********** Chapter 3 ********** "Did you see or hear anything unusual, Agent Mulder?" Skinner sat behind his desk, implacable, questioning Mulder more as a formality than anything else. Even though Mulder had been the last one known to have seen Rickerson alive, it was obvious to Skinner that his most brilliant agent had had nothing to do with the death. Angela had reported, almost reluctantly, that Mulder had had a disagreement with Rickerson moments before his death, and Skinner instantly decided he'd better question the agent first, before any of his enemies took the opportunity to turn up the heat on Mulder. "No Sir," Mulder replied, still a little dazed at the suddenness of Rickerson's death. "He was ragging on me about the Aspen case, but that's just Rickerson's personality." He gave a wry grin. "It certainly didn't warrant murder." "He had a complaint about the way the case was being handled?" Skinner questioned, ignoring Mulder's comment. Mulder shifted uncomfortably. "He was upset that Scully and I had been given the case," he said carefully. "I see." "Sir, there's something odd about his death," Mulder told him thoughtfully. "Odd, Agent Mulder? Odd how?" Skinner groaned inwardly. He didn't want to have to pry information out of Mulder this morning, but to his surprise the usually reticent agent was uncharacteristically forthcoming. Mulder related to the A.D. what he knew of the other two similar murders and Skinner sat back in his chair, astonished. Lord knew, Agent Rickerson didn't have many friends in the Bureau, perhaps even less than Mulder himself, and Skinner had even thought for a moment that Rickerson's murder was a plot to frame Mulder but had dismissed the notion after realizing that it wasn't clean enough for 'Them'. Too many loose ends. Besides, those people worked under cover of darkness, never in the broad light of day. "What's your connection to these murders, Mulder?" Skinner inquired impassively, and Mulder looked up, startled. "My connection, Sir? I don't understand." Which was a lie; he had made the jump in logic as soon as he'd heard how Rickerson died. First Charlie, then the restaurant-man, now Rickerson. For a second his heart sank into his stomach. Surely Skinner didn't suspect him of being a murderer! Skinner knew Mulder was lying but decided to overlook it for now. "It seems to me, Mulder, that you've had some contact with each of these three people just before they died," he pressed. "I suggest you investigate these deaths further. I'm taking you and Scully off the Aspen case for now. If you can't come up with any better ideas for me than psychokinesis--" "Sir, I really do think that's how he--" Mulder's protest was cut short. "Save it, Mulder," the A.D. said, raising his hands in the air to stop his young agent. He didn't feel up to listening to any of Mulder's paranormal beliefs right now. He had a dead agent on his hands. "I want you and Scully to find this killer. It shouldn't be too difficult." The ghost of a smile almost graced Skinner's face. It was gone before Mulder was certain he had seen it. "He seems to be following you around." Mulder stared at him for such a long time the A.D. finally asked, "Will there be anything more, Agent Mulder?" //So what's your theory, Spooky?// Mulder shifted and came back to reality. "Um...no...no Sir, it's nothing," he mumbled, rising and almost tripping over a chair in his haste to flee Skinner's office. He had to get to Scully. The thought that was taking shape in his mind was frightening in its scope and he needed her sound rationalization to tell him he was wrong, please God please let her tell me I'm wrong! ***** "Don't you see, Scully?" Mulder's eyes gleamed in their intensity. "I've had some sort of unpleasant incident with each of these three people, and ten minutes later they were dead!" "But Mulder, you didn't even talk to the guy in the restaurant!" Scully protested half-heartedly. She wanted to help him out, to assuage his guilt and let him know that there was no way, no way on this green earth, that the deaths had been in any way linked to him. Nope, sorry, just a coincidence, not enough to get you a guest spot on Jerry Springer. Not even on Sally. Come back later, buddy, maybe when you've discovered you're in love with your wife's cousin's dog. "No," her partner agreed, "but when he hit his friend and knocked him into our table it spilled my drink in my lap. You probably didn't even notice because you were too busy checking out the victim, but I had to go into the restroom and clean myself off. Didn't you see that funny stain on my pants for the rest of the day?" he joked. "I was trying very hard not to look below your waist, Mulder," Scully answered, smiling, in a very quiet voice. She was rewarded when a gratifying flush colored his face. Then in her normal voice she asked, "So what are you thinking? That somebody's following you around and killing anybody who's rude to you--" Her eyes widened as she reached the same conclusion he had arrived at in Skinner's office. "Your stalker!" she exclaimed. He nodded somberly. "And Scully, that means anyone who talks to me could be in danger. Agent Rickerson was a pain in the ass, but I certainly never wished the man dead. And the other two incidents..." he shrugged. "Well, they were just annoyances. The kind you forget about in half an hour. Apparently someone thought these people deserved to die for some reason, maybe because they were a little discourteous to me--or in the case of the guy in the restaurant, because they caused me a little minor discomfort." He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and quietly, fruitlessly told himself that he wasn't responsible for the deaths of three innocent people. There was