right through anyway.  He also 
decided not to mention his conversation with Russell.

"Tell her I said hello," Russell said as if she could read 
his mind.  

"I will."  He stood up with his half-eaten sandwich.  "And, 
uh, let me know if anything turns up."

"I will."

He turned to go, when she stopped him.  "Mulder..."

"Yeah?"

"Could you...could we maybe have dinner some time?  There's 
something else I'd like to talk to you about."

Mulder froze.  He could tell by the tone of her voice that 
the something was personal.  "I...sure.  Whenever.  Just, uh, 
just give me a call."

"It's not bad, I promise," she said. "It's just kind of a 
long story, and I don't want to get into it here."

"Sure," Mulder repeated, sounding lame to his own ears.  
"Anytime.  Just let me know."  His phone rang then, rescuing 
him from his awkwardness.  "Mulder."

"Agent Mulder, I need to see you in my office now." Skinner's 
voice had an overtone Mulder didn't recognize. 

"I'm on my way," Mulder answered.  He waved at Russell on his 
way out, and she waved back.

"Right now, Mulder," Skinner said, and this time Mulder 
caught the emotion crackling over the phone line.

Fear.

XxXxX

"What's going on?" Mulder asked as he entered the AD's 
office.  Skinner was standing behind his desk, looking grim.

"I've got Special Agent Lillian Chang on the phone from 
California," he said, gesturing toward the speaker phone.  

"Agent Mulder, hello," came the voice on the other line.

"Hi," Mulder said.  He tried to meet Skinner's eyes, but the 
other man looked away.  "What can I do for you, Agent Chang?"

"Assistant Director Skinner informs me that your partner Dana 
Scully has been vacationing here in California this week, is 
that correct?"

At the mention of Scully's name, Mulder felt his mid-section 
seize up.  "She's with family in San Diego.  Why?  What's 
wrong?"

Skinner turned away.

"Agent Mulder, can you tell me when was the last time you 
spoke with your partner?" Chang continued.

"Three days ago," Mulder answered tightly.  "Now someone 
please tell me what the hell this is all about."

There was a short silence on the other end of the phone.  
"This morning the Sheriff in Orange County found a female 
skeleton in the desert.  Nearby they found an FBI shield 
belonging to Dana Scully, so we're just trying to--"

"No," Mulder said, shaking his head and pulling out his 
phone.  "No, you're wrong!"

"Agent Mulder, please, we just want to--"

"In a minute," Skinner snapped.  He watched as Mulder put the 
phone to his ear.

"C'mon, c'mon," Mulder muttered as the ringing began.  
Halfway through the third ring, he could breathe again.

"Scully," she said, and the relief made him weak to his toes.

"Hey," he said through a grin.  "How are you?"

"Sleepy," she answered.  "Too much sun."

Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder saw Skinner sink into a 
chair.  He met the AD's gaze and nodded.  "But you're okay?" 
he said to Scully.  "All the flesh still on your bones and 
everything?"

"What?  Mulder, I think maybe you're the one who's been out 
in the sun too long."

"It's a mistake," he called across the room to Agent Fuckup 
on the speaker phone.  "She's fine."

"Mulder."  Scully didn't sound amused any more.  "What the 
hell is going on?"

"Rumors of your death were greatly exaggerated."

"My death?  What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?  Who 
says I'm dead?"

Agent Chang spoke before he could answer.  "I'm very glad to 
know it was a mistake," she said.  "But we still have a dead 
body here.  Please tell Agent Scully that we're going to need 
to speak with her immediately."

"It seems there was a body found today with your name on it," 
Mulder said into his phone.  He turned around, effectively 
closing off Chang and Skinner from the conversation.  "But 
it's okay.  It was a mistake."

"One in my favor, apparently.  Jesus."

"I don't know the whole story, Scully, but it sounds like 
they found your FBI ID at the scene."

"Not possible," she said flatly.  "I have it with me."

"You're sure."

"Yes, I'm sure."  He heard rustling on the other end.  "I'm 
looking at right now."

"Then someone went to a lot of trouble to make people think 
it was you in the desert."

"Yes," she agreed.  "But it wasn't me.  So who was it?"

"I don't know," he said, glancing over his shoulder to where 
Skinner was talking to Chang.  "But I think they're going to 
want your help in figuring that out."

XxXxX

End Chapter One.  Continued in chapter two.

XxXxXxXxX

Chapter Two

XxXxXxXxX 


It had taken a fair amount of research for him to find the 
woman, but Carl was nothing if not thorough.  In sixth grade, 
he'd taken one assignment -- to write a three page essay on 
some aspect of Ancient Rome -- and turned it into a twenty-
five page epic on gladiators and their weapons of death.  
Retiraii.  Cestus.  Pugio.  Killing and ceremony combined; 
he'd devoured the details and regurgitated the bloodshed for 
his horrified school teacher. 

He had seen her looking at him weeks later when the local 
playground mutt turned up disemboweled behind the jungle gym, 
but no one had ever found the lovely curved dagger he'd used 
to split the dog in two.

Research.  It paid off.

He knew better than to hang around the woman's bones waiting 
for the law to arrive.  Tempting as it was to catch a glimpse 
of her after all their months apart, he realized he couldn't 
shadow Scully the way he had in D.C.. His full beard and dyed 
hair were enough to pass most folks unnoticed, but Scully had 
spent too much time tied up in his bed not to recognize his 
face. He would just have to wait for her to come to him.

His patience had limits, however, which was why he was 
driving four hundred and fifty miles to Utah to mail a 
package.  Scully would ID the body eventually, but he was 
willing to give her a hint to expedite their reunion.  It was 
both a goodwill gesture and a reminder that he was still 
waiting.

For ten months her shoes had sat on a shelf in his bedroom, 
mocking him with the knowledge that his task was yet 
unfinished, that he had left her thrashing around like a 
wounded animal in the woods.  He imagined her face when she 
realized who put those bones in the desert.  

Did you really think it was over? he wondered.  Did you 
really think you had escaped?

He decided to pay a boy to express mail the package but left 
his fingerprints on the envelope as a little "fuck you" to 
Mulder.  Mr. Hotshit FBI thought he was so special, figuring 
out Carl's name after all these years.  I'll give you the 
name, Carl thought, because besides that you've got nothing.

The snot-nose kid he found at the basketball court got 
curious when he saw the address label.  "Is this really going 
to the FBI?" he asked, squinting in the summer sun.

Carl adjusted his wide-brimmed hat.  "That's why it's 
important you get to post office immediately, you 
understand?"

"Fox Mulder, FBI," the kid read aloud.  "What's inside?"

Carl considered.  "It's an invitation," he said at last.

"To a party?"

"Yeah," Carl agreed with a smirk.  "To a party."

XxXxX

"This crumb cake is delicious, Tara," Maggie Scully said as 
she helped herself to another piece.  "Do you think I could 
get the recipe before we leave tomorrow?"

"Of course," Tara replied, sounding pleased.  

"No thank you," Scully said to her mother as Maggie tried to 
place a second slice on her plate.  "I really have to be..."

"I think I even have the recipe stored on my computer," Tara 
continued.  "I can print you out a copy right quick.  Dana, 
would you like one, too?"  

At her mother's hopeful look, Scully repressed a sigh.  
"Sure," she said, forcing a smile.  "That'd be great."

There was nothing like a visit with her relatives to remind 
her that her numerous skills counted for nothing on the home 
front.  Twenty years of schooling, several advanced degrees 
and solve rate that would leave most agents writhing in envy 
did not give her much to contribute around the breakfast 
nook.  Every time she set foot in Tara's kitchen, Scully was 
acutely aware that she was more at home in a hazmat suit than 
an apron.

"Hey," Matthew announced brightly from under the table.

Scully lifted the edge of the cloth to peek at him.  "Hey, 
yourself."

"Are we going to the zoo now?" he asked as he crawled up her 
legs and into her lap.

Scully squeezed him and smoothed back his bed-head cowlick.  
He was still wearing his pajamas with the frogs on them.  
"Don't you think you might want to put on some clothes 
first?"

"No, I wanna go like this!" he said, laughing and wriggling 
with glee.

Just this one part, Scully thought, resting her chin on the 
top of his warm head.  This part I wish I could have.

Matthew didn't care that she couldn't discuss cookies or 
cross-stitching; she'd helped him dig for dinosaur bones in 
the back yard, and now he looked at her like she had hung the 
moon.

"Finish your cereal, Matthew, and then we'll get you 
dressed," Tara said as she got up to put the milk away.

"No."  Matthew folded his arms.  "It's mushy."

Scully eyed the bowl of soggy Cheerios and silently concurred 
with his decision.  "About the zoo," she began again, but 
Matthew cut her off, squirming around in her lap.

"Aunt Dana, Aunt Dana!  We can look for dinosaurs there!"

"Um, actually, I'm afraid I can't go to the zoo today."

"What?" Maggie stopped clearing the table.

"I have to drive to Orange County," Scully explained.  "The 
Sheriff there has a few questions for me."  She did not add 
the part about someone faking her death, but Maggie was sharp 
enough to sense trouble. 

"You're on vacation.  Why would they need to talk to you 
now?"

"It's a forensic matter," Scully said, hedging.  "I shouldn't 
be gone long."

Maggie looked unconvinced.  "You're still flying home with me 
tomorrow, right?"

"With luck I'll be done by lunch time."

"But what about the zoo?" Matthew said, sounding forlorn.

"You'll go with your mom and grandma," Scully replied.  "And 
then you can give me the full dinosaur report at dinner, 
okay?"

"Okay," Matthew agreed.  He placed a strawberry on the end of 
her coffee spoon and then launched the fruit through the air 
with delighted giggle.

"My goodness!" said her mother.

"Matthew Scully!" said his mother.

"Nice arc," said Scully, and went to change her clothes.

XxXxX

Rush hour traffic on I-5 was gone by the time Scully got on 
the road so she made good time to the Sheriff's office in 
Santa Ana, where the Sheriff welcomed her himself.  He had a 
bushy moustache and a firm handshake.

"Agent Scully," he said, his gravelly voice suggesting a 
multi pack a day smoking habit.  "Sam Nesbith.  It's nice to 
see you in one piece.  Sorry to interrupt your vacation this 
way."

"It's no trouble.  To be honest, I think I'm more anxious 
than you are to see this matter resolved."

"Damndest thing I ever saw, that's for sure.  Why don't you 
come on in my office?  Agent Cheng is there, and we can tell 
you what we know so far."  He led her toward the back, 
stopping at a coffee machine along the way.  "I'm buying," he 
said, holding up a quarter.

"No, thanks," Scully replied.  She felt jittery enough.

Agent Cheng sat on a leather sofa inside the large office, a 
passel of folders spread out next to her.  She stood as they 
entered, and extended a cordial greeting to Scully.  Slender 
and pale, with jet-black hair cut short in an angular style, 
she reminded Scully more of a Hollywood prototype for an 
assassin than a federal agent.

"I think I gave your colleagues a scare yesterday," she said.  
"I apologize for that."

For an instant, Scully considered what it would have been 
like to be on the receiving end of the phone call Mulder had 
gotten, how she might have felt if someone phoned to say 
they'd found his skeleton in the desert.  Her throat 
constricted as the room seemed to tilt on end.

"Please, have a seat," Nesbith said, indicating a stuffed 
leather arm chair.  Its solid bulk grounded her once again in 
the present.

"Where exactly was the body found?" Scully asked.

"Desert country," Nesbith replied and handed her map.  "Right 
there by the circle.  Does the location have any significance 
to you?"

"None.  To my knowledge, I've never been near there."  Scully 
set the map aside.  "And you say you found my ID at the 
scene?"

"It was a fake," Cheng said.  "Not a bad one, but obvious 
enough to any regular agent.  It was not meant to withstand 
hard scrutiny.  Fortunately, the paper used to construct the 
ID is watermarked.  We're attempting to trace the shipment 
now."

"You have any theories on who could have done this?" Nesbith 
asked Scully.  "Anything from your old files that might help 
us figure out what the heck is going on here?"

"I've encountered many killers capable of this kind of 
violence," Scully answered.  "But no, I've never seen this 
particular MO before.  What about the victim?  Have you 
learned anything further about her?"

"Not too much on the DB so far," Nesbith said.  "Our 
forensics team is with her now, trying to put Humpty Dumpty 
back together again.  Preliminary findings say she's a female 
in her thirties, about five foot six inches tall.  Marks on 
the bones suggest the body was dismembered post-mortem."

"May I see her?" Scully asked.

Nesbith looked taken aback.  "Uh, of course.  I don't see why 
not."

"Agent Scully's background is in pathology," Cheng explained, 
and Scully shifted to meet her eyes.  "Your reputation 
precedes you."

My reputation, Scully thought, and felt the bottom drop out 
from her stomach.  That's it.  These bones weren't meant for 
others to think I'm dead.  They were meant for me.

XxXxX

At the forensic science building down the street, Scully 
found a team of people in white coats assembling a human 
jigsaw puzzle.  The oldest member, a man in his fifties 
wearing bright green sneakers, came over to greet her.

"Ah, the real Dana Scully finally stands up," he said as she 
displayed her badge.  "I'm Nelson Whittiker, Chief Forensic 
Pathologist in this joint.  That's Paula Babcock, Joe Zydell 
and Mike Hanson over there with the body.  We've pretty much 
got her reassembled at this point."

"You mind if I take a look?" Scully asked.

