TITLE: Jack
AUTHOR: Exley_61 (typo@clam.rutgers.edu)

Center City, Philadelphia
Greentree Hotel
Wednesday, 349 AM



Scully snuggled into the warmth at her back, trying to 
wrap the heat around her as she slowly came awake. 

Her mind was fuzzy as she broke through the lingering
fingers of slumber. Sighing, she made to turn over and
found herself held in place.

Her eyes shot open, surprise and hope raced through 
her blood and sped her heart.  Looking down her body
she saw Mulder's arm wrapped over her stomach, his 
hand nestled against her chest. 

Scully felt her lips begin to tremble, a soft shaky
sigh of relief filtered past her lips.  She heard the 
even breathing of Mulder against the top of her hair.

And then her tears feel within the early morning
darkness. Her relief vanishing, her heart crushing
within her breast.

He ... he was asleep, just asleep, his actions 
were subconscious, an embrace not meant to be 
given.

She turned her face into her pillow to muffle 
her soft sobs, but it did nothing to stop the
shaking of her body.

"Shh, Scully."

She let her tears be heard as Mulder turned her over,
burying her face against his neck. 

"Mulder," she gasped, clutching his shoulder, his
body against hers. She felt his hand thread into
her hair, his fingers kneading the back of her
scalp.

"Shh... It's all-"

Mulder's words were cut short. Scully pulled back
to look at him. "What?"

"My phone, it's ringing somewhere over there," Mulder
said, nodding his head toward Scully's side of the 
bed. "It's what woke us up."

Pulling out of his arms, she rubbed her eyes as she 
slid out of bed.  Reaching for the lump of his 
suit jacket, she searched out his pocket and pulled
out the cell phone.

She walked back to the bed, handing the chirping 
device over to Mulder as she sat back down on the 
mattress.

"Mulder."

Scully watched as he answered the phone.

"What?... When? Uh huh... Okay, yeah... Scully and 
I'll be there within the hour. Right, see you in
a bit, Vaughn," Mulder said before pressing the end 
button and letting the phone fall to the bed, heavy 
within his hand.

"What?" Scully asked, feeling her stomach tighten at 
Mulder's stillness. "Mulder, what is it?"

He looked up and met her eyes. His voice was low as
he spoke.  "Keenswan was found dead."

"What?" Scully asked, confused as Mulder got up and
began to pick up his clothes. "But ... how? He was
in solitary, under constant guard, surveillance ... it 
wasn't suicide, was it?"

Mulder stopped, meeting her gaze in the 
darkness.  "Not unless he gave himself multiple 
stab wounds and slit his own throat."


     XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Philadelphia, PA
RIKERSMITH PRISON
Wednesday, 933 AM

The electricity in Rikersmith prison left something
to be desired.  The overhead light flickered again,
strobbing the prison morgue in it's garish, ugly glare.

When Scully and Mulder had entered into Keenswan's cell, 
met by Vaughn, the familiar stench of death inundated the 
olfactory senses, causing her to breath out of her mouth. 
Peering around Mike's bulk, she could see the pool of 
blood on the cement floor. 

The spilt liquid puddled around Keenswan's body, fingers
of red distending.  She could imagine the last struggling
heart beats pumping, squeezing the thick substance out. 
Rejected, unable to be absorbed by the cement, the blood
reached, stretching to line the padded walls on either
side of the small cell.

Scully had closed her eyes, and took a few shallow 
breaths before facing Vaughn again. Only a moment's 
glance needed to imprint such a detailed and grizzly 
sight upon her psyche, a sight that was, unfortunately,
not as uncommon as she would have liked it to have been. 
Once again it was death in all it's gruesome finery.

Now, hours later, Scully's gloved hand slid over 
Keenswan's right arm as she spoke to the mini micro 
recorder hanging above the autopsy table. Pressing on 
the skin with her thumb and forefinger, she watched as 
the pigment retained the white pressure mark.

"Subject Jacob Keenswan has been deceased for 
approximately seven - eight hours.  Lividity has 
become fixed. Note that rigor mortis has also set
in."

Scully sighed, stepping back to rub her nose against
the sleeve of her smock. She was tired and wasn't 
feeling very well. In fact, she began to feel a 
tightening in her stomach, along with a dull throb 
behind her right eye, a throb that was threatening 
to invade her consciousness completely.

Looking at this man, examining this man ... it 
felt like too much.  How much more was expected 
of her? How much more could she take?

God, she hated Philadelphia, now more than 
ever. The city of brotherly love was far from 
it, in fact it was merciless. She couldn't even 
say that the city was assaulting her every day, it 
was more than that, it was hourly. She felt beaten 
and bruised, battered by circumstance and the
history within. 

History is told by the men who write it, not often 
by the people who live it.  Looking at this man 
before her, she felt anger. Because of him, her life 
had been flipped over and strangled.  He was a monster
that came and destroyed dreams ... dreams of people's
futures -- a decimator of people's past. And she and
Mulder were his victims as well. 

It wasn't enough to destroy the families of seven 
women ten years ago ... it wasn't enough to traumatize
a little boy... a little boy that holds the echoes
of Mulder's past and not just the past of ten years 
ago ... but the faint reflection of his own childhood, a
childhood where monsters and deals had silenced Mulder's
youth.

It was no wonder Mulder was attached to Pearl. With 
Pearl he had someone to stopper the bleeding sores of 
emotional neglect ... someone who could touch him 
where even scully could not... a place that was not
meant for her to tend.

A mother ... it was at times like this when Scully
felt such an overwhelming feeling of hatred for 
Teena Mulder.

A chain of events, cause and effect, somehow 
irrevocably intermingled to bring them all, to 
bring her to this moment, standing inside a prison
morgue with a body who still wields a power to 
destroy.

A killer who, for some insane reason, has his 
acts copied, idolized, infecting AIDS to kill Jerse 
and a author of history to throw out details to a 
tale in which he did not participate.

Scully shook her head, stepping back to Keenswan, 
her feet shuffling against the cement floor. 
Reaching her hand against the body's arm, she
leaned over as her finger traced the smattering 
of scratches and bruises.

"Subject has contusions marking the bicep and 
forearm.  There also appears to be defensive 
cuts on the dorsal side of the hand and arm.  
Evidence indicates that subject struggled with
assailant."

Going down the length of the body, she examined
the lacerations on both thighs.

"Multiple lacerations on the quadriceps.  Evidence 
of the blade did not penetrate the victim's 
sartorius muscle on either side, but did sever 
the length of the outer adductor muscles from hip 
to just 1.31 cm's short of the knee cap and tendons.
Lacerations are consistent with previous victims.

Consistent ... previous victims... Scully pressed the
back of her hand against the side of her temple. The 
threat of a migraine was swiftly becoming a reality. 
She began to take deep breaths, trying to calm her 
nerves, to still her agitation which was growing with
each passing moment she examined Keenswan's body. 

She was a professional, though, and she refused to
allow her personal bias to ever impinge upon her
job.  There was no reason to change that modus
operandi now, no matter how tempting it was to allow
someone else to take over the duties.  It wasn't
like Philadelphia didn't have their own pathologists. 

But no, this was her job.

Mulder had requested her for this autopsy, Vaughn 
had approved it ... so she was here ... and she
would be damned to fall victim to personal strain. 
She reminded herself again that she was a professional.

Professional.

Before turning Keenswan on his side, Scully ran
her hands over his ribs, searching for fractures. 

She paused. 

"Third intercostal rib on the right and fourth 
intercostal rib on the left are broken.  Multiple 
stab wounds penetrate the chest and abdomen. All 
wounds continue to be consistent with previous 
victims."

Cracking her neck, she walked around to Keenswan's 
shoulders. Again she ran her hand over his skin, 
tracing the slices that cut into the muscle.

"Deltoids are also lacerated, cutting into the top 
wall of muscle. The neck...."

Scully halted, taking a deep breath as she observed 
the mangled neck. 

Professional.

She traced her hand lightly over the sliced wind pipe
and surrounding muscle tissue as she continued her 
examination, noting a handle mark bruise.

"Subject's sternocleidomastoid is severely lacerated, 
cutting into the trachea and esophagus. It is probable
that such an incision was the killing stroke. There is
also a hilt stamp marking the right side of the
platsyma."

Scully took a deep breath and stood on the side of 
Keenswan's body.  Gripping the far shoulder and left
arm she struggled to turn the body on it's side. With 
a final grunt she was able to examine the posterior.

Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she 
retained a tenuous hold upon the subject's weighted
body as she furthered her examination.

     XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Philadelphia, PA
WARDEN'S OFFICE 
Wednesday, 1054 AM


"Did Jacob Keenswan have problems with any of the 
prison guards here, Warden Jones?" Vaughn asked
as Mulder entered the door.

"Not that I know of, Lieutenant Vaughn, " the Warden
replied, stationed behind his mammoth desk. 

"Not even Roger Carlson?" Mulder questioned, coming to
stand before the remaining empty seat.  "And your
secretary told me I should come right in."

"Of course, of course, have a seat, Agent Mulder, 
isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Mulder replied, taking the offered chair. 

The warden was a black, slightly overweight man, 
balding and, Mulder noted, relayed the nervous habit
of adjusting and readjusting his glasses. 

"Warden, Roger Carlson?" Mulder prodded. 

"Well, I can't say-"

"I just finished speaking with the fellow prison
guards and the subsequent inmates that Keenswan
had contact with.  All of them confirm that Roger
Carlson was the reason that Keenswan found himself
in solitary to begin with. Some sort of flare up where
he felt that Carlson, and I quote "Carlson was a Mother
Fucker ... him and Keenswan never got along... Keenswan
told him to suck his dick whereby Carlson proceeded to
club his crazy ass with a billy stick?"

He looked up at the Warden, "Didn't that occur just
shy of 4 days ago?"

"Yes, Agent Mulder," Warden Hayesmith responded, his
eyes hardening.  Though the man before Mulder had a
few extra pounds, there was no doubt in his mind that
Hayesmith could be a mean sonofabitch ... something
needed in a prison.  It hadn't escaped his notice that
Hayesmith's walls were decorated by Marine plaques 
and city commendations.  Hayesmith carried himself as
someone who would knock you down before he'd help you
up.  Yes, exactly the type of image he needed to run
a large facility such as this.

"Roger Carlson was the last person to check on 
Keenswan before the shift change, isn't that 
correct?" Vaughn asked, his voice low, yet
probing.

"That is correct, but Carlson is innocent of 
this crime," the warden answered, his own
tone matching Vaughn's.

Mulder heard Vaughn grunt in response as
he looked over his notepad.

"Listen, Warden Hayesmith, we appreciate you 
taking your time to talk with us," Mulder
said, suddenly standing.  He ignored Vaughn's
glaring look as he reluctantly mimicked Mulder,
standing as well.

"It was no trouble at all. This concerns me
just as much as you. Murder may happen outside
these walls, but it DOESN'T occur within them."

"Until now," Mulder said, meeting Hayesmith's 
eyes, unblinking.

"Until now," the warden agreed.

"Thank you again, Warden," Mulder said, reaching
across the desk to shake his hand. 

"Yes, thank you," Vaughn seconded as Mulder stepped
back to allow Vaughn to offer his farewells.

"We'll see ourselves out," Mulder said, reaching
the door handle.

Opening it, he let Vaughn pass him. They continued
on past the secretary, and Mulder offering her a
small smile as they exited the set of offices and
stood in the outside corridor.

"What the hell was that, Mulder?" Vaughn asked
almost as soon as the door closed. Mulder knew
Vaughn had not been ready to leave the warden,
but Mulder also knew that Hayesmith could offer
no further help.

"It would just be a waste of time, Vaughn," Mulder
began as they walked down the hallway. "He doesn't
know anything. The surveillance tapes have Carlson 
leaving Keenswan's cell after dropping off dinner.  
There was no blood on his clothes, no finger prints 
or foot treads in the spilled blood. There was 
nothing. We have nothing, as usual."

"Well, what the hell is goin' on then, Mulder? 
*Somebody* had to have killed the bastard," Vaughn 
griped, running a hand through his hair. 

Mulder looked up and saw the blonde strands sticking
straight up.  Vaughn caught his glance and smooshed
it back down before speaking again. "Is this like some
of that crazy shit you do in the X-Files?"

"I... it's seeming like it," Mulder answered, smiling
before his eyes turned serious again. "Scully should have
the autopsy nearly finished by now. I'll go down to the
morgue and see what she's turned up."

"All right, I'll go gather the officers and head 
on back to the station. We have everything bagged, 
tagged and dusted. There's nothing more we can do 
here."

"Sounds good, I'll see you back there," Mulder said
as they split up, going opposite directions down
the corridor.

"Hey, Mulder?" 

Mulder turned at the sound of Vaughn's voice behind him, 
his hands in his pockets. "Yeah?"

"You seem to be gettin' on better today," Vaughn 
offered, his voice carrying over to him, and within
it, the hidden question.

"Gettin' there, Vaughny, gettin' there," Mulder replied,
turning away and continuing on down the hallway.

And the truth was, that was exactly how he felt.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Philadelphia, PA
Rikersmith Prison Morgue
Wednesday, 1117 AM


Equipped with a face mask and goggles, she washed
off the cranium saw in the large metal sink. Having
completed the Y incision and autopsied the brain
matter as Mulder had requested, she was finally 
done.

She was done dissecting, weighing and cataloguing 
the various stab wounds and body parts and so her
head was now working on trying to ignore the gathering
percussion section equipped with wind chimes. God,
she felt tired, tired and sore.

And not just physically ... her emotions had 
continued to threaten a jaundiced view throughout
the examination. Yet, by a superhuman force of will,
she had managed to push her personal concerns aside
just long enough.

But it was hard.

Very.

Very hard.

She realized it wasn't just difficult because Keenswan
was a slayer of women, a defiler of men ... though both
travesties toward either group was worthy of her 
contempt.

No, it wasn't that.

How often was it that the case, wherever she was,
whomever she was examining, didn't deal with such
low lives and monsters?

Not often. 

No, it was different here, now, and she hated that.  She
hated him... Keenswan, for making it so, for making her 
question her impartiality.

Scully placed the saw on the side of the sink and
walked over to the table standing a few feet
away from Keenswan's body.  Stepping back, she took
off her goggles and threaded the face mask off, letting
it hang around her neck. She stripped off her gloves
and tossed them in the biohazard receptacle before closing
her eyes and leaning her weight against the empty
autopsy bay behind her.  

When she closed her eyes she was unexpectedly assaulted
by the looming face of Ed Jerse.  Not the man of her 
years old memories, but the skeletal parody of who 
he was today.  The dementia that maneuvered his body 
like a puppet on strings.  

////"I remember your nails, Dana, remember them 
scratching my arms, my back as we fucked . . . you 
were my bitch then, Dana . . . you remember that, 
huh? REMEMBER DANA. . .???" ////

Yes, she did.

She cracked her eyes open, yet still her vision 
was filled with the image of that beautiful, troubled, 
man left ravaged -- physically and mentally.  Yes, he 
was by no means innocent ... not even of hurting 
her ... but he was a person, an individual, whom 
Scully believed suffered from causes that fate had 
cruelly thrown his way.  

She had sensed his danger those years ago, knew that 
it was that very visceral air about him that beckoned
her attention.  When she had seen Jerse, she had seen 
herself reflected, how she wanted to be if not for 
the conformity of what her life had felt like then.  She 
wanted the recklessness that he afforded, needed it.
And so, she clasped him with both hands.

That was what she had needed, and he had given this 
infinitesimal part of himself to her without 
recrimination. He had given her a release that she 
might not have found anywhere, that might have 
distorted her present if not for her past, if 
not for him, Ed.

Or so she had thought. 

Yet, even now, she didn't entirely classify Jerse, 
or her actions, as a regret. There was a small part 
of her, even despite the hell she was going through
now, that was glad for him, no matter the 
consequences.  

And, maybe it was that small piece of recklessness, a 
recklessness that she knew would always reside 
within her, that made her relish her history with 
Jerse -- however much she also despised what it 
had, and was, currently doing to her present.

///"Dana, those bitches, he feels those bitches, 
they cut him, but I don't do that. Tell him I don't 
mind the bitches scratches, nope not at all.. not 
one bit. ///

Scully hadn't failed to notice the days old lacerations 
cross-working Keenswan's forearms and biceps... a lot of
them had almost faded away to nothing.  They were even
less pronounced than just yesterday at the interrogation.

The interrogation where Keenswan had baited and hooked 
Mulder. The room where he had tugged the unraveling 
threads of her bruised and fraying heart. 

She hadn't been able to compartmentalize so quickly, to 
separate her personal life and professional life so 
cleanly when she'd entered that room.

There was no way she'd been able to escape the hovering 
memory of Mulder's hollowed look. The look that told
her that he'd heard every word, or enough of what 
Jerse had spoken.

Yes, she would have known he'd heard without the 
following words he said to her, the words that 
punctured her soul.  She had known he'd heard before 
he even spoke because the pain that had been so raw, 
so acidic to witness, was reflected in his eyes as he 
stared at her.  He'd trapped her against the door 
without moving an inch.

