Date: 31 Jan 1999 20:01:45 -0800
Subject: I'll Be Seeing You 1/7

Title: I'll Be Seeing You 
Author: Fox's Gal 
Rating: R (naughty language-) 
Classification: SA 
Keywords: Scully Angst 
Spoilers: 
Summary: Agent Scully receives letters from a psychopath regarding 
AgentMulder. 

Disclaimer: Nope, I'm not Chris Carter in disguise. These characters do 
not even sort of belong to me, I'm just borrowing them for the time 
being to amuse myself. They really do belong to Chris Carter and 10-13 
Productions as well as those Fox folks. The serial killer belongs to 
XScout who was gracious enough to lend him to me for the time being. 
Sydney Dawson Elizabeth Morris and Karen Williams are my characters 
however. 

Author's Notes: This is a sequel to "I Know Someone" by XScout. I would 
recommend reading it because-well, because this is Scully's point of 
view and this isn't going to make a bean's worth of sense if you don't 
know what she's responding to. Though I did include the letters in this 
story, I still suggest you read it. Oh and one more thing: there is no 
character death in MY story. So go-read it-now. Then come back. 

Feedback: Yes, yes, a thousand times YES! Please send any and all 
feedback to foxs_gal@bellsouth.net.com 

***************** 

I'll Be Seeing You 

***************** 

July 4, 1998 

Dana Scully was not enjoying herself. Given the way this Fourth of July 
barbecue was going, she would almost rather be back in
the basement of the Hoover building working with Mulder on that damn 
profile. Instead, she was at her mother's house
gathered in the back yard with the rest of the Scully clan trying to be 
personable and cheerful when what she really wanted to
do was to tell Bill to shut the hell up for once. Her brother was 
getting on her nerves more so than usual today with his snide and
rude remarks about "that guy, Mulder." She hated the way Bill said 
Mulder's name. He said it so contemptuously; it made her
want to start referring to Bill in the same tone. She didn't 
because-well, because she was Dana and Dana was a better person
than that. That's it, keep telling yourself that and maybe you'll start 
to believe it. Truth is you would really like to tell
him exactly where he can shove that boat of his. She smiled secretly and 
glanced at her watch. It was nearly 6:00. She had
somehow, through severe persuasion and intense cajoling, convinced 
Mulder to stop over and at least say hi. She neglected to
tell him that Bill would be there though. Well, I'll make it up to him 
and buy him lunch or something. I shouldn't be the
only one to suffer through this shit. 

"Earth to Dana, earth to Dana. Are you there Dana?" 

Apparently, Bill had been trying to get her attention for a few minutes. 
She smiled tightly and looked at her older brother,
sincerely wishing it had been him who had been out at sea instead of 
Charlie. "Sorry Bill, I must have been woolgathering. What
was that again?" 

"I said, is that Mulder guy going to show up or what?" 

Scully opened her mouth, ready to spit out a retort when she heard the 
distant thud of a car door. "I bet that's him now. I'll be
right back." She sprinted into the house and opened the front door just 
as Mulder was about to knock. She surprised him and
he gave a little start. 

"You seem to constantly be trying to give me a heart attack Scully. What 
is it, are you trying to prove that my eating habits alone
are enough to kill me and you're just around to help put the plan in 
motion?" 

She grinned and pulled him inside. He was actually wearing khaki shorts 
and a pristine white T-shirt, his feet clad in boat shoes.
(Boat shoes? Since when does he own boat shoes? She wondered.) She had 
been secretly afraid that he would have shown
up in the previous night's work clothes since he had still been working 
on their latest file when she left the office that night. He
really had been working himself too hard lately. Ever since the fire he 
had buried himself in his work even more so than usual.
They might have their office cleaned up and restored, but there was a 
scar on both of their souls now that would take a long
time to heal. 

She knew he hadn't been sleeping well-well, he never did, really. But he 
also was barely eating enough to keep a gnat alive.
She worried about him, she was well aware of that, but she wasn't about 
to admit it to him. He'd probably laugh it off and say
she was mothering him. Well, someone has to. She thought. 

He looked at her, a twinkle in his eye and a lopsided grin on his face. 
"You know Scully, for an FBI agent, you're pretty
transparent." 

"How do you mean?" 

The grin widened. "Yes I have been home to sleep and I came with my 
appetite in tact, so lets have some burgers and potato
salad or whatever it is you Scullys have for food around this joint." 
She turned and led him to the back yard. 

She looked over her shoulder at him. "I should warn you, Bill's here and 
he's been asking about you." 

Without breaking stride, Mulder turned around and headed back for the 
door. 

Scully hurried after him. "Mulder, come on. You're not going to leave me 
out there with him, are you?" 

"Do you really want an answer from a-let's see if I can get this right. 
A "sorry son of a bitch?"" 

"Yes, I want an answer from a sorry son of a bitch. That's the best kind 
of person to get answers from." 

"No Scully, I'm sorry. No." 

"Please Mulder? For me?" She tried the pitiful little smile he always 
gave her to get her to relinquish and give him his way. She
wasn't sure, but she thought he was beginning to weaken. 

"Scully-" 

"Please?" 

He looked at her for a long minute, studying her. He took a deep breath, 
as though he were preparing to face a guillotine.
"Okay." They headed back for the yard together. 

Aside from the verbal abuse from Bill, the rest of the evening was 
rather enjoyable. They all enjoyed the feast Mrs. Scully called
a cookout and then piled into cars and headed off to the local high 
school to catch the fireworks. Rather than squeezing in with
Bill, Scully opted to ride with Mulder. She wasn't sure whether she did 
it more because she wanted to, or because she knew it
would irritate the hell out of Bill. What the hell, why not a little of 
both? 

They sat on the grass together and "oohed" and "aahed" with the rest of 
the crowd, and for a moment, Scully felt like she and
Mulder were just two regular people. They were normal people with normal 
lives and normal jobs. 

It couldn't have been further from the truth. 

Scully pushed that thought from her mind as she concentrated not only on 
the colorful bursts of light coming from the sky, but
also on Mulder's close proximity. Their knees bumped when they were both 
sitting Indian-style and their fingers brushed when
they stretched out on the grass. It was during one of these finger 
brushes that Mulder's fingers brushed her own and in the
process, he slid her hand into his, allowing their fingers to 
intertwine. Scully thought it best to pretend not to notice. Inside, she
reveled in the moment. 

Once the fireworks were over, Mulder got up and helped Scully to her 
feet. They made their way back to the car, hand in hand.
Mulder leaned his head in the general direction of Scully's ear. "I need 
to talk to you." He murmured. 

She nodded. 

Once at the car, Scully called out to her mother that she'd be by later 
to pick her own car up. She and Mulder had some things
to take care of. Her mother nodded cheerfully while Bill glowered at 
both of them. Dana smiled sweetly at her brother and got
into the car. 

"So, what do you need to talk to me about?" 

He took a deep breath. "Do you know anywhere around here where we can 
sit and get a good cup of coffee?" 

"Sure." 

She talked him through the narrow streets and led him to a coffee shop 
that she and her mother frequented when Scully stayed
with her from time to time. Mulder parked and they walked across the 
street to the old fashioned cafe. Mulder opened the door
for her and followed her inside. She chose a booth and he sat across 
from her. He was being extremely close lipped. In all
actuality, it was bothering her quite a bit. They ordered coffees and 
once the waitress left the table, Mulder was ready to spill his
guts. 

"We have a problem." 

Scully wasn't sure how to answer that. Yes, you could say that. The 
Smoking Man, The Consortium, Black Oil, Krycek,
Agent Spender, Shapeshifting Aliens-yes Mulder, I think that's a pretty 
astute observation. She opted to say nothing and
instead allow him to continue uninterrupted. 

"This file we were assigned. I've been working on it. Putting a profile 
together and such." He clenched his jaw and Scully
noticed that the muscle twitched. 

"And the problem is-?" 

"I-don't-think-" He paused and looked at her, afraid to go on. "I don't 
think you should be involved." 

Stay calm Dana. Don't overreact. She looked at him levelly and raised an 
eyebrow. "May I ask why not?" 

The waitress brought their coffees and Mulder proceeded to overload his 
with sugar and cream. More than likely, he was doing
it to keep his hands busy. He was nervous, she could tell that rather 
easily. 

"I'm learning things about this guy-after taking a closer look at the 
file already compiled on him-there's a reason he's never
been caught Scully." 

"What? What is it? Is he like some master of disguise or something?" 

He shook his head. "We're not the first ones to get this case." 

"Mulder, I'm waiting for you to get somewhere with this." 

"Listen, this case started at the Georgetown PD, okay? A couple of 
missing persons became un-missing in a very unpleasant
manner. Three people in as many months had been abducted and found about 
one month later, beaten beyond belief and
murdered. Two detectives were working the case. There's just one problem 
though; someone conveniently failed to inform us
that those detectives first assigned to investigate this guy had also 
been abducted. First was a man, Michael Donovan,
kidnapped and missing for approximately three weeks. His partner turned 
up missing at that point. They were found less than a
week later." 

"What? Why weren't we informed of this?" 

"Apparently whoever assigned you and me to this didn't think it was an 
important bit of information. But Scully, that's not the
end of it. A month ago, when the detectives turned up missing, 
Georgetown PD turned this over to the FBI. Violent Crimes had
it first." 

"Not Agent Murphy-" 

"One in the same." 

Scully sat back and digested this. Agent Eric Murphy was an enthusiastic 
and well-liked agent in the VCS. She had always
thought that he didn't seem the type to involve himself in the kinds of 
cases Violent Crimes specialized in. On a stakeout about a
month before, he went to get some dinner for himself and his partner and 
never came back. Four weeks later, his mangled and
mutilated body had recently been found floating in a water hazard at a 
golf course 20 miles away from where he had been
staked out. It had been a big issue at the Bureau, causing the Assistant 
Directors to emphasize the importance of staying with
your partner. Murphy had been a rather large man too. He had been 
roughly 6'3" and weighed in at about 200 pounds. What
had been done to him had reduced his status to that of a rag doll. She 
hadn't done the autopsy, but from what she had heard, he
had been so messed up, the coroner couldn't tell what might have killed 
him first. The rumor was that judging from the amount
of water in his stomach, he might have actually been alive when he had 
been dumped in the water hazard. 

"What does this have to do with us Mulder?" 

"Scully, you're not going to like this-I don't think you should be 
involved in this. I really, really don't." 

"Mulder, this is absurd. We're partners. You're intentionally going 
against the very thing that Skinner has been preaching to us."

"Scully, you haven't seen what I've seen." 

She was unconvinced. "And that would be-?" 

"The autopsy reports and photographs of Francine Taylor and Michael 
Donovan." He met her gaze as evenly as he could, but it
was hard. The images of what was left of the two people were burned into 
his photographic memory; a man and a woman. It
was nearly more than he could bear, even with his VCS background. 

Their lists of injuries were more than he could even stomach. They both 
had only been dead approximately 12-15 hours when
they were found. The man, Michael Donovan, had a shattered left tibia 
and fibula. His right thigh had been fractured in at least 6
different places; the pelvis had been nearly completely crushed; he had 
several bullet wounds, two went clean through his right
thigh, one was lodged in his shoulder. He had eight broken ribs, several 
fractures in his skull, and finally the top seven vertebrae
had been crushed. The final blow was probably what had killed him. He 
had suffered from malnutrition to such an extent that his
skin was stretched tautly over his bones. The skin had also been cut 
with either razors or knives in what appeared to be some
sort of pattern. Macabre modern art of some sort. 

Francine Taylor had been his partner. She had fared no better at the 
hands of this psychopath. It was she who had convinced
Mulder to dissuade Scully from the case. In life, Francine Taylor had 
been petite, about 5'4", with light brown hair and blue
eyes. All in all, she had been a vibrant, attractive woman with a 
promising career ahead of her. That career had been squashed;
possibly by one of several blows to the head, possibly by the raging 
infection that had spread throughout the various wounds on
her body. She hadn't suffered the starvation her partner had suffered, 
possibly because she had only been missing a week. Her
torso looked as though she had been beaten with either a switch or a 
riding crop. She had bruising all over her body; she too
had broken ribs, fractures in both legs, one hand had been completely 
crushed, all of the bones smashed into miniscule pieces.
Her skin too, had been marred with a razor, the bloody swipes making 
some sort of odd pattern. Her face looked nothing like
the pictures he had of her. Her bottom lip was split open and her jaw 
was shattered. There had been extensive sexual abuse,
but Mulder hadn't wanted to hear the details. 

He looked at Scully and fought to keep the images of Francine Taylor 
from superimposing over her face. Unbidden, pictures of
Scully in that unfortunate woman's place kept surfacing in his mind. 
Fuck Skinner and fuck his damn policies. I'd rather die
than see her hurt and he's just going to have to deal with that. He 
didn't realize that Scully had been staring at him, intently.
"What?" 

"I said, was it the same MO as the others?" 

He nodded, "Yeah, pretty much." 

"I'm not doing this Mulder." 

He had misunderstood her, and for a moment was relieved. "I'm so glad 
because-" 

"I'm staying on the case." 

His mouth went dry. "Scully, please-please don't do this." 

"Mulder, how can you possibly think this is fair? You don't want me to 
work with you on this case because I'm a woman.
Admit it. That's the reason." 

He buried his head in his hands. No-no, that's not the reason. The 
reason is because I couldn't bear for that to be you.
He sighed deeply. "Fine." 

They sat in uncomfortable silence, nursing their coffees. Scully was 
glad she had another day in this holiday weekend to get over
being so damn angry with Mulder. Mulder was trying to figure out how he 
could not get his partner involved in this case. He
knew it was going to be another sleepless night for him. He looked at 
his watch: 12:42 a.m. Or another sleepless morning as
the case may be. He was feeling restless and planned on going for a good 
hard run when he got back to his place. That was
usually how he came up with his best ideas and theories. Of course, he 
couldn't tell Scully this, she'd laugh and say that some of
his theories sounded like they had been conceived in the wee hours of 
the morning while he was running around like a lunatic.
This time, he had to figure out how to keep Scully out of this at all 
costs. 

July 5, 1998 

2:05 a.m. 

After Mulder had dropped her off at her mother's house, Scully opted to 
stay the night rather than drive home. There was still a
light on in the house and Scully knew her mother had waited up for her. 
She let herself in and went upstairs to where Maggie
Scully was keeping herself occupied by reading a very thick suspense 
novel. Dana eased the bedroom door open and knocked
lightly. 

"Come in, dear." Mrs. Scully patted the bed and Dana sat down. 

She glanced at the book her mother was reading. "The butler did it." She 
said wryly. 

"No dear, the butler's the one who's dead." 

"So it was the chauffeur." She smiled. 

"Speaking of chauffeurs, did you and Fox have a nice ride?" 

Dana groaned inwardly. "Not particularly." 

"What's the matter this time?" 

"Well, for some reason he doesn't want me to get any more involved with 
this case we're working on." 

"Fox doesn't want you to work on an X-File with him?" 

"Well-" It was such a long story how they even got this case to begin 
with. "It's not exactly an X-File. We're helping out the
Violent Crimes Unit and just happened to be handed this particular file. 
Nothing paranormal from what I can tell. It's just one
sick bastard. A sadomasochistic monster, your run of the mill psychopath 
from what I can tell." 

"I can't imagine why Fox wouldn't want you involved." 