His snowy eyebrows lifted.  "You know your way around a 
morgue, then?"

"My home away from home."

"Terrific!"  He seemed genuinely pleased to have another 
scientist join his playgroup.  "We've got a lot of questions 
on this one.  Maybe you can help."

"I can try," Scully answered as she accepted the latex gloves 
he offered.  "What have you got so far?"

"Well, here she is."  Scully followed him to the table where 
the skeleton lay with her bones shining under the harsh 
light.  We're just putting the last bones into place now," 
Whittiker said, "and she seems pretty complete.  Based on 
skull sutures, we've got her age down as early thirties, but 
we could be off on that.  Pubis and sacram indicate she's 
probably given birth.  If she's got family looking for her 
somewhere, that could help us out with the ID."

"Nesbith said you think she'd been dismembered post-mortem."

"Yeah.  See these marks on the humerus?  We found them on the 
femur, the side of pelvis and on several of the upper 
vertebrae. Of course, we can't be entirely sure the wounds 
were post-mortem.  Right now, we can't say anything 
definitive about the cause of death."

Scully picked up the left arm bone and turned it on its side.  
It was marred in several places on the end with marks that 
suggested the weapon might have been an axe blade.  "I've 
seen these smooth, rounded edges before," Scully said.  "The 
body was boiled to remove the flesh.  It's going to make the 
time of death hard to determine."

"Boiled?" said Joe Zydell.  "Jesus."

"Looks like she broke her arm many years ago," Scully said, 
continuing her study of the humerus.  "A bad break, too, but 
it seems to have healed well-enough."

"She lived well," Whittiker agreed.  "Good teeth, healthy 
bones.  This was no transient."

Scully put down the arm bone.  "Are you thinking of doing a 
facial reconstruction?"

"Actually, I was talking to Nesbith this morning and--"  The 
sound of Scully's cell phone cut Whittiker short.

"Excuse me," she said, pulling it from her jacket and walking 
a few steps toward the door.  "Scully."

"Dana Scully, of the undead?"

Scully closed her eyes and sighed.  "The dead jokes are 
getting kind of old, Mulder."

"Sorry.  Hey, can you meet me at the airport this afternoon?  
I get in at five."

"What?  Mulder, no.  It's not necessary for you to fly out 
here.  The local Orange County officers and the local FBI 
branch have things well in hand.  It's not our case."

"Uh-huh.  Like you're not down playing doctor in the morgue."  
Scully was silent.  "I thought so," Mulder continued.  
"Besides, Skinner disagrees.  Either the killer wanted us to 
think you'd been murdered, or the victim was impersonating 
you at the time of her death.  Both scenarios suggest that we 
need someone to look into it from our end, and Skinner 
decided it would be good to send a pair of agents to 
investigate."

"And since you just happened to be present when he made this 
decision, he just handed you the assignment."

"Actually, I waved my arm in the air and said, "Pick me!  
Pick me!'"

Scully almost smiled at the visual.  "Naturally."

"Well, when I pointed out how we would save on airfare 
because you were already out there, Skinner just couldn't say 
no.  Never argue with the bottom line, Scully."

She decided to heed his advice.  "Five, you said?"

"Northwest airlines.  Flight 803."  He sounded distracted all 
of a sudden.  "I'm just...I'm just taking care of a couple of 
things here in the office, then I'll catch a cab to 
the...huh."

"Huh?"

"Did you send me a package, Scully?"

"No."

 "Huh," he said again.  "The return address says it's from 
you, but it was post-marked in Utah."

"I've been nowhere near Utah, Mulder."  Her heart picked up 
speed.  "What kind of package is it?"

"Not large, sort of letter-sized.  It's not ticking."

"Mulder, don't open..." She heard the sound of heavy paper 
slitting open. "...it."

"It's a medical ID bracelet for someone named Carolyn Kraus.  
Says she's diabetic."

Scully felt her joints go slack; she struggled to hold her 
grip on the phone.  "Did you say...did you say Carolyn Kraus?  
Carolyn with a Y?"

"Yeah.  Does it mean something to you?"

"Oh, God."  She glanced over her shoulder to where Whittiker 
was working on the skeleton.  "No, it can't be."

"What?  Scully, talk to me.  What's going on?  Who's Carolyn 
Kraus?"

"My childhood best friend was named Carolyn Kraus," she said, 
her tongue thick in her mouth.  "She was diabetic.  She had 
red hair.  And...oh God...she broke her left arm horse-back 
riding in the fourth grade.  Mulder, our victim had a broken 
left arm."

"You think it was her in the desert?"

"I don't know!  Maybe.  Jesus, what the fuck is going on 
here, Mulder?"

"I'll delay my flight," he said.  "Get the package printed 
and wait for the results."

"Dr. Scully," Whittiker said, touching her shoulder.  Scully 
jumped.  "Sorry to interrupt.  My colleagues and I are going 
to take a break for a bit.  We'll be next door for coffee if 
you'd like to join us."

"The skeleton is complete?" she asked.

"Yup.  She's all there except for the little toes.  But they 
may have gotten lost in the shuffle.  See you in a few."

Scully's stomach lurched, and she swallowed hard several 
times to control the nausea.  "Mulder, her toes are gone," 
she said into the phone.  "The little toes are missing."

"Fuck the package," he said.  "I'm on my way."

XxXxX

XxXxXxXxX

Chapter Three

XxXxXxXxX


Mulder found Russell camouflaged behind stacks of paper at 
her desk in the bullpen.  In the middle of a phone call, she 
barely acknowledged his approach.  "Just a second," she 
murmured, distracted.

"Come with me.  Now."

She looked up at last.  "Mulder, I can't talk..."

"He's not in Wisconsin."

Russell froze, holding his gaze for several seconds as the 
busy office room continued to hum around them.  "I'll have to 
call you back," she said into the phone.  She replaced the 
receiver without looking.  "What's going on, Mulder?"

He glanced about the room and saw that several of Grenier's 
other agents were beginning to take note of his presence.  
"Not here."

"Fine, we can use your office."

"No time," he said when she stood up from her desk.  He was 
already moving towards the door. "Bring your things and I'll 
explain on the way."

"Mulder..."

"California," he called over his shoulder.  "The plane leaves 
in two hours."

Three hours later, they were five miles in the sky and 
Russell was on the phone again.  "I see," she said.  "Do me a 
favor, Kenny?  Don't let anyone else see those results just 
yet.  No, not even Grenier.  Thanks."  She put the Air Fone 
back into its slot.

"It's a match," Mulder said without a trace of question.

"It's a match."  Russell sighed.  "The fingerprints on the 
package belong to Carl Quentin."

Mulder leaned back in his seat.  "Son of a bitch."

"We can't keep Grenier out of the loop any longer.  He's got 
to know about this."

Mulder did not answer; he was busy thinking of how to tell 
Scully that her nightmare had come to life.  The double locks 
on her doors, the stepped up security in her apartment 
building, the hours they had spent making sure the DCPD were 
alert to any signs that Carl might be in the city again -- 
all that effort was for nothing, because the animal had been 
stalking her from across the country.

"Mulder."  Russell's voice pulled him from his thoughts; her 
hand on his arm stilled his twitching.  "Nothing's going to 
happen.  She's with the local FBI and the Orange County 
Sheriff's Department, perfectly safe."

"And the last time she was in a park that was crawling with 
FBI agents trained in surveillance and capture.  Shit lot of 
good that did."  He pulled away from her and leaned forward, 
rubbing his face with both hands.

Russell was quiet for a few minutes.  "It's a real lead," she 
said finally.  "Now that he's out from under his rock we have 
a good shot at bringing him in, and we can end this thing 
once and for all."

"Oh, screw that."  Heads turned at his loud, angry words, and 
Mulder lowered his voice to a fierce whisper.  "You think you 
can pretty this up for me, Amelia?  You think closure means a 
goddamn thing to the thirteen dead women?  Scully has scars 
on her wrists that are never going away, and I've already 
given years of my life to this asshole.  So right now I plan 
on picking her up and getting the hell out of L.A..  You can 
search for closure on your own damn time."

He stood up and strode to the back of the plane, nearly 
knocking over a flight attendant in his path.  "Sir, are you 
all right?" she asked, but Mulder ignored her.  In the 
bathroom, he was surprised to find his hands were shaking.  
The sounds of his ragged breathing filled the cramped space, 
and he closed his eyes against the harsh fluorescent light.  
After a minute, he splashed some cold water on his face.  He 
stared at his reflection as the drops trickled down the curve 
of his jaw and fell into the metal sink.

Russell was right, he knew.  Someone had to stop Quentin or 
the killing would never end, and certainly the murdered women 
and their families deserved some answers.  He felt their 
questions weighing on him, stealing all the air from the tiny 
room.

He just wasn't sure he had any answers left to give.

There was a tap on the door, and Mulder slid the lock open 
and stepped out, not meeting the questioning eyes of the 
woman waiting to get inside.  He walked the dim, narrow aisle 
back to Russell.  She did not look at him as he sank into his 
seat.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I'm pregnant," she answered.

"What?"  He sat up straight and turned to her.  "You're 
pregnant?"

"A little over two months now."  She glanced at him.  "You're 
not the only one who wants out, Mulder."

"Does Grenier know?"

She gave a twisted smile.  "Ah, yes.  Adam.  No, but he's 
going to have to know soon.  It's... it's his baby."  She 
paused.  "Jesus, I think that's the first time I've ever said 
it out loud."

"I, uh, I didn't realize you two were, um..."

"We're not," she said.

"Oh."

"Oh, shit is more like it."  She rubbed her eyes with one 
hand.  "He went jetting off to Madison before I had a chance 
to talk to him."

Mulder fidgeted with the obsolete ashtray in his armrest.  
"So what are you going to do?"

"Have it?"  She didn't sound too sure.  "I guess.  I can't 
imagine my boyfriend is going to be thrilled when I give him 
the news.  And Adam...I don't even want to contemplate his 
reaction.  It seems likely I'd be raising this kid on my 
own."

"You could do it."  Mulder hoped he sounded encouraging.

Amelia laughed.  "You do remember that my refrigerator holds 
mostly week-old Chinese food, right?  And that my cat ran 
away to live with my neighbors?"

"So, uh, do you think you might...give it up?"

She sat back in her seat and closed her eyes for a moment.  
"I've thought about it.  I mean, God knows I never planned on 
having kids.  But these days I go into a department store for 
a spring jacket and suddenly find myself in the baby section, 
mooning over the little booties and miniature tee-shirts.  
Pretty crazy, huh?"

"No," Mulder answered, remembering the brightly-colored 
plastic blocks he had bought on impulse several months 
earlier, when he was supposed to be picking up batteries. 
He'd finally put them in a bag in the back of the closet, 
because it had hurt to look at them, but he couldn't seem to 
bring himself to throw them away for good.  "It's not so 
crazy."

"My rotation with the BSU is just about finished, anyway," 
Russell continued.  "I'm sure I could get out a few weeks 
early if I asked."

"But?"

She hesitated.  "I can't leave Grenier alone on this.  Not 
this case."

Mulder thought of the mutilated women, of Scully yelping and 
shaking in her sleep, and was not sure he could be as 
generous.

XxXxX

Scully stood in front of the light boxes with her arms folded 
across her middle.  She had been staring at the x-ray films 
for nearly thirty minutes, but the images grew no less 
terrible.

"Looks like a match."

Scully startled at the sound of Nelson Whittiker's voice.  
"Yes," she agreed.  

Whittiker joined her in front of the bright light.  "So who 
is she?" he asked.

A little girl with red pigtails and freckles, Scully thought.  
She could build kites and draw horses and read upside down.  
She had a crush on Tommy Mattison and an older brother named 
Bill, just like me.  

"Her name was Carolyn Kraus."

"Uh-huh."  He peered at the dental charts.  "Mind if I ask 
how you made the ID?"

"Her husband reported her missing ten days ago from 
Sacramento.  I called and had her records sent by courier."

"But how did you know to ask?"

--in the trunk it was dark with no air she was going to die 
tied up to the bed his hands on her neck the shears brushing 
her feet--

Scully swallowed.  "When I said I hadn't seen this MO 
before," she said, "I was wrong."

XxXxX

They rented a car at the airport.  As Russell finished with 
the arrangements, Mulder watched the women walk by in their 
curvy, colorful shoes.  Two-inch red platforms and open-toed 
sandals.  Navy pumps with white polka-dots.  They clicked 
across the hard tile floor together, creating a syncopated 
shoe symphony.

No wonder the son-of-a-bitch came here, Mulder thought.

"Ready?" asked Russell.

He caught a flash of pink and a rounded heel as their owner 
disappeared around a corner and out of sight.  How many new 
shoes did Carl have lining his trophy shelf this time?

"Ready as I'll ever be."  He did not watch the shoes on his 
way out.

In Santa Ana, they found Scully sipping coffee with Sheriff 
Nesbith and Agent Cheng in Nesbith's office.  "Hey," she 
said, turning in her chair as they entered.  "How was your 
flight?"

"Thankfully dull," Russell answered.  She extended her hand 
to Nesbith.  "Amelia Russell and this is Fox Mulder," she 
continued, but Mulder tuned out the rest of her introductory 
remarks.  He walked over to Scully, using the folders in his 
hand as an excuse to crouch down next to her.

"You okay?" he asked in a low voice as he placed the binders 
in her lap. 

She nodded and gave his hand a brief, hard squeeze.  Her 
fingers were warm from the coffee mug.  "I'm okay."