His words had been superfluous to the pain, to 
the blatant reflection of betrayal she had witnessed
in his gaze was enough.  That same reflection stayed
mirrored before her. It was that hovering memory 
which stayed with her through the interrogation
and beyond.  

So, she wasn't surprised when Keenswan had captured the
scent of tension between them.  

Professional, they were professionals ... but 
how were they to maintain their professional 
personas when the world around them was moving 
so fast that it made you dizzy -- made you
sick while you tried to grasp the spinning 
top that your existence had swiftly become?

No, she wasn't surprised when Keenswan utilized
their pain which had been unsuccessfully masked.
He used it for his own enjoyment.

/// "You know . . . my little Eddie was right.  You 
do smell . . . good. Like Vanilla and . . . what 
is that scent? Hmm?//// 

Scully twisted around, grabbing the table behind 
her ... her fingers squeezed the metallic bay, 
clinging to the chilled metal lip as her breathing
turned ragged.  

///Oh yes, like vanilla with a hint of. . . *musk* ... 
Doesn't she smell . . . ready?"///

Scully let go of the metal, and turned around. She 
jumped, raising a hand to her chest.

"Mulder, you startled me," Scully gasped. 

He stood in the doorway, leaning against the 
framework, staring at her. Rubbing her nose 
on the arm of her green smock, she took a few
calming breaths. 

"Sorry," Mulder replied, straightening as he 
entered the room. 

Scully's gaze followed his casual stride. Pulling
his hands out of his pockets, he crossed his arms 
against his chest as he walked toward her.  Blocking
her, preparing to face her. Scully felt a sadness
at seeing that defensive posture and wondered when
she wouldn't have to notice such things.

His eyes were guarded she also noted, but not like 
they had been ... and that gave her a swell of hope. 

"Are you through with the autopsy?"

Scully watched as he stopped before the shrouded 
body. Reaching a hand out, he turned back the white 
sheet she'd laid over Keenswan.  The autopsy bay 
laid between them. It separated them physically 
just as surely as the murderer's words had helped 
manage to do so emotionally. 

"Yes, everything's completed, including the 
examination of the cranium and brain tissue
per your request."

"And?" Mulder questioned, rubbing his thumb under 
his lip as he looked at the body.  Scully's eyes
followed the flat pad of his thumb, remembering the
feel of it sliding down her neck.  She missed that,
missed him, even now, here... Scully shook herself,
now was not the time.

"Well, you were right. He was decidedly not "cured",
in fact, far from it.  I can't fathom how a physician
could, in good conscious, claim otherwise," Scully began, 
taking her turn to look down at Keenswan, almost driven 
to do so. 

"Why, what did you find?"

She closed her eyes, rubbing at the pain still
tramping around in her head. Sighing, she 
opened her eyes and looked up, meeting Mulder's 
questioning stare.  "Mulder, it's a miracle 
that this man was even able to function on his
own, let alone be given a clean bill of 
health -- relatively speaking that is."

Scully paused to glance back down at 
Keenswan. She didn't understand this compulsion,
this self-flagellating tendency to force herself
to look upon such a man, at such a biting reminder
of her current downward spiral.

"Well, some seventy percent of the weight of the 
entire nervous system is accounted for by the 
cerebrum.  Now, this is divided into two 
hemispheres, and each of those divided into
four lobes." 

She waited for Mulder to nod. "Now, it's in the 
occipital lobe in which visual function is able 
to be controlled. It is also in the occipital lobe
where I found signs of Mescalirtus Temporal 
Sclerosis*, an inherited affliction.  MTS causes
severe epileptic seizures, seizures that Keenswan
should have systematically been experiencing, but
wasn't."

Scully turned away to the table behind her and picked 
up the medical file, turning a few pages, she found what
she was looking for.  "The reason *why* he should have
systematically been having them is because, according
to his medical records, his prescriptions were not
strong enough to control such seizures."

Scullly shook her head back and forth, pausing. 
"But...."

"But what?" Mulder questioned, waiting. Scully looked
up from the file.

"Mulder, I found various growths, tumors in the 
occipital, frontal, parietal and temporal lobes."

"What does that mean, exactly?"

"Each section controls certain facets 
of the body.  For instance, the parietal lobe
is responsible for touch, spatial relations. The
occipital lobe is responsible for vision and the
ability to recognize color.  The temporal lobe
is responsible for memory and language skills ... but 
it's the frontal lobe, Mulder, the frontal
lobe that had a very high concentration of foreign 
mass ... and it is that portion of the human 
brain that is responsible for motivation and 
emotional control. It's also responsible for social 
interaction."

"So what does that mean, Scully, what's the 
bottom line?" Mulder questioned again.

Scully rubbed at her temples, looking up
at Mulder.

"The bottom line is that Jacob Keenswan should have
been dead long before somebody decided to kill him.
That's the bottom line.  The masses should have 
applied pressure to his cerebral cortex, he should
have had massive headaches, multiple seizures ... he 
should have had a fatal stroke. All of which, he 
did not have. And that ... that doesn't fit. It's
illogical, medically impossible.  It makes no 
sense to me."

Mulder looked down at the man. Scully watched his
eyes stare into Keenswan's pallid features, 
Keenswan's eyes were cloudy, limpid, death's own
window shades drawn.  

"So his doctors were wrong, I... I had to at least
know that," Mulder said, softly. Scully waited, 
watching him blink slowly, his lips compressing
into an angry line. She walked around the table
to stand before him.

"Mulder," Scully said softly, tentatively reaching
a hand out to touch his arm. Fear caused her to
pause in her actions. Uncertainty trembled her
fingers. Would he accept her touch? She knew they
had taken the first step toward healing one another.

But it was only the first step.

She squelched the concerns and grabbed hold of his
bicep anyway, her fingers wrapping around his arm.

Mulder looked up, blankly staring at her for
a few moments. She rubbed his arm, coaxing his
attention back from wherever it had wandered off
to. A few rapid blinks and he was looking at her, 
not some trapping memory. 

He offered a weak smile, placing his hand over hers.
He held it there for a moment before speaking. "I'm 
all right, Scully... Tell me, tell me about the
rest." 

Scully felt a warmth paint over her skin, a heat seep 
into her pores and infuse her heart. That little
touch, that little reassurance fortified her frayed
nerves -- especially with the lingering memories of
Jerse eating at her. 

She glanced beyond Mulder, looking directly at the
manifestation of cruelty spread out, contained upon 
the table beside her. She looked back at Mulder,
her smile soft. Yes, she needed something good, 
someone good -- she needed Mulder.

It was important to her, *He* was important to her.
She would not hide behind bravado. She was willing to
expose her weaknesses when it came to Mulder, willing
to reveal how just the mere touch of him could shape
her world -- perhaps it was something she should have
done long before now. 

The Scully pride was something that could help, yet 
also hinder. She knew that, but she also knew that
it wasn't too late to do more than  just *know*. She
had to actually *understand* that there was no shame
in sharing her feelings of vulnerability -- and she
did understand. 

Scully reached her other hand on top of his and smiled
before pulling away and getting back to the task at
hand.

"As to the actual murder... everything is consistent
with all the previous homicides ... everything, that is,
with one exception.  I found a puncture wound in 
Keenswan's posterior deltoid.  It infiltrated the 
teres minor and major. The puncture wound was found
near the erector spinae-"

"The what? In English, Scully..." Mulder teased, 
smiling. He rested his hands on his hip, waiting 
for her to continue.

"There was a puncture wound between the shoulder blades
near the spinal cord, on the left side. No other victim 
has ever had such a wound there before, it is the first
inconsistency we've had to date."

"And, from what I can surmise," Scully continued.  "The 
assailant was tall, maybe five-eleven.  The angle of 
the wounds suggest not only the height but also reveals
that the injuries were received at a parallel angle, 
suggesting that the assailant either sat on top of 
Keenswan or stood above him while he laid prone on
the floor for the final slice across the 
sternocleidomastoid."

Mulder gave her a look, eyebrow raised.

"The throat, Mulder, the throat," Scully finished.

Blinking he turned his gaze on Scully. "One difference
that still leaves us nowhere."

"What about the surveillance tapes?"

"There was nothing. The tapes monitor the outside 
corridor and there was never anyone there.  The 
actual room is not equipped with surveillance as
you know."

"The tapes turned up nothing at all? But, Mulder, 
how could-"

Scully paused as Mulder's cell phone chirped inside
his jacket pocket. She watched and waited as he
answered.

"Mulder."

"Good morning ... mmm hmm ... what?" 

Scully observed Mulder, wondering.  She watched
him as he began to pace, nodding his head 
and giving the requisite 'uh huhs' as he
listened to the party on the other end.

"Not good ... you believe that's true? ... I was, yes,
I was coming there anyway ... yes ... yes... I think 
... right.  I can't right now ... something ... okay 
I will call you, talk to you then."

Scully watched Mulder as he ended the phone 
conversation, huffing out an aggravated sigh,
his head bowed, his hands stationed on his
hips.

"Damn it!" he growled, grabbing the bridge of his
nose and squeezing.

"Mulder, what? What's going on?"

He turned and pinned Scully with a glare 
before blinking, softening his gaze if only
slightly, his aggravation apparent. "That
was Pearl.  It seems she thinks Jack has been
dumping his medication. She found a pill in 
the sink basin this morning ... damn it! After
I talked to him about this...."

He punctuated his words with a low, long growl.

"Mulder, why is Jack medicated? You never told me 
that."

Mulder sighed, rubbing a hand at the back of his 
neck.  "He's been medicated ever since ... ever 
since him."

The "him" was said with such anger as Mulder pointed
to Keenswan. Scully's eyes widened, watching as Mulder's
lip snarled and his fists clasped to his side.

"God damn you to hell, you bastard." Mulder 
whispered, his words said with a hushed, yet
with force.

"Mulder, talk to me." Scully said, closing
the distance between them.  

She paused a moment, griping her temples again, 
her migraine was keeping to a steady pounding.

"You know, Scully, I just can't understand how 
such a man, an animal could ... to a child... a 
child," Mulder muttered with venom, staring at 
Keenswan.

"You never could," Scully whispered, slowly releasing
her temples to lay her hand on his arm as she stepped 
even closer.

Mulder swiftly looked up, catching her gaze. "Neither
could you, Scully, neither could you."

"I know," she replied. "But Mulder, he can't hurt
anyone anymore."

"Can't he, Scully?" Mulder questioned, turning to
look at her. "Doesn't he still? Everyday ... every
single day when people's daughters, mothers wives
and ... and sisters aren't there anymore?"

"Mulder, please, don't do this," Scully said, 
desperate -- not because he was wrong to think those 
thoughts, but because they so mirrored her own and
one of them needed to have control of their 
perspectives.

Maybe for the first time in her career, in her
life, she actually wasn't able to maintain that 
valued clarity. Which lead her to her next
question...

Who was going to be the rock if both of them where 
shattered pieces?

"Mulder, what's going on with, Jack?" Scully asked, 
again, gathering her thoughts and placing them back
to the matter at hand, done so if only by a very 
thin thread.

Mulder turned to look at her. His eyes were so deep, 
so full of riotous emotions.  He reached up and touched 
her cheek, caressing it with his finger tips as he 
looked at her.

Scully waited, her breath shallow, expectant. 

He blinked, closing his eyes and lowering his hand, 
but Scully caught it, holding it against her skin.

Mulder opened his eyes again, looking at her, 
questioning her.

"Mulder ... please, talk ... talk to *me*," Scully
softly ordered, trying to make sure he saw her,
that she reached him from where he had 
regressed to.

It didn't take much to know that he was seeing 
himself reflected in the history of another.

She knew him.  And she would not let him shut 
her out -- not without a fight. 

Always together they had strength. When they were
a part, they were hampered. It probably wasn't
the most healthy of situations, but it was theirs.
And if Scully realized anything during these 
past few days, it was that she needed him, and she
needed him without regret or reason. 

Mulder pulled his hand away, but nodded his 
head. "Jack ... you haven't seen him yet. I,
I guess I forgot that."

"What's going on, Mulder?"

Scully listened as Mulder relayed Pearl's 
concerns about Jack.  He told her of Pearl's 
fears, of Jack's mood swings that had become
unpredictable. 

He also told her about his conversation
with Jack. His fears of repressed memories
surfacing and causing the chaotic nature of
Jack's persona. Finally he told her that
Jack had stopped taking his medications, 
medications that regulated his personality 
and controlled any possible seizures ... that 
he told her that Jack'd been on them ever since 
he was six years old. 

"But he promised me that he would take them
again, promised me that he would talk to Pearl
about going to see his doctor."

"And he dumped them down the drain instead," Scully
finished for him as she registered and analyzed 
what Mulder said.

"Scully, he's in such a fragile state right 
now... I told him the consequences, the risks, 
the pills have been bothering him ... damn it,
I should have realized he was just shutting 
me up... I should have known... I mean, that's
probably what I would have done."

"What's he supposed to be currently taking?"

"Dilantin," Mulder replied. "And something 
else.. um..."

"Dilantin or (phenytoin) is used for people
who suffer from a tonic-clonic seizures. They 
are very severe. The person loses consciousness,
falls to the floor, and has convulsions of the 
arms and legs, often losing consciousness... he
should never have stopped taking them. Tell me,
what was the other drug?"

"Haloperidol," Mulder answered quickly, the 
name coming back to him.

"Mulder ...haloperidol, that drug is an 
anti-psychotic ... you do know that, don't you?"

"No, I... not the specifics of it."

Scully felt dread unfurling in her stomach,fear of 
what her mind was telling her to be a very distinct 
possibility. Her synapses were firing, flashing
bright connectors to the muddled pieces of evidence 
that laid across the floor of her mind. She gripped
her temples again, pressing hard, unable to stop
herself from releasing a shaky sigh.

She walked over to a side table where she'd laid
Keenswan's medical file. Grabbing it, she paged
through the papers again, searching.... All the
while she felt her heart begin to beat faster, 
sweat taint her skin.

She turned around to face Mulder, raising her
gaze from the file.

"Mulder, Keenswan has taken haloperidol as well. 
Not that it's uncommon to use such a drug, but 
it's a high potency and commonly used to alleviate
agitation and psychosis, usually in schizophrenias,
though not exclusively... but both of them taking
it... it makes me-"

"What? What are you saying, Scully?" 

Scully lowered the folder back to the table,
placing it behind her.  Her shoulders slumped 
a bit as she paused before speaking. "Who ... who
is Jack's father?"

She watched the transformation, watched as Mulder's 
face harden into the stone cold visage that anger 
and disbelief cultivated. "Jack's father is dead."

"Perhaps he is, now." Scully whispered, not 
looking away, holding Mulder's stare. 

"I don't believe that, Scully," Mulder said, his
lips moving while the rest of him stayed mobile.  
His hands remained fisted at his sides, his back
ramrod straight as they observed each other across
the width of Keenswan's body, the table separating
them again.

"That drug is an anti-psychotic, Mulder. Jack has
a very similar condition which can induce seizures,
his attitude is possibly manic -- two variants that 
are the same between them, even having used the same 
medication... Mulder, what if ... what if Keen-"

"No, Pearl would have said.... WE would have known
something like that."

"Would you have known, Mulder?  Would you? You said
it yourself when you first briefed me. Keenswan
had a history of part time employment, nothing 
ever steady ... not the type of person that a 
wealthy Philadelphia business woman keeps around,
but maybe just the type she could use and lose.
What if they'd had an affair, Mulder?"

"And those past murders were revenge? Scully, you
always accuse me of grandiose leaps of logic? What
do you call what you are doing now?"

"I don't know ... but what I do know is that nothing is
ever coincidence, not when it comes to cases we're 
involved in.  I guess... I guess I'm learning from you, 
playing averages.  I mean, how is it that both 
Jack and Jacob Keenswan have so many uncommon 
commonalities...?  You said... *you said*, that 
Jack's been acting different... Mulder ... what 
if ... what if Jack..."

"NO, Scully, don't even go there ... he's isn't-"

"Mulder. I don't want to believe it possible ... who 
would? But, we've been doing this for too long. It's 
something that I find myself unable to entirely rule
out.  It's quite possible that being off his medication 
might *cause* this manic behavior and-"

"This is insane!"

"Is it? Maybe, but I want to do a DNA test and I want
to get a sample from Jack, we could at least rule it
out." 

"Scully, you don't know him, you haven't even met 
Jack ... he's a troubled boy, I'll give you that.
I think all he's suffering from is a reemergence
of a past that won't let him be, a past that 
has been silently strangling him ever since 
news of Keenswan's parole hearing surfaced.

Mulder continued. "I will even go so far as to 
say he is desperate to escape. That could be 
why he stopped taking the medication... a way 
to rebel, to disappear from his thoughts. Only 
it didn't work, it backfired and now he's a 
mess."

"Oh Mulder...," Scully sighed, seeing the torture,
the almost *manic* need in Mulder to believe in
his own theory, to deny any such possibility of
what Scully was saying. "You're right, I don't 
know him.  I haven't met him."