nothing he could have done to prevent them. Somehow it didn't help to lessen the burden he was feeling. Scully spoke suddenly, shaking him out of his reverie. "Mulder, we've got to stop this person, and soon. If we don't, you could be in greater danger than we thought." "Or you could," he reminded her. "What if my avenging angel catches up with you after one of our more heated arguments?" The thought made him cringe. If anything happened to Scully because of him guilt would no longer be a problem. It would simply kill him. "I suppose we should both be more aware of exactly who is nearby when we're out somewhere." Scully agreed. "One thing's for certain, I'm not letting you out of my sight until this woman is caught!" she declared. "You're absolutely sure it's a woman?" "Well Mulder, it could be a gay man, but I think that's unlikely." She smiled at his look of discomfort. "Usually these types of cases revolve around a sexual desire, so yes, I do think it's a woman." "How do you know so much about stalkers, Scully?" he asked. Her face clouded for a minute. "When Missy first started college--before she went on her wild tour across the country--there was a guy who wouldn't leave her alone. He would send her notes and flowers, call her in the middle of the night, that type of thing. She told him as politely as she could to buzz off, but he wouldn't give up. Finally he turned mean. He broke into her dorm room looking for Missy, and when she wasn't there he took her roommate hostage. He threatened her for several hours before they managed to subdue him. As they were taking him off to jail he kept hollering that Melissa deserved to die because she wouldn't love him. I did some reading up after that experience. That seems to be the conclusion that many of these stalkers end up with--that the object of their affection deserves to die because he or she doesn't fall in love with this insane person who's been making their life miserable." She stopped, breathing heavily. If there was one subject that could make Scully climb onto her soapbox it was violence against women, and the memory of Melissa's experience could still make her blood boil. The idea that an innocent young woman had almost died because of one man's obsession--well it wasn't the only time in Scully's life she had encountered that scenario, but it was the closest she had ever been to it personally. And now her Mulder was being threatened by the same sort of sick person. Seeing her agitation he embraced her, rubbing his chin against the top of her head familiarly. "It'll be all right, Scully. We'll catch her." He wished he could be as certain as he sounded. She pulled back to look him in the eye. "Mulder, if this woman manages to get her hands on you..." She shuddered at the possibility. "There won't be any reasoning with her, because she's past the point of reason. You have simply got to be careful and not let her capture you." "I think you're getting too worked up about this, Sully," he objected. "Nobody's even tried to capture me. We're not nearly to that point yet. It's all the people around me that she's going after. She's like some sort of twisted guardian angel." She pushed back from him, angrily wiping away a tear with the back of her hand. "Haven't you been listening to me, Mulder?" she demanded. "This is a progression, and how quickly it progresses is entirely up to the individual. One seriously disturbed individual, I might remind you. Today she may be killing anybody she thinks has hurt you, and tomorrow she could decide that you've been unfaithful to her and it's time for you to die!" "Or you," he admonished. "You need to be just as careful as I do, Scully." She nodded, turning her back to him so he couldn't see the tears in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she fought for self control. He knew what she was doing and really tried to allow her some space, but when Scully felt that she had herself in check again, she turned to find him right in front of her. No matter his intentions he wasn't able to stay away from her when she was in need of comfort, however vehemently she might deny that need. He pulled her to him again for a quick, bracing hug. "We'll be all right, Scully. Both of us. We'll work together like we always do and we'll find this woman before she hurts anybody else," he promised. ***** They returned to Scully's apartment late that afternoon with a pizza and a couple of movies they had rented. Mulder had wanted to take her out to a real restaurant, but Scully was afraid for him to spend very much time out in the open. She had wanted to get him safely into the confines of her apartment as quickly as possible. She had consented to the movie rental store only under pressure from him ("We can't sit around all weekend just doing nothing, Scully!" "Mulder, nothing was not what I had in mind!") and she breathed a sigh of relief as he safely locked the deadbolt on her front door behind him. Her lips curved in a smile as she remembered the look he had given her, telling her with no words exactly what he had in mind for their evening. They had no sooner put down their things than he had her in his arms, kissing her wildly. "Mulder!" she squealed as he reached down and unzipped the skirt to her suit, having already divested her of her jacket. She felt the fabric of the skirt slide down her legs and found she was standing in front of him wearing only her blouse, underwear and pantyhose. It was wildly erotic. Scully had never had a man as anxious to undress her as Mulder. Nor one as good as he was at doing the things he did once she was undressed to his satisfaction. There was something terribly exciting in knowing the power she had over this man, the things she could do to him with