"Good," he said, standing up again.  Nesbith indicated a pair 
empty chairs at the back of the office.  

"Please have a seat.  Agent Scully has just been filling us 
in on your boy Quentin."

Mulder glanced down at her to see just how much she had told 
them, but her eyes were fixed on the folders in her lap.  "We 
brought the most recent information with us," he said to 
Nesbith.  "But we had no idea he was this far west."

"We're going to need a list of all female homicides in the 
area for the last ten months," Russell said. 

Nesbith frowned.  "You think there are others?"

Mulder sneaked a look at Scully again and saw her legs 
covered in crime scene photos.  The cabin, with its torn 
sheets and wall of shoes, was on top.  Underneath, he knew, 
were pictures of Scully's wrists from the night Quentin had 
worn her raw and bloody.  The slippery photos began a 
landslide from her knees, and Mulder leapt to save her from 
the grisly images.

Scully beat him to it.

Scooping up the mess of macabre pictures, she stood and 
placed them on Nesbith's desk.  "There are others," she said.  
"Or will be soon.  Once he starts killing, he doesn't stop."

XxXxX

That night, Mulder closed the door to his motel room behind 
him as he entered, cell phone still in hand.  Scully stood 
just where he'd left her, staring out the window at the 
asphalt parking lot.  He noticed she had slipped off her 
shoes.  "Russell just called Grenier," he said.  "He's 
catching the red eye out of Wisconsin tonight."

"Great."  She did not turn around.

He stood across the room, watching the rigid lines of her 
back and wondering what the hell to say.  "Scully."

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry about all of this."

Her shoulders hitched.  "We knew it was a possibility."

No, he thought.  It had been possible that Quentin might 
sneak back into DC.  That he had spent ten months perfecting 
a trap three thousand miles away was almost unthinkable.

"I booked tickets for us to go home tomorrow," he said.  
"Nine AM."

"What?"  She faced him at last.  "You're the one who wanted 
this case in the first place!"

"That was before I knew what we were dealing with here.  
Scully, you can't work this case.  It's too risky."

"I am not leaving."

"Scully..."

"No."  She cut him off.  "He wanted me?  Well, he's got me 
now.  I'm going over every inch of that skeleton until I find 
something to nail him with.  This is the last time he gets 
away with it."

"I understand that you want to help.  Believe me, I know how 
personal this is, but..."

"You don't understand!  You weren't there, Mulder, and you do 
not understand."

"I was there," he said, his voice rising.  "I saw everything 
in that cabin, and I can't believe you want to want to risk 
that happening again."

"I want to prevent that from happening again."

"Look," he said. "I understand this much: Quentin tracked 
down someone you admitted you haven't spoken to in *twenty 
years*.  That's a message, Scully.  This guy isn't fucking 
around.  He's willing to dig as deep as he needs to get to 
you!"

"And I have the chance to help stop him!"

"You have the chance to wind up dead!"

They stared at each other until his cell phone rang, cutting 
through the crackling silence.  Eyes still locked with 
Scully's, he clicked it on.  "Mulder."

"Mulder, it's Skinner.  I just got a call from Grenier saying 
this case you're on is related to Carl Quentin.  If I'd known 
that, I would have never approved the job for you and Scully 
in the first place.  You have no business near that case, 
Mulder, and I expect you both back here immediately."

Scully watched him as he waited out several long seconds with 
his heartbeat roaring in his ears.  His throat muscles 
convulsed in quick succession as he made a snap decision.

"We can't do that, sir," he said.  He turned off the phone, 
leaving it hanging dead weight in his hand.  "That was 
Skinner," he told Scully.  "He called to wish us good luck on 
the case."

She wilted as her mouth crumpled.  "Mulder, I just...I just 
can't walk away when I know I might be able to stop him from 
doing this again."

"I know," he said, stretching out one arm towards her.  She 
crossed and wrapped her arms around him.

"There's no guarantee that if I boarded a plane to DC that he 
wouldn't be there to meet me on the other end."

"Don't even talk like that."

"Well, it's true."

Mulder didn't answer right away.  He slipped his hand under 
her hair and massaged the tender skin at the back of her 
neck.  "Actually, my guess is Grenier is going to want you to 
stay."

She pulled back a bit and looked up at him.  "Why do you say 
that?"

"It's the best bet we have for keeping Quentin in the area."

"I'll be in the forensics building," she said, laying her 
cheek against him once more.  "There are lots of people 
around." 

"I wish I could say I was sure that it would be enough."

"It will."  She tightened her arms around him.  A minute 
later, he felt her yawn against his chest.

"Tired?" he murmured, nuzzling the top of her head.  She 
yawned again.

"This day has been a hundred hours long.  I still have to 
drive back to San Diego and pick up my things."  She suddenly 
stiffened in his embrace, her fingers biting into his ribs.  
"Mulder, my family.  They're in danger."

He didn't bother to protest; she would know it was a lie.  
"Let's talk to Nesbith and Cheng about getting them some 
security, okay?" he said, pulling away and picking up his 
phone.  "And I'll make the drive down with you."

She paused from putting on her shoes.  "I may be tired, but 
it's the middle of the night for you.  You should get some 
sleep.  I can take someone else along this time."

"Admit it, Scully -- you're just afraid to take me how home 
to meet the family."

She smiled.  "Mulder, you've already met my family."

"Yes, and I think the fact that they're likely to be asleep 
this time will improve the quality of our interaction."

"They're not so bad," she argued as he sat next to her on the 
bed.  

"That's not what you said on Tuesday.  'If Bill had his way, 
Scrabble would be a contact sport,'" he quoted back to her.  
"'I'm thirty-six, Mulder.  Why is my mother still trying to 
dictate my wardrobe?'"

She elbowed him in the ribs.  "You just have to know how to 
deal with each of them.  Never talk politics with Bill, Tara 
will go on for ages about Matthew, and Mom is a sucker for a 
gardening question."

"I've been meaning to consult with someone about my 
begonias."

She laughed, and he was delighted to see some of the tension 
drain out of her.  "Mulder, the one plant in your apartment 
is plastic."

"Hmmm.  This could explain its lack of growth."

"Possibly, yes.  Or maybe the inch of dust on the leaves is 
just weighing it down."

"So what about you?" he said, touching her hand with one 
finger.  "What's the secret to getting along with Dana 
Scully?"

She poked him back.  "I think you know."

"It's been a whole week," he said.  "I might need a 
reminder."

"How quickly they forget."  She leaned into him, her lips 
finding his, and he was amazed to find he had forgotten their 
perfect fit, the way his toes tingled and his ears warmed as 
they kissed.

"That does seem vaguely familiar," he said when she pulled 
away.  "Maybe with another hint...?"

"Think on it until bed," she advised, patting his leg and 
standing up.  "Maybe it will come to you."

He grinned and followed her, watching the slight sway of her 
hips as she walked towards the door.  "Maybe it will come, 
Scully?  Couldn't it be 'probably'?  Or how about 
'definitely' it will come?"

"That depends on whether you're definitely doing half of the 
driving," she said, holding up the car keys.  

XxXxX

He decided it was okay to take the window seat at Denny's, 
which gave him a clear view of the motel's front door.  
Sipping his coffee, he watched bedraggled travelers traipse 
in and out, but there was no sign of Them.  Pretty soon the 
waitress was going to get suspicious.

Grenier would know by now, too.  Carl grinned at the thought 
of the other man charging across the country, trying to stop 
fate.  Knowing the FBI as he did, Carl expected them to focus 
all their attention on Scully.  There would be no way to get 
to her now.

But he'd learned from the past.  Much as he'd hated the 
thought of his understudy mucking things up in DC, the 
incident in Montrose park had shown him the value of a 
diversion.

Carl smiled against the rim of his mug.  Ah, there they were.  
Right chipper they seemed, too.  Mulder was tossing keys into 
the air and saying something that made Scully smile.  Carl 
noted the smart line of her three-inch heels.  

Ballsy little chickadee, he thought with another grin.  
Thinks she has my number, does she?

He watched them get into the car and drive away, then turned 
his eyes to the motel.

"Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?" he said, and 
signaled for the check.

XxXxX

End Chapter Three.  Continued in Chapter Four.


XxXxXxXxX

Chapter Four

XxXxXxXxX


She was sleeping when the car whooshed across the San Diego 
border, so he reached over in the dark and found her hand.  
"Hey," he said softly, giving her a squeeze.

Her fingers tightened around his as she blinked herself 
awake.  "Hey," she said through a yawn.  She squinted out at 
the night scenery.  "We're almost there."

"Yeah, I need directions from here.  It was either wake you 
up or take a detour to Mexico."

He caught her smile in the passing street lights.  "It's the 
exit after next, then a right off the ramp."  She leaned her 
head back against the seat and smothered another yawn.  
"Sorry for passing out on you like that.  I guess I didn't 
get much sleep last night."

Mulder gave a humming noise in answer and smoothed his hands 
over the steering wheel, unsure whether her remark was meant 
as an invitation to discuss the horror of the last few days 
or whether he was supposed to pretend she'd just had an 
ordinary restless night in a strange bed.  "Bad dreams?" he 
asked, sticking his big toe in to gauge her temperature.

"Not that I remember."

No, she often didn't.  Instead he would wear her memories as 
inkblot bruises on his ribs and half-moon nail craters in his 
arms.  A hundred nights he had unrolled her from her tinfoil 
tight ball of terror, soothing out her crinkles until she was 
smooth against him once more.  

Then one day, just like that, it had stopped.  She'd brought 
home a set of vanilla-colored sheets that were soft like a 
tee-shirt washed the perfect number of times.  Together they 
had stood on opposite sides of the bed and snapped the top 
sheet up in the air above their heads.  He had smiled at her 
under the parachute as it fell back to earth, and that night 
there had been no more dreams.

"Mulder?"  Her voice brought him from his memory, and he 
found them stopped at an intersection.  "The light is green."

He looked out at the unfamiliar road.  "Which way do we go 
from here?" 

XxXxX

It was a small matter to get inside the motel room.  Unlike 
DC, where everyone wanted to be bundled up inside the same 
hulking building, Southern Californians all wanted their own 
door to the outside world.  Fewer steps to Disneyland!  Fewer 
steps to the ocean!

Carl smirked as he peered from behind their drab blue 
curtain.  In this case, the ocean was a concrete one -- six 
zillion lanes of Interstate 5.

The room seemed to be Mulder's alone as far as Carl could 
tell.  He counted only one suitcase, and there were no female 
toiletries in the bathroom.  But rustling through the 
garbage, he did find a tissue with a lipstick print kiss.

The bed was still made, but the end of the spread was mussed, 
as though someone had sat on it.  Carl sat and bounced up and 
down a few times in their absence.

Square and dull, the room bored him quickly.  No shoes lay 
about; Mulder seemed to require just the one pair.  Carl 
decided he had better leave before they returned.  Why 
forfeit the game early?

He rose from the bed.

"Mulder?"  Knock, knock at the door.  Carl froze.  "Mulder, 
are you in there?  It's Amelia."

XxXxX

Mulder pulled the car into the driveway and cut the engine.  
"Looks like they left a light on for you," he said, nodding 
at the shining yellow window at the front of the house.

"Mom always did like to wait up," Scully said as she opened 
her car door, letting the salty night wind blow inside.  "I 
told her I would be very late."

Mulder got out and gave her a sideways glance as they walked 
up the path.  "So if we start making out on the front steps, 
will she flash the porch light at us?"

"Mom was more of a 'peek through the curtains' kind of woman.  
Dad would just fling the front door right open."

On cue, Mulder saw the lace in the window pull aside.  "And I 
never even got a peck," he groused.  Scully gave his hand a 
hard squeeze just before the front door opened to reveal Mrs. 
Scully, still fully dressed.

"Dana, I was worried!"  She frowned at Mulder.  "Fox, it's 
nice to see you again."

Said like you might welcome a foot fungus, Mulder thought, 
but he managed a smile.  "Mrs. Scully, how are you?"

"Tired," she answered as she opened the screen door.  "It's 
past midnight."

Inside, the house held a strange night quiet, the feel of 
people present but out of sight.  Mulder leaned against a 
stuffed sofa and did his best to blend in with the furniture.

"I told you not to wait up," Scully said.  "I told you not to 
worry."

Mrs. Scully reached out and brushed some hair from her 
daughter's face.  "Of course I worry.  You run out from 
vacation for some unknown reason, don't come back for all 
hours...we're supposed to leave in the morning."

"Mom, about that..."

"You're not coming back with me."

Scully looked down at the fluffy beige rug.  "The case turned 
out to be an old one, one that Mulder and I have worked on in 
the past."

Mulder watched as his partner avoided her mother's gaze and 
wondered if maybe this was the real reason she didn't include 
him in more family functions; mothers could turn you back 
into a twelve year-old with just a few choice words.

Mrs. Scully pursed her lips in a sad smile.  "There's always 
another case, isn't there?  Always another reason to run out 
the door.  You have more of your father in you than you know, 
Dana.  Both of you out to save the world."

"This is different," Scully said, and Mulder held his breath 
at how much she might confess.  Her family knew about 
Quentin; the DC papers had talked of little else for weeks 
after his escape last year, and the one woman who'd escaped 
Carl Quentin had earned a few two-inch high headlines 
herself.