Scully detected the note of sarcasm in her mother's voice. "What's that 
supposed to mean?" 

"It's supposed to mean that I, for one, can see why Fox might not want 
you to be involved. I'm sure it is a very disturbing case
and I'm also sure that he has his reasons." 

"Why do you have to be so logical?" 

"Where do you think you get it from, dear? Now, you go off to bed and 
I'm sure if you give Fox a call in the morning, you two
will be able to iron everything out. You usually do. And if you think it 
will help, invite him over for brunch. My blueberry
pancakes can perform miracles on a man. Especially a stubborn one like 
Fox." 

Scully smiled and hugged her mother. Talks that she had with her always 
left her feeling better. She couldn't understand it. She
closed the door silently behind her and headed for her old room. 

She slept, but there was no rest for Dana Scully. Her mind was filled 
with images she couldn't piece together, feelings of intense
fear and screams. Agonizing screams that could have well come from the 
gates of hell itself. She woke up a mere 4 hours later
covered in sweat, adrenaline racing, heart pounding. She couldn't 
explain it, but she knew she had to talk to Mulder. She was
ready to step away from the case for him. Something about him last night 
had really disturbed her. There was something that he
couldn't tell her, and she wasn't sure if she really wanted to know. She 
sat up in bed, knowing for a fact that her sleep for the
night was quite over. She got up and made her way silently to the 
kitchen where she could, at the very least, start some coffee. 

The first cup from the coffeepot was in her hands and she looked at the 
microwave numbers glaring at her in the semidarkness
of the kitchen: 6:25. She knew that Mulder wouldn't have even gotten 
back to his apartment until at least 2:30, depending on
how fast he decided to drive. She hated calling him so early, but 
somehow she had the feeling he'd be up. Dana grabbed the
kitchen phone and quickly dialed Mulder's home phone. She let it ring 
until the answering machine picked up. 

"I know you've probably turned off the ringer, but I wanted to let you 
know that I'm ready to step away from this for you. Why
don't you give me a call at my mom's house and we'll discuss it further 
over brunch?" She had half expected him to pick up the
phone at the mere mention of food, and was disappointed when he did not. 
He must really be tired- 

Brunch had come and gone and still there had been no word from Mulder. 
Scully assumed that he was probably pouting over
their late night discussion and she would have to wait until Monday 
before she could talk any sense into him. She still tried to call
his apartment as well as his cell phone, but there was no answer. By the 
time she was at her own apartment she gave him one
more call before she settled into bed for the night. It was 11:30 and he 
had not returned a single one of her calls. That was very
unlike him. 

Scully could not ignore the niggling in the back of her mind that there 
was something wrong. There was something very wrong. 

2 hours later- 

Scully was still awake. She knew that sleep was going to elude her until 
she was sure that Mulder was all right. She sat up in
bed and looked at the glowing red digits on her alarm clock: 1:30. She 
knew that he should be up. He was always up at the
oddest times. She grabbed the phone and dialed Mulder's number. She let 
it ring, and she let the answering machine pick up,
and she left a message. 

"Mulder, I know you're probably mad at me right now. Please, if you are 
there, please pick up the phone." She listened to the
silence, sighed, and hung up. Her message had not gone unheard, however. 
The eavesdropper listened to the concern in Dana
Scully's voice and smiled. 

July 6th 

4:45 a.m. 

Scully had made coffee, did a calisthenics routine she hadn't tried 
since her days at Quantico, showered, dressed, painted her
nails, and sewed a button back onto the jacket to her favorite slate 
blue pantsuit. There was nothing left for her to do but go into
work. She had called Mulder several more times, but this time not even 
the answering machine picked up. She hung up, tears
stinging her eyes. She knew there was something up, and she knew that it 
went beyond the typical "Mulder-Ditch." It was time
to take action. She grabbed her briefcase and umbrella and headed out 
the door into the predawn fog. 

Traffic was obscenely light as she made her way to the Hoover building. 
She was going over in her mind exactly what she was
going to tell AD Skinner. Somehow, she thought, just telling him that 
Mulder had disappeared without a trace wasn't likely to
raise any concerns. Skinner was only too aware of Mulder's bad ditch 
habit. Scully thought furiously about how she was going
to explain to the Assistant Director that she was doing something that 
she often chastised Mulder for: playing hunches. Scully
knew in her gut that there was something dreadfully wrong with Mulder. 
Not answering his phone; that she could come up with
countless explanations for. Not answering his cell phone? That was a lot 
tougher. In typical Scully fashion, she tried to think of
some conclusive evidence that she could give to Skinner that would prove 
to him as well as to her that something was amiss. 

An idea came to her. Instead of heading on into work like she had 
originally planned, Scully got off at the nearest exit and
headed instead to Mulder's apartment in Alexandria. She found a decent 
parking spot near his building and noticed, as she
made her way up the sidewalk, that Mulder's car was there. Hope surged 
up into her chest as she quickened her pace. She
waited impatiently for the elevator and after what seemed to be an 
eternity, she found herself hurrying down the hall to his
apartment. 

Once there, she rapped on the door several times. Her heart thudding in 
her ears, she leaned against the door and tried to make
out any sort of noise. Scully found that she was afraid to go inside. 
Her hand trembling, she tried the doorknob. It was locked.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her key ring. She inserted 
Mulder's key into the lock and turned it. The lock
clicked. Scully held her breath as she pushed the door open. 

Oh my God. Oh God, this is bad. This is very, very bad. 

The apartment was a wreck. It looked like someone had gone through it 
with a bulldozer. Books were toppled off of the
shelves, drawers were pulled out and their contents dumped on the floor, 
his desk was on it's side, his computer lying on the
floor in pieces. The couch cushions were pulled from the couch and were 
lying on the floor, ripped open. Everywhere she
looked, Mulder's personal things had been violently violated. 
Miraculously, the fish tank hadn't been touched. Scully wanted so
badly to clean the place up for Mulder, but she knew that this was now a 
crime scene and touching anything would be a severe
breach of protocol. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and 
glanced at her watch. It was 5:30. This was too important to
wait for the AD to wake up and get into the office. She tried his home 
first. Scully wasn't surprised when he not only answered
the phone but also sounded awake while doing so. 

"Hello?" His voice sounded tight over the phone. Perhaps because he 
knows that good news never comes this early in the
morning. 

"Sir? It's Agent Scully. I'm at Agent Mulder's apartment. I think you 
should get over here as soon as possible." 

"Is there something the matter with Mulder, Agent Scully?" 

"It would appear so Sir. His vehicle is parked outside, his apartment is 
in shambles and he is nowhere to be found." She was
struggling to keep the panic out of her voice. That's it Dana, calm, 
cool, and collected. Keep your head. It doesn't do
anyone any good to get hysterical. She quelled the rising panic she was 
feeling and took control of herself. Skinner was saying
something about being over right away and that he would organize a team 
as well. He instructed Scully to stay put and to try
and get an idea of what, if anything, the person who did this was 
looking for. 

Scully looked around again, trying to force the realization into her 
mind. Mulder was in danger. Of that, she was completely and
utterly sure. She walked around, careful not to step on anything 
breakable. Mulder's desk chair lay on it's side near the
overturned desk. She righted it and sat down, trying to absorb what was 
going on around her. She felt her eyes burn and a sob
rise in her chest. She pushed it back away far deep inside her. She 
willed the tears back from where they came. She realized
that the longer she sat there, the harder it was going to be to keep her 
composure. She got up out of the chair and headed for
the door. She would wait for Skinner and his brigade of agents in the 
hallway. As she walked past the couch, something caught
her eye-or maybe it was the lack of something. Mulder's answering 
machine was missing. Her mind raced back to the
previous night. When did I leave that last message? What time was it? 
She closed her eyes. She had sat up in bed and
looked at the alarm clock-it had been about 1:30 in the morning. She had 
made her first call to Mulder's number at around
4:30 or so. The answering machine hadn't picked up then. That was about 
a three hour window to figure out who might have
done this and when. The longer she stood in that apartment, the more 
sure she was of the severity of Mulder's situation. She
walked out the door and waited in the hallway. 

It wasn't more than a half an hour later when the AD arrived on the 
scene. That's what it is now Dana. It's a crime scene.
It's not Mulder's apartment any more. It'll be his apartment again once 
he's back in it safe and sound. She heard herself
giving Skinner a full account of what had happened to her knowledge. She 
mentioned that she had been trying to get in contact
with Mulder all day Sunday. She noted the time of her final message to 
Mulder as well as the next call that did not give way to
the answering machine. Skinner nodded, aware of the three-hour window 
without her having to specify. 

Scully felt strange, detached. She felt as though the entire situation 
was happening outside her body. She wasn't the one
experiencing these feelings of rage and helplessness, it was some other 
poor woman. Some other woman's life was being ripped
to shreds. Not hers. Not Dana Katherine Scully's life. Her life was a 
neat little package all wrapped up with a bow. Granted,
the wrapping job might have been a little skewed, but all the same, she 
liked the wrapping job. A little voice in the back of her
head screamed at her that someone had attacked her package and tore the 
paper and bow off of it, leaving what lay underneath
exposed and vulnerable. 

Without meaning to, Scully had become lost in a fog. Granted, the fog 
was in her own mind, but it was still making it very
difficult to concentrate. She could barely hear what Skinner was saying 
to her. Something about her taking some time off. She
was too close to this. She shook her head, not so much to disagree with 
Skinner, but more to rid her mind of the confusion. He
was still talking to her. She looked at him and concentrated on what 
words his lips were forming. 

"-time off-be assured-find him-take a step away-go home-" 

She swallowed and the apartment suddenly felt very stuffy. She nodded 
and agreed with everything Skinner was saying. She
needed to get the hell out of there. 

She wasn't about to go home though. 

Scully got into her car and tried to force her mind to pay attention. 
This was too important not to. She closed her eyes and took
some deep cleansing breaths. She needed to be where Mulder was. She 
needed to feel him. She couldn't do that here. She had
to go to the basement. Their basement. 


Subject: I'll Be Seeing You 2/7
Mulder and Scully's Basement Office 

10:26 a.m. 

Scully was fighting a major migraine. She had been in the office since 
nearly 6:30. She wasn't sure what she expected to find,
but she didn't much care as long as everything was in one piece. Given 
the security around that place, if their office had in any
way been disturbed, surveillance cameras would have picked out the 
guilty party. Security had been stepped up considerably
since the fire. It might have been her imagination, but Scully could 
still smell the charred scent of smoke as if it clung to every
wall of the building. Their work, their quest, their history went up in 
cinders in what had only been a matter of minutes. On the
one hand, Scully wondered how anyone could just waltz into a federal 
building and set the basement on fire. On the other hand,
Scully marveled that They had gone this long without resorting to such 
tactics. 

Everything was gone. The poster. That silly "I Want To Believe Poster." 
The first thing she laid eyes on when she first walked
into that office. It was the same office, just refurbished with new 
filing cabinets and new furniture. There was no new poster
though. She wasn't sure Mulder would even want a new one. She probably 
missed it more than he did. 

While she was relieved to find the office in order, Scully almost wished 
that she had found it disturbed. It would have put her
one step closer to finding Mulder, she was sure. 

Skinner had already been down. His orders for her to go home were met 
with deaf ears. Scully didn't want to consider it. The
last place she needed to be was at her apartment. There was nothing 
there for her. Mulder wasn't there. Mulder was here. He
was here in so many aspects: The suit jacket thrown haphazardly across 
the swivel chair, the open bag of sunflower seeds on
his desk, the row of sharpened pencils just waiting to be thrown into 
the ceiling and the half empty bottle of iced tea sitting on
the desk. Scully felt a smile creep on to her lips as she mused where he 
was hiding a new stash of porno tapes. The smile faded
quickly though. 

She was adamant that she would stay for only as long as she needed to. 
Skinner made her promise that she wouldn't stay
longer than she needed to, but the thing was, Scully knew that she would 
need to stay for a very long time. 

At the moment, she sat with several file folders spread open in front of 
her. She had her glasses perched on her nose as she
studied every note taken on the entire case. She read the autopsy 
reports. Bit by bit, she began to realize why Mulder asked her
not to continue on this case. As the pieces came to her, she began to 
compose a time line. In the process, she also began to
compare similarities of the victims. 

Apparently, the three missing persons that started the Georgetown PD 
investigation had not been related in any way, shape or
form. Then, two detectives become victims, then a federal agent, and 
then one more federal agent. Scully digested this and
thought there was something odd about Francine Taylor's involvement. For 
a moment, Scully excluded her from her notes.
Without Ms. Taylor, the victims were all male, law enforcement officers, 
aged 35-40. All were of impressive stature, and all had
female partners. It was this fact that gave Scully a rather sick feeling 
in the pit of her stomach. All victims, save Mulder, had
been missing for approximately one month before they were found dead. 
They all incurred similar injuries to such an extent, the
cause of death had been questionable. Scully glanced at the calendar on 
the wall. She had four weeks to find Mulder alive. 

This realization sparked something in Scully. Urgency took over and 
grief took a back seat. She began gathering all the
information Mulder had accumulated on this case. They'd only been on it 
for about a week, and he had put together a rather
unimpressive file. Inside the file folder were autopsy reports, 
interviews and the beginnings of Agent Murphy's work. Scully felt
a gnawing in her brain. There was very little mention of Agent Murphy's 
partner. She was a new agent, Murphy had been her
very first partner. Scully knew her casually, her name was Elizabeth 
Morris. She was a tall athletic woman with black hair and
light green eyes. She was also first on Scully's list to talk to about 
this incident. Underneath her most recent notes, she wrote
Agent Morris's name. That would wait a little longer. There were more 
pressing things she needed to get in order. A trip to
Mulder's apartment was now necessary, regardless of how painful it was 
going to be. There was something that this killer had
been looking for and Scully needed to know what that thing was and if he 
had found it. 

The chances of her being able to get into his apartment today were 
somewhere between slim and none. She knew that Skinner
would be down any moment now to inform her that she was going to be 
forced to take a leave of absence. It was time to make
some photocopies for her own reference. She knew that she shouldn't be 
doing this. She knew that of all the times to follow
protocol, this should be one of those times. But she also knew that if 
she didn't do something, it was going to cost Mulder's life.
He had put his life on the line for her before. He had broken rule after 
rule to ensure her safety. It was time now for her to do
the same. She made copies of everything in the inch-thick file folder 
and slipped it inside her briefcase. Then she returned the file
to the file cabinet. She checked her watch and started up to Skinner's 
office. She would take her leave voluntarily. Anything to
give her more time to focus on the situation at hand. 

Dana Scully's Apartment 

11:48 PM 

She was getting frustrated. Of all of the things in that case file, 
there was scarcely anything that was of use to her. Scully found
the profile that Mulder had done as well as some preliminary interviews. 
Most of what made up the bulk were the reports that
the other individuals who had had the case had started. Not 
surprisingly, there was very little in those reports as well; especially
since they practically mirrored each other. Scully resisted the urge to 
hurl the folder and it's contents across the room. Instead,
she took off her glasses and stood up to stretch. 

She had gone into AD Skinner's office to notify him that she was going 
to be taking an administrative leave of absence. He had
been surprised, since he had suspected that he was going to have to 
force her to do so. He had also seemed suspicious of her
motives at first. Scully had given him her best "of course I'm on the 
level here" look. He was so used to Mulder pulling things
over on him, he had started to suspect Scully of the same. The only 
difference is that he doesn't expect it of me. I suppose
that works to my advantage here. 