a kiss or a caress. And the things he could do to her. "Do you know how tough it's been, being this close to you all day and not being able to touch you?" he groaned into her mouth, his hands feverishly working the buttons of her blouse. He finally gave up in frustration and, taking the flimsy material in both hands, pulled it apart, ignoring the button that popped off and bounced to a corner. All the rest of the fasteners remained intact and Mulder slid the blouse down her arms, kissing his way across her smooth shoulders as he revealed them. She tossed the remnants of silk away and began working on his tie with equal fervor, trailing kisses down his chest as she unbuttoned his shirt. Scully considered returning the favor by ripping the shirt completely off his body but decided against it. She already had one button to sew on and she was fairly sure Mulder wouldn't be handy with a needle and thread. "Maybe that's why the Bureau has that pesky rule about partners getting involved," she told him, unfastening his belt with a gleam in her eye. "Scully?" he whispered, kneeling before her and yanking her panties and pantyhose down, removing them as she lifted each leg for him. "Hmm?" She pulled him back up so she could nuzzle the hair on his chest. "I'm applying for a transfer tomorrow," he gasped as her she sent waves of electricity coursing through his body. Her fingers froze. For a second Scully thought he was serious and her heart stopped in her chest. The she saw his teasing smile and reached around, smacking his bottom in mock anger. "Don't scare me like that!" she scolded. "Oh, Scully," he moaned, "I'd love to play your kinky sex games, but I really don't think I can wait that long." Without warning Mulder picked her up and carried her quickly into the bedroom, depositing her on her bed and attacking her mouth again. After ridding her of her pesky clothing, Mulder began peppering tiny kisses down her body, beginning at her forehead and working his way slowly down over her nose and mouth. Agonizingly slowly down her chin. Excruciatingly slowly down her stomach. His tongue dipped into her belly button and she gave a small scream, unable to hold back any longer. She could hear his chuckle of delight and for a second wanted to strangle him. "Thought processes a little muddled, Scully?" he asked teasingly. "Is an incoherent scream the best you can do?" All at once they both froze as the ringing of the telephone beside her bed rent the air. Mulder buried his face in her stomach with a strangled groan, and Scully grabbed the phone, quickly trying to get her breathing under control. "He--hello?" she asked, priding herself on the fact that she sounded only a little breathless. "Dana, honey?" Maggie Scully's voice was concerned. "Is anything wrong?" Scully flushed scarlet from head to toe at the thought of talking to her mother while Mulder lay with his body covering hers. "No, Mom, everything's fine," she choked as Mulder watched her with a wicked gleam in his eye. "I hadn't heard from you in several days and I just wanted to check on you, dear. How's Fox?" Mrs. Scully never talked to her daughter without inquiring about the health and well-being of the man she had come to think of as her future son-in-law. "Fox is fine, Mom. For now," Scully told her, giving Mulder a threatening look that he didn't see because he had resumed his feather soft kisses, now working his way down her right leg. She kicked at him with her foot and he promptly trapped both her ankles between his knees and continued his assault on her. "Mom? I'm kind of in the middle of something right now. I'll--I'll call you later, ok?" she gasped as he began sucking on each of her toes in turn. Scully threw the phone on the floor after hanging up. "You are such a shit!" she stated, trying to look menacing and failing miserably. "I just didn't want to break the mood, Scully," he insisted with a mischievous grin. With a growl Scully launched herself at him and he found himself on his back, lying sideways across her bed. "Oof!" he grunted as she landed on his stomach, her hands on either side of his head, her face almost in his with her hair hanging down and tickling his nose. "Are you trying to hurt me, Scully?" "I should hurt you after a trick like that, but I there are other things I'd rather do to you, Agent Mulder." Lowering herself onto him, Scully proceeded to demonstrate just what other things she had in mind. When Scully emerged from the shower an hour later, it was to find Mulder taking the pizza out of the oven where he had been warming it up. He had set the table with plates and glasses and was about to put the pizza down on the table when her voice stopped him. "Mulder, don't wear that shirt!" It came out sharper than she intended, and she saw from his surprised look that it had sounded as strange to him as it had to her. "But Scully, it's the only clean one I have," he insisted, setting the warm pizza down and turning to stare at her. "What's wrong with it?" Her face softened into a smile which quickly faded as she explained, "I'm sorry, Mulder, it's just...that's the shirt you're wearing in--in my dream." He looked down at himself for a second, then at her worried expression. "You think if I wear this shirt something bad will happen to me?" he queried. She shook her head slightly, as if to clear the image from it. "Look, just humor me, ok? Please? How many times have I gone along with some weird idea of yours just to keep you happy?" She knew Mulder would do as she asked. She also believed it was a foolish, silly thing to request but she couldn't shake the image of him wearing that particular shirt, a small bloodstain on the left shoulder, screaming in pain and fear as the fire crept closer and