But her mother, perhaps long out of practice, perhaps unable 
to reach the dark corners that Scully knew, failed to catch 
the twinge in her daughter's voice.  "Well, I know how you 
are about work.  At least we've had these past few days all 
together.  That was nice, wasn't it?"

Mulder saw Scully echo her mother's melancholy smile.  "It 
was nice."

"Have you eaten?" Mrs. Scully asked, already headed towards 
the kitchen.  "Fox, can I get you something to drink?  Some 
coffee, maybe?"

"Mom, it's late.  Go to bed.  We're not staying, anyway.  We 
just came to get my things."

"What?"  Her mother stopped and turned around.  "You can't be 
serious.  It would be two a.m. before you got back to Santa 
Ana."

Mulder's bones ached at her words.  The long day of travel 
and anxiety had left him feeling spent and rubbery.  "We'll 
be fine," Scully told her mother.  "I'm mostly packed as it 
is."

Mrs. Scully caught her daughter's arm as Scully moved for the 
stairs.  "Dana...you said yourself it's late.  Stay here 
tonight and leave in the morning.  Your bed is already made 
up, and Fox can stay on the sofa."

"Mom..."

"She's right," Mulder said, and Scully turned to look at him.  
He noted the slump of her shoulders and the pale blue fatigue 
in her eyes.  "It's not like we're going to get anything more 
done tonight."

"Then it's settled," Mrs. Scully announced.  "I'll get some 
sheets and a blanket."

Scully looked heavenward, and Mulder chuckled.  She sighed, 
shrugging out of her suit jacket and walking over to him with 
slow steps.  He liked the way her hands looked on his knees.  

"You don't have to stay on the couch," she murmured, leaning 
into him.  

He rested his forehead against hers and patted the arm of the 
sofa.  "It's okay.  The couch and I have been making friends 
while you argued with your mom."

"But if we went upstairs and had--"  She stopped for a yawn.  
"--mad passionate sex--"  Another yawn.  "--it might finally 
jolt Mom from her denial."

"Scully."  He cupped her cheek, his thumb grazing each velvet 
curve.  "If you think we're having mad passionate anything 
tonight, I'd say you're the one in denial." 

"Mmmn.  There goes my fantasy about having my way with you in 
a racing car bed."

He pulled back, his hands slipping to her hips.  "Um, what?"

She smiled a bit.  "I have Matthew's room.  His bed comes 
with wheels and a horn."

"I can just imagine *that* going off at an inopportune time," 
he said, and watched as Scully smothered a giggle.  Standing 
as they were, with him seated on the sofa arm, they were just 
the same height.  His warrior woman who fit in a child's bed.  

"I should go help Mom," she said, her hands making a 
reluctant slide down his shoulders.  "She's probably trying 
to find sheets that don't have Barney or Big Bird on them."

"Do you have anything in a Star Wars motif?" Mulder asked.  
He framed the living room with his thumbs and forefingers, as 
if sizing up the a film shot.  "'Cause I'm thinking I could 
make a killer pillow fort."

XxXxX

He fell into sleep like a man dropping off a cliff, only to 
pop awake again when the grandfather clock in the living room 
played its two a.m. chimes.  Blinking in the dark, he shifted 
under his plain blue sheets and listened to the hum and pitch 
of a foreign house.  The air conditioning rustled the drapes, 
the refrigerator added its low vibrato, and something was 
walking around on the roof.  An animal?  An intruder?

Mulder sat up, tilting his head to hear better.  The faint 
scratching continued, and he got up to investigate further.  
Climbing the carpeted stairs, he followed the noise up past 
the second floor and into a tiny doorway.  Light shone into 
the hall, and Mulder peeked around the corner to see another 
set of stairs.  Now that he could hear the footsteps better, 
he knew he didn't need his SIG or a can of 'Raid' to venture 
into the attic.

He saw the bottoms of her feet first, her bare heels up off 
the ground as she stood on tiptoe.  Apparently, she was 
reaching for a box on the highest shelf of a storage unit.  
"Need a hand?" he asked from behind, and she yelped. 

"Jesus, you scared me!"

"Sorry."  He joined her in front of the wall of shelves.  
"What are you up to?"

"I just wanted to see something," she said, eyeing the box 
again.  "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, that honor belongs to Big Ben in the living room.  
Here."  He stretched up and lifted the box down for her.  It 
read "Old Photos" on the top in black marker.

"Thanks," she said, and sat it on a large trunk.  

As she began sorting through the contents, Mulder wandered 
around the rest of the attic.  There was a jade green lamp in 
the shape of an elephant in one corner that he was willing to 
bet wasn't broken so much as hidden out of sight.  Next he 
found a wooden rocking horse with button eyes and white yarn 
for a mane.  He smiled and touched the smooth head to set it 
in motion.  One open box held a collection of tea cups with 
tiny rose buds around the rim.  Tracing one delicate 
porcelain edge, Mulder made up his mind to examine the 
collection of heirlooms his mother had left behind once he 
returned to DC.

He threaded his way back through the boxes to Scully, who sat 
cross-legged on the floor with a photo album spread across 
her lap.  She tucked her hair behind her ear as he lowered 
himself next to her.  "Whatcha got?"

"This was Carolyn."

Mulder leaned in closer in the dim light and saw an black and 
white photo taken at Halloween.  Scully was pointing at the 
little girl dressed as black cat on the left, but Mulder 
fixated on the other redhead decked out in a sailor's blues.  
"Is that you?" he asked, delighted.

"Yeah."  Scully stroked the picture through the protective 
plastic cover.  "This was taken before the sugar high kicked 
in."

"I love your little hat."

She made a face and tugged the book away from him.  "Not 
terribly original of me, as it turned out.  Half the kids on 
our base were either sailors or pilots."

"Even the girls?"

"Well, no."  She smiled.  "Carolyn and I used to collect the 
candy and trade afterward.  It was a great system because I 
could give away all my Tootsie rolls and she didn't have to 
eat the M&Ms."

"What kid doesn't like M&Ms?" 

"She only liked the yellow ones."

"They taste the same!"

Scully swatted him playfully on the arm.  "We were seven, 
Mulder.  Logic doesn't exactly enter into your dietary plan 
when you're seven.  I remember when Bill was little he 
wouldn't eat any red foods."

"Speaking of..."  Mulder leaned over her shoulder again.  
"Any naked bathtub photos of Bill in there?  I think we would 
get along much better if I could picture him all wrinkled 
with a tiny --"

"Mulder!"

"Okay, okay."  He sat back against the heavy trunk, ignoring 
the angular brass trim that tried to wedge between his 
vertebrae.  Scully settled into his side, and they resumed 
looking through the pictures.  "I like this one," he said 
when they found another of one of Carolyn hanging upside down 
on a jungle gym.  Her pigtails almost reached the ground.

"I remember that day," Scully said.  "Charlie slipped on some 
gravel and skinned his knees, so Mom took us all for ice 
cream to distract him."  

"Ice cream makes a good band-aid," Mulder agreed.

She rested her head on his shoulder, quiet for a long minute.  
"She had two kids Mulder.  Two little boys.  Who's going to 
buy them ice cream when they skin their knees?"

Mulder had no answer.  The girl in the picture seemed to swing 
off the page, she was so bright.  It didn't seem possible that 
she'd been reduced to bones in the desert.  "I'm sorry about 
your friend, Scully."

"This has to be the last time," she said.  "He can't do this 
anymore."

Mulder lowered his head, wishing he could assure her that 
there would be no more missing mothers, daughters and 
sisters.  But the truth was Carl Quentin could be next door 
or a thousand miles away.  There was little they could do but 
wait for his next move.

"We'll get him," he said aloud.

Scully tilted her head to look up at him, then touched his 
chin with a sad smile.  "Nice try," she said.

"You can change your mind about working this case," he 
answered.  "Any time."

She sighed.  "You want me to say I'm scared?  I'm scared.  
He's a big man, he's clever, and he clearly thinks we have 
unfinished business.  What's more, I didn't escape last time 
because of any special training I had.  There's no reason for 
me to think I could defeat him a second time, if it came to 
that."

"It won't," he said automatically.

"The posts in the headboard were loose," she continued, 
stretching an arm across his middle.  Her chin dug into his 
shoulder.  "All the women he had tied up before me had pulled 
so hard that one of the bedposts was nearly free.  That was 
the only reason I escaped.  I lived because they fought so 
hard."

He hugged her closer.  "Don't sell yourself short, Scully.  
You fought just as hard."

"But it wouldn't have done any good," she answered softly.  
"Not without the others who were there before me."

She had never told him this part of the story before, and he 
was sure he didn't want to hear it now.  Her life could not 
be due to mere happenstance, to a simple twist of fate, to 
anything that suggested the possibility of a different 
outcome.  The broken bed, the tattered sheets, the claw marks 
on the wooden walls -- it had never occurred to him that the 
shattered cabin in the woods had represented thirteen battles 
to live; he'd focused solely on the one that had been 
successful.

Scully laced her fingers through his, rubbing her cheek 
against his tee-shirt.  "I know it might be safest for me to 
go back to DC.  I know that.  But those women deserve 
justice."

"It's not on you alone, you know.  Just because he chooses to 
make this about you doesn't mean you have to play along."

"I know."  She tightened her arm around him.  "But I'm not 
alone.  And I can't walk away.  At least not yet."

They sat in silence on the hard floor for another few 
minutes, until he felt her yawn against his chest.  On cue, 
he yawned too, so wide it felt like he might split his face 
in half.  

"It's late," she said.

"Yes.  And my butt is numb."

With a chuckle, she shifted to get off the floor, offering 
him a hand as she stood.  She slipped the photo album back in 
the box, and he performed his tall male duty and replaced it 
on the shelf.  As they walked back down the stairs, he 
remembered why it was she was wandering the attic in the wee 
hours of the morning.  "I take it the racing car wasn't 
getting it done for you tonight," he said as lightly as he 
could.

She saw through him in an instant.  "It's not that," she 
said.  "It's not the dreams.  With everything that's been 
going on, I've just been so wired.  I'm exhausted but I can't 
seem to close my eyes."

They had reached the door to her room, but he took her hand 
and tugged her towards the stairs.  "I bet I can talk the 
couch into a threesome."

The hallway nightlight illuminated her arched eyebrow.  "A 
threesome?"

"Yeah, the stripes make it look all straight and narrow, but 
trust me, Scully -- your brother's got a kinky sofa."

"I'm going to attribute this strange conversation to jet 
lag," she said, but allowed him to lead her to the living 
room.  On the couch, she snuggled into his side as he covered 
them with a blanket.  "Just for a little while," she 
cautioned.

He felt the sweep of her lashes that signaled her eyes 
closing.  "Just for a little while," he murmured into her 
hair.  

The big clock ticked and the refrigerator rattled, but with 
the soft sound Scully's breathing, Mulder's night was in 
harmony once more.

XxXxX

End of chapter four.  Continued in chapter five.

XxXxXxXxX

Chapter Five

XxXxXxXxX

   
Mulder awoke to the feel of a small, soft hand patting his 
cheek.  He squinted through sleep-sticky eyes and a boy of 
about three came into focus.  The kid's short copper hair 
stood on end like a campfire.  "Who're you?" the boy 
demanded.

"I'm Mulder," Mulder answered, his voice raspy from sleep.  
He felt bent like a pipe cleaner but resisted the urge to 
stretch and wake Scully.  "Who're you?"

"Matthew Allen Scully."

Bill's boy, of course.  He should have recognized the frown. 
"Matthew Allen Scully, huh?  That sounds like a pretty 
important name."

"It is."  The kid contracted, inchworm-like, as he dug around 
in his right pocket.  "I have marbles.  Wanna see?"

Mulder lifted his head from the couch pillow enough to see 
two blue orbs, clear and pale like the Scully family eyes, 
nestled in Matthew's palm.  "They're very nice," he said, 
sinking down again.  

He watched as Matthew took his marbles on a rolling tour of 
the living room furniture.  It was the same solemn gaze and 
cotton candy cheeks he'd seen on another young Scully three 
years earlier, when she had sat coloring with her unnatural 
mother on the floor.

His hand stole under the silk edge of Scully's pajamas and 
traced gentle patterns on her back.  She burrowed closer to 
him but did not awaken.

Matthew fell to his knees to race the marbles down the coffee 
table.  "Mulder is a funny name," he announced without 
pausing from his task.

"It's my last name," Mulder answered.

"Then what's your first one?"

Was this the age when they took what you said and repeated it 
a million times over, Mulder wondered.  Maybe it would just 
be safer to lie.  "Fox," he said, relenting.

Matthew stopped and gave him a perfect miniature of the 
skeptical Scully eyebrow.  "Is not!  Is it?"

"I wouldn't make up such a thing."

"Fox," Matthew said, testing the word and answering Mulder's 
question at the same time.  He grinned.  "Fox in socks.  Fox 
in a box!"

Scully shifted against him, and he thought he detected a 
muffled snicker.  "I see you've met Matthew," she murmured.

"Fox in socks in a box!"  Matthew was standing on the seat of 
an armchair, bouncing along with his new rhyme.

"You can make him stop that, right?" Mulder asked.

"Wrong."  She stretched and yawned.  "But food sometimes 
works as a distraction technique."

"Fox, box, fox, box...uh-oh."  Matthew stopped jumping.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Mulder tilted his head all the way back and saw Bill Scully 
in dress whites, standing over them.  Scully jerked away from 
his side to sit up.  "Bill, hi."
 