For the time being, the main investigation going on was the 
disappearance of Agent Fox Mulder in conjunction with the other
disappearances and murders. The team presently working on the case was 
not optimistic about finding Mulder alive. Most of
them were also afraid of being targeted themselves. Scully didn't doubt 
the abilities of the team that Skinner himself had hand
picked, but she knew that if anyone could find the missing agent, it was 
she. Or at least, she had thought she knew. At the
moment, even Scully was having her doubts. Scully looked at her dining 
room table, now covered with papers, and felt an
overwhelming sense of defeat. She and Mulder had been working that case 
for a week and this was all they had been able to
come up with? A profile and some interviews? Mulder, we did more than 
this. I know we did. And that's not even the
right profile-that one isn't typed up-what the hell is going on here? 
She sat down and picked up the offending sheet. I
distinctly remember looking at the profile you did for this creep, and I 
distinctly remember it being typed. Mulder, what
have you done? She bit her lip and read. 

Suspect is at least between the ages of 35-40, clean cut most likely. 
Muscular build, at least 6'/200 lbs. Probably works
out at a gym. He is of above average intelligence, probably a B student 
in high school, maybe better in college. Might
have studied medicine, but didn't pass the boards. 

Suspect probably came from an abusive family. Has a history of 
physical/sexual/emotional abuse. Comes from a well
off family, yet there was abuse in the home. His parents were divorced 
when he was young; pre-elementary school age.
His mother remarried shortly afterwards. His stepfather abused him. 
College and medical school became an escape for
him. 

He would have tortured small animals as an adolescent. Small dogs and 
cats mostly. Would later turn to
self-mutilation. Probably has scars and tattoos. These markings will be 
on indiscriminate parts of his body: the back,
shoulders, buttocks, upper thigh. 

Torture he inflicts on his victims would make a great deal of noise. 
Suspect probably lives in either a very isolated area
or the inner city where no one will hear him or pay him any attention. 
Not the suburbs, not a town, not an apartment
building. 

It was pitifully short for one of Mulder's profiles. Scully couldn't get 
over her surprise at the conciseness of this one. Usually he
went into so much more detail. It was almost like he would step into the 
person's mind and then record whatever came to mind.
Scully used to refer to his method of profiling as a "psychotic 
free-write." It may be short, it may be incomplete, but it's all
that I have right now. It will have to do. Scully gathered everything 
into a stack so that she could comb through every word
and jot her own thoughts down. She was no profiler, but there was no 
time like the present to give it a go. She stood up again
to get a fresh pad of paper when her eye caught something on the floor 
next to her chair. It was a small, yellow piece of
notepaper. Scully stooped to pick it up and noticed that there was 
something scrawled in Mulder's handwriting. What the hell?
Where did that come from? She picked up the scrap of paper and looked 
around for where it might have come from. It had
been wadded up and smoothed out. How odd-Just then, she remembered. The 
week before, Mulder had been over at her
apartment and they had just begun research on this case. They had 
ordered pizza and Mulder offered to pay. He had been
sitting where she was right now and began to dig through his wallet for 
exact change. She remembered the yellow scrap
because of what had been written on it. 

Meet F.T. 5/29 @ home. Bring PRO. 

She had teased him then about meeting a woman and he had shrugged it 
off, never giving her any explanation. He wadded up
the paper and stuck it in the pocket of his jeans. Apparently, he had 
not stuck it in all the way, since it had been sitting there on
the floor. Realization suddenly hit her. 

F.T. Francine Taylor. He was meeting with Francine Taylor. But Francine 
Taylor's dead. Why would he-? She answered
the question before she could even finish it. She wasn't dead May 29. 

Things were beginning to open up before Scully that she had never 
expected. She felt a sudden rage against Mulder come over
her. Her eyes filled up with tears as she wadded up the paper into a 
tight ball and threw it across the room. "You bastard!" She
yelled, tears coursing down her cheeks. "You knew and you didn't tell 
me! You Godddamned bastard!" She shouted at the
empty apartment. Her anger was so sudden and so intense that it scared 
her. So many times in their partnership, he had left her
to pursue leads on his own. He had claimed over and over again that he 
didn't want to involve her or put her in any danger. As
many times as she had gotten mad at him, lectured him, yelled at him-he 
continued to ditch her. 

But this was too much. 

There was nothing she could do by that point but rest her head on her 
arms and release all of her sadness, guilt, anger and
helplessness. That night, she cried long and hard; her heart breaking at 
what might be the final "campaign of misinformation" her
partner would ever willingly participate in. At some point, Scully 
didn't know when, she fell asleep like that, slouched over the
table, resting her head in her folded arms. It was well past midnight; 
approximately 48 hours since she had last seen Mulder. It
had already felt like 48 days. 

July 7, 1998 

4:38 AM 

She wasn't sure what woke her up. It might have been the feeling of pins 
and needles that had overtaken her left arm. It might
have been the cramping, aching neck and back muscles. It might have been 
the nightmares. Scully was pretty sure that it was the
latter. She had dreamt of Mulder. She was running toward him, trying to 
find him, but never succeeding. She ran into door after
door, wall after wall trying to find him. When she did find him, it had 
been far too late. Far too late to help him, far too late to
apologize for her anger, and far too late to tell him how she felt about 
him. Every time she closed her eyes now, she saw the
bruised and broken face of her partner. There would be no more sleep for 
her tonight. 

Instead, she stood up and listened to the chorus of cracks and creaks 
that followed. She rubbed her face and wandered into the
bathroom to take a wake up shower. She looked in the mirror at herself 
and soon wished she hadn't. My God, I haven't
looked like this since-her mind trailed off. Since my cancer. Since 
Mulder broke every rule in the book and snuck into
that secret room and stole the cure. Oh Mulder, where are you? She ran 
the water as hot as she could stand it and stepped
into the shower. She had been running through her last hours with Mulder 
in her head. The whole thing, his arrival at her
mother's house to their strained ride back home, went through her mind 
over and over again. Scully's analytical mind was trying
to pick out something, anything that would give her a place to start. 
Usually as hard as Mulder might have tried to keep things
from Scully, she could always see through the facade. She kept trying to 
pick his words and actions apart. She wasn't getting
anywhere. Instead of her mind analytically picking Mulder's words and 
actions apart; she was remembering his warm fingers
entwined with her own during the fireworks show. The scent of his musky 
cologne assaulted her nose, the earnestness in his
green eyes as he asked her to step back from the case became clear in 
her memory. 

Dana swiped at the tears in her eyes with a soapy hand, getting soap in 
her eye in the process. The pain made her curse. Her
mind wandered back to her first phone call to what was Mulder's empty 
apartment. She had been in her mother's kitchen
joking about Mulder's stubborn streak being softened by her mother's 
blueberry pancakes. Her mother. She hadn't told her
mother. Oh shit. She couldn't bring herself to do it. Mulder was like a 
son to her mother. That's exactly why you need to tell
her. You need to tell her Dana, and you know it. Scully steeled herself 
for what was going to be a very difficult visit. It was
time to turn off the water and face the world. This was no time for a 
simple phone call. 

Maggie Scully's Residence 

7:45 AM 

Scully let herself into the house. Her hands were trembling so much she 
could barely turn the key in the lock. She was greeted
by the sight of her mother reading the morning paper while enjoying a 
cup of coffee. Maggie Scully looked up at her daughter in
surprise. To say she hadn't been expecting her would have been an 
understatement. A smile began to light across her face until
she saw her daughter's expression. 

"Dana, what's the matter? Are you alright?" 

Scully couldn't answer her. Her eyes filled with tears as she bit her 
upper lip. 

"Dear, what's the matter?" She was up and heading toward her daughter. 
Mrs. Scully's face went ashen. "Dana, has your
cancer come back?" 

Scully swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and shook her 
head. I only wish. "It's Mulder. Mom, Mulder's gone." 

"What do you mean he's `gone'?" 

"He was kidnapped, Mom. He's gone. Not a trace of him anywhere. His 
apartment was trashed. He's-gone." 

"Fox has been abducted? Do you have any idea-? Do you know who's taken 
him?" 

"I have an idea-but I can't be sure and there's no way to find out. 
Mom-I don't know what to do. He could be dead
already." Her composure was threatening to break again. 

"Dana, do you believe that? Do you believe that Fox is dead? Because, if 
you do, you've lost him half-way already." 

She thought about this. "I don't know if I think he's still alive, or if 
I want him to be alive so badly-" 

"Dana, of all of the times you need to have faith that Fox is alive, 
this is one of the most important." She led her daughter to the
couch. The two women sat down; Maggie pulled her daughter into her arms. 
Dana's protective wall began crumbling. It
collapsed on itself as Maggie began patting her back soothingly. Dana's 
body shook with sobs and unintelligible mumbles. Her
mother only continued in her attempt to soothe her. 

About 20 minutes later, Dana's tears had subsided and her trembling had 
ceased. She sat in silence next to her mother. Her
mind was going miles per minute trying to pull herself together. 

"Dana, do you have any idea how many times I didn't know whether your 
father was dead or alive?" 

The question had come out of nowhere. Dana could only look at her mother 
and shake her head. She didn't trust her voice. 

"It was pretty often actually. More often than any woman should have to 
deal with. He would be out on a ship and I'd be home
with you kids. It was the not knowing that killed me." 

Scully thought about this. She never once remembered her mother 
betraying any of these feelings in front of the children. Part
of her strength, I suppose. "What did you do? How did you get through 
it?" 

"I knew that he wouldn't leave me. I just knew that he would never 
desert his family." 

"But-" 

"Dana, it's all in the mindset. Fox would not leave you. Just like you'd 
never leave Fox." 

11:38 AM 

En Route: Dana Scully's Apartment 

Scully hadn't expected the visit to turn out like it had. She didn't 
know what she had expected, actually. She stayed for awhile,
talking with her mother. Mrs. Scully had given Dana hope. She had also 
done a decent job of restoring her faith that she would
find Mulder alive. She was never so thankful to have such a wonderful 
mother. Dana Scully had no idea that after she had left,
Maggie Scully shed tears of her own for her adopted son. 

She pulled into her parking space at her apartment complex and noted 
that the mail truck was just leaving. She glanced at her
watch. Early-well, it's here, might as well get it. Scully went to her 
little mailbox and turned the key. The door swung open
and she retrieved the contents that lay within. While walking up to her 
apartment, she began thumbing through her mail. 

"Bills, bills, I might have won $1 million dollars, more bills-" She 
stopped, not trusting herself to go any further. In her hands
was a plain white envelope with her name written on it in Mulder's 
careful script. The feeling that went through her was a mixture
between surging hope and debilitating nausea. She wanted to sit on the 
floor and read it that moment, but she didn't trust her
emotions enough to. She then bolted up the stairs to her door. 

Once inside the apartment, she leaned against the closed door and slid 
to the floor. She carefully opened the letter, sure not to
damage the contents within. She pulled out a single sheet of white 
notepaper. The sight of Mulder's handwriting at once soothed
and worried her. She looked at the words without reading them. She was 
almost afraid to read what he had written. Finally, a
voice inside her head told her that she had spent enough time looking at 
the letter and it was about time to read it. 

July 5, 1998 

Dear Scully, 

It's an ungodly hour in the morning and I've just returned from dropping 
you at your mother's house. There are so
many things I haven't told you about what's going on, and I have decided 
that it's time for you to know. I have only
come to this decision after a lot of thought, because if you don't know 
what I know-no one will ever know. God, that
sounds cryptic, even for me. 

If what I have anticipated to happen has happened, then I am gone. 
Otherwise I would have filched this before you
ever got your little hands on it. So, I'm letting you know that I am 
aware of what's going on. I'm gone. I don't know
where I am, and I don't know where I'll be. I do know that you're 
probably ready to kill me right now though. 

I don't know how much you've figured out on your own with this case. I 
can only assume that you've been forced to
take leave, or you've taken it voluntarily. I also can only assume that 
you're concerned as to my present whereabouts.
Trust me, I am too. I've done something that you may never be able to 
forgive me for, and if you never do-well, know
I have my reasons. I hope to be able to explain it all to you in vivid 
Technicolor. I hope to be able to explain it to you at
all. 

There is something waiting for you at TLG HQ. God, I hope you know what 
I'm referring to, or I'm in deep shit. Please
go there and get what I've left for you. If you're angry (I know, I 
know-you're probably mad as hell right now) please
don't take it out on them. They have no idea what's going on, only that 
they have something for you and you'll be
picking it up. If you care to share this with them, by all means, do so. 

Right now, I'm off to go for a jog as well as to drop this in the 
mailbox. I need to clear my head. I hope to see you
tomorrow, but somehow, I don't think I will. There are things I want to 
tell you, Scully. Things that I want to say in
person. I know I'll be seeing you. 

And you'll be seeing me. 

Always, 

Mulder 

She didn't know what to do after reading that. She rested her head 
against her knees and tried to begin to sort things out. There
was a dull throbbing coming from somewhere in her head. A mantra began 
to keep in time with the throbbing. He did this on
purpose. Over and over again, this played in her head. It didn't sink 
in. It wouldn't sink in. Not even Mulder would do
something so utterly moronic. Not even Mulder would intentionally stick 
himself in harm's way to-Save me? Would he? God,
no-no, he wouldn't do that. Her mind snapped back to all of the times 
she had been the one dying, she had been the one in
danger. Donnie Pfaster, Eugene Tooms, Cancer, the shapeshifter who was 
after that clone of Samantha-Had he really
done such a thing? Had he actually sacrificed himself, literally? 

Hold on there Dana. Mulder's a bright boy. He must have seen the pattern 
that was forming in the victims. There was
no way-he would never have come after me. I was never in any danger, 
Mulder. 

"Oh Mulder, what have you done?" She hadn't realized she had spoken out 
loud until she heard the words echo through her
own ears. "Great Dana, now you're talking to yourself. Let's see how 
much further Mulder can push you over the edge this time,
shall we?" You won't know for sure how far he's pushed you until you get 
that package he's talking about. Just the idea
that Mulder had premeditated this made her sick to her stomach. She 
wasn't sure if she wanted to know what exactly was in
that package. She couldn't very well let it go though. She had to go see 
Langly, Frohike, and Byers. Scully only wished the visit
could be a happier one. 

TLG Headquarters 

1:07 PM 

Frohike was quick to open the door. Scully watched his face split in a 
smile at the sight of her. He really has no idea. She
actually liked visiting them here; they always made her feel welcome. 
This time, she wished that the circumstances were
different. 

"Agent Scully, what brings you to these parts? You've finally accepted 
your undying love for me?" 

The beginnings of a smile bent her lips. She shook her head. "I 
understand you have something for me?" She was beginning to
totally distrust her voice. It was giving out at the most inopportune 
moments lately. 

Frohike nodded and bustled over to a table that held a monstrous piece 
of computer equipment. Langly was hunched over the
computer, typing furiously. Byers was nowhere to be seen. Frohike came 
up to her, a very large and exceptionally thick
envelope in his hands. Taped to the top of the envelope was a smaller 
white one. Mulder's scrawl was unmistakable across the
front of the white envelope. 

Scully. 

She took the package into shaking hands that did not go by unnoticed by 
Frohike. 

"What's happened? Mulder came by the other night at some ungodly hour 
and drops this off for you. He said you might come
by and pick it up in a few days. He didn't say a word to us about where 
he was going or what he was doing. Now, you've
shown up and, I'm sorry, but you look worse than you have in your entire 
life. Where is Mulder?" 