closer to him. "Ha! Never that I can recall, Scully!" his voice came back to her as he headed down the hall to the spare bedroom. He returned a minute later wearing the t-shirt he'd changed into the night before when she had brought him home. "I'm going to have to get some clean clothes from my apartment," he stated. "I only have what was in my carry-on bag when we got home, and they're all dirty except for that forbidden shirt. Maybe I'll run over there after we eat." "We'll run over there," she corrected firmly. "I told you, I'm not letting you go anywhere alone until this person is caught." "We'll go," he conceded, sitting down to his meal. ***** Mulder stared around his apartment, more stunned than the last time he had been here. His eyes were wide and shell-shocked, his brain unable to assimilate the sight it was being required to process. He gazed at his living room, into his kitchen, and around the corner where his bedroom lay, almost afraid to take another step into his home. The last time he had seen it, just twenty-four hours earlier, it had been in immaculate condition. Now it was destroyed. Destroyed was really to mild a term to describe the total devastation that lay before him, he thought. Perhaps annihilation was more appropriate. Apparently his guardian angel from hell had returned, only this time she was pissed off. Royally. His computer was on the floor, the monitor screen shattered, the keyboard crushed as if by a person bent on grinding each individual key into the floor with her foot. All of his books and papers were scattered everywhere, their pages torn and wet from the water that had spilled over them when the fish tank had been smashed. He allowed himself a moment of relief at the fact that the tank had been currently empty of fish. Mulder saw with dismay that his collection of UFO photographs and abduction stories had been, literally, shredded. Every picture had been taken from the walls, the glass broken and the print ripped into small pieces. Odds and ends were thrown helter-skelter about the living room, but the most heartbreaking sight was his wonderful, comfortable, much-loved couch. Its cushions and back had been slashed beyond repair, the stuffing ripped from it and flung about the room, as was his easy chair. He turned to enter the kitchen and stopped, his face white. Every item of food in his kitchen was either on the floor, walls or ceiling. Cupboard doors stood open, evidence that there was nothing edible left on their shelves. Open boxes of cereal, rice and other assorted food products lay on the floor, their contents spilled out and mixed together in a giant mess. What appeared to be every breakable dish he owned was now smashed on the floor. Making his way carefully through the shards of ruined crockery Mulder crossed the room and opened the refrigerator. It was empty. Crushed fruit and vegetables decorated the walls, as if someone had violently thrown them there in an incredible fit of temper. The floor in front of the refrigerator was sticky with partially dried juice, and an entire six-pack of beer had been shaken up and then opened, spraying every bit of his kitchen with the foamy brew. The smell almost made him gag. "Mulder, I think you'd better take a look at this," Scully's voice called from behind him, and he turned away from the destruction that had once been his kitchen, grateful not to have to look at it any longer. He entered the bedroom and stopped cold. The first thing to catch his eye was the bed. The mattress was in the same condition as his beloved couch, leaving him now with no place to sleep at all. Tufts of its cottony stuffing littered the entire room. Pictures on the walls had met the same fate as those in the living room, and Mulder closed his eyes and swallowed hard when he realized what had become of his vintage, collector's edition 'Invaders from Mars' movie poster. The closet door stood open, as did the dresser drawers, and it soon became apparent to him that he was going to have to go shopping. Soon. Every article of clothing in his bedroom had been cut into small pieces and the fragments of what had once been expensive suits and comfortable sweats and jeans were all tossed in a pile on what remained of his bed, a shiny pair of scissors stuck blade-first into them. He now owned the clothes on his back and the ones at Scully's place, in addition to a colorful jumble of fabric remnants. With a small sigh Mulder forced himself to enter the bathroom, knowing already what he would find. Sure enough, shaving cream, shampoo and toothpaste swirled together on the floor, leaving odd designs as they ran from the center of the puddle, dispersed by the water from the overflowing toilet. The shower curtain was ripped from its hooks and the mirror over the sink was smashed. His towels had met the same fate as his clothing, except for the one that was used to stop up the toilet. Mulder was in a daze, his body numbed by shock at the magnitude of the destruction. He stared at the wall of the shower, where shaving cream letters spelled out the words 'I HAtE yoU!' He felt rather than heard Scully approach him from behind and put her small hands on his shoulders. He didn't move at first, so she forced him to turn around and face her; his stunned expression made her want to cry. "Mulder, it's just stuff. It's all replaceable. Even your precious couch." He gave a tiny smile at that. "I'm just thankful you weren't here when this happened. I'd hate to have found pieces of you flung every which way about your apartment," she joked, trying to take that awful look out of his eyes. "Scully, why?" he whispered. "How can this person go, in the space of just a few days, from leaving me gifts and wanting to protect me to...to