He ignored her.  "Matthew, your mother wants you upstairs."

"Yes, sir."  Matthew jumped down from the chair and ran out 
of the room while Mulder and Scully got up from the couch.  
Scully finger-combed her hair as Mulder refolded the blanket.  
He was glad he'd opted to sleep with his pants on.

"May I see you both in the kitchen, please?" Bill asked. 

Mulder and Scully exchanged a look behind his back, but 
followed him into the other room.  He stood on the threshold 
as they walked past, then closed the door behind them.  
Scully crossed her arms over her chest.

"Bill, I can appreciate that Mulder's presence is a surprise, 
but I am not a child and I don't need you to --"

Bill held up a hand to cut her off.  "I've been up since 
five-thirty this morning and the base patrol has passed the 
house at least twice.  Then I come down here and find him 
sleeping on my couch.  What's going on, Dana?"

Scully shut her mouth, clearly surprised by this unexpected 
tactic.  She rubbed her eyes with one hand.  "I need some 
coffee."

Mulder stood with Bill, watching as she stood on tiptoe to 
reach a mug from the cabinets.  She filled it in near slow 
motion and then stood leaning against the counter, staring 
into the cup and stirring.  Mulder cleared his throat.  "You, 
uh, you want me to tell him?"

She shook her head.

Bill looked sharply from one to the other.  "Tell me what?"

Scully took a deep breath.  "It's Carl Quentin," she 
murmured, setting her coffee aside untouched.  "He's here."

"Jesus."  Bill's gaze swept to the windows.  "Here?  He's 
here in San Diego?"

"We don't know where he is exactly," Scully said.  "That's 
why we asked for extra patrol around the house."

"Because he might come after you again."  Bill shoved a 
chair, scraping it across the linoleum.  "God damn."  Scully 
looked away, and Mulder concentrated on the floor tiles. 
"Wait, is there more?  What else are you not telling me?"

Scully hesitated.  "Nothing...nothing.  Everyone just needs 
to be vigilant right now."

"Mulder."  Bill's tone hovered between "let's take this out 
back" and "you owe me, so spill it."  Mulder met his eyes. 
"This is my family we're talking about here. I need to know."

Mulder glanced at Scully, who gave him a warning look.  But 
Bill was right.  He deserved to know.  "It seems likely that 
Quentin murdered an old friend of Scully's," he said. 

"What?  Who?"

"Carolyn Kraus," Scully answered, pulling out a chair and 
plopping into it.

"The girl who used to live down the street from us?  I didn't 
know you still talked to her."

"I hadn't spoken to her in twenty years."

Bill frowned.  "But you don't think it's a coincidence."

"No." Scully drew up one knee and rested her chin upon it.  
"He picked her because she was my friend."

Simple words, but Mulder felt each one punch into his heart. 
His sister, her sister, abduction and cancer and the little 
Scullys that would never be.  They lived in a ven diagram of 
tragedy that always seemed to overlap with them at the 
center.

"So he wants your attention and you're just giving it to 
him," Bill said.  "What the hell is that about, Dana?  You 
want him to take another run at you?"

Scully got up from the chair and retrieved her coffee cup.  
She emptied it into the sink.  "I wouldn't expect you to 
understand."

"Bullshit I don't understand!" He glared at Mulder.  "I used 
to think it was just him, but I know better now.  He's not 
the only one who doesn't know when to walk away, addicted to 
danger --"

"Leave Mulder out of this."

"-- and not just him who disregards personal safety and 
obligations --"

Scully whirled on him.  "Obligations!  What do you know about 
my obligations?"

"If you won't think about yourself, think about Mom.  Think 
about what you're putting her through!"

"This is not about Mom!  This is about --"

Maggie Scully picked that moment to enter the kitchen.  "What 
on earth is going on in here?"

Silence.  Mulder pressed back into a counter and eyed the 
door.

"Bill?  Dana?  Is something wrong?"

Bill's mouth twisted into an angry grimace.  "It's Quentin.  
He's back."

"Oh, my God."  Maggie turned round eyes to her daughter.  
"The case in Orange County.  He's here?"

"Yes," Scully whispered.  "He's here." 

"Tell me you are not a part of this investigation."

Scully's chin came up a bit.  "I have to be a part of it.  
There's no other way we can --"

Maggie Scully turned and left the room.  Bill shook his head.

"Mom..."  Scully sighed, walking out the door after her.  

"This is your old case, isn't it," Bill said to Mulder after 
she had gone.  "It isn't enough to chase aliens, now you've 
got her mixed up with serial killers, too.  Jesus."

Mulder spread his hands in front of him, palms up.  They were 
bisected with angry red lines from where he had been 
clutching the counter.  "I asked her to leave it alone.  She 
wouldn't."

"Ask again," Bill ground out.  

"I can't.  It's her choice."

"So you'll just let her go out there and risk getting killed.  
She's not thinking straight, can't you see that?  She's not 
in any position to make a decision like this!"

Mulder rubbed the side of his face with one hand.  "We know 
his name this time.  We know what he looks like.  We know 
roughly that he's in the area.  All of this is helpful, but 
it's not enough."

"It damn well is enough!  He never should have gotten away 
the last time."

"Forensic science," Mulder continued as though Bill had not 
spoken, "microscopic examination of Carolyn Kraus's remains 
for clues about how and where she died, is our best hope of 
catching Quentin before he kills again.  Your sister is 
currently the best forensic scientist in the FBI, possibly 
even the country."

Bill looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

"As someone who...as someone who cares for her..."  Mulder 
swallowed.  "I want her on the first plane back to DC.  But 
as someone who has lived with this case for almost a third of 
my life and watched a dozen women die, I can't imagine anyone 
else for the job."

Bill leaned both hands on the table, his head hung low.  
"There are other scientists."

"Yes," Mulder conceded.  He remembered Scully bleeding and 
shivering in his arms.  "But she wants to be the one."

XxXxXx

He found her upstairs standing over the racing car, her 
clothes in neat piles on the bed.  Knocking lightly on the 
door, he stepped inside.  "You okay?"

She turned to face him.  "I don't have any work clothes with 
me."

"I don't think it matters."  He kept his tone tender, but she 
didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, I'll be in scrubs most of the time anyway."

"Need any help packing?"

"No, I've got it."  He watched her swift, efficient movements 
as she laid the stacks of clothes inside her suitcase.  She 
paused with a pile of tee-shirts in hand.  "In med school, we 
had to do this task -- kind of a homework assignment about 
perception and the human body -- where we walked around the 
campus blindfolded.  I remember the trees.  Even from several 
feet away, I could feel them.  They blocked the wind just 
enough to make the hair stand up on the back of your neck."  
She slipped her clothes into the suitcase and zipped it up.  
"That's what it's like."

"What what's like?"

"Quentin."  She met his eyes.  "I can't see him, but he's out 
there.  Blocking the wind."

Mulder's phone rang then, and he answered it while she went 
to inspect the bathroom for more belongings.  "Mulder," he 
said.

"Mulder, this is Grenier."

He sank down on the racing car bed.  "Not another one?"

"Not that I know about.  I just called to say I'm in town.  
Where are you, anyway?"

"I'm with Scully in San Diego.  We're about to head back up."

There was a slight pause on the other end, and Mulder braced 
himself for an argument.  Grenier wasn't likely to want to 
share the case this time, either.  "Word has it from above 
that I should send your ass back to DC.  Scully, too."

Mulder knew better.  Grenier might scoff at Mulder's skills, 
but there was no way he would let go of Scully.  "Then you 
might as well book Quentin a return ticket, too."

"I have no plans to use her as bait, if that's what you're 
getting at," Grenier snapped.

"I'm not sure it's up to you.  Quentin's made that decision 
for us."

"That asshole makes no decisions for me."  Grenier's tone 
softened.  "But listen, the brass has a point on this one.  
She may be too close to work this case."

"She's worked tougher ones before."

"She's his victim, Mulder."

Mulder rubbed his eyes.  "Then she has more right to be here 
than either one of us."

"You'll face heat back home."

"Let me worry about that, okay?

"Fine."  He paused.  "On one condition -- I reserve the right 
to pull her off at any time, and I'll expect you to back me 
if I do.  I am not going to have a repeat of last year."

Mulder hesitated.  "Fair enough."

"Okay, I'm just reaching Orange County now.  What do you say 
we meet at the Sheriff's office, say in two hours?  We can 
compare notes then."

Mulder couldn't resist one small jab.  "I don't have any 
notes."

"Fuck you," Grenier answered, but there was no rancor in his 
words.  "I'm still trying to get a hold of Russell.  She's 
not answering her phone.  Have you heard from her?"

Oh.  Right.  Mulder remembered there was at least one very 
good reason why Russell might be avoiding Grenier's phone 
calls.  "I haven't seen her since last night," he said, "but 
I'll give her a ring and tell her about the meeting.  She's 
staying at the same hotel as Scully and me."

"I'll see you in two hours then."

Mulder clicked off with Grenier and was dialing Russell when 
Scully reentered the room.  "Trouble?" she asked.

He shook his head.  "Grenier is cool for now.  We're supposed 
to meet him at Nesbith's office in a couple of hours."  He 
waited, phone to his ear, as the ringing started on the other 
end.

XxXxX

She had ordered herself not to cry, but when her phone rang 
yet again she felt hot tears leak from the corners of her 
eyes.  I'm here, she thought, scraping her cheek on the rough 
carpet of the trunk.  Please help me.

The ringing stopped.  She closed her eyes.

They had been driving for hours, and she had been awake for 
every one of them.  Exhausted and unsuspecting, she'd opened 
the door of that motel room only to have the lights go out as 
he connected a lamp with the back of her head.  Just long 
enough for him to tie her hands and stuff her in the trunk of 
a car.

She twisted her wrists against the knots.  The gag in her 
mouth made it hard to breathe. One chance, she would have one 
chance when he opened the trunk.  Her heart pounded against 
her ribs.  Such a black small space with no air and no way to 
move.  She panted into the grimy floor, dizzy and nauseous.

Dana, was it this bad for you too?  Did you think you were 
going to die?

She lived.  She lived.  

Amelia repeated the words in her head like a litany.  

She braced her shoulder against floor, squeezing her eyes 
shut in pain as she inched to the left.  Her hair caught on a 
hook.

-- the forensics team, white-gloved with pincers, removing 
the strands as evidence after her death --

Nononono.  She moaned low in her throat.  Could the baby 
hear? 

Gonna get us out, gonna get us out.

Her left leg was numb and uncooperative, like a dead thing, 
but she dragged it with her into position.  One chance.  She 
whacked her wounded head on the metal rim and swallowed the 
bile that rose in her throat.  Choking was not an option.   
Her nostrils burned as she sucked in fetid air.

Up, they were going.  Into the hills?  

She remembered the cabin with the smell of blood and death.  
Shoes on the wall.  Determined, she pressed her feet 
together, her knees drawn against her chest.

Up up up.

They stopped.

Amelia twitched, time slowing as the crunching footsteps came 
around the car.  She flinched at the pop of the trunk.  
Bright sunshine exploded around his dark head.

"Good morning," he drawled.  "I heard you've been looking for 
me."

ONE CHANCE.

She thrust her feet forward into his face.

XxXxXxX

End Chapter Five.  Continued in Chapter Six as soon as I can 
muster the engery.

XxXxXxXxX

Chapter Six

XxXxXxXxX


Mulder talked on the phone to Grenier as Scully pulled the 
car into the motel parking lot.  "Okay, we'll do that."

"What's up?" she asked when he had clicked off.

"Grenier still can't raise Russell.  He wants us to check her 
room while we're here."

Scully fell into step beside him, narrowly avoiding a gaggle 
of tourist children barreling down the walkway in the other 
direction.  The smell of sunscreen wafted in their wake.  "It 
doesn't seem like her to cut contact this way," Scully said.

"She could be back at the labs or the local branch, working 
in some broom closet for privacy," Mulder answered as he 
rapped on the door to room one fifty-seven.  "She's done that 
sort of thing before."

Scully didn't answer; she strolled to the side and removed 
her sunglasses to peer through a crack in the drapes.  "Looks 
like the lights are on."

Mulder knocked again, louder this time.  They waited a minute 
or so longer, but there was no answer.  "Why don't you go 
change?" he said, pulling out his phone.  "I'll try giving 
her a call."  His dark glasses remained on, so she couldn't 
read his eyes.

"You think she'll answer for you and not for Grenier, is that 
it?"  Scully's tone was light, and Mulder smiled.

"I just have that certain ring."

She smiled back and turned to head for Mulder's room. At just 
ten a.m., the sun's rays were already laser-hot and 
relentless.  Scully pulled her blouse away from her ribs as 
she walked down the cement stairs and towards the back of the 
motel.  She fished around in her pants pocket for the plastic 
key.  It clicked into the lock, but Scully didn't push the 
door open.  

There was a long scratch marring the blue paint on the 
outside.

Scully leaned in closer, squinting at the line.  Had this 
been there last night and she just didn't remember?  She 
traced the jagged length with one finger.  The place was 
crawling with kids, she reasoned.  Any one of them could have 
made the scratch.  Still...

She bent backwards to check out the window, but the drapes 
were pulled completely shut.  Scully straightened and glanced 
down at the blinking green light on the doorknob.  Enough was 
enough.  Her fingers closed around the smooth handle, and she 
was about to enter when something tickled the back of her 
hand.  She jerked away, expecting a spider.