Be strong, Dana. "He's gone. I'm not entirely sure of any details, but I 
believe he's been kidnapped by a suspect we had been
investigating for the past week. I'm hoping that this will help me find 
him." 

"Is this a formal investigation?" 

"There is one going on, but I don't have the time to wait for them. 
Frankly, I don't think Mulder has the time to wait for them
either." 

"That sounded like a loaded statement." 

She sighed. This was going to be very hard. "I found a distinct pattern 
in this serial killer's MO. He kidnaps his victims and
tortures them. After a month, they're found dead; their bodies dumped 
for anyone to find." 

"How long has he been missing?" 

"I last saw him at about 2 AM, July 5th." 

"So he's been missing for about two days." 

God, had it only been two days? It felt so much longer. She looked at 
her watch. 1:15 PM. She did some quick math. She had
last seen Mulder approximately 59 hours, 15 minutes ago. She didn't want 
to correct Mulder's friend, so she nodded. 

"If you need us-" He trailed off. Again, she nodded. 

"I'll be in touch." She turned for the door. 

"And Agent Scully?" 

"Yes?" 

"When you see him again, tell him that this is giving him an unfair 
advantage over me in acquiring your affections." 

She smiled again. She nearly laughed, but not quite. She turned the 
handle on the door and let herself out. The sunlight was so
bright, it was too beautiful a day for Mulder to be in danger. The whole 
thing was the epitome of surrealism to Scully. After this,
there would be no more lost days. There wouldn't be any more lost time 
between the two of them. Things will be different
this time, she vowed. It was time to get back and get to work. It was 
time to find her partner. She opened her car door and
put her new acquisition on the passenger seat. She laid a hand over it 
protectively, almost afraid that if she didn't, it would
disappear from her touch. Much like Mulder had. 

Dana Scully's Apartment 

2:15 PM 

She got back to her apartment in record time, knowing this time that she 
had better wait to get into her home before opening the
latest letter from Mulder. She wanted privacy. Knowing the paranoiac 
that he was, the first letter was bound to be vague just in
case it had been intercepted in the mail by the mysterious powers that 
be. 

This time around, she was very nervous. She let herself into the 
apartment and made sure to lock the door behind her. She
walked purposefully over to the coffee table in front of the couch where 
she deposited the heavy envelope carefully. She
gingerly tore the white envelope from the yellow one and opened it. This 
letter was longer and, no doubt, more in detail. She
was very afraid for what she was going to find. 


Subject: I'll Be Seeing You 3/7

She forced her eyes to focus on Mulders handwriting. His careful, yet 
slightly messy print distracted her and she made herself
come back to earth to read what was written. She kept going back to the 
writing. This had been in his hands. He had thought
these words out and wrote them. A lump formed in her throat as she 
pictured him concentrating on this very piece of paper,
chewing thoughtfully on the end of a pen. Again, she shoved the image 
from her mind. Scully read the words one by one, trying
to comprehend as well as read the words. 

Dear Scully, 

Well, now that you have this-I should be able to find some comfort in 
knowing that you're reading these words. I
should be able to find comfort in knowing that your fingers are holding 
this piece of paper. The fact is, if you are
reading this (and I hope you're not. I hope you're not reading this. I 
hope you never had to read that last letter. Shit,
I'm rambling-)I am in danger. 

I have done an exceedingly stupid thing. I have used myself as bait to 
catch a killer so that hopefully he will not kill
again. You're reading this because at some point in my little master 
plan, I fucked up. I've done some stupid shit in my
time, but I think this wins. I'm thinking back to the VinylRight. The 
moments I spent staring down the barrel of a rifle,
protecting that life-sucking son of a bitch. I put myself in danger 
then. I didn't have much of a choice then, I thought it
part of the job. This time is different. I don't know why I'm doing this 
now-yes I do. I'm doing this for you. I'm doing
this for all of the times that I had wanted to protect you and couldn't. 
I couldn't only because I do not possess the
ability to read the future. So many times I said to myself, "if I only 
knew-" If I only knew that Donnie Pfaster had
targeted you, I could have done something. If I only knew what those 
bastards had in mind, I could have prevented
your abduction. This time, I know. I know that this guy is targeting law 
enforcement officers. I won't let it be you,
Scully. I won't let you be Francine Taylor. 

By this point, you've probably put together that I have been hiding 
things from you. You're probably pissed, and you
have all right to be. Let me explain a few things from the beginning. 
This goes way past our involvement in this case.
This goes back to Georgetown. 

When Michael Donovan came up missing, Francine Taylor came to me. I had 
done a little bit of profile work for the
Georgetown PD a while back and she remembered my name. She let me look 
at what she had. All the evidence she had
collected, all the notes she had taken. You see, when he was taken, 
Francine began conducting her own investigation.
Violent Crimes had it by that point. She was sure though, that if she 
didn't do this herself, he would never be found
alive. She began receiving letters from the killer. I took them and 
began drafting up another profile. In total, I did
about 3 of them. There's one in the official case folder that you 
probably have a copy of. There's another one that you
read a few days back. That one was typewritten and I have it in front of 
me right now. That one is now in your
possession in this packet. The third is one that I put together after 
reading Francine's notes and letters. That one is the
one, Scully. That's the one. I met her to give her the profile. She was 
going to go off searching for him. She disappeared
soon after that. She's dead because of me, Scully. Yet another accident 
I could have prevented. 

A few nights ago, after you had left for the day, I was working late. I 
had both of their autopsy reports in front of me.
Every time I looked at her photo, I saw you. I saw your face with her 
injuries. I'm not letting that be you. I'm not
giving him the option. He's going to target me. There's only one 
difference here Scully, I'm not going to let him kill me.
I know that you are going to find me, and I also know that you won't 
make the same mistake Francine did when she
went looking for Donovan. I don't know what that mistake is, but I trust 
you'll figure it out. You are going to find me,
and you're going to find me alive. I would never die without your 
permission, Scully. I may be a sorry son of a bitch,
but I'm a considerate, sorry son of a bitch. 

These are my notes. This is everything I have on this case. Everything. 
You can do this Scully. I know you can, because
I'm here with you. I'm right beside you handing you my bullshit theories 
for you to pick apart. I'm here, and I'm alive,
and I'm waiting for you. We're going to get this psycho. 

This is what I'm going to do, just in case I don't make it back to my 
apartment to call you. I want to call you and
apologize for being such a jackass. Not just tonight, but always. But, 
you see, I can't call you before I go, because
you'll talk me out of going through this hair-brained scheme. So, I'm 
apologizing now. Then, I will put this into an
envelope, drop it off with the 3 Musketeers, drop your first letter in a 
mailbox, and go for a jog. I need to clear my
head and formulate a plan. If, by chance, I don't make it back-well, 
I'll just play it by ear. That didn't sound good, did
it? Whatever it is that I do, I swear to you, I will live through it. 

If I don't make it back, I want you to follow my jogging route. That is 
the last place I'll be if I don't make it back.
Please go through my route. That is where you should start. You know 
where I go, I know you do. You'll find something
there. I don't know what, but that's where you'll find your first clues. 

I'm sorry for rambling. It's not every day I do something this stupid. 

I'll see you soon, Scully. 

Always, 

Mulder 

Her eyes had filled up yet again. Just when she thought she had no more 
tears to cry, she surprised herself. He didn't know. He
hadn't picked it up. She couldn't believe that he hadn't picked up that 
she was never in any danger to begin with. He
intentionally put himself in harms way to protect her, when she was 
never in any danger. In fact, Mulder was probably the one
being targeted all along. He was just making himself easier to find. 
Scully could only shake her head in amazement. She scanned
the sheets of paper again and then decided it was time to delve into the 
mysterious packet. She ripped it open and eased the
materials out. This collection was more impressive than the first was. 
Right on top were two profiles. One was the typed one
she had read before and the second one was the mysterious "other" 
profile. If she hadn't been so worried, she would have been
annoyed with him for being so-Mulder. Honestly, why keep all three? She 
skimmed the newest one, looking for details that
hadn't made it on to the other two. 

Male between the ages of 35-40, at least 6', approx. 200 lbs. Muscular 
build, works out regularly at a gym. "Clean
cut." Looks like your "everyday Joe." 

Knowledge of medicine, not a doctor though. Failed out of med. school? 

The torture and mutilation that he inflicts on his victims would produce 
a large amount of noise. He lives isolated in the
woods, or he lives in the inner city where no one would pay him any 
attention. Definitely not the suburbs, not a town,
not an apartment building. 

Uses his knowledge of medicine in his torture methods. 

He has a history of sexual and physical abuse. He comes from a fairly 
well off family, yet there was abuse in the home.
His parents were divorced when he was young; pre elementary school age. 
His mother remarried shortly afterwards.
He was abused by his stepfather. College, and then medical school, was 
his escape. 

He would have tortured small animals as an adolescent; cats and small 
dogs mostly. 

He's of high intelligence. A B-student in high school; did better in 
college, once he was out of his mother's home. At
least a 3.5 GPA. Didn't pass the boards between second and third year Ed 
school. 

Used self-mutilation as a form of escape. Will have scars on arms, legs, 
and/or wrists from self-mutilation. 

Will have at least one tattoo. More than likely, he will have two or 
three. They will be in indiscriminate locations; the
back, shoulders, buttocks, upper thigh. 

May have a pierced ear, although this is less likely than the tattoos 
because he can't hide the earring. 

He works for himself. A carpenter or a landscaper. Must have given his 
services to various golf courses. Victims found
in the vicinity of several different golf courses. Perhaps not recently, 
but at some point in the last few years. He had to
have been familiar with the layout of the course as well as the 
surrounding areas. 

Why does he target law enforcement officials? Perhaps he asked for their 
help when he was younger, and didn't get
any. Something must have happened in his recent past to re-trigger his 
anger though. I think something happened to a
loved one (wife, girlfriend) that the police (G-town?) could not 
prevent, but which he thinks they could have. His
murders of non-law enforcement officials were a way to draw his intended 
victims into the game. Perhaps his abusive
father or stepfather was a law enforcement officer? 

The letters he sends to the partners-taunting? Perhaps stemming back to 
a situation of his own with a loved one?
Trying to instill a feeling of helplessness that he's felt. 

The perpetrator has no social life. He devotes far too much time to his 
victims. He must take time out to work.
Probably has a decent job that makes good money. 

(Mulder wrote in the margin by this statement: "See description of the 
room where D is being held. Too much expensive
equipment.") 

He is probably slow to anger, but has a vicious temper when provoked. 
More than likely, he isn't angry while he's
torturing his victims. He's enjoying himself too much. However, he 
probably is prone to losing his temper when things
don't work out his way. 

(By this there was another note in Mulder's handwriting: Taylor's 
injuries of a much more violent, angry nature. Not
methodical.) 

How does he target who he's after? How does he choose one partner? 

This was more like what Scully had come to expect from one of Mulder's 
profiles. She glanced at the beginning of the profile
and noted the reference to letters. Scully began digging through the 
papers to find the letters to Francine Taylor that Mulder had
mentioned. There were three letters. That's not right. There should be 
four. One for every week he'd been missing. Then
she remembered that Taylor had gone after him and turned up missing. 
That had probably been the fourth week. A thought
came to Scully and she made some hasty notes in her pocket notebook to 
find the missing letter, if there was one. She had her
first clue. Or so she hoped-she settled back and began to read the 
letters. 

Scully was shaking uncontrollably by the time she was halfway through 
the second letter to Francine Taylor. Whoever this man
was, he was way sicker than she could even begin to imagine. The letters 
followed a pattern. The first came after Donovan had
been missing for one week. It went into detail about how he had been 
abducted. Then there was a long and detailed list of all of
Michael Donovan's injuries. Scully cross referenced the list to his 
autopsy report and saw that the list was quite accurate. 

"Score one for you Mulder. This guy does probably have some medical 
background." She scanned the rest of the second letter.
That one was more emotional. He went into more detail about the 
deteriorating mental state of Michael Donovan. There was
more mention of new injuries as well as infections to the previous ones. 
The terminology was quite technical and the more she
read, the more she was sure that not only was this guy a bona fide 
psycho, he was a highly educated one. The second letter as
well as the first held a very superior tone. That stood out to her quite 
clearly. There was also something else. Something she
couldn't quite touch on. She went on to the third letter. 

The third letter went into even more medical detail about Michael 
Donovan and his precarious dance on the line between life
and death. The author wrote about using Taylor to provoke Donovan's 
anger. He wrote about toying with the man as though he
were a mere puppet. The thing that Scully couldn't quite touch on began 
to make sense. She became quite sure that the two
partners were probably either in love or already intimately involved. Or 
he was to her like Mulder is to you-She read on. He
wrote on, proclaiming Donovan's love for Taylor almost like he was doing 
them both a favor. Who the hell does this guy think
he is? Cupid? She would have liked to read on, however there was no more 
to read in this collection. 

Scully began to be very afraid. However, she had become such a master of 
hiding her own emotions, she just pushed her fears
down deep inside her and continued to concentrate on the task at hand. 
She began to make her own notes. 

Mentions a van - perhaps uses it for work? 

Playing Cupid? Maybe he's targeting the male halves of the partners to 
work out his own frustrations? Did he have a
girlfriend? Maybe she left him for a law enforcement officer. Maybe he 
killed her? May have been in love once and it
ended. She was his first victim. 

Why the men? Maybe he wishes he killed himself but is too cowardly to do 
so, so he kills other men? Maybe he thinks
he can relate to these men. He thinks they're in the same situation as 
he was, with a woman who didn't love him? A
one sided relationship where the man loves the woman more than the woman 
loves the man. He thinks that he's saving
the men, as he would have wanted to be saved? 

He thinks he's superior. Sounds overly confident. Enjoys toying with 
emotions. Considers himself a puppet master. 

***Must find FT's fourth letter. 

"God Mulder, I suck at this." She threw her pen in frustration. She put 
the letters aside and looked at what was next in the
stack. Autopsy reports on all of the victims to date. In order, the 
victims were a 29-year-old Caucasian woman, a 42-year-old
Black male, an 18-year-old Philippine woman, a 32-year-old Caucasian 
woman (F. Taylor), a 36-year-old Caucasian male
(M. Donovan), a 35-year-old Caucasian male (Agent E. Murphy). Scully 
noticed that the pattern became more distinct after the
investigations started. It was almost like he tried to make the first 
victims random. Scully had her doubts as to how random the
first victim was. She jotted down the name of the first woman: Alicia 
Tibbs. She figured she'd investigate the other two
seemingly unrelated victims. The man was named Harold Baker and the 
younger woman's name was unknown. She had yet to
be identified. She was a Jane Doe, probably a prostitute. Scully knew 
what that meant. She would have to question some of
DC's working girls to get any inside information on this victim. 

Scully composed a "to do" list. 

   1.Find FT's fourth letter 
   2.Retrace Mulder's steps. 
   3.Talk to Agent Morris (invite to lunch? Must be unofficial-) 
   4.Find Mulder

The first thing she thought she should do before any more time passed 
was to retrace Mulder's steps. That was the most
important thing because it was so time sensitive. She left the rest of 
the paperwork to go through later. It was time for Dana
Scully to go for a little walk. She pulled on a pair of sneakers, 
fastened her holster about her waist and put on a lightweight
windbreaker to hide her gun. Scully made sure that she brought along 
some plastic bags, some latex gloves and a tiny set of
tweezers. She wasn't sure if she was emotionally ready to see where 
Mulder was last, but she was beginning to learn how to
ignore those emotions. As this thought entered her mind, she murmured to 
herself, "I'm becoming more like him every day."
Scully got into her car and backed out of the lot. She headed toward 
Alexandria and hoped for the best. 