this?" he asked, his arm sweeping to take in the entire apartment. "I told you, Mulder, there's no rational thought involved." Scully gave a slight tug on his arm and he allowed her to pull him from the bathroom, giving one last look at the message on the wall (I HAtE yoU!). They made their way carefully toward the front door. There was not one item in the apartment worthy of salvage. "Looks like you'll be staying with me longer than originally planned," she said gently, reaching up to kiss the side of his mouth sympathetically. She didn't want Mulder to know how much this event had shaken her. Even though Scully had known the mentality of stalkers on some level, seeing the havoc in Mulder's apartment really brought home the fact that the person they were dealing with was truly deranged. She allowed a small shudder to shake her body as her mind touched on what might have happened had her partner been at home when his own personal demon came calling. Quickly she shoved the thought away. No sense in dwelling on that, she told herself. "But why?" he persisted. "What do you suppose set her off? What was the catalyst that made this happen?" "It could be anything at all or nothing at all, Mulder," Scully said impatiently. "Maybe she's just decided the time has come for you to fall at her feet and worship her and you're not complying. Maybe she wrote you a letter that she never sent you and she's upset that you haven't answered it. You're still looking for rational explanations. I never thought I'd have to tell you not to do that!" "Or maybe," he continued, turning to her as they entered the elevator, "she saw us--together." "How could she have?" Scully demanded. "I don't know, Scully, maybe she uses binoculars, maybe she had a clear view through your window last night--or perhaps she saw us outside your apartment this morning." He looked thoughtful. "We know she's been following me, so it makes perfect sense. She must have hidden outside your building and either seen us together last night or when I kissed you this morning. That would be enough to make her turn on me, wouldn't it?" "Absolutely, Mulder, more than enough." "That means you're her next likely target," he said grimly. "I could be," she agreed as they climbed into his car, each peering carefully around them and seeing nothing unusual. "But she could just as easily decide that you need to be punished." "Do you think she'd try to harm me?" he asked, phrasing the question delicately. "Yes. I think she would. But not right away. I think she'd want to keep you around for a little while first, see if she could bring you around to her way of thinking." He gave her a sidelong look. "Does that mean that if this woman somehow does manage to get her hands on me, I should pretend to be attracted to her?" Scully grimaced at the idea, but had to concede, "I think that might be your best chance of staying alive in a situation like that, Mulder. Although I'd really prefer it didn't come to that." He reached over and took her hand. "It won't come to that, Scully. We won't let it." ***** Scully's nightmare that night was the worst ever. She could clearly see the fear on Mulder's face as a shadowy figure leaned over him. She could even hear his voice saying, "No! Leave her alone!". She knew, even in her dream, that Mulder was talking about her, that the shadow had threatened her in some way, and with no regard for the fact that he was at the mercy of a madwoman himself he was demanding her own safety. Then the shadow left and Mulder's look of terror grew until he began screaming her name, jerking frantically to free himself from the massive iron ring in the wall that he was chained to. He struggled to rise to his feet and she could see the iron manacles that held his wrists imprisoned behind his back cutting into his flesh, trickles of blood running down his fingers and dripping to the floor. Wisps of smoke were visible in the air and Scully knew the fire was creeping closer to the room where Mulder was being held captive. This time when she screamed herself awake Mulder was already there, sitting beside her in her bed, arms wrapped around her comfortingly. "I thought I'd never get you to wake up!" he said, relieved that she was finally released from the horror of the nightmare. He had been holding her and trying to rouse her from the dream for several minutes, growing more alarmed with each second that passed; Scully had been more than dreaming--she had been in an almost trance-like state. "Mulder, we absolutely cannot let that woman get her hands on you," Scully told him urgently, wrapping her arms around him and pulling the warmth of him closer to her. He allowed her to burrow into his embrace and tightened his hold on her. "Of course not, Scully," he told her, kissing her hair. "I'll be fine." "No, you don't understand. She's planning to set the house on fire and leave you there, trapped in that attic to burn to death--" She stopped suddenly and stared straight ahead for a moment, just as she had before, then raised her eyes to his. "She threatened me in this one," she declared. "You were telling her to leave me alone, and then she was gone and you were screaming and the house was filling with smoke and flames--" "Please stop, Scully," he interrupted, "or you're going to give *me* nightmares." The images she was painting in his mind were almost too real, and he shook his head slightly as if to dispel them. "Sorry," she murmured into his shoulder, trying to snuggle even closer to him. Somehow she felt he was safer if he was pressed close to her. Mulder held her and rubbed her back and arms soothingly until the tension drained from her body and she slept again. He lay awake for a long time, just holding her, wondering if the