Hair.  Long and dark, with tight curls.  There were three 
strands caught in the door.

Scully drew her gun.

"Scully!"

She turned and saw Mulder jogging towards her.  She took two 
steps back from the door.  He had his gun drawn by the time 
he reached her, his sunglasses tossed aside.  She answered 
the question in his eyes with a nod towards the door knob.  
Mulder bent low, and the breeze blew the hairs straight out 
from the door.  He fingered the long scratch the same way she 
had done.  

His face blank, he moved to the left of the door, and she 
followed suit on the right.  The stucco wall ground through 
her blouse to the tender skin on her back.  She felt it 
scrape her cheek as she locked eyes with Mulder.  At his nod, 
she reached down and pushed the door open.  

Yawning darkness and cold recirculated air.  Scully pressed 
against the side of the door and blinked rapidly, trying to 
adjust her eyes from glaring sunshine to motel dim.  Mulder 
swung past her into the room, his gun with a three-foot lead.  
Hers felt slippery and heavy in her hands.  He took a few 
careful steps, freeing the doorway, and she followed him 
inside.

Shards of porcelain littered the carpet.  "Get the light," he 
said, not lowering his gun.  

Scully flicked the wall switch with her left hand, and they 
discovered the full disarray.  The bedspread was missing, the 
sheets half on the floor.  One of the chairs was overturned.  
Pieces of lamp lay scattered in a rough, wide circle -- 
silent ripples of recent violence.   

"He's been through our reports," Mulder said, glancing at the 
table.  He checked the bathroom and then reemerged into the 
room.  "All clear."

"Russell," Scully whispered as her gaze swept over the 
terrible signs of struggle.

Mulder dropped his chin in assent, his gun hanging loosely in 
his right hand.  "Yes, I think so."

"My God, he must have been watching this place the whole 
time."  She shook her head.  "Why, Mulder?  Why take Amelia?"

Mulder started a slow examination of the room, kneeling in 
front of the broken lamp.  "It's my room," he said.  "And you 
were in it last night."

In it.  tied up on the bed with the clippers coming at her 
and his face red and sweaty she could smell him and the ropes 
burned and she was going to die one chance she had one chance 
and the rope wasn't loose and

Scully ran back into the warm sunlight, dizzy as she stared 
at the swirling parking lot.  He appeared and touched her 
arm.  "Scully?"

"We need to tell Grenier.  We need to start looking."  She 
fumbled for her phone.

"I'll do it."

She turned toward the room and back again, torn.  Without 
gloves there was nothing she could do.  But she couldn't do 
nothing.  "I'll get the manager," she said to Mulder, already 
moving for the front office.  "We're going to need to go room 
to room here."

"Scully!"  Overloud, panicked.  Mulder was losing his cool 
too.  His fingers bit into her arm.  "No."

"Mulder..."  She couldn't shake him off.

"He's watching!"  His grip softened, but the intensity in his 
eyes remained.  

Scully turned her head and looked over the parking lot, then 
beyond at the street with the rushing cars, at the people on 
the sidewalk, at the restaurants and shops and benches and 
faces. 

"Then at least he wouldn't be with her," she said.  She 
pulled her arm free and walked off, her heels clacking an 
angry rhythm on the pavement.

XxXxXxX

Carl gently removed the bloody tissues from his swollen nose.  
He checked his face in the mirror, catching the frightened 
eyes of the woman in its reflection.  "You'll pay for that 
one," he told her.  She squirmed against her restraints on 
the bed, but the towel he had taped in her mouth prevented 
her from saying anything.  He smiled.  "Oh, yes.  The things 
I am going to do to you."

He tossed the tissues and walked over the planks to where she 
lay.  "It took me a long time to find this place," he told 
her.  "I fixed it up all during the spring.  You want the 
grand tour?"

His boots clonked as he moved about the room.  "This is the 
window that I sealed off," he said, banging his fist against 
the boards for emphasis.  "Over there, that's my shelf.  See 
anything familiar?"

He laughed as she turned to look at the sandals he had lined 
on display.  "That bitch in the desert had sneakers on, but I 
kept 'em anyway.  Those blue ones..."  He snorted.  "Let's 
just say you don't know about her yet.  But the black...yeah.  
I've been keeping that pair almost a year now, after you 
fucking stole most of my last collection.  Don't think I've 
forgotten about that.  When we're done, I'll add your dull 
loafers too."

Carl lifted his new pair of clippers from the shelf, snapping 
the blades open and closed in quick succession.  "This little 
piggy went to market!"  

The woman quivered.

"That's right," he said, bringing the clippers down near her 
face.  He stroked her cheek with one steel edge.  "These are 
the best part.  And you know just what's coming, don't you 
darlin'?"

She made a choked sound and yanked at the nylon ropes that 
held her to the headboard.  Carl chuckled.  "Ah, ah, ah!  I 
learned that lesson."  He set the clippers aside and leaned 
over her to grab the bars next to her wrists.  "Wrought iron 
this time," he said, and shook the bed as hard as he could.  
"A fine place to die."

She turned her cheek to the side, avoiding his eyes, and he 
pulled away.  "Amelia Russell," he said, wiping his mouth 
with his sleeve.  "We go back a long ways.  Size seven 
medium.  Do you think they're looking for you yet, Amelia?"

Still she did not meet his gaze, so he stroked her naked 
foot.  "You never told me you had these hiding inside your 
plain black shoes."

Her toes curled in his palm.

"I always hate to tie the feet," he said, musing.  "But you 
gave me no choice."

This time, she did look at him, with narrowed eyes and a 
hatred so pure it made his bones tingle.  She would kill him 
if she had the chance.  He tightened his hold on her foot.

"You know what I am," he said calmly.  "But I also know what 
you are.  She taught me well.  This time there will be no 
mistakes."

XxXxXxX

Grenier led the bizarre automotive charge that descended on 
the motel in a matter of minutes.  Car after car roared down 
the street only to stop short at the entrance and creep into 
the crowded motel parking lot.  Patrol cars and Bureau sedans 
vied for precious space, creating an M.C. Escher crime scene 
in which the nose of one law enforcement vehicle blended with 
the tail of the next.

Mulder broke away from Scully, who was talking to a couple of 
potential witnesses, and tracked Grenier's slalom through the 
parking lot.  He recognized Richard Arkin and Agent Cheng as 
the agents flanking Grenier, but the other man seemed barely 
aware of their presence.  Grenier strode up the stairs and 
stopped right in front of Mulder.  

"Are you sure?" he demanded by way of greeting.

Mulder nodded.  "You can see for yourself downstairs.  The 
room was...it was pretty torn apart."

Grenier pivoted without a word, his stride so intent that the 
throngs of people parted to let him past.  Arkin joined 
Mulder at the railing overlooking the chaos below.  "Mulder," 
he said.

"Arkin," Mulder answered in acknowledgement.  They watched 
Grenier's progress together.  "How's he doing?"

"He didn't say one word on the way over."  He glanced 
sideways at Mulder.  "How's Scully doing?"

Mulder turned around to see his partner talking to a woman 
wearing a caftan.  He wondered if Scully even realized she 
was rubbing the scars on her right wrist as she spoke.  
"She's interviewing witnesses over there.  Give her a hand, 
will you?"

Mulder pushed his way through the onlookers and traced 
Grenier's path down to the ravaged motel room.  He found 
Grenier standing over the shattered lamp, watching as the 
forensics team tackled every inch.  Grenier turned as Mulder 
entered.  "There's blood," he said.  "How the fuck did this 
happen?"

"We have a chance," Mulder answered.  "He doesn't really want 
Amelia, he wants Scully, so it's--"

"The hell he doesn't want her!  He took her, didn't he?"

"But maybe not for the usual reasons.  If she's not part of 
his ritual, if she doesn't have the shoes, he might not --" 
Mulder stopped as Grenier stalked across the room and picked 
up several old crime scene photos from reports on the table.  
Grenier half crumpled them as he waved the grisly images in 
front of Mulder.

"This...this is what he does!  He takes them and he ties them 
up and he rapes them and he...he...goddammit, Mulder."  He 
sank into the nearest chair, the photos slipping from his 
hand.  

"We'll find her," Mulder said steadily.

"Yeah?" Grenier's head snapped up.  "You know where she is, 
wonder boy?  Saw this coming, did you?  Please enlighten me."

"Look at the scene," Mulder replied.  "He took her from here, 
from my room.  He wasn't stalking her.  She must have 
surprised him while he was in here.  She's an impulse grab, 
not like the others."

Grenier leaned down and retrieved one of the photos, 
smoothing his hand over the wrinkled image.  Jessica Gellar's 
body lay bent and broken in a pile of leaves.  "God I hope 
not," Grenier said hoarsely.  "I hope he's not..."

Arkin appeared at the door.  "We've got a hit.  The neighbor 
to the left heard the attack."

Mulder and Grenier followed him out and under the yellow 
police tape to where Scully stood with young Hispanic male.  
"What have you got?" Mulder asked her.

"This is Raymond Leandro.  He's in room eighty-two, and he 
says he heard a crash last night in the room next door a 
little after midnight."

"Yeah," Leandro agreed.  "I'm here interviewing for a job, 
and some of the company guys, they took me out last night.  I 
got back almost at twelve, and I heard the noise just after 
that.  Like I told her, it was a loud crash -- like something 
breaking.  Then there was kind of a thud."

"And you didn't investigate?" Grenier snapped.

"I looked out my window and didn't see anything," Leandro 
protested.  "There was no screaming, and I didn't hear any 
more crashes.  I figured maybe the mirror fell off the wall 
or something."

"Did you see anything strange in the parking lot when you 
came in?" Mulder asked.  "Anyone else around?"

"Not that I remember."  He paused.  "Sorry."

"Yeah, thanks," Mulder said, and the man walked away.

"Well, that's something," Arkin said.  "Now know the time he 
was here, maybe we can find someone who might have seen him.  
Seen his car, even."

"It's nothing," Grenier replied.  "We don't have time to 
interview half the city.  He's had her over twelve hours 
now."

Mulder felt his gut contract, and Scully looked at the 
ground.  By twelve hours, the women were usually dead.  
Mulder pushed through the small group and walked back to the 
motel room.

"Mulder!" Grenier called.  "Where are you going?"

Mulder kept walking until he reached the doorway of his motel 
room.  Scully and the others caught up with him seconds 
later.  "What's going on?" she asked.

Mulder looked over her head to the buildings across the 
street.  "We don't need to interview half the city," he said, 
pointing to the Denny's restaurant that sat directly in his 
line of site.  "Open all night with a perfect view of our 
motel door."

XxXxX

The sound of the ice clinking in his glass caused several 
more beads of sweat to drip from her brow.  Heat radiated 
from the walls.  Her heart beat fast but she felt faint, her 
arms numb and legs aching.  The coarse sheets scratched at 
her skin.

"I could go see," he was saying as he paced.  "From far away 
they wouldn't know.  Just a quick look and I'd be gone."

Amelia squeezed her eyes shut.  If he was leaving, it meant 
either he would kill her soon or she had somehow earned a 
brief reprieve.  

Leave, you asshole.  I dare you.

By now they would know she was missing.  The whole state 
would be on high alert.  She just had to stay alive until 
they could find her.

She scraped her tongue against the towel in her mouth, 
fighting off a dry heave.  Her squirming got Carl's 
attention.  "Is it everything you expected?" he asked, 
standing over her.  

Icy drops from his whisky glass dripped on to her collarbone, 
and she twisted weakly against her restraints.  Carl frowned.  
"You better not piss in my bed."

Amelia froze, her heart in her throat.  This was a possible 
angle.  She arched her pelvis up from the bed as best she 
could and made frantic noises through her towel.  

"Fuck."  He put the whiskey over by the sink and pulled out a 
large hunting knife.  The bed sank under his weight.  Amelia 
quivered as he ran the blade gently down the middle of her 
face.  He smelled of alcohol and sweat.  "Not one move.  Not 
one itty bitty move.  Got it?"

She nodded.

With a few quick slices, he released her arms.  She whimpered 
at the pain of renewed blood flow.  Tears pricked her eyes 
and slid down over her hot cheeks.  "I will cut you in 
ribbons if I have to."

She sank into the pillow, trying to steady her breathing as 
he went to work on her feet.  Her arms shook from the lactic 
acid build up; there was no way she would be able to over 
power him now.  

He rubbed his hand across the bottom of her foot, and she 
felt the rough calluses on his fingers.  "See what you made 
me do.  The rope leaves marks."

Shooting pain lanced from her heel to her hip, but she dared 
not move an inch.  Her knee cracked as he bent her leg.  
"Such pretty, pretty feet," he said, his breath tickling her 
toes.  

Amelia held back a moan as he sucked her big toe into his 
mouth.  Pleasepleaselethimleaveplease.  The garden shears lay 
only a few feet away.

I'm going to get you out of here, she told the baby silently.  

Carl's tongue slid between her toes.  Amelia clutched the 
sheets with both fists and tried not to vomit.  

Dana got out, she reminded herself.  You can do it.

She groaned again and arched from the bed, trying to remind 
him why he had cut her loose in the first place.  He let her 
toe go with a "pop," then kissed her instep.  "For later," he 
told her with a grin.  He stood up, knife still in hand, and 
nodded at the small toilet room.  "Be quick about it."

Amelia swung her wobbly legs over the edge of the bed, not at 
all sure she could stand.  Her knees buckled, but she managed 
to remain upright by clutching an iron foot post from the 
bed.  She entered the tiny toilet room and tried not to 
notice the bloody rings encircling her wrists.  