Mulder breathing was ragged, harsh. Scully walked
to him, clasping both of his forearms and forcing 
him to look into her face.

"We ... we're in trouble here, Mulder. Maybe I'm 
wrong-"

"You are," Mulder interrupted, looking down at her
upturned face.

"Maybe," Scully acquiesced, "but neither of us have
had an easy time the past couple of days. Memories
and histories have been gnawing at us, biting 
at us. I think that there is a chance here that 
you are too close to see the possibilities in this
situation. I think you're-"

"I'm compromised?"

"I didn't say that," Scully replied, her voice going
out on a whisper. "You just did."

Mulder clamped his lips closed. Scully stepped back,
releasing him.

"If, what you're suggesting ... and let's be perfectly
clear ... you believe that Jack is Keenswan's son, that
they both have the same disease?"

"Mulder, MTS, it inherited through the father," Scully
said.

"Even so, say you are right.  It still doesn't mean that
Jack has the same proclivity ... that he's just gonna take
up where dear ol' dad left off. This is just a recent 
thing, his not taking the pills."

"And so was the reemergence of this parole 
hearing... Mulder, you said it yourself, so 
did Pearl. Ever since this trial has come 
up again, Jack has not been himself.  Also,
ever since the trial has come up, so have
these homicides."

"Not being himself doesn't mean he'd turn 
murderer instead."

"Mulder... how well do you really know Jack? Hmm?
Answer me that? No, better yet, ask yourself this, 
'when you look at him ... do you really see who he 
is now or the memory of that six year old 
boy ... or ... or do you even see yourself?

"That's not fair, Scully," Mulder said, his voice
soft as he looked away.

"Maybe not," Scully agreed. "But, Mulder, he's not 
a child anymore ... and you don't know him ... and
he is not you." 

Mulder remained quiet, still.

"Have you ever thought of this, Mulder," Scully began,
cautious, careful.  "Jack ... he's the only one alive
who has witnessed Keenswan's violence. He saw it 
happening ... everything.... he would-"

"Don't say it!"

"He would know exactly what to do," Scully finished,
feeling tears catch in her throat as she witnessed
Mulder starting to shake, seeing his anguish, his
refusal to believe, yet unable to block the questions
she raised.

Mulder stilled, stiffening his spine as he raised
his eyes and looked at her.

"There's just one thing, Scully," Mulder began, 
confidence returning to his voice where she had
knocked it away. "How do you explain Keenswan's 
death? The murder of a man who was, by all rights, 
under lock and key?"

"That... I can't explain," Scully admitted. 

Scully sucked in a breath as another round of pounding
felt like it was jack-hammering her skull. She licked
her lips, stepping toward Mulder as she tried to 
ignore her discomfort.  "I know you're close to Jack 
and Pearl.  I understand that."

She paused, collecting her thoughts. "I have faith in 
you, Mulder, I do.  It's not a matter of trusting 
*you*, but in trusting in your emotions. As I said,
both of us have been through so much recently. Everything
is heightened, sensitive. Tensions are high. You know
that. I know that.  For now, all I'm asking is to see
Jack, for us to go together."

She touched his arm again. "I want to talk to him 
and take a blood sample. If I'm wrong then ... well, I 
hope I am wrong, but we need to at least find out 
either way."

She could see the battle waging within Mulder.  

She knew him. 

She knew that he wanted to toss her words out and
never think on them again.  But it didn't matter
what he wanted, he would do what was right. She
knew he would not let his feelings get in the way,
not in the end ... not in the final hour.

And maybe that's what this was, the defining 
moment where they both exposed their vulnerabilities,
their desires ... their faith in one another.

It was more than just the work. She was asking him
to believe, believe in her again. 

The question was, 'would he?'

"Let's go then," Mulder said, his voice ragged,
the inner battle strangling. "Let's see."

Center City, Philadelphia
Olde City District
Pearl's Townhouse
Wednesday, 152 PM


"You said that you're taking Dilantin and Haloperidol, " Scully affirmed,
restating his answer. She sat back in her chair, the wood spindles 
pressing against her spine. Keeping her tone cordial, she invited an 
answer to her follow-up question. "So tell me, Jack, why are you 
taking them?"

"Don't you know? You're the doctor," he answered, his attention 
split between Scully's questions and the loose thread dangling 
from the sleeve of his T-shirt. 

Scully watched as Jack sighed, relinquishing his consuming fascination 
with his apparel.  Instead, he moved on to concentrating his main efforts
at rubbing his hand back and forth against the oak tabletop situated 
before them. 

Playing spectator to his digit gymnastics, she took a few moments to
observe his passive-aggressive posturing.  She watched as his 
fingertips began to turn white under the apparent pressure he  
exerted on the wooden surface.  The color seemed to offset the dirty, 
black grime beneath his jagged finger nails. 

Tracking her gaze up from the boy's hand, she let her view encompass his 
whole upper body from his too thin arms, to his torso and chest. As 
she concluded her cursory examination, she was made witness to yet 
another round of subdued tremors coursing through his body. 

Letting out a measured sigh, she tilted her head, pulling herself 
forward. She leaned toward him as she made sure to keep her tone soft,
non-threatening. "Yes, I am a doctor and I'm aware of the drug 
effects.  But, Jack, my question to you is Do you know? Do you 
understand the reasons for which you've been prescribed these 
narcotics?"

"Well, *Dana*, one's to control my seizures, the other's supposed to 
make me normal." 

Jack snickered at his choice of terms, pushing his lanky frame back 
up in his chair, his fingers turning whiter in their repetitive 
treks across the tabletop.

Scully caught his gaze, recognizing instantly that the boy was simmering 
with both insolence and insecurity.  She refused to look away, giving him 
a steady, yet placating look, hoping to reach past his defense mechanism 
of anger.  

She waited, the room silent but for their breathing.  

Finally, he grunted, shaking his head as he looked away, staring off 
toward the sudden intruding hum of the refrigerator's fan kicking on.

Having lost his attention, Scully blinked, allowing herself a quick moment 
to combat against the overhead light. The harsh glow was provoking 
a keen desire to just curl up in a ball and duck her head, cringing away
from the enhanced pain. 

Her headache of earlier had finally matured into the promised, full-scale
migraine. Sitting here at this table with Jack, she swiftly discovered 
that dealing with a troubled teenager seemed only to antagonize the 
hammering staccato behind her right temple. She half-expected a lump to 
rise in response to the constant, tattooing pain.

Yet her own discomfort was not what was important right now. Jack was 
a child in crisis, from his body language to his responses ... everything
she had observed thus far screamed danger. But, she had to wonder if the 
danger was solely for his sake, or also for those he came in contact with.  

Something was unsettling about him, something beyond the teenage angst. It 
was a sensation that she felt sliding beneath her skin and prickling her 
mind with a warning that left her confused and leery.

Was Jack capable of the acts her earlier theory laid claim to? She
would like to say no, and may still yet, but she'd seen no proof either
way, and that ... that unnerved her.

Sighing, she refocused her attention on Jack.  He'd begun tapping 
out an uneven cadence against the tabletop, each tap meeting up with
the pain behind her right temple.  Scully reached across the surface, 
stilling his hand, refusing to let go when he tried to tug it away.

Raising his gaze to meet her own, his eyes were a wide sea of angry
violet. "Let ... go ... of ... me."

"Only if you agree to say what's on your mind, rather than tap it 
out in Morse code...."

Why did she feel she was playing with fire? She tamped down such
nonsense, keeping her mind focused on helping him, reaching him.

Jack twisted in his chair, turning to face her straight on. He looked
at her, studying her face as if she were the one to be questioned.
  
Strands of loose hair fell before his face, threading before his 
eyes as he took his turn to examine her, stare at her. He smiled, a 
full-tooth grin that dissipated behind his thin veneer of 
compressed lips. "Doctor, heal thyself."

"Let's stick with discussing you, Jack. That's why I'm here, to help
you," Scully said, cataloguing his movements.  He no longer trembled. 
The petulance of moments ago was gone; in it's place was an exuding 
confidence, a cockiness. Again, she felt disconcerted.

He was acting as ... not a boy, but ... a man.

"You do believe that, Jack, don't you? That I'm here to help you?"

Jack reached a hand out and touched her leg, tracing his index 
finger down her thigh until he grabbed her knee. Scully gasped 
at the impudence. "I believe, a great many things ... none of which 
are the words coming out of your mouth, Agent Scully."

She clamped her own hand over his, her eyes narrowing.  "You should
believe what I say. I *am* here to help you."

"You don't even know why you're here, do you Dana?" Jack questioned.
He tsked, slowly shaking his head. "Well, I'll tell you. You're here
because I wanted you to be.  I wanted to meet you before...."

Scully felt a shiver riding beneath her skin. The sensation paired with 
the prickling rise of goose bumps playing traitor to her show of 
confidence as his voice tempered off. "Jack, what is it that you think 
you are doing?"

"Don't you know? Don't you know what's happening, here?" Jack 
replied, leaning forward, meeting her face in a near kiss. His 
tone was soft, confident -- like a lover's. She refused to back
away. "No, you don't really know, but you will ... in fact, I think 
you'll know more intimately than anyone else."

"Why is that, Jack?" Scully demanded, her tone matching his as she grabbed
his chin, forcing his laconic gaze to stop sweeping over her body. Jack 
blinked, his eyes shuttering closed, the shy tremors of before suddenly
became viciously brazen, rocking his body. 

Scully became concerned, tapping his cheek. "Jack?"

Grabbing a spoon off the table, she pulled it from the sugar bowl and made 
to place it in Jack's mouth. Just as suddenly as the trembling overtook 
his body, a few moments later it stopped. Jack caught the utensil in his 
fist, blocking its intended pathway.  When he opened his eyes again, they 
were nervous -- embarrassed.

"What ... what did you say?" Jack asked in a halo of apparent 
confusion.  His voice was small, hesitant as his gaze reconnected
with Scully's.

Letting him go, she watched as he huddled into himself, pushing his chair
out of her reach. He pulled his knees onto his seat, hugging them to his 
chest.  Scully watched, astonished as his actions regressed into those 
of a frightened child, lost and uncertain.

"Are you all right, Jack?" Scully questioned, watching the trembling
boy before her. 

He stopped shivering, released his shins and re-placed his feet on 
the floor. She watched as he crossed his arms over his chest.  An 
occasional tremor passed over him but as she looked at his face, she 
observed that the kaleidoscope of emotions had dwindled down into 
indifference.

"I'm fine," Jack retorted, watching his hand pick at some lint on his 
pants. "You should really do something about that migraine of yours."

Scully just looked at him, scrutinizing the change.

"How did you know...?" she asked, her mouth clamping shut when 
he snickered softly.

"Rather than worry about my meds, Agent Scully, maybe you should 
investigate getting some of your own," he told her, not bothering
to look up and meet her stare until his last words. "Or, better 
yet...maybe you should go and get some sleep."


              xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx



Meanwhile PEARL'S LIVING ROOM



Mulder paced the length of the living room, continuing the same 
circuit of loveseat, window, curio cabinet, loveseat, window, 
curio cabinet.

"Is everything all right Fox, and please, you're wearing a path on 
my oriental carpet, here," Pearl joked. 

Mulder halted his steps, and met her inquiring gaze. She stared
up at him from the couch, a painted eyebrow cocked.

"Sorry, Pearl," Mulder replied a bit sheepish. "I do my best thinking 
on my feet."

Pearl patted a spot next to her, tapping the beige sofa.

"How are ya off your feet, Fox?  Or is that something I should leave
for Dana to answer?" 

Mulder smirked, nodding his head as he sat down beside her.

"You're a saucy old broad, I'll give ya that," he remarked, his
voice tired as he looked around the warmly lit room. 

The outside world might be gray, but inside Pearl's, the warm 
earth tones and subdued lighting helped to combat against the 
bone weary exhaustion threatening Mulder, both mentally 
and physically.

"So I've been told, so I've been told," Pearl responded, placing
a warm palm against his own. 

Mulder could smell the subtle floral perfume Pearl wore.  It blended 
with the underlying peach fragrance that burned from her large candle
situated on her coffee table.

"So, here you are ... cozying up next to my problems rather than 
dealing with your own," Pearl began, launching her admonishment
with the accompaniment of a gentle squeeze of his palm -- his palm that
gripped the top half of his thigh in instant response to her verbal
assault.

"It's how I am, Pearl."

"It's an excuse, Fox...," she argued, giving another placating 
squeeze. "I know you two are here to help me ... to help Jack, and
I appreciate that more than I can say. Yet, still ... I may be old, 
but as I've said before, I sure ain't blind."

Pearl paused, tilting her head before continuing. "Well, seeing the 
two of you together today, I can't help but notice that both of you 
are not the same couple that walked into my house a little over 
two days ago."

"I told you, Pearl, I'm... we're working things out," Mulder
responded, not even attempting to avoid her questioning.  

Distraction just didn't work with Pearl. She'd say her piece 
come hell or high water, and Mulder had learned that a long 
time ago. 

"Working things out? Well, you sure as hell aren't trying hard 
enough," Pearl said, her tone gruff, admonishing. 

"We *are* working things out. It's just... well, there's 
something else, a professional disagreement at the moment," Mulder 
responded, amazed she'd gotten him to admit to anything.

Though, he knew he really shouldn't be astounded in the least.

"Well, it seems to me that professional has mixed with personal and
what you both need to do is work on sorting them out," Pearl
replied, her tone soft, gentle. "I'm old, so I'm allowed to butt in
and call it like I see it. But, really... Fox, listen to me. You
know, I've always thought of you as ... well...."

"What, Pearl?" Mulder asked, watching a bittersweet smile frame her 
face. 

"Well, I just don't want to see you, or Dana now, covering up pain 
like my Eleanor did..."

"Your daughter?" Mulder pulled back, surprised. He felt his heart
flutter, his skin flush, warmed by the unspoken sentiment she bestowed
on him and Scully. 

Yet, at the same time he couldn't help but be confused, questioning,
as echoes of Scully's words from this morning intruded upon his 
consciousness. 

Jack's mother ... did she have a story as Scully believed?  And, if there was 
one, would it ever be told?  Sitting beside Pearl now, he had a feeling 
he was about to get his answer to both of those questions.

"Pearl, what pain?"  Mulder prodded, his eyes narrowing, senses
open. He was ready to read beyond the surface, ready to sift 
through words spoken and not -- to interpret and yes, he was 
ready to profile.

"She was really good at it, you know," Pearl said, staring down
at her hands. She continued talking.  "She was good at a lot of 
things, work, friendships, and parenting.  God, but she loved Jack."

Pearl broke from the contemplation of her wedding band and looked at 
Mulder again. "But she wasn't good at hiding things from me. Much like
you aren't.  They say that sometimes parents are the last to know, 
but what they neglect to mention are those times when we're the 
first."

"What are you talking about, Pearl?" Mulder questioned, his 
gaze tracking over her face.

"Hearing of that bastard's death today ... it's making me face 
a memory I tried... *we*, Eleanor and I, had tried hard to bury 
and forget. So much has happened ... so much. Now, I look at 
you ... and I know whatever has happened between Dana
and yourself, whatever it is, it has hurt you deeply. Memories, 
the past, all of it has a way of unearthing itself despite your 
best efforts."

Mulder swallowed, a breath shuddering past his lips as he waited for
Pearl to continue.

"I just... I didn't want to remember another layer of pain, another 
hurt that's never completely healed for my baby girl, and for me. You
know, some people can say something never happened or never name what it
is that's occurred and just go on living as if it were true -- but now with
everything that has been going on with Jack and with you, Fox -- well, 
what's "never happened", seems to have suddenly occurred. In fact, I 
can feel it reaching out, finally demanding my attention, my voice...."

"Pearl?"

"Eleanor was raped before ... before she died," Pearl said, rolling
her palms against her thighs. Mulder clasped her hands, halting 
their movement.

"Yes, Pearl, we know that.  She was, it-"

"No Fox, before that. The first time, the time she never reported or
never told anyone about, including me.  We'd been fighting you see. Ohh, 
Eleanor was very independent. I don't know, maybe I clung to her too 
much, but she was the only one I had left in my family -- what with Bill
having passed."

She stared at her hands again. "Eleanor, she made sure to go to school
as far away from me as possible. Berkley.  She had to go clear across 
the country to find her freedom and she did. She loved it there but 
then without word or provocation she suddenly didn't like it there."

"She wanted to come home, right in the middle of her last year of 
law school. It had been fall term. Well, when I finally saw her
at the train station ... when I saw my baby, I knew.  I knew 
something horrible had happened to her, but she would never say. Part 
of what she couldn't say had became evident, though."

"She was pregnant," Mulder supplied for Pearl. 

"Yes, with Jack," she affirmed.

"So, she eventually told you she was raped, then?" Mulder 
questioned.

"No, Fox, she didn't tell me.  She didn't have to.  It seems
like a secret society or something but victims ... victims
seem to be able to recognize one another, something in the
eyes.
 