dreams were truly prophetic, and, if so, how they could avoid the prophecy. ***** He took the first shower in the morning. Since it was a Saturday, and Scully had been sleeping so badly, he wanted to let her catch as much rest as she would. She had been dozing peacefully, her red hair splayed out across the pillow, when he entered the bathroom and she had not moved an inch by the time he emerged. He was already dressed in his jeans when she awoke to find his wonderfully shirtless body leaning over her. "Time to wake up, sleepyhead," he grinned. "We have to buy me some new clothes today. I'm down to wearing the forbidden shirt, everything else is just too rank to inflict on the general public." Scully yawned and stretched, looking so feline that Mulder had to suppress ten different urges to crawl into that bed with her and make her purr. They had done plenty of that the night before, and he really wanted to get started on this shopping excursion from hell. Also, he hoped to be able to locate someone brave enough to tackle the destruction in his apartment. He had already decided he would pay any amount necessary as long as he didn't have to face it himself. "...shower..." he heard her mumble as she started for the bathroom. Mulder smiled and went back to the spare room to finish dressing. When he had donned The Shirt as well as his shoes and socks, he started for the kitchen to make Scully some coffee. He didn't know what she would do without that particular substance, but he shuddered to think of a morning-Scully sans caffeine. He was standing at the sink, filling the coffee pot with water, when a voice behind him ordered, "Don't move." Mulder stared straight ahead, feeling the press of cold metal against his neck. He could feel her breath on his skin, could even smell a faint hint of cologne and with a start realized it was men's cologne--the same scent he always wore. Mulder closed his eyes for a second and prayed this was not happening, that Scully would magically emerge from the bathroom with her service weapon at the ready, but he knew it wasn't to be. Why is it nobody ever steps in at the last second to rescue the good guys in real life? he asked himself silently. //What's your theory, Spooky?// "Turn toward the door and walk," the woman commanded. "If you try anything at all I'll shoot you and then I'll shoot Dana. Don't think I won't do it." He hesitated for less than a second. Only the thought of Scully's body lying on the floor, bleeding life away, propelled him toward the front door. He had never felt so helpless in his life, having a pretty good idea what was in store for him if his kidnapper managed to escape with him. He glanced down at the Forbidden Shirt in which he was clad and thought suddenly that Scully's dreams had been prophetic. He quelled the realization that, to his knowledge, Scully hadn't dreamed his escape or rescue. That didn't mean anything. Nothing at all. It could still happen. He considered making a sudden move to throw her off balance, willing to risk injury to avoid the horrific death Scully had foreseen in her dreams. Maybe he could take her by surprise and manage to subdue her, thereby saving himself and Scully from whatever awful plans this psychotic might have for them. As if reading his mind, the woman made another small movement and he felt the pin-prick of a knife at the small of his back. "I can arrange it so that it takes Dana a very long time to die, Fox. I might even make her watch me kill you," she whispered, and at that moment he gave up all hope of escape. He might risk his own life, but he would never, never risk Scully's. Whoever she was, this female obviously knew it. "Into your car," she said when they were outside, nudging him down the sidewalk, and he darted his gaze around the area frantically, hoping to catch the eye of someone who might at least be a witness to his abduction. The street was deserted. It was still early on a Saturday morning and most people were apparently sleeping in. Mulder wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. She had put the knife away but here he was in broad daylight, being marched to his car at gunpoint, his abductor making no attempt whatsoever to conceal her weapon, and there was nobody around to see it happening. Nobody to help out the good guys. //So what's your theory?// He climbed into the backseat of his own car as she ordered, and she quickly bound his wrists and ankles with ropes that she pulled from the deep pockets of her coat, fastening him securely to the metal where the front seats attached to the floor so that he was unable to raise his body enough to see or be seen out the window. She then stuffed a piece of cloth in his mouth and tied it firmly around his head, killing any hope he might have had of talking her out of this course of action during their journey. Journey to where? he wondered frantically. Scully had never been able to come up with anything more conclusive than 'Briarwood Street' from her dreams, and his perusal of local maps had been in vain. As far as he could tell, there was no Briarwood Street in the D.C. area. The woman's last step before climbing behind the wheel was to pull a quilt from the trunk of his car (Where the hell did that come from? She must have stashed it there!) and toss it over him, covering him entirely from view. As Mulder felt the car pull away from the curb he began to thrash his body around as much as he could with the limited movement the backseat area allowed. He had maintained a dim hope that he could attract someone's attention, but all he heard was her voice telling him pleasantly, "I can drug you if necessary, Fox. I hope it won't come to that." Drugs! Shit, no! Taking a deep breath--as deep as he could