No windows and no weapons.  The room was useless.

They're coming, she thought.  Stay alive.  

She yanked off the tape holding her gag in place.  Turning 
the water on low, she leaned her head down and drank in large 
gulps.  It cooled her inside of her raw throat and woke her 
up a bit.  She used the toilet, washed her face and hands and 
braced herself for the man outside.

He was holding the knife and whistling.  "About time."  

There was no way she could reach the shears from where she 
stood; he was in the way.  She had no choice but to get back 
on the bed as he brandished several fresh lengths of rope.  
Dana had apparently taught him well, all right.  He was smart 
enough not to put his body directly over her when her legs 
were free.  Within seconds, he had her arms shackled over her 
head once more.

He frowned as he stared at her feet.  "If you're a good girl, 
I don't have to tie those up."

She nodded, but he still looked torn.  He tested the ropes 
holding her arms with a hard shake.  She flinched in pain.

"I guess that's good enough."  He stepped back and slipped 
his knife back in its sheath.  "I'll be back in a few hours," 
he said, and then grinned.  "Don't go nowhere."

I'm not dead, she thought with a flash of relief.  I've got 
time.

"In a few hours," he said as if reading her mind.  He ran his 
hand down her calf and caressed her toes.  "We can have some 
fun."

She raised her head up, straining her neck muscles to watch 
him go, and noticed he took the garden shears with him.  He 
closed the heavy door with a slam; she heard a deadbolt slide 
into place on the outside.  Wearily, she collapsed back onto 
the dingy pillow.  

She could flex her fingers, but he had immobilized her arms.  
Yanking would only worsen the wounds on her wrists.  Her feet 
were useless as long as she remained tethered to the bed.

He will kill you, a voice inside her said.  You know he will.

She slid her foot along the iron bed frame in frantic, 
nervous movements.  Maybe they would catch him now that he 
was outside.  Maybe someone in the mountains would find her 
here.  She tried banging her feet on the metal frame, hoping 
to make some noise, but it wasn't loud enough.

Lancing pain.

She jerked away, raising her left foot up so she could see 
the source of the hurt.  Blood trickled down the right side 
of her foot.  She lowered her leg again with caution, toeing 
the underside of the frame for the edge that had cut her 
open.  Of course he would buy a cheap ass bed.

Ah, there it was.  She winced at the sharp contact, then held 
her foot up again to inspect the injury.  In addition to the 
rope rings on her ankles, she now had a nasty blood smear 
down the whole right side of her foot.  Not so pretty 
anymore, she thought.

And a plan began to form in her mind.

XxXxXxXxX

End Chapter Six.  Continued in Chapter Seven.


XxXxXxX

Chapter Seven

XxXxXxX

It was all hands on deck at the Los Angeles branch of the 
FBI, and they were all pulling for one case.  Agents who had 
gone off shift only hours before returned; even one who had 
retired the previous week showed up to ask what he could do 
to help.  They gave him a chair and a phone.

Scully slipped through the busy hallways to find Mulder 
standing alone in a small seminar room.  His tie lay on the 
table; his back was to the door.  She knocked even as she 
entered, and he turned from the window.  

"The Denny's waitress wasn't much help," she said, handing 
him the computer-generated update of Carl Quentin's picture.  
"But it's clear he didn't want her to be.  He wore a large 
hat and tinted glasses.  She can only guess that his hair is 
now dark brown, and it sounds like he's put on a little 
weight this year.  She didn't see what kind of car he was 
driving."

"Great."  Mulder returned to staring out the window.  
"Anything from the room?"

"Prints confirm Quentin was there.  The blood on the lamp is 
Russell's."

"Grenier was right, you know.  I never saw this coming."

"No one did."  She touched his arm, but he jerked it away.

"She wanted off of this case, but I dragged her out here with 
me."  He shook his head.  "It's been almost fifteen hours 
now, Scully."

Her stomach clenched.  "You said you think we might still 
have a chance.  That he might want to keep her alive for some 
reason."

"I'm not a mind reader," he snapped.  "He might keep her 
alive.  But he might have strangled her right in the hotel 
room for I all know."

"What good would that ---"

"I don't fucking know!  Okay?  Jesus."  He turned and shoved 
a rolling chair clear across the room.  "I don't know why 
everyone keeps asking me this stuff.  It's not like I've been 
so successful at predicting his moves so far!  Twelve years 
on this case and he's still free.  What does that tell you, 
Scully?"

"You found me," she said softly.

He froze, his mouth set in a grim line.  "Yeah." He paused.  
"And what happens if I can't do it again?"

"Mulder..."  She struggled to swallow around the lump in her 
throat.  

His shoulders sagged and he waved a hand to brush her off.  
"You're right, I do think we have a chance that she is still 
alive.  We're just going to have to go with that for now."

"Grenier is leading the teams following every possible 
sighting of Quentin and Russell.  We're circulating this 
updated picture to every precinct in California, Nevada, Utah 
and Arizona.  I think Agent Cheng has arranged to show it on 
the news here, too.  Carl Quentin's days of invisibility are 
about to come to an end."

"That's good."  Mulder's voice was hollow.  "The forest 
rangers should be on alert, too."

"You think he's back in the woods?" Scully asked.

"He's a signature killer with an established ritual.  The 
cabin in Virginia worked for him for eleven years.  My guess 
is that he's recreated it someplace out here."

She nodded.  "The samples from the motel are here, and I've 
had Carolyn Kraus's remains brought from Orange County, too.  
I'm about to go see if I can find anything that might give us 
an idea about where his home base is.  Give me a call in a 
couple of hours, or if any of the leads pan out."

"Scully."

She turned.  "What?"

"One thing I know for sure -- he's going to take a run at you 
if he can.  Russell was convenient, but you're the real 
target here."

She could feel her pulse pounding in her neck, but managed an 
outward calm.  "Maybe we should let him come."

"What?"  Mulder was horrified.  "You're not serious."

"We don't have a lot of time here, Mulder.  If putting me out 
in plain sight would flush him from hiding, maybe that's what 
we need to do."

"No way.  Bad, bad idea."  He shook his head emphatically.

"It could save her life!"

"It could cost you yours!  You could both wind up dead.  
Remember what happened the last time we set a trap like 
this?"

She flinched as though he slapped her but stood her ground.  
"He would come out, you think.  For me."

"That's it," Mulder muttered.  "I've heard enough."  He 
brushed past her and stalked down the hallway.

"Mulder!"  She called to him from the door.

"There's another way," he hollered back.  "I'm not going to 
let you do that, Scully."

She jogged after him, catching up just as he burst into the 
bullpen, which had been converted to Carl Quentin 
headquarters during their search.  Grenier stood arguing with 
Arkin near a large map of California.  Both men looked up as 
Mulder entered the room.  

"What's going on?" Grenier demanded.  

"Put Scully in protective custody."

Behind him, Scully's jaw fell open.  "What?"

"It makes sense," Mulder said, ignoring her.  "You want to 
antagonize Quentin and draw him out, take away his fixation 
point.  So far we've just been giving him exactly what he 
wants."

Grenier seemed to consider, then frowned and shook his head.  
"No, I need her down in the labs.  She'll be safe enough 
there."

"It's not enough!  She needs to disappear completely.  Once 
he sees she's not playing his game, he'll get angry.  He'll 
make more mistakes."

"He has Russell!"  Grenier's face darkened.  "I don't think 
we want to be antagonizing him any further right now."

Scully had another flash of the cabin, with the ropes and the 
shoes and the garden shears.  She rubbed her wrists.  "He has 
a point, Mulder."

"No, he doesn't," Mulder snapped at her.  He spread his arms.  
"You all want my insight?   Well, here I am giving it to you.  
Pull his focus away from Russell and on to Scully.  The best 
way to do that is to make him wonder what's happened to her.  
As long as she's here cleaning up his mess and following his 
tracks, he's going to remain one step ahead of us because 
that's exactly what he expects her to do."

Grenier looked from Mulder to Scully and back again.  "No.  I 
will not sacrifice one of my best agents for a hunch.  Not 
with Russell missing."

"Fuck that! You're the one who wants to use her to get to 
Quentin.  You're the one who said you wouldn't use her as 
bait!"

"I'm not using her as--"

"The hell you aren't!  Sure, you'd love to have her in the 
labs, but the real reason you're so hot to keep her is you 
know he'll come looking for her."

"And your grand plan is to gamble Russell's life!"

"It's already on the table.  I'm just calling them as I see 
them."

"Well, I am not on the table," Scully cut in, angry.  "And I 
am not a card to be played.  By either of you."

Mulder shook his head.  "You are, Scully.  I'm sorry, but you 
are."

"Okay, it's up to you," Grenier said to her, folding his arms 
over his chest.  "Your call."

Scully felt Mulder's eyes on her, and she turned to meet his 
furious gaze.  "I think you're right," she said, turning back 
to talk to Grenier.  "I think there are personal feelings in 
the way here.  I came to do a job, and I'd like the chance to 
do it.  I don't need protective custody."

Mulder muttered a curse and walked away.  Scully didn't 
bother to try to stop him.

XxXxX

Like the rest of the FBI staff, the lab personnel had also 
halted dinners and days off to work overtime.  Scully found a 
half dozen people already poring over the microscopic 
evidence found in Mulder's motel room.  As she located a 
white coat, Scully heard whispering behind her back and knew 
the story of her own clash with Quentin had preceded her.

"Dana Scully," she said, introducing herself anyway.  She 
shook one young man's hand and caught him eyeing the scars 
that encircled her wrist.  She tugged down the sleeve on her 
coat when she pulled away.  "What have you got so far?"

"We've got Quentin's prints on the lamp."  The woman, middle-
age with thin brown hair and a slight lisp, walked over to 
where the pieces of the lamp lay under a bright light.  "We 
also recovered blood and hair samples belonging to Amelia 
Russell."

"We know he did it," Scully said, trying to keep the 
impatience from her voice.  "Now we have to figure out where 
he is."  She paced the long tables, studying the collection 
of evidence.  "Did the skeleton arrive from Orange County?"

"It's over there," said the lisping woman.

Scully found the smaller table and discovered that her other 
request had been met, too -- they had included samples of the 
dirt from the desert where Carolyn was found.  She grabbed a 
microscope and began sifting.

XxXxX

Feeling bold, Carl dared to drive past the motel.  He was 
careful not to slow down too much, but with all the gawkers 
on hand he didn't have trouble blending in with the crowd.  
Yellow tape flickered in the ocean breeze while cops crawled 
like black ants all over the parking lot.

Just like old times, Carl thought with satisfaction.  After 
his first California kill -- a prostitute with neon blue 
sandals -- had gone unnoticed, he had been worried he was 
losing his touch.

Still, it seemed like the big players had moved on from the 
motel.  He saw no trace of Grenier, Mulder or Scully. 

"Dammit!" he said, smashing his hand on the steering wheel.  
It was that bitch Russell's fault.  If he hadn't had to grab 
her the night before, he wouldn't have lost track of the 
other agents.  Maybe they had returned to Santa Ana?

As he was driving around considering his next move, the song 
on the radio faded out and a serious-sounding DJ began 
speaking to him. 

About him.

He nearly stopped the car in the middle of the road.  "Police 
are asking for your assistance in apprehending a man believed 
to be behind the kidnapping of a federal agent.  Carl Quentin 
is six feet, four inches tall and weighs approximately two 
hundred and eighty pounds.  He has dark hair and may be 
wearing a large white hat and tinted glasses.  If you see 
someone matching this description --"

Carl clicked the radio off with one swift jab.  "Fuck.  
Fuckfuckfuck."  He slipped the hat from his head.  Better cut 
his losses and come back later, after he had taken care of 
Russell.  

He turned the car around and headed back towards LA.

XxXxXxX

Scully's find was a mere speck to the naked eye, but under 
the microscope its importance magnified along with its size.  
Round on one end with a tiny, dagger-like point sticking out 
from the other end, the seed seemed ready to burst.  She 
found two others like it in the dirt that had surrounded 
Carolyn's remains, and about a dozen more plant species as 
well.  With a little luck, at least one of the plants would 
prove to be foreign to desert soils and localized somewhere 
else.

She sat back from the oculars and rolled her neck to ease the 
ache.  The clock on the wall said it was approaching 
midnight.  With another yawn and stretch, Scully got down 
from her stool and joined the brown haired woman at the next 
table.

"Dr. Corvasce," she said, and the woman looked up from the 
carpet fibers in front of her.  "Did your team find any sign 
of vegetation in the motel room?"

"Why, yes, we did," answered Corvasce, her lisp slightly more 
pronounced as she tired.  "We found a small piece of what 
looks to be a fern leaf and several plant seeds we couldn't 
identify."

"May I take a look?"

"Certainly."

Scully put the unknown seeds under a microscope and saw they 
were identical to the ones she had found in the desert dirt.  
"I'd like to have all the specimens identified," she said.  
"Can we do that here?"

Corvasce nodded.  "Probably, but we can always get help from 
UC Berkeley if we need it."

Scully smiled.  "A great school."

"Class of eighty-eight," Corvasce said with an answering 
smile.  Scully yawned again, long and large, and Corvasce 
regarded her with a sympathetic look.  "You should go home 
and try to get a few hours of sleep.  We can call you right 
away if we get a hit on the fauna."