"What? Pearl, you-"

"It was a long time ago, before Eleanor was even born, long
before. It's not important now, I've reconciled myself to 
it," Pearl said, cutting Mulder off.  She was quick to 
reassure. "But, you never forget ... never." 

Mulder remained quiet, in a state of semi-shock and kindled
anger.  He shook himself loose of his temporary paralysis of
disbelief and waited for Pearl to continue her story.

"Although she knew I knew what had happened, still she 
refused to talk about it. She would say that her life was 
here. Now -- that it was time to move on, forget the past. She
needed me to forget the past. Christ, I can still remember,
still hear her voice cracking under her desperate demand
for the only closure she felt she was going to get...."

"And...?"

"And eventually, I did forget. I never brought it up again. 
Instead, I was there for her through it all. Through Jack's 
birth, her completion of law school. I even took care of him 
when Eleanor landed a lucrative position in one of Philly's 
finest law firms. We were close again, and I cherished
that, cherished and hated it. I hated it for why it happened,
for the way it should never have happened. Still, we were happy
together, the three of us, for just over six years. We were 
really happy...."

"Pearl?" Mulder said, touching her cheek. She blinked, then
shook her head as she let out a sigh.  

"I'm just glad he's finally dead, maybe now this never-ending 
cycle of pain will stop," Pearl answered, resting her cheek
against his hand, holding his fingers against her skin. 

Mulder could feel the paper-thin skin beneath his fingertips. Pearl
spoke again. "Eleanor hid a lot of truths from me, Fox....something 
about sparing those you love, but ultimately, she couldn't hide them
all ... and even still, I never got the chance to tell her that it 
was all right -- that everything would be okay ... that ... that I 
loved her no matter what."

"I never thought of it like that before," Mulder replied,
thoughts of Jerse knocking on his conscience. "Never...."

Pearl met his gaze, holding it. "I know..., perhaps it's 
time you should, Fox."


               xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


PEARL'S KITCHEN


"Rather than worry about my meds, Agent Scully, maybe you should  
investigate getting some of your own," he told her. "Or, better 
yet...maybe you should go and get some sleep."

"I'm here to talk about you, Jack. Now, please, tell me how long 
have you been taking these medications?" Scully questioned, ready 
to move on and complete her analysis.

Jack rolled his eyes, jamming his hands under his crossed arms. "I 
dunno, all my life, whatever."

"Can you be more specific?" Scully asked, reigning in her exasperation. 
Jack had upgraded from a precocious boy to an arrogant adolescent.  She 
didn't like the mood swings, they displayed a level of displacement
and psychosis that was not comfortable for her to witness.

He interrupted her thoughts, finally answering her.  "I've been 
taking the meds since my mother died ... since she's been 
dead ... murdered."

"When did you stop taking the pills?"

"Three months ago."

"Why did you stop taking your prescriptions?"

"I don't  need them, they .. they mess with  me... 
they... I just don't need'em."

"Jack, do you realize that the medication you're taking
for seizures shouldn't *just* be stopped? They control the 
chemical imbalance of your brain...without them you could 
very possibly stroke out."

"I'm fine...."

"Jack, you're not fine.  Look at your hands, they're shaking,
and what about the episode from twenty minutes ago,"  Scully 
questioned, her tone insistent. "Your grandmother says your 
behavior has been erratic, and I can't help but agree with 
her having spent some time with you."

"No, you're wrong, I'm clear headed, straight for once 
in my life... no fucking cloud to block my thoughts, to 
stop me from reaching my full potential..."

"Jack, please...," Scully pleaded with him.  "The only 
potential you'll realize is an event in your brain that 
will make that cloud turn dark and strike without 
warning...."

"Don't play shrink with me, doctor," Jack raged, 
standing up, his chair skittering back and hitting the 
wall.  "Not when you don't have a fucking clue of what's 
going on here...with me or yourself...NOT A FUCKING 
CLUE...!"

"JACK!"

Scully turned her head to find Pearl in the doorway.  
Behind her was Mulder, his eyes instantly meeting 
hers, not in question as much as concern.

"You okay, Scully?" He asked in a tight voice.

"I'm fine, Mulder," Scully shifted her chair back from 
the table.  "But, Jack's not."

"I would have been if you hadn't opened your fat fucking 
mouth!" Jack growled, his finger pointing at his grandmother,
his posture hunched and cagey.

"Jack!" Mulder said, his voice sharp and cutting.

"What? What do you have to say to me? You pretend to
be my friend then you bring this bitch to stop me
up," Jack accused, pointing to Scully, his body rocking 
side to side." You wanna put me out to pasture again... well 
that ain't gonna happen...you all can just go to hell!"

"Jack, come on now, please?" Pearl pleaded, 
stepping closer for each agitated step he took 
back. Pearl kept her hands outstretched, imploring.

"Please? PLEASE? What about me, huh? What about 
me? I ain't your little baby anymore... You can just 
get away from me.  And you sure as hell aren't my
mother! My mother is DEAD!!... DEAD!!"

Pearl fell back, as if slapped, her hands falling
to her sides, her own posture crumbling at his
assaulting words. Scully watched in silent
disbelief. His acidic words aimed at and wounded
Pearl with a perfect bull's eye.

Stunned, the three adults watched Jack as he shot 
out of the kitchen. Like an uncalibrated bullet, he 
grazed Mulder's shoulder with his, spitting his 
fury like gunpowder.  "You'll regret this...."

Scully turned up and looked at Mulder and Pearl.

"Mulder...."

"I...," he began.

An incessant chirping sounded within his jacket pocket,
interrupting the tableau of stilted silence. 

Scully sighed. "Your phone, Mulder."

She watched him cast a look to Pearl.  He reached within
the charcoal suit jacket to pull out his cell. "Mulder."

Scully stood up from the table, walking over to Pearl. She
wrapped an arm around her, the other hand rubbing Pearl's
palm in soothing circles.  Scully's breath caught in her 
throat as the elder woman looked up, tears rolling down 
her lined cheeks. Her countenance had deflated into an overly
weary and battered visage. 

Jack's words had managed to burn away Pearl's mask of 
capability. She looked lost. "Dana, what's happening to my 
little boy?"



            XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX



Center City, Philadelphia
Olde City District
Pine St., en route to Greentree Hotel
Wednesday, 259 PM



Scully sat in the passenger seat, the right side of her forehead 
resting against the chilled side window.  She could barely keep her 
eyes open against the onslaught of pain riding behind her right 
temple.

"Mulder, I'm not going to this new homicide site," Scully 
informed him, her breath fogging a patch on the passenger 
window.

"What?" Mulder asked, tightening his seat belt as he pulled
out of his parking space. "Why, Scully? I need you."

"You don't need me. The Philadelphia police are quite proficient.
They've their own, qualified pathologists," Scully began, 
looking out the window.  Her elbow braced against the door as
her hand cradled her chin. "I've been fighting a migraine 
all day... and it's won.  I can't... I need to lay down, sleep
it off."

"Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?" Mulder
asked, his tone a bit accusatory as he turned onto Market St.
They were heading back to their hotel, and in Scully's 
estimation, they couldn't get there soon enough.

"Scully?"

"I... I thought it'd go away, but it hasn't," Scully finally
answered, sighing. "I just need to take some aspirin and
keep my eyes closed for a long, long time."

Mulder stopped the rental behind the length of cars idling
at the red traffic light. 

The day was still as gray as yesterday.  Funny, she hadn't
really paid attention to that earlier. Morning traces of 
rainfall still slicked the pavements. The cars swished 
through the crowded city streets, treading puddles of 
water beneath them. The city backdrop of wet noise was 
beginning to lull Scully to sleep.  She was beyond tired
from the autopsy she'd performed and the emotional stress
that the entire day continued to bestow upon her. 

Mulder interrupted her descent into temporary oblivion,
speaking in the silence of the car. "What about Jack...?"

Scully cracked her eyes open before answering.

"While you were saying your good-byes to Pearl, I put
in a call to the doctor's number she gave us. They're 
going to courier an on-file blood sample of Jack's to 
Philadelphia PD. If you can have Vaughn call in a  
comparison lab test when you meet up with him, we 
should have the results by five, tomorrow. The test
takes less than twenty-four hours."

"You're still going through with this...," Mulder began, 
his voice dropping off before hitting his turn signal 
and inching into the other lane. 

Scully closed her eyes again, blocking out the traffic and silently 
wishing to blot out Mulder's questions.  She didn't have the energy or 
the inclination to do anything more than escape the pounding cadence 
of pain drumming on the right side of her head.  Unfortunately, she 
heard Mulder take a deep breath, before continuing. "No, wait, Scully. I 
want to know what you're current thoughts are regarding your theory?"

"Mulder, I don't want to arg... I don't want to talk about this 
at the moment. I can't think right now. After I've rested, 
please?" Scully replied, her voice soft as her eyes opened,
catching onto the Liberty Bell, and behind it, the steeple of 
Independance Hall as their car crawled through the afternoon 
traffic. 

She closed her eyes once more, remembering her question she'd
asked on the phone before she ever arrived in this city again.

//"Do we really get to see the Liberty Bell, this time?"///

Well, let freedom ring for all she cared.  Right now, all 
she wanted to see was the back of her eyelids.

"Okay, Scully, we'll talk about it later," Mulder answered. Scully
moaned in response, letting the movement of the car rock her to
sleep.



                 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Center City, Philadelphia
University City District
Vaughns' Household
Wednesday, 821 PM


"Ohh! Nothing but air," Mulder called out as the basketball 
bounced off the backboard with a resounding thwack. Snagging 
the errant ball, Mulder dribbled it, going on the offensive as 
he swapped places with Vaughn.

Mulder stood, toeing the foul line -- a rather stylish one drawn 
with a scavenged piece of Vaughn's youngest daughter's chalk. 

Letting the ball travel from hand to hand, Mulder tried to decide on his 
next play.

"Like you got a chance to beat me, Fibbie," Vaughn taunted, coming
to stand before Mulder.  

"Mmm Hmm," Mulder smirked, giving a quick nod.  He stood back, watching 
as Vaughn bunched his pants legs up, hunkering down and ready to 
defend and defeat.

"I think you overestimate your prowess there, Vaughny," Mulder responded, 
stuffing the ball under his arm. He made a show of wiping his forehead 
against his bicep before rolling his shirt sleeves back up to his 
elbows. "Cuz, you're going down, Lieutenant."

"Keep dreamin', tough guy!" Vaughn bantered, a smirk pulling at his face.

Mulder let out a labored breath, the exhalation meeting up with Vaughn's.
There was a definite chill in the air but both men paid little attention
to the actual weather.  They were heated by the fire of their exertion.

Bending slightly, he met Vaughn's stance.  Dribbling the ball from hand to 
hand, Mulder's eyes fired with determination. "Think you got what it 
takes to bring me down?"

"Do I think? Hell, man, I know," Vaughn answered back, emphasizing each
word as he met the challenging tone in Mulder's voice. All grins were
put aside as Mulder got ready for his next move. 

Studying the jockeying motion Vaughn took up, the agent smiled.

"Didn't anybody ever tell you, Vaughny?" Mulder asked, his features
turning determined. "I got Game." 

Mulder quickly faked left then spun right, successfully edging past 
Vaughn. His motions culminated in a lay-up having him twisted around 
in the air. Playing accompaniment to his moves was the satisfying sound 
of a ball swishing through the hoop's metal netting.  



             XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX



Center City, Philadelphia
Olde City District
Pearl's Townhouse
Wednesday, 817 PM



Jack left the shuttered blackness of his bedroom.  The house 
had been quiet for a while now. He'd been left alone and he 
preferred that.  The early darkness of autumn was now shadowing 
the hallways and rooms as he walked down the thin corridor toward 
the kitchen.  

As he approached the room, his hand trailing against the wall. 
Jack could hear the vague cadence of his grandmother's voice. 
Cresting the doorway, he leaned against the frame, overhearing his 
grandmother's teary conversation, he suddenly felt deeply...

...betrayed.

"Yes, when can I bring him in? I... I think he needs to 
see someone right away. Yes, ... his seizures could ... no ... he 
hasn't been.... I'm scared ... scared for him ... yes, we can 
be there, tomorrow morning ... eight-thirty, not a problem. Thank 
you for calling me back, Dr. Wesling."

Jack watched her, his heart rate accelerating, his face flushing
with the rapidly rising heat of outrage.  He felt tears pricking 
at his eyes while he stood there, waiting, waiting for her to 
turn around. His gaze followed her hand as she placed the telephone 
receiver back in its cradle.

She stilled, facing the wall, facing the phone, as her shoulders 
shook and the sound of muffled sobs could be heard. Jack 
waited for her to turn around, he wanted her to.

He needed her to.

He had to see her face.           

"Why...?" He asked, pulling his weight off the door frame and 
stepping into the room. He swiped at his own face, scrubbing away
fallen tears. His voice was soft yet admonishing as he spoke to 
her back. "Why'd you have to go and do that?"



          XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Center City, Philadelphia
University City District
Vaughns' Household
Wednesday, 854 PM



"Ah, you sonofabitch," Vaughn griped, shaking his head as
he passed a smug Mulder. 

"Hey, I warned you," Mulder replied. He chuckled as he tossed
Vaughn the ball. "Here, think fast."

Vaughn grunted, catching it.

Mulder bent over, gripping his knees, trying to catch his
breath.  He was a bit annoyed to have his breathing so labored
so easily.  They'd only been playing for over an hour or so.  
But then again, Vaughn was a hard-assed player to keep up 
with. Of course, he'd have to be drawn and quartered to admit 
that to the Lieutenant. 

At any rate, he made a solemn oath that he'd be getting his ass
back on a regular running schedule, pronto. 

"I think you wore yourself out there, old man," Vaughn ribbed, 
giving a deep chuckle to accompany his words. 

Still holding his knees, Mulder tilted his head up, peering 
through his eyelashes and meeting Vaughn's stare. He soon
found himself echoing the detective's chuckle.  It looked 
like he wouldn't have to admit a word. He was flat-out 
busted.

Vaughn began bouncing the ball against the cemented driveway, 
the rubber twang echoing in the quiet neighborhood.

"Who you calling old," Mulder questioned, standing up and 
leaning his back into a stretch. Truth be told, he was feeling
pretty run down. It'd been a long couple of days. 

Playing some basketball always seemed to have this bizarre Zen
quality for him. As a result, he hadn't hesitated taking up 
Vaughn's offer for a little one on one. 

His breathing once more under control, he twisted his neck, 
cracking it, before turning to face Vaughn. Mulder smirked as 
he watched the Lieutenant walk behind the foul line.

Taking up his position before his friend, Mulder caught the 
ball.  They checked it back and forth. Finally, Vaughn took
sole possession, gripping the ball in preparation. "You
know what, Mulder?  I've got one thing to tell ya."

"While I'm young, Vaughn," Mulder provoked, taking his turn
to taunt.

"And that, my friend is You're goin' down!" Vaughn declared, 
dribbling the ball a final time before plowing forward. 

Mulder felt the detective's hard court press knock him 
back. Toppling him to the ground with a grunt.  He shook his 
head, watching as Vaughn slammed the ball through the 
hoop. 

"Oh yeah, who's your daddy!"


            XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Center City, Philadelphia
Olde City District
Pearl's Townhouse
Wednesday, 836 PM



Pearl twisted around, a hand fluttering to her chest. "Jesus, 
Jack ... you scared the living life out of me."

He crossed over to the table, his hands closing over the back
of a chair. "That's what I'm countin' on."

"Jack?" 

He watched confusion spread over her features. She took
a step forward, shaking her head, her voice raw from her 
tears. "Listen, Jack ... we're goin' to Dr. Wesling's
tomorrow morning, eight-thirty.  We need to get you back 
on the right seizure medication... I don't want anything 
happening to you ... you've been ... well, you've been 
extremely lucky so far."

Jack placed his palm on the tabletop, retracing the same
groove of earlier. He looked up, catching Pearl's gaze as he
began to trail his index finger along the surface. 

"Nothing'll happen to me," he began, walking toward the 
end of the table, slowly approaching her.  "See, that's what
you all fail to get. Nothing *can* happen to me... not 
anymore. I'm finally free ... of ... well, free of everything or
rather, I soon will be."

"Jack...," she stammered, taking a step backward, but there
really was no place for her to go.

Betrayed.

"I won't allow anyone, and that includes you, Grams, to 
take that away from me. You do understand, right?" Jack asked, 
watching as the confusion on her face melted into fear.

Lifting his hand off the table, he saw Pearl jump as if 
slapped. He held her gaze, refusing to let it go. She was
an enemy, someone who stood in the way of his full potential,
but not for long.

Oh no, not for long.

"Jack, baby, you're scaring me, stop that," Pearl said,
stepping back again, trying to keep the distance between
them.

He watched her with an air of fascination. Her gaze
pleaded with him as did her voice. "I'm not trying to take 
anything away from you, Sweetie.  Why don't you tell me ... tell
me what's wrong? Please, let me help you ... talk to me 
Jack, talk ... to ... me..., you could always tell me
anything."