take around the cloth in his mouth--he forced himself to calm down. He would have a better chance of escape if he worked on the ropes binding his wrists than by antagonizing her into knocking him out, he decided, and resolutely set to work trying to free himself. He had made very little progress when, some time later, he felt the car slow and eventually stop. The quilt was jerked off him and he strained to look around as he heard her voice say brightly, "We're home!" ********** Chapter 4 ********** Scully emerged from the shower longing for the smell of hot coffee, but there was nothing. She poked her head out the bathroom door and called, "Mulder?" Silence was her only answer. Exasperated and concerned that he may have done something stupid--she didn't even want him stepping outside for the newspaper--Scully pulled her robe from the back of the bathroom door and slipped it on as she walked into the living room, calling his name again. When she didn't find him there either she opened the front door, hoping to find him just outside, and felt panic rise in her when she noticed his car was missing. "All right, Dana," she told herself aloud. "I'm sure he has a perfectly reasonable explanation for going off by himself, and when he gets back he'll give it to you, and then you can kill him." As she spoke, trying to calm herself, she padded on bare feet into the spare bedroom, hoping against hope to find Mulder crashed on the bed there. Instead she saw his gun, wallet and keys lying on the nightstand. Keys. His keys. She struggled to wrap her still-fuzzy mind around that fact, and then her eyes widened in terror as she made the connection. The woman had stolen his keys, had copies made. She had a key to his car. If his keyring was still here and his car was missing, that must mean... "Oh, no, Mulder!" she moaned, tearing to the bedroom to throw on some clothes. While she buttoned her shirt with one hand Scully pressed number 2 on her telephone speed dial, again hoping that it was all a misunderstanding and that he would answer his cell phone, safe and sound. She threw the handset across the room and almost screamed in vexation when she heard the ringing of his phone coming from his suit jacket which was thrown over the chair next to her bed. How could she have been so stupid! she berated herself. Mulder had warned her that the woman had a key to her apartment as well as his own and she hadn't listened. They should have changed the lock on her front door as soon as she had brought Mulder home. She should have refused to let him out of her sight for even a moment. She should have-- Well, none of that would help Mulder now, she told herself angrily. The only thing to do was find him. By any means necessary. She carefully and quickly searched her apartment for any clue as to where he might have gone or in what condition he might have left, but found nothing. Outside was the same story. Reluctantly she dialed Skinner's home number from her cell phone as, with a huge sigh of frustration, Scully began doing the only thing she could think of at the time. She began going door-to-door, questioning all her neighbors, grabbing at the slim possibility that one of them just might have seen something that would aid in her search. Or at least give her a place to start. ***** His captor opened the car door and untied his feet but, after releasing his wrists from the metal of the carseat, bound them behind his back. She took him by the arm and gently guided him out of the car, even shielding his head with her hand so he wouldn't bump it on the doorframe. Mulder thought she was taking an awful lot of care considering what she was probably planning to do with him. When he was standing, frantically looking around trying to get his bearings, hoping desperately to see someone who might be able to help him, she again jammed the pistol into the back of his neck and told him to go inside the house. He hesitated once again until she pressed the steel gun barrel into the soft skin beneath his ear and hissed, "Get moving!" Mulder thought seriously about trying to run, risking injury from a gunshot, but fear for Scully's safety once again prevented him from taking the chance. If she managed to hurt him badly, or even worse, kill him, Scully would be left defenseless and unsuspecting. If missing his chance of escape from this madwoman assured him that Scully would be kept out of danger then it was worth the sacrifice. Mulder wasn't at all surprised to see a house exactly like the one Scully had described from her dream. For a moment he wished she was there so he could point out the validity of psychic dreams to her and watch her face as she tried to come up with a rational explanation, but shook off that thought immediately. He didn't want Scully here. He wanted her safe. He looked up at the house as they approached it; it was two stories--two and a half actually, if you counted the attic. He already knew that he would be taken to the attic, if not right away then eventually. And there would be an iron ring mounted to the wall. And he just might die there. He paused at the door while she reached around with her key to unlock it, never taking her eyes off him. The woman swung the door inward and motioned him inside. For a moment he was almost unable to force himself to take that step over the threshold into what would almost certainly become an inferno sometime in the near future. Again, the feel of her gun pressing harder into his flesh gave him the necessary impetus, and a moment later he was inside a dimly lit hallway, blinking his eyes to help them become accustomed to the lack of sunlight. He barely had time to notice that the house was sparsely furnished and smelled of mildew and dust before she