Scully hesitated; out of the corner of her eye she could see 
the human jigsaw puzzle that used to be her good friend.  
Time was one thing she didn't have if she was going to save 
Amelia Russell from a similar fate.  "I don't know," she 
hedged.  "I'd like to examine the dirt again in case I missed 
anything the first time."

"I'll be happy to do it.  You look like you've been up for 
days.  Go.  Get some rest."

Dimly, Scully tried to recall the morning.  It seemed like a 
lifetime ago.  The couch, she remembered at last, and Mulder.  
She wondered where he had gone after their angry words in the 
bullpen, if she should track him down or if she should let 
him go.  She wasn't sure had the strength to stand in her 
respective corner, let alone tussle in the ring with him.  
The mental argument alone was enough to make her teeth ache 
with fatigue.  Already her brain had to replay Dr. Corvasce's 
sentences twice inside before she could comprehend them.  

Outside she felt raw and exposed, like someone had worked her 
over with a Brillo pad.  "I don't even have a room to go to," 
she murmured, rubbing her eyes.

"Oh!  I'm sorry.  I forgot to tell you.  There's an officer 
outside -- Agent Grenier's orders, I think he said -- and he 
mentioned he would take you to a hotel when you were ready to 
leave."

"What?"  Scully walked across the room to the main door, 
pushing it open with one palm and peering into the hall.

A uniformed officer stood from his chair.  "Ma'am," he said.  
"Hal Jackson at your service.  Are you ready to leave now?"  
At least five inches taller than Mulder, Jackson's bulk 
belied his baby face -- red hair and chubby cheeks with 
freckles -- sort of like her brother Charlie at age three if 
someone had blown him up like a parade balloon.

"Uh, yeah."  Scully cast one look back at the labs, but she 
was so tired her vision was beginning to blur.  "I should go 
now."

Officer Jackson had to nudge her awake at the hotel.  
Catching her reflection in the mirrors in the lobby, she was 
dismayed to see that she had a nice car door indentation on 
her right cheek.  She learned her room was one eleven, and 
that Mulder had a room just down the hall and around the 
corner.  They passed it on the way to her room, but she 
didn't see any sign of him.  

"I'm really fine from here," she told Jackson when they 
reached her door.  

"You have a good night, Ma'am," he said.  "I'll be just 
outside if you need anything."

Scully opened her mouth to protest, but the set of his jaw 
told her it would be fruitless.  "At least let me get you a 
chair," she said with a sigh.

"That would be very kind of you, Ma'am.  Thank you."

She opened the room and found that someone -- Mulder? -- had 
been thoughtful enough to put her suitcase inside.  She 
handed the desk chair out to Jackson and the shut the door 
with a soft click.  Leaning against its solid length, she 
closed her eyes and let the even hum of the air conditioner 
wash over her.  So many nights in motels with grinding, 
groaning air units, it was a wonder she could sleep without 
one.

She pushed away from the door and unlocked her suitcase, 
taking out her pajamas and toiletries.  After she had changed 
and splashed some water on her face, it occurred to her to 
check for messages. 

The light on her phone shone a steady red.  No Mulder.  She 
dug out her cellular and checked her voice mail, but there 
she found only Grenier informing her of her personal night 
watchman.  She set the phone on the bedside table, just in 
case, and crawled under the covers.  She was surprised to 
find the room was spinning.  Still her eyes would not stay 
closed.

She slid her palm across the wide expanse of bed; the king-
size ocean of coils and cotton seemed silly with just her 
small presence.  Her toes ended miles before the edge of the 
bed.

After blinking away several more long minutes, she threw off 
the covers and fished around in the darkness for her robe.  
Outside, Jackson seemed startled to find her squinting at 
him.  "Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Fine.  I'm just going down the hall."

"I'll go with you."

"No," she said, stopping and holding up a hand.  "That's not 
necessary."

"It is," he insisted gently.  "It's my job."

Resigned, Scully set off at a brisk pace with Officer Jackson 
trailing along behind her.  She hesitated at Mulder's door, 
then knocked twice.  He opened immediately.

He still wore the same clothes she had seen him in earlier, 
though his sleeves now flapped unbuttoned along his forearms.  
A day's worth of dark stubble covered his face, and his eyes 
narrowed as though he didn't have the energy to open them all 
the way.  He glanced behind her at Jackson, then wordlessly 
widened the door to let her inside.

Unlike her room, which smelled of hotel air freshener and 
bleached linens, Mulder's room permeated with old newsprint, 
stale pizza and the slight tang of sweat.  She halted at the 
entryway as he collapsed into a low armchair.  

Mulder had constructed a psychological war room.

Crime scene photos were tacked in haphazard rows on the wall, 
reports and articles littered the dresser and desktops.  
Crumpled paper balls sat by his wastebasket, and she could 
see sheets of writing next to his computer.   

"Mulder..."  

When he turned to look at her, half his face glowed blue from 
the laptop screen.  "Did you get anything from the lab 
results?"

"Some plant samples," she said, still distracted by the 
controlled chaos in the room.  She took several slow steps 
toward the table where his computer lay.  "What about you, 
Mulder?  Any leads?"

His eyes were nearly black in the low light.  "You know my 
position.  It hasn't changed."

"Neither has mine.  I will not be shut out of this case, 
Mulder."

He tilted his head, inspecting her.  "Sounds to me like 
you're the one letting personal feelings get in the way."

She brushed her bare foot on the carpet, frustrated.  "Of 
course I have personal feelings!  You've got a great collage 
here of what Quentin thinks, of his motivations and his 
whims, but let me tell you what Amelia is feeling.  She 
thinks she is going to die, Mulder.  She's remembering all 
the bodies from before and trying to not panic even though 
she knows exactly what he wants to do to her.  He's big, and 
she can't move and maybe there's no way out but she has to 
keep thinking, has to keep trying...can't let up for a second 
because then he has her and it's over."

Her breaths came in uneven jags, her hands shaking.  She 
stilled them on the back of a chair.  "Of course I have 
personal feelings," she repeated finally.

He got up without a word and wrapped himself around her.  She 
stiffened but then returned the embrace, running her hands 
down his shoulder blades to the strong muscles of his lower 
back.  His face was hot and rough against her neck. 

"I would lie to you," he said.  "I would lie to you and lock 
you up if that's what it took to keep you safe."

She squeezed her eyes shut and burrowed closer.  Tears burned 
behind her eyelids.  "I am safe," she murmured as she stroked 
him.  He pulled away and looked down at her, his hands moving 
to grip her arms.

"But I'm not lying, Scully.  I believe that putting you in 
protective custody, cutting Quentin off cold turkey, is the 
best chance we have of forcing him out into the open."

She searched his face even as she imagined giving up.  "I'll 
think about it," she said at last.

He held her gaze for a minute and then nodded.  "Okay," he 
said, pulling her against him once more.  The slow sweeps of 
his hands down her back eased some of her tension, and she 
lay her cheek on his chest.  "I think that's the most I've 
ever heard you talk about it," he said quietly.

"You must have read my statements."

"It's not the same."

She considered how shaky she still felt after her outburst.  
"No, I guess it's not."

His fingers found the painful knot at the back of her neck 
and rubbed it away.  "We'll find her," he said, and Scully 
forced herself to nod in agreement.

"Yeah."  She leaned back and brushed the tear streaks from 
her face.  He followed her movements with his thumb.  "I 
should go," she said.

"Yes," he agreed as his hands slipped inside her robe.  The 
sash loosened.  So tired she was floating away.  She let 
fingers play along the sculpted ivory of his rib cage. 
"Scully."

His breath on her cheek, her neck.  The hot pinch of arousal 
opened her up inside.  "The man...outside," she breathed, her 
fatigue popping Jackson's name like a bubble.  Mulder 
captured her earlobe in his mouth and nursed it gently, then 
ran his tongue along the curve of her ear.

"Shhh," he said against her sensitized skin, and the whisper 
tingled all the way down her back.  He pulled her closer, his 
thigh sliding between her legs.  "Scully," he repeated.  Low, 
urgent.  Needy like she was.  She squeezed his leg with her 
own.

"Muldermulder, please..."

He picked up the pace of his caresses, rubbing circles on her 
nipples through the silk.  She pressed the flat of her teeth 
against his neck and tasted the salty hollows there. 

"Like this," he said, stumbling backward to the chair.  His 
hands tugged her pajama bottoms half way down her legs, and 
she brushed them off at her feet.   "Here, here," he said as 
he reached for her, his hands skimming her bare thighs and 
making her shiver.  His erection bulged between his legs.

She climbed over him half-clothed, spread open and precarious 
as they kissed.  Her hair fell forward and surrounded them in 
a soft curtain.  She whimpered and then whispered for him to 
be quiet.  Half-trembling, half-laughing, he shut them both 
up with his mouth.  Her hips jerked in his lap.

"Scully, god," he murmured, and suddenly she was the one in 
control.  It was her tongue searching his mouth, her finding 
the seam of his zipper, her pushing his hand between her 
legs.  He teased aside the cotton and gave her his hand.

Not quite wet, she gasped as he pushed his finger inside.  
Tears of almost pain pricked her eyes but she thrust for 
more, moaning as she rocked in his lap.  Not enough.  It was 
not enough.  She groped for the button on his pants.

He steadied her with one hand so they didn't tip the chair, 
arching into her fingers as she slipped him free from his 
boxers.  "Off," he grunted, tugging on her underwear.

"Hmm, yeah."  But she merely yanked the barrier aside.  She 
pressed her forehead to his as their hands together helped 
him find his way into her body.  Slowly, she relaxed her 
thighs and sank down.  His breaths were light and fast on her 
face.

"Scully," he murmured, kissing her again more languidly, his 
tongue sliding side to side in a gentle rhythm.  But she 
couldn't slow down, couldn't stop the roar in her ears.  She 
pulled her mouth free as her hips began a quick fuck that 
threatened to topple their chair. 

Mulder gasped and threw his head back, his eyes slitted and 
his mouth hanging open.  She bit her lip to stifle the sounds 
rising up inside her.

So tired, fuck me.  More, more, more.

She feared she might collapse in exhaustion before the orgasm 
hit.  "Mulder," she said.  A plea for help. 

He threw his hips into the action, found her swollen clit 
with two fingers.  She grit her teeth and shook herself 
apart, gasping and thrusting down on him as the waves 
buffeted through her.  She fell forward and sobbed into his 
shoulder.

"Okay?" he panted, combing her hair roughly with his hand.  

She tried to stop crying long enough to finish him.  "Okay," 
she said, but could only hold on weakly as he arched into her 
a half dozen more times.  He crushed her close and groaned 
near her ear.

She shifted, curling in his lap so her leg muscles could stop 
burning.  He kissed the top of her head as she continued to 
sniffle into his shirt.  "I'm so tired," she murmured, her 
voice thin to her own ears.

"Bed," he agreed, sitting up.  She squeezed his hand and 
allowed him to lead her to the bed.  He took off his pants, 
but besides that they crawled under the covers still half-
dressed.  She had already closed her eyes before he pulled 
the blankets over them.  Maybe she said goodnight, but maybe 
it was only in her head.  

A few hours later, she awoke with a small jerk, blinking and 
disoriented.  Mulder sprawled on his back next to her.  The 
only illumination in the room came from his laptop, and she 
used the eerie light to find her way to the bathroom.  
Wrapping her robe tighter, she paused to turn down the air 
conditioner on her way back to bed.  

May as well shut that thing down, too, she reasoned as she 
crossed to the laptop.  But her hand froze in midair.  

Pregnant.

The word stood out from his notes, a stream of consciousness 
list of everything he knew about Amelia Russell's abduction.  
"Oh, my God," Scully murmured.  "No."  She clasped her hand 
over her mouth, holding her middle with her other arm.  Her 
heard pounded against her ribs.

Tied up and frightened and pregnant and goddamn there was 
something she could do about it.  

"That's it," she whispered fiercely.  "This is the end, you 
sonofabitch."  

Shaking but certain, she walked to Mulder's dresser and found 
his back up weapon, determined to come at Quentin with 
everything she had.  Determined to leave no other innocent 
people on the path between the monster and herself.

Bet you're not expecting this, she thought as she checked to 
see if the gun was loaded.

She located her underwear and pajama bottoms on the floor and 
dressed silently.  Smoothing her hair, she cast one last look 
at Mulder.  I'm sorry, she told him silently, I can't wait 
for the safe way. 

She opened the door with care, clicking it back into place 
with a minimum amount of noise.  Officer Jackson didn't even 
blink.

"Heading back to your room now, Ma'am?" he asked.

Shit, she'd forgotten about him.  "Yes," she said.  "Back to 
the room."

Once there, she changed in a hurry, securing Mulder's smaller 
weapon under her pants leg and checking the ammunition in her 
own.  Next she put on her robe again and stuck her head out 
the door.  "Excuse me," she said.  "Would you mind terribly 
getting me some ice?"

"Ice?" Jackson looked dubious that anyone could want ice at 
four-thirty in the morning.

"Please," she said, handing him the bucket.

He looked down at it and shrugged.  "Okay.  You just stay 
inside there, all right?  I'll be back in less than a 
minute."

"Thank you."  She smiled.

He took the bucket and disappeared around the corner; Scully 
took the opportunity to disappear herself.

XxXxXxX

End Chapter Seven.  Continued in Chapter Eight.

You can find the whole thing at http://www.omniscribe.com/inprogress.html

syn_tax6@yahoo.com