Jack took another step forward. Pearl took an accompanying
one back, hitting against the dining room's swinging door. 
"*I* don't ... have... a... problem. I've been TRYING to 
tell you that again and again and AGAIN!"

With each utterance of "again", Jack's fist slammed against the face
of the refrigerator, causing various magnets to clatter to
the floor.

"Jack, please..." Pearl asked, the dinning room door pushing open
against her back as she stepped away, keeping the distance between 
them.

"I'm scaring you? *I'M* scaring YOU!?!" Jack repeated, his fists 
clenching to his sides. "You shoulda thought of that before 
you betrayed me. You shoulda thought of that before you had
some bitch doctor try and tell me that I'm insane, tell me
I'm not normal... Well, she was right... *I'M* not normal..."

He shook his head, trying to organize his thoughts. Letting out
a steady sigh, he reopened his eyes, his voice calm again. "I'm 
not normal, Grams.... I'm better than that."

"Please Jack," Pearl repeated the request again, tears coloring her
words.  The dining room door now stood completely open as she 
crossed the threshold, backing into the room. "Please, don't be like
this. I love you... Why are you...? You Are Scaring Me, please. 
Just stop it!"

"Stop it?" Jack asked, taking a quick step forward.

Pearl cried out, stepping away from the door.

As it swung back, Jack caught it against his palm, 
continuing to approach her.  His gaze never deviated 
from hers as she backed further into the room, bumping
into the dining room table.  

"Stop? But, Grams, I've just begun."



         XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Center City, Philadelphia
University City District
Vaughns' Household
Wednesday, 903 PM



Mulder let out a tired sigh, laying out defeated on the
driveway where Vaughn's full-impact collision left him. 

That was it, he was through for the night. He continued
to just lay there, amending his new resolution, his oath. 
Not only was he going to be running more, but a bit of 
weight training might be in order as well.

"We needed this," Vaughn said, letting the ball fall to 
the driveway and roll against Mulder's side.

He held a hand out and Mulder clasped it, letting the
Lieutenant pull him to his feet.

Sniffing from the cold, Mulder nodded his head as he 
took up a seat on the piled high railroad cords which
held the lawn back on either side of the sunken 
driveway. 

"I know *I* sure needed it. On the shit-o-meter, this week -- I'd
say this day is ranking pretty high up. Add onto everything the
press... I mean... I knew we'd only be lucky for so long until 
they got wind of the murders, but still...." 

"Yeah, was only a matter of time before someone connected the 
dots. I gotta agree with ya. I do consider us pretty damn lucky 
we haven't had to contend with that nuisance, but now the
honeymoon's over," Vaughn said, sighing. 

Mulder looked over and caught him rubbing the back of his hand 
against his forehead. Grunting in acquiescence, Mulder continued
the thought. "Now we're high profile. Which, as I'm sure you 
remember ... can prove tantalizing to the killer's appetite."

"Well, welcome back to the lime light, Agent Mulder," Vaughn
said, rotating his shoulder. "I don't mind sharing it, 
would rather there wasn't one to begin with."

Mulder nodded. 

Looking over at Vaughn, he watched him massaging his bicep. "My 
bag of bones clip ya on that last go around?"

"Hmm ... what? Oh yeah, my pile driving strategy might be
goin' on hiatus," Vaughn answered, giving a final squeeze to his 
strained muscle. He dropped his hands into his lap. "I tell ya, 
Mulder, I know I've said it before, but I really don't know how 
much I can take on this. It's gettin' so as the boys at the precinct 
know this routine down to a T, including the end result of all 
our forensics." 

Mulder shook his head in agreement. Vaughn's frustration 
was not only shared with the Philadelphia PD, but Mulder, as
well.  It was an exasperation tempered with an unshakable 
sense of foreboding, a feeling that had been steadily 
creeping up on Mulder all day -- pestering him.

"And now? Now, we got the damn media focus highlightin' just 
how "inept" the Philly PD is," Vaughn continued, giving
a weary chuckle. The Lieutenant grunted, slapping a hand
down to his thigh. He looked over at Mulder. "And I'll tell 
ya what, I'm feeling a bit 'inept'."

"Vaughn, something's gotta give," he replied, feeling his
own level of discouragement deepening. "I can feel it."

As to where this sense of apprehension was originating from,
he couldn't quite say. There were so many issues, feelings and 
problems to sift through that he fleetingly wished he could just 
wake up from what was relentlessly taking on the texture of an 
epic nightmare.  

The culmination of these past few days was running him ragged.  

Scully ... what about her? He couldn't even say if he was still 
angry because the moment he allowed himself to contemplate their 
situation, another issue stormed to the forefront. 

Jack.

He didn't like what he saw today, didn't appreciate having to leave
Pearl as they had. He would have liked to have stayed with 
her, see what more he could have done for them. 

Jack, he'd degenerated far more within twenty-four hours than Mulder 
felt comfortable with.  He hoped Pearl had been able to get him to 
his doctors.

"Well, while you're 'feeling something', we're still left
without answers," Vaughn said, interrupting his thoughts.

Mulder looked over at the detective, meeting his gaze. "What's
that supposed to mean?"

"Ah, nothing, ignore me," Vaughn answered, standing up to 
pace the driveway again. "I'm just frustrated."

"We all are, Vaughny," Mulder said, rubbing his hands
on his pants legs. 

"Yeah, I know it," the Lieutenant replied, his shoes scraping
against the cement as he kicked away a loose stone. "I'm just 
not looking forward to more questions that we can't possibly 
answer. The whole Philly police force is gonna really take 
it on the chin again with this new media circus brewin'."

Mulder sighed, recalling his arrival at the victim's 
high-rise apartment this afternoon. 

Greeted by a horde of newscasters with their protruding microphones 
and glaring camera lights, he'd stepped out of his rental car
ready to dive through the congestion of bodies. He wasn't that
successful.  Immediately, he'd been consumed by the familiar 
piranha spouting their questions and chomping for answers. 

And of course, his presence on the scene hadn't helped calm 
matters, not that that was a particular surprise.  Fox Mulder
was synonymous in Philadelphia with the Keenswan serial murders,
an investigation the city would be hard pressed to ever forget.

Now, to be a part of a crime scene painted in the same 
colors of the past was a bit too much of a coincidence 
for the general public. At least, that was according 
to the local newscaster he'd been watching while waiting
to partake of Lisa Vaughn's roast beef dinner.
 
While he'd been waiting with Vaughn, he'd caught
his image from two days ago and today, watching 
himself shoulder his way through the mob of reporters 
while offering the requisite reply of, "No comment."

"Mulder... Mulder?!?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Mulder answered, scratching a hand over his
face and through his hair.  He followed that action by pressing
the heels of his palms against his eyes, elevating the itch of 
exhaustion.

"I asked you how Dana was. Have you talked with her tonight? 

"Umm ... no, I figured I'd let her sleep," Mulder answered, taking
in a deep breath as he lowered his hands. Slowly blinking, he opened
his eyes and focused on Vaughn. "Her migraine was really bad this 
afternoon."

"Oh, is that what you figured," Vaughn provoked, his words 
cutting into Mulder, gaining his immediate attention. "And 
that was this afternoon, Mulder, it's past nine, now."

"Vaughn," he warned, sighing as he rubbed at his neck.

"What'd I say?" Vaughn asked, his query dressed in the tone of
innocence. "It just seems to me that if you're gonna
make nice with her, that it's best done in her presence."

"You know, Vaughn, you've no idea what the hell you're 
talking about," Mulder informed him, his tone showing
amazement at his friend's audacity.

Mulder stared at him until he couldn't stop himself from releasing
a wry chuckle. The man stood there with his "who me" posturing, 
pressing his hands against his chest.

"So, why don't you enlighten me ... or better yet, no ... don't
tell me...," Vaughn said, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets
while successfully cutting off Mulder's next attempt to speak. 

He stood before Mulder, his tone turning serious. "It's 
like I told you last night, Mulder. Everybody deserves a 
second chance. I've benefited from that. And even when 
I did ... even when Lisa should have kicked my ass to
the curb, she didn't. And gettin' back what we lost? Well,
it wasn't easy and not exactly the same ... it became
better."

Vaughn took another step closer, holding Mulder's 
gaze, his tone softer, reminiscent. "The fact is
the whole process can be fucking hard as Hell. So, 
don't let what's happened between you two get to where Lisa 
and I were."

The detective paused and Mulder didn't interrupt. "I'm tellin' ya 
man, if you love her half as much as I think you do ... you need
to get your ass off my driveway, out of this friggin' cold. Go see
that pretty lady."

They stared at one another, the moments ticking away. 

"Oh? Is that what I should do, then?" Mulder finally responded,
his voice raising to shouting level within the nighttime 
quiet.  He broke their stare to look his friend up and down. 

"Yeah, that's what you should do," Vaughn replied, switching
his weight to his left foot as he raised his voice higher 
than Mulder's.

"Well fine, I will!" Mulder said, standing up to come nose to 
nose with the Lieutenant. 

Their breath mingled once more, becoming a cloud between 
them. Suddenly Mulder cracked a grin, breaking the 
stare-off.  He spoke again, his voice quiet and full 
of an unspoken depth of gratitude. He laid a hand on
Vaughn's shoulder. "Thanks, Vaughny."

Vaughn gave a quick nod to his head. "Not a problem, mi
amigo."

      xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


Center City, Philadelphia
Olde City District
Pearl's Townhouse
Wednesday, 930 PM


Jack was shivering, his body tensing off and on as
he walked around his bedroom, preparing to go to sleep.
No, not preparing to sleep so much as preparing to be 
completely free.

In his dreams, there were no medicines or doctors ... no
barriers.  There was no one and nothing to hold him back.  

He walked over to his computer and hit play, hearing
the familiar and welcomed refrain...

"Merlin says "The blades of death come your way, the 
question is will you play?"

He stepped back, straightening his spine. It was time
to make his own magic.

Turning, he walked over to his bed and sat down on it. He
made sure to untie his shoes before toeing them off.  Pushing
his comforter back, he slid under his blankets.

"Merlin says "The blades of death come your way, the 
question is will you play?"

Jack laid back, adjusting his position on the bed, pulling
his blanket up to his chin. He made sure to
stick his arms beneath the softness.

"Merlin says "The blades of death come your way, the 
question is will you play?"

Jack looked over to the computer screen. "Yes, I will."

      xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


Center City, Philadelphia
Greentree Hotel
Broad & Locust St.
Wednesday, 1016 PM




Mulder crossed through the hotel lobby. As he
passed the concierge, he heard his name. Clenching
his jaw, Mulder ground the back of his teeth.  
He'd been stopped at least three times already from the 
valet to the doorman, and now the concierge... all 
inquiring about the latest murders.

God, he hated being high profile.

Turning on his heel, he walked over to the marble
counter, an inner voice reminding him to put on
a smile. "Yes?"

"Sorry to disturb you, sir, but there's a phone 
message for you," the man informed him, handing over
an envelope. 

"Oh, well, thank you," Mulder replied. He nodded his
thanks and turned away.  

Didn't this place have voice mail?

Walking back to the elevator, he passed through the
open doors as he opened the envelope.  

"Floor, sir?" 

"Uh, seventeen," Mulder replied, unfolding the 
paper.  

It was from A.D. Skinner. He was to call him tomorrow 
by nine AM.  The message detailed that Skinner had left 
a message at the precinct as well as having tried to
reach both agents on their cell phones and at the 
hotel -- all avenues unsuccessful.

Mulder crinkled his brow, perplexed. Pushing his trench 
coat aside, he reached into his suit jacket and unearthed
his cell, flicking it open. 

When he hit power, nothing happened. 

He tried again.

Nothing.

He gave an exasperated sigh, realizing he must not have hit 
the end button hard enough on the last call.  It'd happened
before.  The phone was new and the buttons apparently weren't
very responsive to his touch. 

Figures.

As to the precinct, the time of the message was marked 
eight-forty-five, PM. He'd been at Vaughn's. So, that explained Skinner
not reaching *him*, but what about Scully?  She hadn't answered 
the phone?  She'd explicitly told him that she was going to lay
down for the night. 

Mulder stuffed his phone back into his jacket, letting
both hands fall to his side, his fingers tapping against 
his legs.  Maybe she took something a little bit stronger 
than aspirin. 

He knew her pain had to be pretty severe if she had to leave the
investigation, but still, even if she'd taken something stronger,
that explanation didn't really fly with him.

His earlier apprehension was beginning to crawl over him again,
the little hairs on the back of his neck were rising.  Instead of 
just pestering him, the sensation was demanding his sole attention.

He didn't like this ... not at all.

Looking up at the floor numbers, he wondered if this thing could
possibly go any slower. It was taking forever to hit their floor.

He began tapping his foot, waiting for the doors to ding open 
onto his floor. The elevator must have stopped six times already,
letting off various passengers.

Why the hell did he have to get a floor so high, anyway?
That's right, he wanted a nice view of the city. 

When Scully had seen it, she'd nearly passed out, surprised at 
the near splendor of the room. She was in shock as she 
compared the room to the usual places he'd book for himself.  

She'd thought it was beautiful -- romantic, and he agreed.  He 
remembered seeing her standing before the windows, dressed in 
her robe, silhouetted against the city lights illuminating 
the night. Very romantic.

Damn it ... something was wrong ... he knew it.  The sense of
urgency was increasing tenfold with each moment that was 
passing by.

He glanced up at the number panel, watching each number light
up as the elevator continued to climb. Finally, the bell chimed
for his floor. 

Mulder found himself pushing past a young couple, speeding
his step as he made his way down the corridor. He turned a 
corner and began to run.

Scully ... he had to get to her.  He didn't know what was
going on or why the rush of certainty, but his very being 
screamed danger. The warning cry sizzled up his spine, pebbling 
his skin as he obliterated the remaining distance to their 
room.

His hand reached into his holster and he unsheathed his gun,
cocking the trigger.    




xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx



Center City, Philadelphia
Greentree Hotel
Room 1762
Wednesday, 1005 PM


Scully stretched on the bed, feeling the blankets hot against
her skin.  Her eyes filtered open and she stilled her movements, 
afraid to feel the beating tattoo of her migraine once more. 

Reaching her arm out for the phone, she attempted to grab
the receiver. Successful, she brought the mouth piece to
her lips. "Scully."

There was no reply.

"Hello?" Nothing.  She dropped the receiver back into the
cradle with an extended arm. Slowly, her mind cleared itself 
of cobwebs as she began to fully awaken.

Still feeling cautious, she waited to feel a reprisal of
the percussion ensemble that had played her off into 
dreamland. Relief coursed through her as she realized 
the band seemed to have left the building, as it were. 

Tossing the bed sheets back, she prepared to get up and go 
to the bathroom.  She reached over and flicked the bedside 
lamp on, finally chasing away the thick blackness of night.

Turning around, Scully looked over her shoulder toward the 
window.  She hoped to catch sight of a few stars and not the familiar 
masses of cloud coverage which had been obscuring the sky almost
since she'd arrived in Philadelphia.

Rubbing a hand over her face, she let out a yawn while finally
opening her eyes.

She froze.

Scully felt her throat become parched, her heart 
beat accelerating, pounding against her rib cage.  She 
let out a shocked gasp.

Never, in her entire time with Mulder, through hundreds of 
investigations and theories and whatever ... never had she 
ever wished for a theory of hers to be wrong...

...But there's always a first time.


Sitting on the far corner of the king sized bed was Jack 
Layne.  

Scully felt a wet cold fear wash over her. She swallowed,
the sound magnified in her ears, her body starting to 
tremble despite her best efforts to remain calm.  

He sat there, taking up that small corner of the king-sized
bed.  He sat there watching how the light from the lamp she'd 
just flicked on, caught upon the switchblade he twisted within 
his hand.

Finally, as if just noticing she were there, he looked up. A 
peaceful, confident smile spread across his face as he spoke. 

"Merlin says "The blades of death come your way, the question 
is will you play?"

Scully slowly reached a hand over toward the night stand, searching 
for her gun and grasping only air.

"Well, are you ready to play, Dana?" Jack asked, standing up and
walking toward her side of the bed. He paused, staring into
her eyes. "Because I am."

Center City, Philadelphia
Greentree Hotel
Outside Room 1762
Wednesday, 1007 PM


Feeling the adrenaline rush of anxiety, Mulder
stood at the door, his sweaty palm wrapped around the
handle, preparing to enter and confront what lay beyond
the two inch thickness of wood.


He braced himself while controlling his breath and centering
his resolve. But, despite his best efforts, Mulder could
not banish the escalating sense of trepidation. It dangled
before his psyche, demanding this response.


Rarely had such a warning led him wrong.  It fueled
the pumping rhythm of his heart, the throbbing beat
roaring a rapid cadence within his ears. It ravaged
his skin with apprehension, drenching it with sweat.


The hallway lights flickered within their sconces,
the staggered fixtures trailing down the length of the
hallway.  The trembling intrusion plucked at his
attention -- a moment's distraction catching his gaze. His
eyes blindly watched the display of fluttering amber.