Mulder's Apartment Building 

7:48 PM 

She parked next to where Mulder's car should have been. She couldn't get 
over how empty the loaded parking lot looked
without Mulder's car. It had probably been towed to a lot where 
forensics could go over it carefully and gather any evidence.
Scully was pretty sure they wouldn't find anything. She looked around 
for any agents. Even though she wasn't really doing
anything wrong, she still felt like she was going to get caught doing 
something illegal. She thought of Mulder being held
somewhere against his will, probably beaten and bleeding and she found 
herself not much caring about whether she got caught.
She started on Mulder's familiar jogging route. Scully kept her eyes to 
the ground, looking for anything that would lead her to
Mulder. She wasn't expecting a "Post-It" note stuck to the sidewalk 
giving detailed instructions as to how to find Mulder. She
also wasn't expecting to find what she found. 

An alleyway. How utterly unoriginal. 

She had found where Mulder was when he had been taken. There was a dark 
brown stain on the sidewalk. She couldn't
imagine that blood could have sat there that long without anyone 
cleaning it up. Even a city street cleaner would have picked
that up. She wasn't entirely sure that this was Mulder's blood, but 
there was one way to find out. She silently thanked herself
for having foresight as she pulled the gloves, bag and tweezers out of 
the windbreaker pocket. Scully got down on one knee to
gather a sample. She was skeptical as to what she would find, but there 
was something inside her that was screaming out to her,
This is what you're looking for! As she was scraping at the brown spot, 
her eye caught something else. A shell. Now, the
spot here on the concrete might be explainable, but a shell? I doubt it. 
She gingerly picked it up in her gloved hands and
placed it in a plastic bag. She would probably be able to get a make and 
model of the gun the shell belonged to. She began to
scour the alleyway for any other clues. She found nothing. Scully got to 
her feet and began walking away from the alley,
dejected. 

"What are ya lookin' fer, lady?" 

The voice startled her and Scully whirled around, pulling her gun out of 
the holster and aiming it in front of her. She felt quite
foolish when she saw who the voice belonged to. There was a young boy in 
front of her, no older than 10. He was very dirty
and very thin. There was a dog of an indeterminate breed sitting next to 
him dutifully. His eyes had widened in surprise at the
sight of her gun and he began to run away. Scully called after him. 

"I'm sorry, you startled me." 

The boy had started to run away, but slowed and turned around. If he had 
seemed hesitant before, he was downright skittish
now. He approached her slowly, trying to hide his uncertainty behind 
what was obviously a false bravado. 

"Aw, you din't scare me." His tone turned cautious, "Are you a cop?" 

"No, I'm not. I work for the FBI." She showed him her badge and smiled 
at him. He was quite cute. Bright green eyes poked
out from beneath the layers of dirt and grime. Scully knew exactly what 
this kid needed: a hot meal, and a bar of soap. Her
conscience was at war. Don't get involved, Scully. 

He's just a kid though. 

Yeah, and what could he be capable of? You know what kids are capable of 
these days. You see it every day. Come on,
get the hell out of here. You got some evidence. Get out. 

But-what if-? 

What if, what? What, do you think he was here or something? Come on, get 
a grip girlfriend. 

Would it hurt to ask? I think not. 

She ignored what the other half of her mind was saying to her at that 
moment. "Were you here a few nights ago?" 

He eyed her suspiciously. "Maybe." 

Scully realized that she was going to have to do some heavy bargaining. 
She grinned. "Do you think a hamburger might jog your
memory?" 

His smile gave her all the answer she needed. 

July 8 

12:38 AM 

Scully trudged into the apartment, tired but pleased. She had learned a 
lot from the young boy named Charlie. Granted, the
double cheeseburger, onion rings, milkshake and hot fudge sundae 
probably helped him give her the information. Apparently,
that alley was where Charlie and his dog (who was named Marvin) usually 
slept. In the wintertime, they would sleep in a
Dumpster, but in the summertime, they would sleep high up in one of the 
neighboring buildings' fire escapes. While listening to
him, Scully tried to ignore the pangs in her heart at the thought of 
this boy curling up next to cockroaches and rats for a good
night's sleep. Charlie had gone off on a tangent explaining to Scully 
how hard it was getting a dog up into the fire escape.
Finally, he got back to the story at hand. He had been up in the fire 
escape the night Mulder was taken. He gave Scully a full
account of what he saw. 

Charlie had just settled in for the night when a man drove a van up to 
the alley. He got out of his van and walked into the alley.
He had found a spot to sit next to a Dumpster. He sat there until Mulder 
arrived. Given what Charlie said, he waited for Mulder
for about a half an hour. Charlie sat up in the fire escape, unseen. He 
had just been starting to doze off when he heard the man
get up from his spot beside the Dumpster. At that point, Charlie had 
woken up and became an audience and, Scully hoped, a
viable witness. From what the young boy told her, he sat and watched as 
a man (Mulder) jogged by. The other man stepped
out of the alleyway and shot him in the leg. Scully had tried to listen 
objectively, but her imagination had started to go wild with
Charlie's vivid description of Mulder collapsing to the ground. The 
amount of blood had been unbelievable, or so he had said.
Scully hadn't lost her composure at all during his synopsis. 

"Did you hear anything?" She had asked. 

He most definitely did hear something. That something was not a gunshot 
though. Scully noted that the abductor had probably
used a silencer. This had advantages, as Scully found out. Charlie was 
able to hear everything that was being said. Mostly what
he heard was Mulder. Apparently, while he was laying on the pavement 
bleeding profusely, he began reciting the Miranda
Rights. Scully wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. The 
vision of Mulder being so typically Mulder made her want to
chuckle. On the other hand, her worst fears were confirmed. Mulder was 
indeed kidnapped and was suffering from a severe
injury. Scully didn't even want to contemplate the infection that was 
probably overtaking the gunshot wound by now. 

Scully looked at her watch. It was nearly one in the morning. Common 
sense told her she should try and get some sleep. She
wouldn't be any use to anyone, much less Mulder, if she wasn't running 
on all six cylinders. It had been a very long couple of
days. She was physically as well as mentally exhausted. "All I need is a 
shower. That'll wake me up." She murmured to the
empty apartment. A nice hot shower was exactly what she needed to revive 
her. A pot of coffee wouldn't hurt either. 

About an hour later, Dana was still poring over the rest of the contents 
of Mulder's packet. She had finished a half of a pot of
the coffee and had begun to convince herself she wasn't tired. She never 
got into the shower. She didn't want to waste any time
that she could be devoting to finding her partner, but Scully's body was 
having a hard time keeping up with the demands she
was making on it. She found herself seeing double as she tried to 
concentrate on the words in front of her. Her brain was having
a hard time processing what should have been simple information. Instead 
of giving in to her weary state, she got angry at it. She
stood up to stretch in an attempt to invigorate her tired body. Angry 
tears clouded her vision, which made her even madder. In
a rare display of temper, Dana Scully kicked her couch with as much 
ferocity as she could muster. The pain shot up her leg, but
she did not notice it. She had begun to pace around the apartment not 
unlike a caged animal. She was fighting so many things,
she couldn't even begin to count them. Everything from the FBI to a 
faceless psycho to herself. She sat down on the couch,
noting that her foot had begun to throb. At least the tears had 
subsided. She leaned back and closed her eyes for what she only
thought would be a second. Scully fell asleep sitting up. She had lost 
the war she had been waging with exhaustion-for now. 

She knew she was dreaming. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Dana Scully knew what she was 
witnessing couldn't be real. She was so willing to
lose herself in the dream though. Mulder, pressing close to her, his 
warm breath tickling her ear. She wrapped her arms
around him vowing never to let him go. The sound of his voice, a sexy 
chuckle that seemed to envelope her. She could
feel his lips, his soft, smooth lips play against her forehead, then her 
temple, then her jawline, then the sensitive flesh on
her neck. His hands buried themselves in her hair as she shivered at his 
touch. She moved closer to him, her cheek
against the smooth fabric of his shirt. She could see him, smell him, 
feel him, and hear the thud of his heartbeat, could
she taste him? She looked up into those familiar green eyes. Those eyes 
that were always hiding something. They
absolutely gleamed right now as she lifted her mouth to his. She felt 
shudders wrack his body and he convulsed in pain.
They two fell to the ground as he begged her to make it stop. She 
watched helplessly as tears formed in his eyes. Blood
seemed to come from nowhere as he continued to beg her to ease the pain. 

"Make it stop, Scully. Please make it stop." 

She was still clutching him and could begin to feel a heat spread 
through his body. She pressed her lips to his forehead
willing the fever to go down. He continued to groan in pain as sores 
began to open up on his skin. Festering boils
marred his features. She could hardly absorb what was happening to him. 
She couldn't understand it. She could only
hold him and promise him she'd fix it. She'd fix everything. 

"I can save you Mulder." 

She held his dying body in her arms as he continued to shake and 
convulse. He was quickly covered in blood from his
sores. Scully too, was drenched in blood. Mulder's blood. 

Mulder's blood on her hands. 

Scully sat up with a start, that final thought echoing through her mind. 
She looked at her hands, searching for any trace of
Mulder's blood. Though she saw nothing, she still felt compelled to get 
up and wash her hands. 

On her way to the bathroom, she saw the time. It was 5:03 in the 
morning. She had only slept about three hours. That was
good. She didn't want to lose any time on this. She had a lot to do 
today. She had never gotten around to that shower the night
before and felt particularly grimy. Once in the bathroom, she began 
getting ready to face the day. She got ready quickly, as
dawdling only gave her mind time to reflect on the nightmare. She had to 
drop the blood and the shell off to the crime lab. She
had a few favors she could call in to keep this new information 
discreet. It probably wasn't a very smart thing to keep this from
the investigative team, but Scully really thought she could proceed 
quicker if she did this on her own. 

The Hoover Building 

7:08 AM 

Sci-Crime Lab 

Scully dropped the scrapings and the shell off to Agent Karen Williams. 
Dr. Williams was an expert in forensics and promised
Scully she would have the results of her tests to her by early that 
afternoon. She knew she could trust Karen to keep this quiet.
The two of them had gone to college together and entered the academy 
together. Over the years, they had drifted apart slightly,
but there was still a foundation of friendship that Scully knew she 
could count on. 

"You realize that what you're asking me to do is a major breach of 
protocol." She had said. 

Scully could only nod. "If you only knew how often I've found myself 
repeating that very phrase to myself over the past few
days." 

Her friend had only smiled. "Aren't you supposed to be taking a leave of 
absence?" 

Scully had taken a seat on a nearby stool. "Karen, if you only knew-if 
you only knew all we've been through. Taking a leave
of absence-that's just not an option. I can't just sit by and twiddle my 
thumbs. I have to do something." 

Agent Williams had nodded understandingly. "I'll call you by 2 Dana. I 
promise." 

Scully had smiled at her friend and got up to leave. She had the 
unfortunate honor of running into AD Skinner in the hallway. He
stopped and looked at Scully curiously. 

"Agent Scully." 

She nodded in acknowledgement. "Sir." 
"My office, 10 minutes." 

She swallowed nervously. "Yes sir." 

He nodded briskly, turned and walked away. 


Subject: Ill Be Seeing You 4/7?

The sudden surge of adrenaline had left Scully shaky. She walked quickly 
to a nearby ladies room and leaned over the sink.
What she needed was a Mulder-style pep talk. As she looked at her 
reflection she imagined what he would be saying to her
right now. In a far corner of her mind, she heard his voice. 

Okay Scully, so he wants to talk to you. You know that he doesn't have 
any interest in talking about the weather.
Chances are, he wants to either see what the hell you're doing here when 
you're supposed to be sitting on your hands
back home. Either that, or he wants to brief you on how the official 
investigation is going. Now, you know as well as I
do that he's not going to order you to stop your investigation. You know 
why? Because he doesn't know you're
conducting an investigation. He knows you're not doing what he ordered 
you to do, but hey, what the hell does he
expect? You're my partner. Some of my bad habits have probably rubbed 
off on you by now. He's going to try though.
He's going to press you and try to find out what you've been up to. Just 
be a rock. Give him that "Little Miss
Innocent" shit you always try with me. Be careful though, he'll probably 
have someone following you or some other
covert shit. Now, you had better pull yourself together and go in there 
and be Special Agent Dana Scully, okay? I love
you. 

Where the hell had that come from? 

Scully turned the water on and quickly splashed some cold water on her 
face. She took some cleansing breaths and headed for
Skinners' office. She found the door open. She walked in and took a 
seat. Skinner looked at her hard for a moment before he
spoke. 

"We're having very little progress in our investigation into Agent 
Mulder's disappearance. So far, the sweep of the apartment
has yielded no prints. We can find nothing out of the ordinary. His 
personal papers seem to be intact, for the most part, his
belongings seem to be left undisturbed. The search of his car has 
brought similar results. So far, we're at a dead end." 

This was not what she had wanted to hear. "This is what you wanted to 
see me about Sir?" It was hard to talk past that lump in
her throat, but she managed. 

Walter Skinner leaned back in his chair and thought a moment before 
continuing. "You were Agent Mulder's partner-" 

"I still am." 

He acknowledged the defensiveness in her tone and continued. "You are 
Agent Mulder's partner. You would know better than
I or any of my team if something was missing from Agent Mulder's 
personal effects." 

"What exactly are you leading to Sir?" 

"I'm giving you an opportunity, Agent Scully. I am giving you an 
opportunity to go through the crime scene. I am giving you full
license to examine any and all evidence we've collected. The only 
stipulation is that if you find something that would appear to
be important to the investigation, you inform us." 

Scully thought about this for a moment. An opportunity to examine the 
evidence and crime scene without having to break in was
rather appealing to her. She couldn't help but suspect that the AD had 
some ulterior motives of his own. She could tell just by
sitting there watching him that he wasn't trusting her and he knew she 
wasn't trusting him. They sat there, staring at each other
for a very tense minute. He was waiting for her answer. This was too big 
of an opportunity to pass up. She nodded her assent. 

"When can they expect you?" 

"I can be there right away, Sir." 

"Fine then. I'll tell the Special Agent in Charge to expect you." 

She got up to leave. "Who is heading up the investigation?" 

"Agent Diana Fowley." 

Scully had a very bad feeling about this. She lifted herself out of the 
chair and started for the door. 

"And Agent Scully?" 

She turned. "Yes Sir?" 

"If you had been conducting an independent, unofficial investigation, 
you would tell me, would you not?" 

She forced her face to look neutral. "Of course Sir." 

He nodded, unconvinced. "I thought so." 

She continued toward the door. The hallway was a nice change from the 
increasingly stifling atmosphere of Skinners office was
beginning to get to her. Best get used to it Scully. It's not going to 
be getting any better. You wanted access. You now
have access. Let's just hope you find something-and don't kill Fowley in 
the process. She had respect for the agent who
had worked with Mulder before she did, but she didn't have to like her. 
In fact, she didn't like her. Scully didn't like Diana
Fowley at all. She didn't like the way she pushed herself onto Mulder. 
Scully still felt something rotten in the pit of her stomach
when she remembered nearly walking in on the two of them during what 
appeared to be an extremely intimate moment. Mulder
had explained it all to her later. From what Mulder said, Diana had 
started to spark something between them that had long since
died. Scully still didn't feel comfortable around her. Well Girlfriend, 
you're just going to have to get over it. Just because
you find something doesn't mean you necessarily have to share it. 