Mulder closed his eyes, wrapping his vision in transient
blackness. He slowed his breath, feeling it tickle his
upper lip in a stream of exhalation.  Reopening his eyes,
his concentration and resolve merged, leaving the time
for preparation behind him.


Raising his gun, the safety off and bullet chambered, Mulder
threw the door open, stepping inside.


Darkness.


Black clutched at the room and enveloped the furniture. His
eyes inspected the darkened shadows, identifying the
various pieces of furniture with the helping splash of
hallway lighting.


As he clutched his SIG with steady hands, he stepped deeper
into the room, his body sliding free of the door. It
snicked closed behind him, taking away the hallway's added
illuminant.


Mulder took a moment, his eyes adjusting to the murky glow.  Blinking,
his pupils dilated, widened to register the climbing city
lights reaching through the window.  The vertical blinds, open but
not pulled back, cast the room in striped shades of luminous indigo.


Reaching a hand back, his finger crawled over the wall, searching
for the light switch.  With an audible click, the ceiling lamp
was turned on, suffusing the room with brightness.


His gaze fastened onto the solitary figure on the bed, her body
swathed in a tangle of blankets, her hair peeking out of
the cocoon of bedding. He felt a wash of relief splash
through his body -- a relief tempered by the need to verify
all was as it appeared.



               XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX



Center City, Philadelphia
Greentree Hotel
Room 1762
Wednesday, 1005 PM


Scully slowly reached a hand over toward the night
stand, searching  for her gun and grasping only air.

"Well, are you ready to play, Dana?" Jack asked, standing
up and walking toward her side of the bed. He paused,
staring into her eyes. "Because I am."

Scully watched him, his gaze meeting hers.

"Nothing's there," he said, nodding his head to indicate
the bedside table. "Go ahead, take a look."

Scully chanced a quick glance. He was right, her gun
was no longer there, yet she could have sworn she'd
left it holstered beside the lamp. She turned back,
meeting his gaze again, schooling her features and
voice in confident authority.

"Jack, put the knife down. NOW," Scully directed.
He stood before her, toward the end of the bed,
exuding confidence, assurance. "Put the knife down
and let's talk."

"Talking's all I've ever done," Jack said, the
smile leaving his face.  "I'm tired of talking."

"Jack," Scully warned, commanding.

"Dana," he mocked, parroting her tone.

"I can't listen to you, not with that in your
hand," Scully informed him, looking pointedly
at the switchblade.

She tried to reach him, to push down her rising
alarm. Attempting not to drown in her own escalating
fear, she felt the need to soothe him as she would
a terrified child. Calm, sure, non-threatening.

Already, she could see his confidence slipping, his
veneer of assurance merely a mask painted on his
face.

She had to be very careful.

Jack's violet eyes rapidly tracked back and forth. She
saw the raw edge of riotous emotions glimmering through.
His countenance took on the appearance of a cornered,
wounded animal.

"That's all right, cause you don't gotta hear me. You
just gotta sit there and ... not ... move," he informed her,
as he closed the minuscule distance between them.

Scully tried to defy his orders, but failed. Her body
remained frozen, not complying with her survival instinct
for flight.  She became confused at her inability, fear
and adrenaline mixing, magnifying her senses and speeding
the rhythm of her heart.

Why couldn't she move?



                 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX




"Scully," he called, walking over to the closet. Mulder's hand
still clasped his gun, the metal heavy in his palm.

Pushing the louvered doors open, the wheels squeaked, sliding on
their tracks.  His gaze quickly catalogued their clothes, finding
his two other suits mingling with her three. Casting a quick
glance to the floor, he spied their empty suitcases cluttering
the narrow expanse.

Another tidal wave of relief soaked through him, teasing
his intellect into regarding his actions as foolish.

"Scully?" he called over his shoulder, noting her lack
of response.

His assumption must have been right. She must have taken
something stronger than aspirin. It would certainly
explain her not answering him, now, and the phone,
earlier.  Still, something continued to taunt him,
needled him, despite the apparent lack of danger.

His gaze left the closet, tracking toward the bathroom.
He felt his skin tingle, his senses recharge with
trepidation.  Perhaps he wasn't wrong.  Raising his
SIG again, he cautiously approached the room.

Pausing, he listened.  The only sound greeting him through
the closed door was the sound of a leaky faucet.

Yet ... still.



             XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX



Why couldn't she move?

She looked down at her body and back at Jack. Her heart was
knocking against her chest. The inner turmoil became an
imitation of the outer struggle she was unable to perform.

"You drugged me?" Scully questioned, her voice breathy. She
could feel the unfolding spread of a paralytic slide over
her skin, submerging her body in chemical incarceration.

Jack sat there, silent, sullen, as though evaluating her
words.

Scully, repeated, "Jack...what did you do? What did
you give me? How could you ...?"

Her rational mind began sorting through all the possible
drugs he could have used on her.

A blanket of dread wrapped around her, covering her
mind's eye in images of crime scenes, of blood ... of
horror.

Again, she wished she'd been wrong, so very, very wrong.
But now was not the time for wishing, now was the time
for surviving. She concentrated her efforts on achieving
that one goal.

"Did I drug you? Sure..." Jack said, breaking into her
rampant thoughts.  He smiled and sat down beside her, the
blade still clasped within his palm. Scully's eyes left
his face and focused on the long knife.

"Sure, I drugged you...that's what I did," Jack confirmed,
his confidence returning.

She looked up, meeting his eyes as he continued. "I mean, if
that's what you wanna believe, then that's what I did."

His free hand raised above her left arm, his fingers trailing
down the sleeve of her pajamas. The tiny hairs beneath the
silk material rose, complimenting her apprehension.



                XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX



Taking a deep breath, he twisted the handle, propelling
the door open to reveal an empty room.  Mulder cocked his
head, perplexed.  He scanned over their neatly
arranged toiletries, spotting Scully's compulsive need
to place his deodorant next to his shaving cream, his
razor cradled in a soap dish.

Mulder let out a nervous chuckle, shaking his head.
She always tidied up after him... something he liked
to tease her about.

She needed order, she would explain, blowing a piece
of hair off her face.  She would then proceed to call
him a slob. Which, compared to her, he supposed
he was.

He holstered his gun and stepped out of the bathroom. His
gaze caught a strip of burgundy laying across one of the
room's plush chairs.  It was a rogue bath towel draped
across its back.

He smiled, recalling how he had teased her only two nights ago. He
remembered that excited catch in her breath when she had caught his
reflection within the bureau mirror, when she had spotted him staring
at her.

He had shed his towel, letting it pile at his feet, beginning one
of their games. In this one, as in all of them, they both won. The
object was to challenge the other to a round of unflappability -- who
could abstain from touching the other? Who could hold out the longest,
playing at being impervious.

It was always a quick game.

'Long live the King' had been right, as long as the King
could have his Queen.

And he wanted that. He wanted that playful frivolity,
that level of acceptance and trust ... he wanted it all back.

Walking to the bed, he solidified his decision,
pushing away the whispered intrusion of another, of
someone who never should have mattered ... not now.

He'd initially come back to this room tonight with the
intent to submerge the ghosts of the past with the joy
of the present.  And it was a joy -- Holding her, touching
her ... making love to her.

A Joy.

He loved her. In the end of this emotional maelstrom,
the simple truth was that he loved her, that he cherished
her.

It was just that simple.

Everyone deserved a second chance -- that's what Vaughn had
said. And sure as Hell, she had bestowed that forgiving grace
often enough on him.

He crossed the room, sitting down beside her, the mattress
sinking beneath his weight.  Second chances ... it struck him
that he was due for another one, himself.

He had pushed her away, wounding her as she had him. He
had struck out with his words, stabbing her with his
pain.  Quite simply, he had wanted her to hurt as he
had been hurt.

He'd been vindictive; he'd been a fool.

He smirked as he took in the twisted mass of blankets
woven around her body.  She always did like to horde the
covers.

Pushing the comforter down, he exposed her face to his
view. His eyebrows drew together, his eyes confused as
he noted the pallor of her skin.

Had he been so wrapped up in his own concerns that he
hadn't noticed her condition?

Possibly, but he didn't think so... this was beyond
her earlier symptoms of a migraine.  He stroked the
back of his fingers against her cheek.

Touching her clammy skin, his feeling of unease
surged again, drowning him in escalating concern ... concern
and fear.

He placed his palm against her forehead and felt her skin
burning against his own. Pushing her hair back, he noticed
the edge of her hairline soaked in perspiration.

"Scully... Scully wake-up!"

Mulder felt his throat drying. He swallowed, his heart
beat accelerating.




             XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX




She tried to negate her reality, attempting to pull
away from his intrusive touch, yet failing. Panic gripped
her, mounting terror forcing her tongue. "What did you
give me? What, the hell, did you give to ME!?!"

"Shhh, relax...," Jack suggested, placing a finger
against her trembling lips. She violently twisted
her head away, relieved she had that little bit of
movement available to her.

Suddenly, she felt her breathing slow, her heart rate
decrease its marathon pace. She was responding to
his commands, made prisoner to the effects of the
narcotic in her system.

This calming response was a blessing in disguise, a benefit.
She could not risk submitting to panicked fear. She
needed to be able to work with him, talk to him...reach
him. Scully had to step beyond the immediacy of the
moment and attempt to direct her future.

She recalled their session from that afternoon. She'd
kept her tone, her approach soothing, supportive as she
attempted to coax answers and information from him. Ultimately,
that had failed, garnering his insolence instead. She
would need to try another method.

"Jack, you are holding an FBI Agent against her will...I
am not just some friend of Mulder's but a Federal Officer.
You cannot get away with this. Before it goes too
far, stop whatever you are intending, right now."

Jack laughed, the sound scratching against her ear
drums and rattling her taut nerves. Tears trickled
from his eyes as hilarity consumed him.

She expected a reaction from him but nothing like the
one she was receiving. His hysterics made her more
confused, more nervous, illustrating the unpredictability
of his mental state.

Jack wiped his eyes, his head lowered. He gave himself
a little shake before raising his face and looking at
her, meeting her stare.

Gone was the bravado of laughter and merriment. In its
place was a grim, uncompromising countenance that left
no hint of his previous mirth. It was as if a switch
had been flicked, altering him yet again.

Scully's fear escalated. She remembered Jack's
volatile mood swings, his unpredictable reactions
emerging when challenged. Options were running out
for her. Everything she tried risked failure, yet
to remain silent, to blindly be further victimized
to his want was unacceptable.

This mental instability marked him as most dangerous,
particularly here, now, when she was unable to
defend herself. So despite failure, Scully relied
on her remaining weapon words...mere words that could
save, or damn her.

Either way, it was a chance she would have to take.

"You don't have any power here, any authority, Special
Agent Dana Scully," he said, finally speaking. He leaned
forward, his breath fanning her face. "You got no idea
where you are, do you?"

He didn't wait for her response. "It don't matter. You're
where I want you to be and that's all you need to know."



                XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX




Finding the edge of the blanket, he began to unwrap
her like a mother unswaddling a newborn.  He lifted
her up into a sitting position, leaning her rag-doll
weight against him as he freed her from her nocturnally
woven cocoon.

Clasping her arms, he gently laid her back against the pillows,
pushing the blankets down to the end of the bed and away
from her sweat-soaked pajamas.

"Scully ... come on, wake-up. It's time for you to
wake-up, now," Mulder coaxed, his voice cracking as thoughts
of infection or accidental overdose flitted through his mind.

She began to moan, her lips parting, her breath becoming
labored -- agitated.

"Scully ... it's me, Mulder ... your favorite pain in
the ass," Mulder chided, an edge of panic rimming his
attempt at levity.

Suddenly she began to thrash, her arms slamming against
the bed, her agitation escalating.

"No...," she gasped, her voice hoarse yet loud in the
quiet room.

Mulder felt his fear abate some, pacified that she was
conscious enough to dream, not lost within a medicinal
coma.


             XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX



"Mulder will be back any minute, Jack...this can't go
on," she warned changing her tactics. Pleading was
appalling to her, yet she felt compelled to do so.
Desperation directed her actions, and if she had to
rely on that alone, she would.

"Mulder? Mulder can't help you." Jack's lips broke into
an assured grin. He lifted his arm, implicating the room
around them. "No one's gonna help you, not here."

Fighting to control her own fear, Scully tried to get
a handle on Jack's mercurial emotions. She tried a
different tact, "You don't need to be this way, Jack."

"'This way'?" he questioned, confusion coloring his
expression. "What way's that?"

"You are not your father; you do not have to behave
this way," Scully suggested.

"Ahhh....I gotcha," he responded, tracing a pattern
with his hand, running it over the percale sheets. He
watched his fingers splay open and closed, his attention
seemingly lost in the complexities of the pattern.

Scully took another chance, continuing in the
same thread. "Please, Jack, you don't have to give
into this..."

"Ahhh...but you don't get it ... I do. I'm not gonna
pretend I don't know who you mean or what you're talkin'
about. I feel we're, you and me, past all that crap," Jack
began, his voice hard.

"Pops, he knew you, you know? Told me I had to make you
quiet. In fact, Dana ..." he said, raising his gaze
from his trailing fingers, he focused on her eyes. "...he
said, if you didn't believe me, I should tell you
something ... a little greeting from the grave ... the
grave I put him in. You wanna know what he said?"

Scully shook her head. She didn't want to know, didn't
want to hear, didn't want to comprehend what Jack was
alluding to. Anything he said regarding Keenswan was
an impossibility. He and Keenswan had never talked, had
never met beyond ten years prior. There was no way
that what Jack was saying was even possible ... It was
just another twisted delusion ... his mind playing sad,
morbid tricks on him.

Jack leaned in closer, placing his face against her
breast. He sniffed, drawing his head up, his nose touching
her skin till he pulled back, his eyes meeting hers. And
she knew, knew what could not be possible, knew what
Jack was about to say.

"He said, he told me that you smelled, 'smelled like
vanilla'," Jack revealed, grinning. " And I think I
gotta agree."


          XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX



Gently clutching Scully's arms, Mulder held her, trying
to calm her down from the gripping nightmare she was
suffering through. He began to rub her upper arms in
soothing, concentric circles.

She began to moan again, her lips chapped as her tongue slid
over them. He pulled his left hand from her arm, holding her
chin within his fingertips.

"Come on, Scully ... wake-up ... it's all right," Mulder said.

She did not wake.  Sighing, he released her face and
froze, his whole body tensing.

Two dabs of red blighted her skin where his fingers had
been.

As if in slow motion, Mulder turned his hand over, balking
at the image before him.  He had simply thought it was sweat
but as he stared at his left palm, he saw his skin covered
in blood ... covered in Scully's blood.

"Oh Christ!" Mulder exclaimed. He quickly looked at his
other hand, afraid to find a matching shade. Thankfully,
it was clean.

Puzzled that her pajamas were unscathed, Mulder struggled to
examine the wound. Not hesitating a moment longer, he
gripped the buttoned edges of her night shirt, tearing
them apart and exposing her chest.

Quickly threading the top over her shoulders, he lifted
her unconscious body up against him again and carefully tugged
the garment off her arms, being cautious not to irritate
the injury further.

He felt his heart stutter once able to inspect the
damage.  Her whole left arm was drenched in an ever-blossoming
red, her blood flowing from the obscured laceration.



              XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Scully felt a cold fear wash over her, saturating in
its acrid scent.

It wasn't possible, it couldn't be possible. The
thought continued to repeat itself in the back of
her mind, a soundtrack to the nightmarish reality
surrounding her.

That Jack had been emotionally scarred -- followed
in his father's twisted footsteps, plausible. That
they'd suffered similar psychosis, conceivable. That
he had spoken or had even seen Keenswan beyond a
court room ten years ago, impossible.

It couldn't have happened ... Keenswan had no
visitors, no phone calls, no mail ... nothing.

Yet, how ... how could Jack know?  How could he repeat
the very words Keenswan had said to her? She'd only
met him two days ago.

Her skin, slick with sweat, soaked her pajamas,
adhering them to her body. She itched, but was
unable to alleviate the sensation.

Swallowing, her breathing became labored. Her
heartbeat jumped, racing as she responded to
the boy's words.  "He was sick, Jack. He needed
help."

"So do I...so do I... That's why you're here, Dana -- to
help me," Jack said, his confidence shifting to an air
of desperation. "I need you."

Scully remained silent, not daring to interrupt
him.

"I needed you, Dana. Needed you more than anyone
else," Jack explained, letting his hand linger over
her collar bone to slide down the V of her pajama top.
It rested at the first button. He unhooked it, revealing
more of her skin, his fingers swirling circles against
her chest.

Her breast rose and fell beneath his touch, trepidation
escalating her breath, conscious of his continued
caresses.

Jack spoke again. "You may not understand everything...but
you knew...I could hear it behind your questions, see it
in your eyes. He taught me that...to see into a woman's
eyes...see the fear ... like the fear I see in yours, in
you...now..."

"What are you talking about?" Scully asked, willing herself
not to flinch beneath his touch, trying to keep him talking,
distracted.

"I think you know," Jack quickly responded, dropping
his hand from her.

She blinked in relief, letting out a low, shaky breath.

She watched a tremor shake his body. He pulled back from
her prone form, gasping. He roughly shook his head, letting
out an angered growl. "Fuck!"

His eyes began to flicker, quickly blinking. She watched,
captivated, as he tried to rein in his own breathing.  Jack
took a few deep breaths, regaining some of his control.

Speaking again, his voice changed, becoming weak,
choked. "I'm so tired, Dana...so damn tired."

She heard him sigh, a deep, bone weary exhalation. It
echoed his statement and the subsequent slump of his
shoulders. All she could do was watch, unable to protect
herself, made an unwilling witness and participant in
Jack's twisted whims and words.

Yet, through all his touches and declarations
Scully had not, and did not, lose sight of the
blade clutched within his right fist. "Jack, I
am a 'Federal Agent' ... can you not understand
the trouble you are in just being here? Please...put
the knife down."

Jack looked up, his eyes narrowing. "I don't think so,
Dana.  I can't ... Besides, I told ya already ...  you
don't got any power here.  Why can't you just understand
that? Why do you have to make me show you?

Scully stilled, her skin tingling in apprehension.

Tears slipped down his face, his voice
ragged behind an emotion-choked whisper. "Why? Why
do you have to ... to make me show you, Dana?
  ... why?"

He drew his trembling arm up, the blade angling
above both their heads. With swift descent, the
metal sliced through the air, slashing her
right arm from shoulder to elbow.

Scully screamed, the pain burning. She felt the blood
seeping out of the wound, trickling over her skin.

"No ... Stop ... Please!" Scully yelled, her body shaking as
she tried to control the pain." I understand ...I
understand ... stop ... STOP!"



          XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX




Mulder used her shirt to wipe the injury clear of
blood so he could examine it.  His eyes hop-scotched
back and forth between her arm and her face ... trying
to gauge if he was causing her any further distress.

She moaned again and he hissed in sympathetic response,
removing the now blood soaked pajama top from her skin and
tossing it on the floor. Leaning over her, he saw a clean
slice parting the exterior layer of her skin.  Though it
was not life threatening, there was no doubt in his mind
that she would need stitches -- but for right now, what
he needed was to find something to wrap the wound.

His gaze glanced up and spied the bed pillows.  Leaning
over her, he grabbed one, ripping off the case.  He made
quick work of wrapping her arm with the cloth, successfully
stanching the blood flow.

His heart was racing within his chest. The wound was
achingly familiar, yet singular.  His relentless mind
played back the graphic occurrences of similar injuries.

All of the mental snapshots were recent, all of them were
of butchered and bled women....

Mulder gasped, shaking his head to negate the thread of
his thoughts.

Scully moaned again, pulling Mulder's piqued attention down
to her body.  Without deliberation, he hopped off the bed,
grabbed her pajama bottoms and tugged them free of her body.
He was consumed with a frantic need to make certain there were
no other sickeningly familiar wounds.

Her legs were bare, free of injury.  He ran his hands up
them, needed the tactile assurance as well as the visual.
His seeking, searching palms ran over her panties and up
her stomach. He lifted his hands and gripped her shoulders,
sliding his fingers down her uninjured arm.

All was clear, yet still a sense of hovering sense of dread
suffusing the air. The phantom aura of expectancy tingled
his skin, raising the hairs at the back of his neck in
stark warning.

His eyes roamed over her body again, searching, double
checking.

"Nooo. ... please...," Scully cried.  Mulder felt his
heart tackling his rib cage, demanding freedom. He saw
tears squeezing out of her eyes and trailing down the
sides of her face, falling into her hair.

She screamed, loudly, the sound causing him to jump. He looked
at her, his eyes, like magnets, polarized toward her other arm.



             XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


"You gotta learn ... gotta learn by example, Dana. I
know ... I understand ... you need proof ... I'm just
givin' it to you ... that's all ... that's all.  You
need to be made to believe ... so I'm making you
believe," Jack said, pausing to wipe his tears
off his face with his upper arm.

Scully felt the terror gather within her as the blade
descended once more, tearing open her other arm in an
identical laceration. She cried out again, raising her
head off the pillow and gritting her teeth in an attempt
to manage the agony. She could feel sweat dappling her
face, mixing with her tears. Both cuts bled, the pain
throbbing, growing in intensity.


              XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


"Holy Fucking Shit!" Mulder cursed, his gaze widening
as he watched her arm splay open like a fish being gutted
before him.

Her pain-dipped whimpers accompanied the display. Her
blood began to bead and pool down her arm in red rivulets. The
cut grew, coming to her elbow, mirroring the laceration
on her left arm.

"Scully! ... Jesus, wake the fuck up!" Mulder cried,
desperate as he ripped another case off a pillow and
proceeded to wrap it around the new injury.

Why the hell wouldn't she wake?!?

He felt sick, physically ill.  His stomach rolled as his
view became consumed, reacquainted with the images of
others ... the images of mutilated women from ten years
ago and today.

What the fuck was going on, here?

How was this happening? How was this fucking
happening?


             XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


She needed to assess the damage, judge the severity of
the wound, but it was obscured by her pajama top. Not
knowing the degree of injury added to her barely
contained terror, allowing her imagination to magnify
her suffering.

"Do you believe now?" Jack asked, gripping her chin.
Scully trembled.

"Jack, I need ... I need to stop the bleeding ... you
don't want to be responsible for ... for my ... just
please ... please help me," Scully asked, reduced to
begging.

"Don't worry, Dana ... they aren't that deep. They
don't need to be. He taught me well ... besides, I was
only illustrating a point...and that point is...?" Jack
questioned, waiting.

Scully was breathing heavily through her nose, her head
wobbling back and forth, trying to will herself to
relax. Jack's cryptic words rolled over her, drowned
out beneath her moans.

"I said ... 'And the point is'?" Jack repeated, raising
his voice and the switchblade.

She caught the glint of light reflecting off the
elevated knife, the brilliance shining in her eyes
and garnering her attention as it slashed down again,
just pausing at her throat, the tip nicking her skin.

Scully cried out, screaming her response. "You're...you
have the power! Oh Jesus Christ ... you have the
power, all right!?!"

"Right...yes ... that's right ... good, good, good," Jack
complimented, his voice gaining strength again. He gripped
her chin then released it.  Her head fell to her chest,
sliding off his fingertips.

She no longer had the energy nor the inclination to make a
show of rebellion. She didn't dare exasperate his temper,
didn't dare make herself victim to his wrath once more.

If she learned anything, she learned that.


            XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX



"Scully -- Damn you! Wake up right now! Don't you pull
this shit on me!!"  One thing he did know, deep and
humming in his bones, was the certainty that she must
wake-up from this ... this dream...

Like a painful flash, Mulder's thoughts ripped across
his mind, gutting his soul and leaving a hollowed cave of
fear.

Dream... Sweet dreams.

//"I... let's just say that I don't have sweet dreams," Jack
replied, his voice hardening.//

Mulder's skin began to prick, needled with apprehension. Like a
pinball, his thoughts slapped against obstacles, crashing through
the barriers in his mind, clearing a direct path to Keenswan.

Keenswan had used that very phrase while being led from interrogation.

//.. and sweet dreams to you, Agent Scully...//

He could not stop the freight train of comprehension from barreling
down the short distance between Keenswan and Jack.  Mulder's nausea rose,
but he swallowed it down, barely.

He had thought the boy was suffering from repressed memories,
something Mulder himself was achingly familiar with -- but what
if he were wrong?

What if he were wrong?

Yet how? Keenswan was dead... Keenswan was ....

""What do you want, Jack," Scully rasped, her moans
turning into words, words that made his blood run
cold.


             XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


"What do you want, Jack," Scully rasped, feeling tired,
drained as her emotions spiked her adrenaline, becoming
a cocktail with her constant anxiety, wearing her out.

Her tears slowed to a trickle as she became accustomed
to the, now, simmering pain. Her throat felt raw, aching
from her earlier cries. She didn't want to give up, yet
she was feeling beaten with each passing second, feeling
so very tired -- a probable combination of blood loss and
emotional strain. "What do you want ... from me?"

"I want you to hear my confession," Jack said, his finger
trailing back to her throat and hooking her cross.

"What? That you killed those woman? That you watched and
learned ... and now you've got me, here ... to what? To
listen to you and die?" she gasped out, throwing her head
back, blindly staring at the ceiling. Weakness was
pervading her body.

Jack pulled on the necklace, snapping it off her
neck. Scully dipped her head forward, watching as
he cradled the cross in his hands. She whimpered, feeling
the loss of warmed metal, the security of its symbol and
her memories with it, watching it become tarnished in his
hands.

He was no longer a child to her. He had become an
enemy and as such, she knew she needed to fight...but
still found herself incapable. Frustration coursed
through her, mixing with a whisper ... a desire
emerging again, demanding a need to keep trying.

She had to survive; she had to live. Giving up was a
fleeting fancy that her renewed determination pushed
out of her mind.

His eyes shifted from the tiny piece of gold laying
against his fingers, meeting her gaze. His voice was
soft. "Ten years ago, no. Last night, Dana, and
a few nights before ... and before ... I watched
him ... brought him to these women in my mind! In
my head!"

He paused, fisting the cross and rubbing the back of
his hand against his lips before continuing. "I guess,
in a way ...  I did kill them; I brought them to him
and they suffered, suffered so much, dying ... dying
just like ... just like my mother -- over and over and
over again. Just like before and always, I was forced
to watch it all. I even begun to think I wanted it
all, too, but I know now ... I know now that I was
wrong. I want more than that. I was wrong ... wrong,
wrong, wrong."

He began to sob, opening his hand and staring at the
cross again, rubbing his thumb against it. "And there's
nothing, nobody ... I'm alone."

"You're not alone," Scully said, desperate to clasp
onto anything. She had to fight with the only weapon
left to her, her intuition. She hoped it would be
enough. "You have Pearl...she loves you. She's always
been there for you, Jack."

"Grams is dead," Jack said, his voice turning monotone,
his eyes empty.

"What?" Scully gasped, shaking her head back and
forth, shocked. "No..."

But she saw, saw the undeniable truth shining from
his soulless eyes.

Pearl was dead, and Jack had killed her.

"She betrayed me...like everyone else in my life. She
left me ... way before I made her leave ... left me,
everyone leaves ... everyone ... but not you ... no,
you're not gonna have that chance."



           XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX



Oh Jesus Christ, no! Her words partnered, validated,
Mulder's unwanted realizations.

Her head flailed from side to side against the
mattress. Her arm reached out, slamming against
the hotel phone. It slid across the night stand,
taking the lamp out as it fell behind the table. The
noise was abrupt, loud and shattering.

He caught hold of her arm, tugging her up, pulling her
body against his in a fierce hug, his lips beside her
ear.

"Scully, please wake-up ... you have to wake up, honey," he
pleaded, his voice cracking.  Mulder squinted his eyes,
his face screwing up, yet unsuccessful at halting the
merry-go-round of recollections whirling before him.

He recalled Scully's words from the prison...

//"That drug is an anti-psychotic, Mulder. Jack has
a very similar condition which can induce seizures,
his attitude is possibly manic -- //

Combined with Jack's lashing words at Pearl's...

//"What? What do you have to say to me? You pretend to
be my friend then you bring this bitch to stop me
up," Jack accused, pointing to Scully, his body rocking
side to side.//

Mulder's skin crawled, his despair becoming a tangible
force. His lips pressed against her ear, his voice whispering
his repetitive demand to wake.

The import of Jack's pledge started to build, to resonate and
amplify within his memory, sizzling through his mind and deafening
his ears, washing out his instructive refrain as he rocked her,
clutching her against him.

// "You wanna put me out to pasture again ... well
that ain't gonna happen...you all can just go to hell!"//

And he was, in Hell's fiery pit, right now.

Shifting Scully, he reached a shaky hand into his coat,
grabbing his cell phone.  Holding the phone up before his eyes,
he pressed the power button over and over, desperate to call
Pearl ... for her to get to Jack, for her to stop him.

Growling, Mulder threw the phone against the wall, frustrated. He
heard the plastic casing crack against the painted sheet rock
and fall, clattering behind the headboard.  It was still dead,
useless as it had been in the elevator.


             XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX




Mingled with the horror of his words, Scully felt
a returning strength flow through her body. Despite
his revelation about Pearl's death, or maybe because
of it ...   a desperate need to take back control
gripped her. She tentatively attempted to fist
her hands ... remarkably finding that she could.

She kept her eyes on him, not daring to look away. Not
daring to draw his attention to her new found movement.
His black hair had escaped his trademark hair tie, strands
of it falling over his face, threading before his eyes.

She could see tear tracks, new and old, against his pale
skin. His eyes were submerged in moisture as he continued
talking, losing himself in his thoughts. "I don't wanna
be closeted away anymore, instruction is over ... it's
over ... over, over, over."


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


As much as his sixth sense had piggybacked him all day, so did
the absolute knowledge that if she did not begin to battle back,
she would finally be lost to him forever and that ... that was
incomprehensible.

Scully moaned again and Mulder clutched her face within
his palms, his tone desperate.  "You listen to
me ... you listen. Fight, Scully ... you fucking fight like you've
never fought in your entire life... Come on, now ... you hear
me, God Damn it?!"


              XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Scully moved her arm, slightly, her desire to hiss from
the pain staunched, losing to her desire to meet Jack
with the element of surprise.  Instead she bit her lip,
keeping her gaze focused on him as she bent her ankles,
bent her legs, barely moving them.

Hope became reality as she ascertained the return of
her mobility, the key to her survival. The drugs must
be wearing off, freeing her.

She couldn't take any more chances, couldn't remain
passive any longer. Time was swiftly running out, she
could see the certainty of that within his breakdown.

She had to act now ... had to move now.



           XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX



Mulder laid his head against her chest. He could feel
tears of desperation squeezing out, trailing down his
nose.  His mind would not release him from the
whirlwind of understanding. It flaunted the connections
he'd previously been blinded to, displaying them all
in a fun house, Technicolor brilliance.

Scully's voice echoed in his mind again.... her
theories, her suggestions which he'd tried to completely
dismiss...

// "If, what you're suggesting ... and let's be perfectly
clear ... you believe that Jack is Keenswan's son, that
they both have the same disease?"

"Mulder, MTS, it inherited through the father," Scully
said.

"Even so, say you are right.  It still doesn't mean that
Jack has the same proclivity ... that he's just gonna take
up where dear ol' dad left off."//

For all his subliminal warnings, all his alarm... he'd
foolishly shrugged it all away, preoccupied by the case, conflicted
with Scully and concerned with Pearl ... with Jack.

... with Jack.

He'd laugh if he weren't already crying tears of frustration,
stupidity ... and horror.

His mind continued to sucker punch him, swiping the breath from
him as his thoughts returned to the prison morgue.

//"... Pearl would have said.... WE would have known ... "


"Would we have...?" Scully countered.//

A rapid succession of uppercuts left him bruised and gasping,
recalling Pearl's revealing words later that day...

//Well, when I finally saw her at the train station ... when
I saw my baby, I knew.  I knew something horrible had
happened to her...."

"So, she eventually told you she was raped, then?"//

He clutched Scully closer, pressing her chest to his as she
lay limp against his body.  He could feel her heart beating, pressing
against his own and it was that sensation keeping him grounded,
hopeful, in his despair.

Jack's father had been unknown, yet he had a stricken certainty
that somehow ... someway ... that was no longer the case.

"Scully.... You fight back, you hear me ... you fight back!"

As the whirling Merry go-round of his thoughts slowed to
a final stop, Mulder began to place together the remaining
connections... the final puzzle pieces slipping into their
slots.

There was no evidence left behind at these murders because
there was no evidence to leave. How could you fingerprint
the ultimate boogie man?

"Sweet dreams" had turned into final nightmares for these
present day victims.

"Please, Scully? Oh God, please!" he cried. Her body
had begun to shake, twitching and thrashing within his
arms. He held her against his chest, rocking as her legs
had begun to kick and tremors had started to run through
her body. Tears tracked down his face, he buried his
nose in her hair, speaking. "Scully, come on ... come
on ...."


            XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Scully reached up, climbing to her knees,
but she wasn't fast enough. Her hands met
with Jack's, the knife aiming toward her.

"I'm ready ... over ... It's OVER!!!" he
screamed, as they twisted on the bed,
struggling for control.

Scully's limbs sizzled, her returning circulation
causing pins and needles to ravage her body. Grunting
she applied more force as the their hands twined
over each other, the blade raising above them, she
ignored the pain of her wounds while their bodies
came chest to chest, face to face.

Jack looked into her eyes, his gaze was fanatical,
determined. "It's over Dana, it's over and you are
the last ... the last!"

She was violently pushed back, shoved off his body
while their hands still struggled to hold the
knife between them, as she struggled to hold the
blade away from her.

Suddenly the resistance was gone and Scully found
herself falling forward, falling against Jack,
her arms crashing against his chest.

"It's over," Jack gasped, falling backward, away
from her as he sat back on his legs to reveal the
blade imbedded in his heart.