Why Dana, that would be so dishonest, so sneaky, so-so Mulder! Scully 
didn't really like the turn her mind was taking. She
was sounding less and less like herself and more and more like her 
partner. She walked down to her car and sat inside the plush
interior and tried to organize her thoughts. She still had to find out 
as much as she could about the initial victims. Perhaps she'd
follow up on that after meeting Agent Fowley at Mulder's apartment. She 
still had to talk to Agent Morris. Dammit. And I was
here too! Shit. She glanced at her watch and tapped the wheel. I could 
swing back later and try to catch her either right
before lunch or right after lunch, depending on how long I'm at 
Mulder's. She started the engine and started on her way to
Alexandria. 

Mulder's Apartment 

8:10 AM 

Scully wasn't sure if she should knock or just go right in. She tried 
the knob and found it locked. She knocked softly and
waited. There was no answer. She knocked again and waited. Again, there 
was no answer. 

"Well, I'm not waiting all day for this." She pulled Mulder's key out of 
her purse and stuck it in the lock. Within minutes she had
gained access to the crime scene and looked around. She was experiencing 
such conflicting feelings in this place. Every time she
turned around, she expected to see Mulder sprawled out on the couch, 
hunched over the desk or coming out of the kitchen
drinking milk from the carton. She wandered around the empty apartment, 
absently wondering where all the agents were. At
least Diana should be there. She silence made her uneasy. She kept an 
ear open for footsteps that might belong to one of her
fellow agents as she started going through Mulder's things. She knew 
there was a collection of evidence at the Hoover building,
but she would go through that later. There was a lot here she was sure 
that someone who didn't know Mulder would have
glossed over. She felt like she was intruding as she went through his 
belongings. She walked over to his dresser and started
looking through his things. Clothes, clothes, clothes and more clothes 
were dumped on the floor. Mixed in with the clothes, she
came across a few packets of photos and glanced through them. She wasn't 
sure what possessed her then, but she took the
photos. She placed them under her shirt in the waistband of her jeans. 
She looked around guiltily. She saw no one and
continued her search. She was looking through the contents of his 
underwear drawer, which were presently sitting on the floor in
a haphazard heap. Scully felt herself blush as she pawed through boxers, 
tank tops, and socks. She wasn't sure what she
expected to find, the last thing she expected to find though, was a 
small velvet box mixed in with his unmentionables. She
handled it gingerly, Frohikes words echoing in her mind. Something about 
Diana Fowley being Mulder's "chickadee." She
wondered how far the term went. Was she married to him? She was afraid 
to open the box. She opened it carefully. She let
out the breath she didn't know she had been holding. 

It was his Oxford class ring. 

She looked around again and pulled the ring from the box. She slipped it 
into her jeans pocket. The cool metal burned against
her thigh. She knew she should be looking for things relating to the 
case, but right at the moment she was looking for things that
would ease her sanity. She walked around trying not to step on anything. 
The apartment looked even worse than it had when
Scully found it a few days ago. She felt so disjointed. The apartment 
was Mulder's and yet, it wasn't. There was another pile of
clothes, Mulder's clean laundry no doubt, dumped by the couch. Scully 
sat down and started putting the clothes back into the
basket that had been overturned. From the far reaches of her mind, a 
voice called to her, telling her not to mess with the crime
scene. She wasn't listening though. She felt the familiar fabric between 
her fingers. His T-shirts, jeans, socks and boxers that
had fallen in a haphazard heap were now being folded and placed 
carefully back in the laundry basket. God, if he only knew
that he's got you doing his laundry now- 

Once the clothes were back in the basket, she lifted a gray T-shirt off 
of the top of the pile. She held it to her face, inhaling
deeply. Past the scent of the detergent, she could smell Mulder. The 
subtle scent unlocked a gate of sensations she hadn't been
prepared for. The lump in her throat formed so quickly, it nearly choked 
her. She took a deep, steadying breath and closed her
eyes. She looked around quickly and guiltily stuffed the shirt into her 
purse. 

"Okay Scully, let's get down to business here. Time to focus on the task 
at hand." She had found herself talking to herself more
and more lately. It was comforting somehow. She had even been able to 
convince herself it was normal. She began to comb
through the crime scene looking for anything. She wasn't feeling very 
optimistic at that point though. 

12:05 PM 

Scully had been sitting sifting through Mulder's things all morning. She 
was exhausted and frustrated. She found nothing of any
consequence to the case. She did, however, find a multitude of his 
"Celebrity Skin" issues. She only shook her head and smiled
when she found them. She also found a black and white composition 
notebook: the beginnings of a journal that Mulder had
started around the time of Scully's cancer. She had begun to read, but 
found after one page she couldn't read any more of
Mulder's most intimate thoughts. She set the book down. She needed to 
splash some water on her face to wash away the tears
she had shed so far. 

Mulder's bathroom also looked like a tornado had whipped through it. 
Scully found herself getting irritated at her fellow agents
for not caring about what they did to Mulder's home. It wasn't much of a 
home, but it was his home nonetheless. She leaned
over the sink and splashed her face with cold water. As she looked at 
herself in the mirror, her eye caught something in the
shower. A tube of shower gel. She had never thought Mulder the "shower 
gel" type. She had always pegged him as a "bar"
man. She turned in the tiny bathroom and retrieved the tube. She flipped 
the top open and inhaled. Again, memories came
rushing to her caused by this simple scent. Mostly, she was reminded of 
their last night together. She blinked back the ensuing
tears. It was silly, but she had to have it. She brought the tube out 
into the living room with her and stuffed it in her purse with
the T-shirt. 

Scully looked around her. There wasn't anything here. She had wished she 
could have been more help, but knowing Mulder
like she knew Mulder, she wasn't surprised to find nothing in this 
apartment. She slung the purse on her shoulder and turned to
leave. As she reached the door, she heard a key turn in the lock. Scully 
stopped, startled. She was more startled to see who
was on the other side of the door. 

Agent Diana Fowley. 

Scully froze, as did the other agent. They stood there uncomfortably, 
staring at each other. 

"Agent Scully." 

"Agent Fowley." She acknowledged this woman in front of her with what 
could only be referred to as cool professionalism.
That was something Dana Scully was an expert at. She felt the need to 
elaborate. "AD Skinner told me to-" 

"I know. He called me. I thought you'd work better if you weren't 
distracted." 

She started to smile. "Well, I-I've got to leave. I'm sorry I couldn't 
be more help. There just isn't anything here. I could find
nothing at all." 

"Don't worry. No one else could either." 

There wasn't anything else to say and the two women just stood there 
awkwardly. "Well, Agent Scully-thank you for coming
over and helping-I-" 

"It's no problem at all. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be going." 

Diana moved out of the doorway and let Scully pass. Scully was halfway 
down the hallway when she heard Agent Fowley
calling after her waving something. Scully turned around as Diana 
reached her. 

"Agent Scully, you left this-it is yours, isn't it?" It was obvious she 
hadn't read the contents of the black and white composition
notebook. Scully took it hesitantly. 

"Um, yes. Yes, it is. Thank you, I must have just-overlooked it." 

10:30 PM 

Scully's Apartment 

It had been another long day. She walked into the apartment and, after 
locking the door behind her, she kicked her shoes off
and wandered into the living room. Scully couldn't remember the last 
thing she had eaten before she'd met Elizabeth Morris for
lunch. Scully had dropped back by the Hoover building after the 
encounter with Agent Fowley. She had gone through the
collection of evidence from Mulder's place. There was nothing of any 
consequence there either. After that, she had found Agent
Morris in her office typing up a report on her laptop. She'd invited the 
taller woman to lunch at the deli down the street. Even
though Scully had no appetite, she knew she had to at least make an 
attempt to eat. 

She had listened to Agent Morris talk about her work at the bureau and 
how she liked things so far. Scully sat, picking at her
salad and sipping her iced tea, listening intently. When she brought up 
the incident with Agent Murphy, Elizabeth had grown
very quiet. 

"I was assigned to him. He was my first partner-a really great guy. We 
got along really well. I always considered myself lucky
to have a partner I was also friends with." 

"What did you do when you discovered that he was missing?" Scully had 
tried to be as gentle as possible in approaching the
subject. 

"We were on a stakeout. I remember that we had been assigned to the case 
on the 25th. It was June 1st. I remember because
the next morning, the bodies of the two officers were found. Anyway, we 
were staking out this one locale. It had come up as an
anonymous lead-and ended up being a residence, a very deserted 
residence. He had called in an order for a pizza at a place
down the street. He said he would only be a minute and that he would 
walk it. After about 20 minutes, I phoned the pizzeria.
Our order was still there. He had never picked it up. At that point I 
called the Assistant Director. I didn't know what to do-I
was sure that something had happened to him. It was like he just 
disappeared off the face of the earth. Not a trace of him
anywhere. And no one saw anything either. That's the amazing thing. 
Washington DC, millions of people, and nobody saw a
thing." The bitterness in her tone had been unmistakable. 

"What did you do though?" 

"Dana, I have never lost a partner before. I wasn't sure how to handle 
it. I've never lost a friend before either. Trust me, of the
two; losing the friend was harder. Then, after about a week, the letters 
started coming." 

"Letters?" 

"Yes. I started getting letters from someone claiming to be the man we 
had been investigating. They were horrible disturbing
letters-all about what Eric had been going through." Her eyes then 
clouded over with a misting of tears. 

"Did you keep them?" Scully couldn't get over how insensitive that had 
sounded. 

"I included them in the evidence for the case. I'm sure if you get 
Eric's file, you'll be able to read them for yourself." 

Scully had found that she couldn't meet the woman's eyes. 

"Dana?" 

"Yes?" 

What the younger agent said only came out as a hoarse whisper. "I hope 
you find Agent Mulder." 

"Me too." 

Scully had driven Elizabeth back to the Hoover building and decided she 
needed to take a look at Agent Murphy's file. An
unexplained, missing person's case. Sounded almost like an X-File, since 
it hadn't been solved yet. She knew better though. She
had acquired the file through VCS and brought it back down to her desk. 

After examining the file for nearly 2 hours, Scully had come to one 
conclusion. Sometimes following protocol wasn't a good
thing. From what she could tell, Agent Morris had worked on this case 
instead of being left out of it. Scully had thought that that
had been a bad call on whoever made the decision. Agent Morris should 
have taken a leave of absence just like Scully was
asked to. But you haven't taken that leave yet Dana-The deeper she dug 
into the case, the more similarities she saw
between herself and Agent Morris. They both had an extreme respect for 
the bureau and it's rules. Elizabeth Morris was
probably more of a stickler for rules and protocol than even Scully. 
Following the rules didn't save her partner though. 

Scully sank into her couch weighing her options. She could either go 
find Mulder like Francine Taylor tried to find her partner;
or she could sit back and let the FBI do their thing. In both instances, 
the men still turned up dead. This left Scully with a
dilemma. What can I do to get him back? Two women before me have tried 
the two routes I would have tried, and they
both failed. If I go find Mulder like some obsessed vigilante, I risk 
being killed in the process. If I sit back like I'm
expected to do, then Mulder will most surely be killed. She wasn't sure 
where to turn next. 

For a moment, she had nearly forgotten about the folder in her hands. 
She had taken copies of the letters sent to Agent Morris
so that she could cross-reference them to the letters sent to Francine 
Taylor. There were four letters addressed to Elizabeth
Morris. Scully had gone to the Georgetown Police Department to try and 
find out where the rest of Francine Taylor's mail
would be. After a quick flash of her badge, she had gained entrance to 
the evidence room. The final letter to Francine Taylor
was there. Scully got a copy of it, after flashing her badge once more, 
and saved it for later reference. 

She had read all eight letters and there was something she couldn't 
quite touch on yet. There was something odd about them.
There was a little voice whispering in the back of her mind to read them 
again. She sat on the couch and pulled the sheets of
paper out of the manila folder. She paid specific attention to the dates 
at the top of all the letters. There was something to them,
she was sure. 

Suddenly, it hit her. Francine Taylor had been missing at the time she 
received the fourth and final letter notifying her of Michael
Donovan's death. However, when they were found, the time of death 
estimated for the two officers were only hours apart.
Scully couldn't be sure, but it seemed to her that this killer was 
trying to-to what? Is he writing these letters not necessarily
telling what has already happened, but what will happen? Francine should 
have received a letter telling her Michael
was dead. But, if they were both killed around the same time, then 
Michael wasn't dead when the letter was sent. But
that doesn't make any sense. Unless, he sends out the final letter then 
waits to kill them. But why? A chance to let them
be rescued? What the hell? 

She read the letters over and over again, trying to find similarities. 
The last letters to both Francine and Elizabeth were
exceptionally taunting. Over and over again he wrote that it was okay 
that they couldn't save him. It was okay, and these men
died forgiving them. But when Scully tried to think of these men not 
being dead yet-that was nearly too much for her to
fathom. There was no doubt in her mind though, that Michael Donovan did 
not die as specified in the letter. The letter telling of
his death was dated May 31, a Sunday. Mulder last saw Francine Taylor on 
the 29th, which was a Friday. The letter was
postmarked June 1st and probably reached her house on the 2nd. Their 
bodies were found early the 2nd and they had been
dead anywhere from 12-15 hours. Scully had requested the autopsy reports 
on them and noted the name of the coroner who
had done not only Taylor and Donovan's autopsy, but Murphy's as well. It 
was another old friend of hers, Dr. Sydney
Dawson. She would pay Dr. Dawson a visit bright and early the next 
morning. Perhaps Syd would be able to provide her with a
little insider information not only on the two Georgetown officers, but 
on Agent Murphy as well. 

It was 12:30 and there wasn't much more she could do for the day. She 
had gotten names and numbers of the initial victims'
families (all but the 18-year-old woman). That would be an avenue for 
her to explore tomorrow. It was far too late to be
phoning grieving families. She could read the autopsy reports again, 
just as she could read the letters to Elizabeth and
Francine-again. She knew she didn't want to sleep. She knew she didn't 
want to eat (especially not after she had had such a
hard time keeping her lunch down all day.) Scully turned on the TV and 
flipped through the channels, ignoring the siren call of
her purloined possessions. She still felt the weight of the ring in her 
pocket. She still had Mulder's plain gray T-shirt in her purse
along with the shower gel. Scully had also stuffed the photographs in 
there once she got to her car. She still had the notebook
Agent Fowley had mistakenly thought was hers. 

Scully turned off the television and dug into her pocket. She retrieved 
the ring and held it in her hand, marveling at the sheer
weight of it. It was a simple signet ring with the Oxford crest 
imprinted on it. On the inside of the ring were the tell tale marks of
an engraving worn away with time. She could make out "F.W. Mulder" and 
then a date. She couldn't make out the date, but she
was sure that it was his graduation date. Scully felt ridiculous doing 
so, but she attempted to slip the ring on her finger. It fell off
of every finger and just barely stayed on her thumb. She sat there a 
minute, rubbing her finger over the smooth gold.
Mechanically, she unfastened her chain from around her neck and slipped 
the ring on it. She put the necklace back on and
touched the ring to her skin. On one level, it felt funny-hokey almost. 
On another level, a much deeper level, it felt right. She
toyed with it a few moments before she got up and got her purse from the 
counter where she had dropped it upon coming in. 