Their joined hands wrapped around its handle. He
smiled, lifting his palms away to allow her hands
to slide free. He fell backward, pulling the covers
and consequently, her with him, as he toppled off
the side of the bed,

He fell on his back, Scully slipping down beside
him. His voice was losing strength, blood began
to trickle out of his mouth. He spoke,
stuttering. "Tha ... thank you."

Amidst the tussled bed clothes, Scully sat on her
knees, stunned with the sight before her.  She didn't
understand what had happened ... what ... he ... he
had ...

Scully gasped, "Oh my, God!"

She scrambled to lean over Jack, pulling the sheets
against his chest, applying pressure around the
knife. She didn't remove the blade, aware that to
do so would cause the blood loss to quicken, to
worsen.

His head slowly began to turn from side to side. He
began choking on his own blood as it now coated the
inside of his mouth and streamed passed his lips.

His violet eyes began to glaze, dimming as the
lingering fingers of life fled his body.

Looking down, she saw red blossoming through the
white sheets, staining her hands.

"It'll be all right ... it'll be all right," she
whispered, the full realization of what Jack had
wanted, what he had done, gripping her.

He weakly lifted his hand, touching it to hers. His
gaze connecting with hers, asking her to stop before
his whispered words could. "Please ... don't."

Scully bit her lip, shaking her head, seeing,
perhaps for the first time, the little boy Mulder
had known ... and she wept.

Tears dripped off her nose as she leaned over him.
They splashed against his cheek as she slowly
stopped applying pressure.

Leaning down, she whispered against his
ear, "Okay, Jack, Okay."

She pulled back and let him go, not prolonging
the few moments he had left.

He smiled again, then grunted, his features
betraying fear. His eyes started rolling up,
than came back to land on Scully's hovering
form. His smile returned, widening. "Mom."

Jack's breathing slowed, his head falling
sideways as the last death rattle issued
past his lips.

Scully closed her eyes, shaking her head, feeling
the enormity of his desperate actions.

Suddenly, arms enveloped her, trapping. She screamed,
fighting against the embrace, trying to break free,
her motions frantic.

"Scully... Scully, it's me...  Mulder ... it's Mulder,
you're all right ... you're all right ... it's
me ... Jesus Christ, Scully... It's me!"

Scully blinked, focusing her eyes onto Mulder's
hovering visage above her.

"Mulder?" she gasped, confused.

He gripped her face, holding it to his, pressing
his lips against her cheek, his voice brushing across
her ear. "You're alive ... you're alive ... it's
okay ... you're safe now ... safe."

"He's dead ... Jack ... where ... where is he? He ... he
killed himself, Mulder ... Jack's dead," she cried, tears
bursting from her chest in great, forceful sobs. Her sight
was stemmed in the horrific vision that had been before
her.

She was confused, stricken.

How could Mulder be here, and where had Jack's body
gone ... where had ... ?

Oh, lord!

"Shh ... shh...," Mulder said, clutching her, rocking
her against him. He placed gentle kisses over her face, his
hands roaming over her, soothing.

She could feel her heart thumping, beating against her
breast to rap against Mulder's.  She felt his warm, strong
hands on her, touching her ... grounding her.

"Mulder?" she asked, pulling back. She could see
his matching, watery gaze reflected in the light
peeking through the windows, the cityscape looming
beyond.

Pained confusion filled her, reflected on her face
as she whispered, questioning again."Mulder? What's
happening?"

He pulled her head back against his chest. She wrapped
her arms around his body, the side of her face over
his heart. She could feel the rapid beating beneath
her cheek as it began to slow.

Her sobs had ceased but silent tears continued to
fall down her face, her breathing ragged. She found
herself staring through the open blinds, looking
beyond the glass. She blinked, finally seeing the
night stars fastened between the skyscrapers yet
all the while the same refrain skipped through
her thoughts.

She didn't understand ... didn't understand ...

Letting out another heavy sigh, she relaxed within
the safety of Mulder's arms, savoring the deep,
calming timber of his voice as it washed over
her.

Scully slowly closed her eyes, unable to stop
herself from falling into an exhausted slumber.



   XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX





4 DAYS LATER
Northeast, Philadelphia
St. Julian's Cemetary
331PM



Mulder stood, staring ahead toward the distant
sun dipping below the tree line.  The glaring
white-light shimmered over the crystallized snow
coating the ground.  Shadows danced with the
fading light, growing, spindling out from trees,
graves and surrounding mausoleums. Each one crept
further across the ground, forever reaching.



Still, the sun's lingering brightness was strong
where Mulder stood within a small clearing. It attacked
his eyes, forcing him to don sun glasses.



His hands, gloved in leather, sat anchored
within his trench-coat pockets. A large black
scarf lay woven around his neck, the tail
ends whipping in the random wind.



The air was crisp and iced, the cemetery enveloped
in early winter.  Mulder was cold ... frozen.



Scully reached up and pulled his glasses off,
pocketing them inside his jacket. She smiled, stepping
closer to twine her arm around his, her fingers pressing
against his forearm, squeezing.


He gently leaned into her, accepting, needing,
her strength and warmth... needing her touch to
chase the chill, to melt the cold within himself.


Stepping behind Scully, he wrapped his arm around
her waist, his gloved hand splayed across her
stomach. He was careful, very careful,  not to put
too much pressure on her lacerated arm. Her
cuts ... they had needed more stitches than he
ever wanted to see gracing her body.


The snow crunched beneath his feet as he stepped
back from her.


Looking up he spied Vaughn, one arm around Lisa, the
other, Chrissy.  Paige walked ahead of them, cutting their
path through the maze of gravestones, her arm linked with
their son, Mike Jr.


Vaughn nodded, offering the barest of smiles, before
turning his attention back to his family. As they continued
on their way, Mulder reflected on how broken dreams could
be made whole once more.


He sighed, the exhalation clouding them from sight.
Blinking,he looked around the clearing


Pearl had many friends if not family. He watched
them struggle through the wind, burrowing into
coats, muffling their faces within scarves as they
ambled back to their respective cars.


Without flinching, Mulder let the wind burn his
face, denying himself added comfort.


Scully broke their lingering silence."DNA results
came back this morning ... Keenswan ... he was
Jack's biological father."


Mulder nodded his head, his eyes tearing from the
wind.

"Sixteen years ago Jacob Keenswan was questioned
for the attempted rape and follow-up phone harassment
of three college girls. He'd been released due to lack
of evidence. None of the women claimed to have
seen their attacker's face and the partnered harassment
came from campus phone booths," Scully said.


He could feel her waiting for his response.


"I know ... Scully, it was part of the evidence thrown
out in his pre-trial.  It'd been deemed circumspect
and inadmissible because he'd never been charged."


"But ... what about Eleanor ... surely the connection
was made between her stay in California and his?"


"No ... as I said, that evidence was circumstantial
and Eleanor Layne had never reported being raped."


Scully looked at him.  He could feel her eyes trying
to scrutinize his countenance, but he remained impassive,
his face stone as he continued.


"Pearl ...," Mulder paused, swallowing as he tore his
stare from the ground and met Scully's questioning
one. "She told me she'd suspected ... no, that she
knew her daughter had been violated.  She told me
about it just ... she told me that day."


Scully lowered her head for a moment, seemingly
digesting his words.

"That day" ... had been only four days ago. He'd
asked her only one time about Jack. He'd asked her
about him the next day, when everything had begun
to settle down.


Her response had been simple and expected



They'd stood, alone, in the elevator, on their
way back to the hotel room after hours spent at
the police station.


"I ... I don't know how to explain it, Mulder," she'd
begun, twisting the edge of her jacket within her
fist, her gaze aimed at the carpeted floor.  She paused,
blinking before lifting her head to meet his
eyes. "... And the thing of it is ... is I don't want
to begin to try."


Mulder had turned toward her. He slid his hands under
her chin, cradling her neck, his fingers weaving into
the back of her hair. Holding her watery gaze, he watched
as she licked her lips. He could feel her anticipation,
her waiting or his response.


What could he say to that? What did he need to say?


She was alive ... she was here.


Tilting her face down, he leaned over, kissing her
forehead, her eyes, and finally her lips. Before
responding any further, he had drawn her into an
embrace, resting her head against his chest as he
kissed the top of her head. "Okay, Scully... okay,"

"Mulder ... about Jerse ....," Scully began, her voice
muffled, shaky.

"Shh ... I was stupid ... an asshole -- not something
unusual, I know," he softly chuckled. He felt her
smile against him. "What I also know is that you were
just trying to protect me ... you know me ... like I
know you, and ... and I love you ... I *trust* you.
Please ...?"

He paused, letting out a shuddering breath as he pulled
back. Scully turned her head up to meet his gaze.

"Forgive me, Scully ...?," he finished on a whisper, visibly
swallowing back a lump of burgeoning emotions.

Scully bit her lip, letting it slide slowly past her teeth
as she met his gaze. "Mulder, let's ... let's forgive
each other."

"Deal," he breathed, leaning down and capturing her mouth
with his, feeling the missed and familiar velvet softness
of her lips against his own. He spoke again, whispering
into her mouth.  "Deal."


Mulder blinked, pulling out of the memory as Scully
raised her chin, meeting his eyes once again. He could
see his recent memory shared and reflected in her own
gaze.


She continued.  "So ... when Eleanor fled the university,
she'd really been escaping Keenswan."


"But somehow, he'd managed to  follow her back to
Philadelphia.,"Mulder added, squeezing his hands into
fists, hidden within his coat pockets.


"Where his crimes escalated, "Scully softly finished,
the wind helping to ferret her words away.


"Fox....," Mulder nodded, turning to meet the new voice.


"I'm glad to see you, Pearl," Mulder said, walking over
to her.


She stood before them, her sister supporting her by the
elbow.  Her diminutive form looked even smaller, wrapped
in scarf, hat, bandages and distilled grief.


Jack had managed to break two of her ribs, making it
painful for her to breath and walk.  Her left arm was
broken while also having suffered a severe concussion.


They'd found her in her living room, unconscious,
beneath a toppled curio cabinet.


Unconscious, yet very, very much alive.


"I'm glad to see you both, too," she replied, trying to
walk toward them. Alice walked with her, still
clasping hold of her arm.


Pearl stopped, turning her head to face her sister. "Could
you just relax, Alice. I'll be fine... some breathing
room, please?"


"Well, if you fall, I don't wanna hear it," Alice huffed,
releasing Pearl and crossing her arms over her ample
chest. "I need a cigarette."


Pearl lifted her face to the clouds, rolling her eyes.


"I've got her, " Mulder intervened, stepping forward and
clasping Pearl's hand.


Pearl grunted her annoyance but then smiled up at Mulder,
meeting his eyes. "Okay .. fine. I know when I've lost."


She leaned forward, resting her weight on his arm and
signaling for him to bend down. With an exaggerated stage
whisper, she smiled "... And if I gotta lose, I'd rather
it be to a looker like you than ol'pruneface over there."


Mulder chuckled, watching as Pearl cast a glance over
her shoulder at Scully, winking.


"Keep it up, ya old bag," Alice taunted, then breaking
into a smile, chuckled.


Mulder and Scully looked at each other, a bit taken
aback at the sisters' antics.


"It's a private joke," Pearl explained, chuckling,
herself.


Mulder nodded his head before she continued. "I wanted
to thank you for ... for coming, today."


"I wouldn't have been anywhere else," Mulder replied,
staring into her violet eyes.  He raised his hand, tenderly
stroking her cheek, holding her glance. Making sure she
heard, understood, he repeated himself. "I wouldn't have
been anywhere else."


Pearl nodded her head, tears falling from the corner
of her eye and landing on his glove. He wiped them away,
bent over and kissed her cheek. "You better get out of
this cold."


"So much violence, Fox ... so much," she whispered,
ignoring his suggestion. She slowly blinked, staring
up at Mulder and for a moment he felt her level of
desolation grip him. She was strong, but so was her
grief. "He got his freedom after all, didn't he?"


Mulder held her gaze. She looked so much older now,
loss and tragedy clearly etching new wrinkles and
shadows upon her features. He continued to stroke her
wind-burned cheeks, finally answering her. "Yes, Pearl,
he did."


He watched her gaze leave him and turn to Scully.  Pearl
reached out and clasped her hand, squeezing it within
her own.


"He used to bury his face in his mother's lap, making up
the most wonderful stories . He did it for both of
us ... talking about adventures he took while napping," she
paused, the tears falling faster, unheeded as she stepped
back into the memories. " ... such a beautiful, passionate
little boy ...  so very beautiful."


Taking another deep breath, she broke her trance, meeting
Scully's gaze. "I'm sorry ... sorry."


Scully stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Pearl's
body, both of them careful of each other's wounds, both
external and internal.


Two very strong women, two survivors.


Finally pulling away, Pearl nodded again, reaching a hand
back.


Alice stepped forward, clasping it.  Mulder watched the
two sisters as they began their slow, painstaking walk through
the cemetery, back to the road where their limousine awaited.
Everyone else had left, or were in the process of leaving. Doors
slammed and engines revved.


Their part of the ritual was over.


Mulder turned away, looking back across the cemetery, toward
the ever-growing shadows stretching across the stone
garden.


Scully walked over to him, pulling his chin toward her. She
leaned up and he met her, their lips touching. "I'll let
you have a few moments."


Mulder didn't say anything, he didn't have to.  He heard
her footsteps receding, crunching through the snow until
they were too indistinct to make out anymore.


He stepped forward, feeling the wind snapping against
his coat, pulling at his scarf. His lips were chapped,
his eyes watering again.


He stopped before the stone marker, touching the top of the
marbleized surface. Closing his eyes, he lowered his head.


Reopening them, he removed his gloves from his hands. Drawing
his fingers to his mouth, he gently placed a kiss on their tips.
Placing  his fingers on the polished stone, he rubbed the surface
and spoke. "Sweet Dreams, Jack."


Stepping back, Mulder turned around, the wind and sun
behind him as he walked away.



                    JACK LAYNE



               b. 1983   -   d. 1999






            XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
             T H E             E N D

                     "JACK"
                       by
                    Exley_61
            XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX




      **************************************
                  P L E A S E

            F  E  E  D  B  A  C  K

       BLATANTLY WANTED AND CHERISHED AT

             typo@clam.rutgers.edu
      **************************************

AUTHOR'S NOTES


Well.... well... well... well.... we finally got here,
gang. Four months of posting... and "Jack" is finally,
complete.


Man, what a bittersweet moment for me.  You all have made
writing this novel such a fantastic, supportive experience.


I wasn't sure if I could do it; now I know I can.


My first casefile, which I had foolishly believed would
be... ahh, near about 200k ... it has more than doubled
that ... nearing 500k, <my first novel, ever> and you all
came with me.  Thank you, and thank you to those who came
aboard along the way and at the end.


Thank you.


I'd like to thank my beta supreme, partner in crime,
Paige Caldwell who kept nagging me to not give this story
up... asking me every day had I written more Jack. Then
she suggested I do it as WIP.... and it's been down, up
and all around hill, ever since.


Thank you, Paige, for those hours ICQ chats...your
friendship and help with Jack and so much more.


I would also like to thank Mich, aka. Onlnwidow... who
was another staple, a constant in the effort to make "Jack"
as good as I could. I've valued our friendship and your
right on edits... you little grammarian, you
awesome friend.


Next, I'd like to thank Kimberly, web mistress of
Clinique's Hidden Gems ... who supported me through all
my stories and is always there to lend an ear or her
thoughts.


Thank you too, to Mojo for creating a fantastic book cover,
for being able to take my words and make exactly what
I had envisioned, <If you haven't seen it, go to
Galia's, where's it's archived.>


Speaking of which, thank you, Galia ... for your
support and detailed comments that let me know I was
doing exactly what I hoped.... I valued your
interpretations and friendship.


Dlynn .... Dlynn.... well... you saved my butt.  I
put you through hell, I'm sure... having  major
spaztastic attacks with the final chapters.  You
helped me soo much, told me , "Yes, you were  hitting,
it... yes that is clear... stop worrying... go have
a kahlua and creme." hehheeh


<See, circumstance <aka. real life> stole my team of
betas but Dlynn stepped in and was there for me all
the way... thank you, girl! >


Mary Sebasky ... your comments and support were wonderful
and helped verify that I had done what I finally
hoped I had.


Sabine ... you were of invaluable help, coming in when
I needed you most.


Iona ... thank you... thank you for keeping me in your
thoughts. It meant a lot.


Ruby, who loves ya baby? Telly Savlas, I don't think so! ;)



And my bastard, aka. my abusive Muse, thanks for not
leaving me indefinitely ... you're one piece of work,
but when you do finally work.. you do wonders. ;D


AND thank you all again, the readers, for your support
and kind words... that's what ultimately got me through
to the end.


Best Regards,
Exley_61


-Exley_61
Woman! Get back in here and make me a sandwich!


Exley_61's Xtravaganza
http//members.dencity.com/Exley_61/


             "JACK"
         Completed Novel
              with
          Book Cover at
    GALIA'S VISON OF TRUE ARCHIVE
http//galias.webprovider.com/jack.htm