She pulled out the T-shirt and shower gel. In Scully's mind, there was 
no better time for a shower. 

She was unprepared for the onslaught of memories that would assault her 
when she lathered the masculine scent up and down
her arms. It was what Mulder had smelled of on their last night 
together. She inhaled and filled her lungs up with Mulder. How
odd he could be so far away, and yet she was feeling closer to him than 
she had in ages. After the shower, she wrapped herself
in her robe and went into her room. The T-shirt was on the bed. Scully 
opened her underwear drawer and began rifling through
it. What she found next made her freeze. 

Boxers. Black, silk boxers. Mulder's boxers. She remembered how they got 
there. Mulder's apartment had been fumigated
and Scully invited him to use her couch. They must have gotten mixed up 
in her laundry. That didn't matter now. 

She snatched them up and slid them up her hips over her panties. She 
pulled the T-shirt over her head. She ran her fingers
through her wet hair and closed her eyes. He was there, around her, with 
her. Scully didn't want to open her eyes. She just
stood there, listening. 

Nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted. 

Hope you brought your cowboy boots. 

I think it's bile. -

          Is there any way I can get it off my fingers quickly without 
betraying my cool exterior? 

          Come on Scully, it will be a nice trip to the forest. 

Whatever tape you've found in that VCR, it isn't mine. - 

          Good, because I put it back in that drawer with all those 
other videos that aren't yours. 

          We're exhuming-your potato. 

          It feels good to put my arms around you. Both of them. 

          Scully, should we be picking out china patterns, or what? 

          Have the Father say a few Hail Mulders for me. 

          You try any of that Tailhook crap on me, Scully; I'll kick 
your ass! 

          I was told once that the best way to regenerate body heat is 
to crawl naked into a sleeping bag with
          somebody else who is already naked. - 

Well, maybe if it rains sleeping bags you'll get lucky. 

          Hey, Scully. Is this demonstration of boyish agility turning 
you on at all? 

          I was thinking about this case. Maybe it's not witchcraft 
after all. Maybe there's a scientific explanation. 

          My one in five billion- 

          You keep me honest. You make me whole- 

Her eyes snapped open. For the first time in days she didn't feel like 
crying. Her soul, her body was tired. She was waging a
constant battle in herself. She was telling herself that she wasn't 
doing enough, but on the other hand, she couldn't think of what
else to do. She had worked tirelessly for days, and for what? She was no 
closer to finding Mulder than she ever was. 

Mulder. She said the name over and over in her mind. How could he feel 
so close when he was so far away? Scully inhaled and
expelled a sigh. How could he not feel close when you've got him 
practically wrapped around you? His scent, his
clothes-how much closer can you get to someone without being in his 
skin? 

A lot closer. 

As much as he felt like her other half, there had always been something 
missing. Something intangible that had almost been
touched upon once, in a hallway, not too long ago. A sharp sting had 
stripped away anything that might have been though. One
tiny insect changed their path, or had it kept their path from changing? 
For what wasn't the first time, Dana Scully contemplated
being so close to Fox Mulder. Not only physically close, but emotionally 
and spiritually close as well. If she thought hard
enough, she could feel him in her arms. His forehead had felt smooth and 
slightly damp with sweat. She remembered feeling his
pulse under her fingertips. She could absently remember his thumb 
stroking the side of her face. She had felt his breath on her
face-so close-just an inch closer- 

"Dammit Dana, stop it!" 

Scully hadn't realized that she had spoken out loud until she heard the 
silence afterward. She took a few shaky breaths and
decided that she had abused her body for long enough. If she couldn't 
eat, the very least she could do for herself would be to
get a decent night's sleep. She walked slowly and silently to her bed. 
Scully pulled back the comforter and got in, realizing how
long it had been since she had been in her bed. The night Mulder was 
kidnapped. 

Don't you mean `abducted?' Her mind taunted her. 

Po-tay-to, Po-tah-to-The Mulder voice echoed out from the back of her 
mind one last time. 

Scully nearly turned off the light, but thought better of it. She was 
beginning to dislike the dark. It was lonely. Scully just lay
there, eyes closed, willing sleep to come. She tried deep breathing, 
counting backwards from one hundred, but nothing worked.
She was still wide-awake. 

Dammit. 

She tried turning off the light. She tried switching positions. She 
tried getting out of bed and doing jumping jacks, sit-ups and
push-ups. Nothing was working for her. As she settled back on the 
pillows, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was
forgetting something. It was that nagging feeling...Scully sat up in bed 
and, while fingering the ring on her necklace, thought about
what she could be forgetting. 

Scully got out of bed and wandered about the apartment, checking her 
windows, and making sure that her faucets were turned
off. She saw the light blinking on her answering machine. That's it. 
Didn't check the machine. She hit the red button on her
answering machine and listened. One message from her mother, one from 
Skinner, and the last one was from Karen Williams. 

"Hey Dana-I guess if you were there you'd pick up by now. Well, I have 
those results you wanted. I was thinking that maybe
we could get together sometime and have some lunch. I spoke with Sydney 
Dawson and she's up for it as well. So, maybe this
week or next. You pick the place. I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow-I have 
information for you. I can only hope it'll help. See
ya." 

A smile crossed Dana's face for a moment. She was glad to hear from her 
friend. She had lived with Karen Williams and
Sydney Dawson while she was earning her doctorate. They all ended up 
being housemates with one thing in common: all three
women wanted to join the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It was odd 
that they ended up not only in the same school, but
actually living together. I mean, what were the odds? 



Subject: I'llBeSeeingYou-The right 5/?
*************

Relieved that she had found the annoyance that had been keeping her up. 
It was only when she turned to go back to her room
did she see what had actually been singing the siren song keeping her 
up. The black and white composition notebook was right
where Scully had set it down carefully. Right now, her fingers were 
itching to read the words. She needed to read the book-to
read Mulder's thoughts. 

"Not exactly my style of late night reading-" she picked up the book and 
went back to her bedroom. She sunk down into the
mattress and pulled the covers up protectively across her chest. The 
notebook lay in her lap, closed. She couldn't imagine what
he had been thinking when he decided to keep a journal. Scully steadied 
herself and opened the book. She began to read
Mulder's tiny printing. 

Late January, 1997 

She has cancer. My young, beautiful, energetic Scully has cancer. I know 
now that she has suspected it for a while. So
why couldn't she have come to me earlier? I would have been there with 
her through the tests. I would have given her
all the strength I have left in me. Why does she feel she has to do this 
alone? 

We just got back from Allentown. She was released from the hospital 
early this morning and we drove back with her
mother earlier this afternoon. She refused to talk to either one of us 
about it. About any of it. How are we going to
survive this if she won't talk about it? As we were standing in that 
hospital hallway after Penny Northern died, all I
wanted to do was take her in my arms and kiss all the pain away. But she 
pulled away from me. For a tiny moment I
saw in her eyes the love for me that I know is there, and for that tiny 
moment I was sure that she was going to open
herself to me and allow me entrance into her soul. And then as quickly 
as it came, it was gone. She had retreated from
me as she always does. 

If she thinks that I am going to allow her to fight this on her own, 
then she has another thing coming. It's because of
me that she was abducted in the first place. It's because of me that she 
has cancer. It's because of me that she can
never have the children that I know she desires. It's because of me that 
she is dying. And if it's the last thing I ever do
in this life, I am going to find the people responsible for this and 
make them pay. 

I swear to you, Scully, that you are not going to die because of me and 
my fucking quest for the truth. I am going to
find a cure for your cancer and you are NOT going to die. I won't allow 
it. Call me a selfish shit if you will, but I cannot
live without you. And sweetheart, we have too much to accomplish in this 
life together for you to go and die on me. 

Scully found herself breathing heavily, trying to circumvent any more 
tears from falling. She had promised herself that she
wouldn't cry any more, but she wasn't doing well with that promise so 
far. Of all of the experiences in her life, her cancer was
what changed her the most. The cycle of the illness from beginning to 
end took such an unbelievable toll on her. She still
remembered the treatments-Penny's death. Her own journal that she had 
written like a letter to Mulder. She had planned for
him to read it after she was dead and gone, something to ease his pain. 
And what had he done? He went and read it after she
had made the decision to live. To fight the cancer like she had been 
raised to fight every other adversity she had to face. But no,
Fox Mulder had to barge into her deepest, innermost thoughts and read 
them. Just like you're doing now? 

She concentrated on her breathing and waited until the tightness in her 
chest dissipated. She turned a few pages and started to
read again. 

February 24, 1997: 

I needed to take a few minutes away from our current case, a plane crash 
in upstate NY, to write some of my thoughts.
Yesterday was her birthday. 33 years old. I gave her a key chain. I 
really don't know why, of all the lovely and
thoughtful gifts I could have given her, I had to choose a stupid key 
chain. Maybe it was my way of telling her that I
expect to be giving her many gifts, better gifts, for years to come. 
Maybe I just thought it was a pretty cool keychain.
She said she liked it-and she had a whole bunch of symbolic things to 
tie into that key chain, which is good, because I
basically suck at the symbolism of gifts. This is not going to be the 
last birthday gift I ever give her. It's not the last
because she is not going to die. Not from this cancer. Happy birthday, 
Scully. 

The tightness had returned, but the tears had not begun to fall yet. She 
wouldn't let them fall. She packed her emotions down
inside her and willed herself to be strong. She could do this. She 
flipped further into the book. 

April 1997: 

She told me tonight that she was given this disease to make me believe. 
To make me believe in the lie that I have been
fed since the day Sam was taken from me. To make me believe that aliens 
exist here among us. What the fuck!? I
already believed! They are killing her to make me believe in something 
that I already believed in? 

When she first told me I felt as though she had reached inside me, 
pulled my heart out, and stomped her pretty little feet
on it. And then I remembered just which one of us is actually dying. 

I'm sorry, Scully. I told you that I would help you and I haven't. It 
seems as though I am the one killing you. I realize
now that we have been going at this all wrong. Scully, I love you, and I 
don't want you to die. I want nothing more
than for you-us- to have a normal, happy life. Is that even possible 
with me around? This journal is for you, Scully,
and I have labeled it as such. I know that you are going to find it 
someday-someday after I'm gone? And you will read
it. That's why I haven't left a note. Everything you need to know about 
me and how I feel about you is in here. I hope
in the end, once you get past all the hurt and the anger that you will 
feel towards me, that you will be able to read this
and find some comfort in my words. I hope, Scully, that you can forgive 
me. I don't want to leave you. I want to be
with you forever. But that's not possible right now, Scully. You deserve 
to live. Have a good life and always remember
that souls come together again and again. I will see you again. Of that 
much I promise. 

Goddammit! What I'd give to get my hands on the cigarette smoking, 
cancer ridden, tar stained son of a fucking bitch.
He deserves to suffer like he's making her suffer. The same way he's 
making me suffer. Sometimes I wonder if this is
what it's all about, to make my life a living, infernal hell. He's doing 
too good a job at it for that not to be it. They know
that I don't give a rat's ass if I live or die. Through Scully is the 
only way they can hurt me. 

Am I a depressing fuck, or what? 

Obviously I am still here. Perhaps it was divine intervention on Saint 
Scully's behalf. God knows I wouldn't have
chosen myself to live right now. Miraculously, I have been given the 
chance to help her without having to take my own
life. I've killed a man and now have asked her to lie. If I could have 
it completely my way, she wouldn't be involved in
this at all. But this is her life and she deserves to have a part in 
saving it. 

I just got back from seeing Frohike, Langly, and Byers. While she was at 
Bureau headquarters testifying in front of an
FBI joint panel committee, I was with the guys. I gained entrance into 
the Pentagon's highest level security and found
what I had hoped to be her cure. De-ionized water. Goddamn motherfucking 
de-ionized water. I sure am one foolish
fuck-head. How could I have believed that a cure actually existed? I'm 
sorry, Scully. I'm so sorry. 

She's dying. She's really dying this time. She's in the hospital, and 
short of a miracle, she's not going to live much
longer. When I walked into the ICU and saw her in that bed hooked up to 
all those machines, I doubled over in pain. It
physically hurt me to see her like that. I felt as though someone had 
stabbed me in the stomach. I couldn't breathe, I
couldn't see straight. It hurts more than anything has ever hurt me 
before. I vaguely remember Skinner-God, I hope I
didn't hit him-everything's just-I don't know-a blur. 

Oh god, Scully. I can't lose you. I NEED you in my life. I can't live 
without you. Don't you understand that? You are
the other half of my soul, Scully, and if you were to leave me, I 
couldn't survive. Please, Dana, you have to fight this.
There are so many things that I want-no, need to tell you and I will be 
damned if I say them to you on your deathbed.
Please don't leave me. Don't leave me. 

I have been given a chance to save Dana Scully's life. He wants me to 
join him. I was really considering his offer, to
join the men I have grown to despise. I nearly took it too, but once 
again Dana Scully saved me from myself. She
doesn't know she did, but she did. I wanted to see her, to talk to her, 
to tell her what I was going to do. Why? I don't
know if I wanted her to talk me out of it or what. I don't know why I 
went to the hospital last night. I know that even
though it might save her now, if she ever found out what I had done-I 
think it would kill her. 

I realized something today. Somewhere along the way, Dana Katherine 
Scully managed to work her way into my heart
and become the central focus of my life. I used to hold that place for 
Sam. Never in a million years did I think someone
else could take up that space. But Scully has done just that. 

I saw my sister last night. At least I think she is my sister. She told 
me some things that make a hell of a lot of sense and
explain an awful lot and yet, there are still so many things that have 
been left unexplained. For every answer she gave
me, I had five more questions. But it doesn't really matter whether or 
not she is really Samantha because my sister is no
longer the reason I live my life. I don't think she has been for a long 
time actually. Scully is the reason I live. It's
because of her that I continue to inhale and exhale and keep on keeping 
on. And now I have the chance to tell her
exactly how I feel. Knowing me though-I've chickened out before-why 
should this time be any different? 

I don't know what put her cancer into remission. I don't think any of us 
will ever know. I'm not one to believe in
miracles, but this instance really makes me think- All that matters to 
me is that my Scully has been returned to me. I
know that remission is not the same as cure. I know that her cancer 
could return at any moment, but damnit, she's here
with me and I am not going to let this opportunity go to waste. 

I only have one belief now. I believe in Scully. Sweetheart (God help me 
if I ever slip and call you that to your face), I
believe in you and I promise you that I will never take you for granted 
again. You are my life. 

The tears she had sworn she would not shed were falling, streaming from 
her eyes. She had thought there were no more tears
left. She had promised herself that she wouldn't be weak any more. She 
had promised herself that before she had ventured into
Mulder's most intimate thoughts. She had found the truth from the man 
who trusted no one. 

Of all of the experiences she had ever had in her life, those few days 
were probably the ones that had changed her the most.
Every minute, every second of those days from Mulder showing up at her 
apartment late at night, proclaiming it "too crowded"
to collapsing right before she could hand the board some conclusive 
evidence on a silver platter, to Mulder-Mulder there
whenever he could be. His being there had always been a comfort and a 
pain to her. He eased her loneliness and sorrow at a
time when it was at it's peak. On the other hand, he caused her pain; 
immense, crushing, deep pain when she began to consider
that she would never again be able to hold his hand. No more would she 
be able to dash his theories with a raise of her
eyebrow. No more would she be there when he called her in the middle of 
the night, knowing full well that neither of them was
sleeping. He had helped her through many hardships in her life, but none 
affected her like her cancer had. 

Scully closed the book. She was still crying, but it wasn't so much the 
pain of remembering her cancer as it was seeing what the
ever stoic Fox Mulder had really been thinking during that time. The 
gash her soul had been suffering from lately began to throb
anew. Scully rested back on her pillows and stared at the ceiling. 

"Oh Mulder-where are you?" 

2:00 AM 

She fell asleep, tears still wet on her face. 

She was walking down a dark alley. There was something familiar about 
it, but she couldn't quite put her fingers on it.
She had been there before. Familiarity struck. The alley where Mulder 
had been taken. 

She felt as though someone were watching her, following her. She started 
to walk faster, needing desperately to escape
the someone or something that she knew was stalking her. Her heart was 
beating rapidly, her breaths were coming out
in short frantic pants, her face became flush with sweat. All of a 
sudden, she was hit with a massive pain in her
forehead. Right where her tumor had been. Her vision became blurry and 
she became weak. Panic was setting in and
Scully knew she needed to escape it. She needed to escape this alley. 

She turned a corner. She was no longer in a dark alley. Wherever she 
was, there was a lot of light. Looking around,
Scully saw that she was in a church. Everything before her was seen in 
muted shades of white and gray except for a
few things, which were seen in brilliant color. A lone figure stood at 
the altar in the front of the church. Next to the
figure was a coffin and flowers, so many flowers. She could see that the 
flowers were brilliantly colored in reds,
yellows, and purples. The figure at the altar was in all black, except 
for a single red rose sitting in a buttonhole. 

She walked farther into the church, taking in the scene before her. No 
one was in the church except for the man at the
altar and her. He didn't seem to notice that she was there. As she got 
closer, Scully saw who the figure was. It was
Mulder and he was crying. She heard him saying things about her. About 
how much he respected her as an agent, as a
human being. He regretted never having said, `I love you' and calling 
her `sweetheart' to her face. He looked into the
coffin and screamed her name. `Scully! I'm so sorry.' He fell to his 
knees and buried his head in his hands. 

She ran up to the front of the church wanting to comfort him. Wanting to 
take him into her arms and tell him
everything was going to be all right. She wanted to tell Mulder that she 
was here and she was never going anywhere
again. She stopped abruptly as she reached the coffin. Mulder was no 
where to be seen. He had fallen to his knees right
there, but now he was gone. She looked wildly around the church. Scully 
was alone and scared. She had always been
afraid of death. It was the one thing that was completely out of her 
control. The coffin sat silently before her. Slowly,
she approached it. She didn't want to look in that oak box and see 
herself lying there, but curiosity got the better of
her. She held back a scream as she saw the face of the person in the 
coffin. Mulder. 

Scully sat up in bed, her heart racing. She looked at her clock: 3:48. 
She had only been asleep for a few hours. She wasn't sure
if she'd be able to, but she settled back on the pillows and tried 
desperately to relax. If her body hadn't been so overworked,
she probably would have had an easier time staying awake. Sleep claimed 
her a mere 10 minutes later. 

7:00 AM 

July 9, 1998 

Scully rolled over, sunlight pricking at her eyelids. She opened her 
eyes slowly and looked at her clock. The glowing digits
glared at her, blinking 7:02. She lay on her side and stared at the 
wall. Images from the night's nightmare flashed in her mind.
She didn't want to get up. She didn't want to move. She didn't want to 
be. All the fight had been sapped out of her. She had
been working so hard, so tirelessly for the past few days, and she knew 
she had a long road still ahead of her. Even after the
whopping five hours of sleep, she was exhausted. Her mind hadn't been 
resting at all, even while she slept. She looked at
Mulder's notebook that was still on the bed beside her. She closed her 
eyes and centered herself for a second. You can't give
up on him. It's only been a few days. He's still alive, Dana. You know 
he's alive. Alive and waiting for you to get up off
your lazy ass and find him. So get on with it girlfriend. Heave yourself 
out of bed and get to work. You have another
big day ahead of you. 

She took a quick shower, more to wake herself up than anything else. She 
couldn't resist using Mulder's shower gel once more.
The subtle scent of sandalwood was comforting to her. She dressed in 
chinos, a white polo shirt and brown loafers. She figured
she would take Karen up on that lunch offer when she dropped in to see 
her a little later that morning. She only hoped Sydney
would be available as well. She really needed some company. 

9:30 AM 

Dr. Karen Williams office 

"Dana, I just want you to know that the only reason I'm doing this for 
you is because you're my friend. To say this is against
protocol would be an understatement of grand proportions." 

Scully shifted uncomfortably in the padded seat across from her friend. 
She could tell from the look on Karen's face when she
walked in the room that she had something important to say. "Karen-I 
just don't know. I can't explain it. I know it's against
every rule in the book, but I think I'm the only one who can do this. 
I'm the only one who can solve this. I'm-his only hope." 

Special Agent Dr. Karen Williams looked hard at her housemate from so 
long ago. She had never seen Dana so beaten down,
so weary, so frustrated. She didn't want to think what would happen if 
Fox Mulder's body was found. She chewed her bottom
lip thoughtfully as she considered the best way to tell Dana her news. 
"Dana-I don't know how to tell you this-the blood is
Agent Mulder's. There is no doubt at all about that. The shell-I ran it 
by ballistics and what they have come up with so far is
fairly unremarkable. The shell is from a .357 Sig Sauer. There isn't 
much ammunition available yet because it's a newer model.
Actually, it's what a lot of the agents use. I've got one, you probably 
do too, as well as Agent Mulder. There are a few
interesting things about this gun in particular." She picked up the 
report on her desk and read from it. "Actually, the most useful
bit of information I can give you is that this model of Sig Sauer 
commonly exceeds 12 inches in penetration tests. If you go back
to where you found this, I'd be willing to bet that you'll actually find 
a bullet. I won't make any promises, but if you look-" She
trailed off. "Dana, if Mulder got shot in the leg like you seem to think 
he did, the bullet may have gone clean through, possibly
shattering the bone. If you find that bullet, that will probably open up 
some avenues for you. It would also-well, to put it
bluntly, if you find a bullet in that alleyway, at least you'll know 
that it isn't lodged somewhere inside of him." 

Scully could only nod. Her mind was whirling. Hearing Karen say these 
things only made Mulder's situation more real. She felt
the gun in her holster. Yes, she had shot Mulder once but it really was 
for his own good. She couldn't imagine the damage that
had been done to him by this stranger. For a moment, her personal mind 
stepped aside as her medical mind took over.
According to what Charlie had told her, Mulder had been shot in the 
calf. At such close range, it was probable that the bullet
did go clean through. However, it more than likely would have shattered 
the bone in the process. It was unlikely that if Mulder
had been shot in the calf at close range, the bullet would have gone 
through only muscle. She then thought about the infection
that would be raging through him by now if he hadn't gotten any medical 
attention-it was likely that he hadn't. Scully came
back to earth when she realized that Karen had asked her a question. 

"I'm sorry. I--I wasn't-" 

"Dana, it's okay-you're going through an awful lot of stress." Her 
friend got up from her chair and sat in the seat next to Scully.
"I just want you to know that you don't have to go through this alone. 
If you need anything-protocol or no, I want you to
know that I'm here." 

Scully swallowed hard. "Thanks." 

Karen stood up and leaned against her desk, arms folded across her 
chest. She was trying to look intimidating but at only an
inch taller than Scully, she wasn't doing a very impressive job of it. 
"Now, Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully, the most
important thing here besides finding your partner--alive--is to take 
care of yourself. I don't need to tell you how you're looking, I
think you're well aware of the fact that you look like shit." 

"No need to mince words Karen, just give it to me straight." 

"Dana-the only way you're going to live through this and find him is if 
you're at your best. You won't be at your best if you
don't take care of yourself first. And that, is where I come in." 

"What are you going to do? Eat for me?" 

"No, close though. I'm going to make sure you get your one balanced meal 
for the day. Syd and I are taking you to Kelly's." 

"Kelly's? I always pegged you more of the La Brasserie crowd." 

"Well, excuse me for saying, but I think the last thing you need is a 
hearts of palm salad with watercress. You need something
with more sustenance. You, my friend, need real food." 

"I don't have much of an appetite at the moment." 

"Of course you don't. It's 9:45 in the morning. You have plenty of time 
to work up an appetite. Don't you have some other
appointments around this place? AD Skinner has been asking about you. 
Now, you've been working with him for-nearly six
years? He knows something's up Scully. He asked me if I had seen you 
recently." 

She looked panicked. "What did you tell him?" 

Her friend smiled. "I told him the truth of course. I told him that if 
you're doing anything that's not kosher, I sure don't know
about it." There was a wicked gleam in her eyes. Scully felt her limbs 
get heavy with relief. "But Dana, be advised that he's
checking up on you. If you're going to do this, do it right. If he 
calls, talk to him. Don't brush him off because that'll just pique his
suspicion. If he wants to meet with you, meet with him. Act normal and 
he'll leave you alone. I think he's concerned about you
though. It wouldn't surprise me if he had assigned an agent to you. 

"What?" 

"Dana, look at it from his perspective. He's lost one agent, he doesn't 
need to lose another one. To the untrained eye, it looks
like you're falling apart. To someone who doesn't know you-" She trailed 
off. "Listen, I know we're practically in different
worlds in this place. I'm doing what you had initially wanted to do-and 
you're-doing something you never dreamed you'd be
a part of. But even though we're floors apart, I hear things. I've heard 
about Mulder. I heard about Chicago and VinylRight. It
looked to everybody that he was unraveling then. He was pretty hot 
gossip for a while. You know, the stress finally got to him
and all. What I'm saying is, Dana, don't give in to appearances. You 
might feel like you're falling apart. You might not feel in
control. Don't let anyone know that. If you can convince the world that 
you're calm, cool, and collected, then you've got the
hardest part down." 

At that point, Scully resolved to keep it together. She had made similar 
promises to herself during this ordeal, but hadn't done a
very good job of keeping those promises. Come on Dana, you're the Ice 
Queen, act the part. She nodded and cleared her
throat. "So, what time are we meeting for lunch?" 

"It'll be less crowded if we go around one." 

"One it is then." Scully got up to leave. "I have to go see Sydney. I'll 
mention it to her when I see her." 

"Who do you think suggested it?" 

Dr. Sydney Dawson's office 

10:15 

Scully could hear Sydney before she saw her. Apparently someone was on 
the receiving end of the agent's anger. 

"Well when you can explain to me-no, I don't much care. Now, if you can 
explain to me how a man can be shot-for God's
sake, will you let me finish?!?! Then explain-don't go giving me 
your-oh, that's bull and you know it. The man was shot. I do
an autopsy 12 hours later and-well I would if I could only-okay, this is 
what I want to know. I want to know how a 21
year old man in perfect health can be shot and less than a day later, I 
do an autopsy and it looks like a friggin' maggot fest! If I
hadn't known for sure that he was shot that morning-No, I don't know why 
he was rushed over here-well, she would have
if-Sure. Fine. Whatever." 

Scully heard the phone slam down on the receiver accompanied by an 
irritated sigh. She chose that minute to enter. The scowl
on the agent's face vanished and was replaced with a smile filled with 
relief. 

"Finally, a sane person." 

"What was that all about?" 

She pushed away from the desk and tucked a stray lock of brown hair 
behind her ear. "Okay, here's the deal. There's this
hostage thing that went down in North Carolina a few days ago. 
Disgruntled employee or some sort of thing. Anyhoo, this
moron tries to be Mr. Macho-Hero-Stud and got shot. Okay, now here's 
where it gets weird. For some reason unbeknownst
to me, the powers that be want this guy's autopsy, like, yesterday. So, 
it goes to me. It was supposed to go to you-don't ask
me, I don't know-but you're on leave--supposed to be on leave--so I 
guess I'm the next best thing or something. So I beat
feet over to the morgue and do my slicing dicing schtick. I got no 
further than the "Y" incision when I stopped. The guy was
totally rotten inside! Decomposition that would lead me to believe he 
had been dead-anywhere from 36 to 72 hours at least.
The body didn't look that bad. I mean, it was bad, don't get me wrong, 
but it wasn't THAT bad. I would have guesstimated
he'd been dead-oh, 24 hours or so. And even that-I mean, when do you 
mistake someone who's been dead 12 hours for
someone who's been dead for 24 hours?" She paused and took a breath. "I 
know what you're here for. So, how about a little
privacy?" She got out of the chair and closed the door. She went back to 
her desk and sat down, busying herself with trying to
find something on her desk. 

"Look at the back of his neck." 

Her head snapped up and she took off her reading glasses. "What?" 

"Your 21 year old man. Examine his neck." 

"And what, pray tell, will I be looking for?" 

"A puncture wound. Have you gotten any tox screens back?" 

"Not yet." 

"If I'm right, you'll find a toxin in his system." 

"Dana Katherine, where are you going with this?" 

"I-I saw something similar to it once." 

She shrugged, "Okay-though I can't say that I know what I'm looking 
for." 

"You'll know it when you see it." 

Sydney looked at her and raised her eyebrow. God, she picked that up 
from me. "Dawson, trust me for once." There was a
beat of silence, then her friend nodded. 

"Okay. Now-you." The glasses went to perch on her nose again. There were 
several manila folders on the desk. Scully could
see the names typed on the labels. Two of them had come from the 
Georgetown PD. One of them was Agent Murphy's. She
had already seen the autopsy reports for Taylor and Donovan. She had 
waited to look at Agent Murphy's until she was with
Sydney since Sydney had done the autopsy. Scully sat down across from 
her friend. There was one trait about Sydney she
liked. The woman never minced words-well aside from a little bit of 
incessant babbling when she was frustrated. 

"What killed him?" 

"You're asking my professional opinion as a coroner?" 

"Yes." 

"Drowned. No two ways about it. The boy drowned." 

"You're sure?" 

"Dana, come on!" She whipped the file folder open and began pointing 
things out. "First of all, there was significant irritation of
the mucous membranes. There was also mucous in his windpipe. He had some 
sort of water plant, possibly a stem of a water
lily or something, grasped in his hand. There was an inordinate amount 
of water from the water hazard in his stomach and if that
wasn't enough, I compared the chloride content and the magnesium content 
in the right and left ventricles of the heart! He
drowned, Dana." 

"Calm down Sydney. I just needed to know because-well, I'm not one to 
listen to rumors or anything but-" 

Up went the eyebrow again. "What did you hear?" 

"That you had a difficult time determining the cause of death." 

Her voice softened as she took of her glasses. "Dana-why do you think I 
made sure? Why do you think I went so far to prove
he had drowned? I had to do it for myself. When I got Murphy-God, that 
was one of the hardest things I ever had to do-
Well, just from looking at him, I would have been sure he had died from 
his injuries or perhaps internal bleeding or from an
infection-but once I saw the plant in his hand, I had to dig deeper and 
make sure. I had to make sure there was no question
about it. Eric Murphy was alive when he was dumped at that golf course. 
Now, just a personal opinion, I don't think he was
very alive. In fact, I think it might have even been possible for his 
murderer to have thought he was already dead. I also think he
was unconscious when he was dropped in the water."