began forcing him up the stairs, past the second floor landing to a smaller staircase down the hall. Attic steps. With an inaudible sigh, Mulder made himself climb them. It was difficult, but the alternative was something that didn't bear thinking of. He could almost accept the idea of his own death at this point--certainly dying from a bullet wound to the head was preferable to slowly choking or burning to death in this house--but once again the thought that Scully would be vulnerable to this madwoman made him cling to whatever chance of survival he had left. When they reached the attic, Mulder glanced around quickly. Sure enough, there embedded in the wall to his right was Scully's iron ring, just as she had described it. Other than a few boxes stacked in one corner the attic was completely bare, and the dust made him feel like sneezing. He was in the process of turning to face the woman when he saw a quick movement out of the corner of his eye, felt an incredible pain in the side of his head and the world went black. ***** Scully sat in Skinner's living room, having just related the events (well, most of them, she thought) of the past few days to the Assistant Director. He had listened silently to her story and then sat, thinking for a moment. She had begun to think he wasn't even going to speak, that perhaps he didn't believe her, when he reached for the telephone. Within a quarter of an hour he had summoned a team of hand-picked agents and told them to meet him and Scully at F.B.I. headquarters immediately. Only then did he speak to her. "We'll find him, Scully," was all he said. An hour later the entire team assembled in Skinner's conference room and he had Scully tell them the entire story. To her relief, there were no comments about "Spooky" Mulder running off to chase little green men. On the contrary, Skinner had picked the most compassionate agents, those who also had a reputation for attention to detail; agents he knew would take this situation seriously for what it was--the kidnapping of one of their own. "I know it's strange," Scully told the men in front of her after she had explained the dreams as well as the events of the past week, "but I think we need to concentrate on finding this Briarwood Street. I have no idea what city or state it's located in, but I just feel certain that's where this woman has taken Agent Mulder. I know you don't understand it--nobody knows better than I do how odd this is, but so far it's the only thing we have to go on." The agents were assigned in pairs by the A.D. and left to carry out their respective orders. Scully went to the basement office--she wanted to take another look at the maps Mulder had been checking. She hoped that by starting with the D. C. area and searching in ever-widening circles she would be able to locate the mysterious Briarwood Street where she was certain Mulder was being held prisoner. She stopped at the coke machine to stock up on caffeine and shook her head sadly when her fingers automatically strayed to the button that would dispense the iced tea Mulder often drank. Bowing her head, Scully offered up a quick prayer that, wherever he was, he was unharmed. Five hours later she lay her head down on Mulder's desk and let the tears of exhaustion and despair flow. She had city and town maps from four different states and had been going over them meticulously for hours. She had made telephone calls, most of which were unfruitful because it was a Saturday afternoon and everyone else was at home enjoying time with their loved ones. It only made her more determined to bring Mulder safely home, but as the hours passed she had grown more and more discouraged. She prayed again that the woman hadn't hurt him. Yet. ***** He awoke, a mild throbbing in his head, to find her bending over him with a tray of food in her hands. Mulder blinked several times, wincing as a trickle of blood made its way into one eye. She took the napkin from the tray and gently wiped it off, smiling as she did so. His mouth felt dry and he realized suddenly that the gag was missing. He took quick stock of his situation. Not much to take stock of, actually; it was exactly as Scully had said it would be. Exactly. Down to the last detail, as far as he could tell. Even the blood on his forehead was accurate, and now he knew of the injury that had caused it. Apparently his kidnapper felt she had to knock him out cold in order to fasten him to the iron ring in the wall. Carefully he moved his hands and could feel the ring as well as the manacles binding his wrists. No ordinary handcuffs here, these were some serious bonds. He wondered briefly how she had come into possession of such a thing, but there was another question even more uppermost in his mind right now. "Who are you?" he rasped. She gazed at him sympathetically, as if to convey that she was terribly sorry for causing him any discomfort but was convinced it had all been in his best interest. The look chilled Mulder. Her words chilled him even more. "My name is Nancy, Fox," she told him. " I'm going to kill you." She stated it matter-of-factly, as if saying 'I'm going to prepare a meal.' Mulder felt a knot of panic in his stomach. Not yet, he told himself. It's not time to lose your head, not yet. After all, he had known this, hadn't he? It was no news to him that his death was the end of the road, but the real question was how painful would the journey be and how long would it take to reach that destination. Somehow he felt the answers were not forthcoming. His stomach rumbled loudly as he tried to decide the most constructive thing to say--the thing that would not cause her to decide hurting him now was a good idea. "Why? Why would you want to kill me?" he asked her gently, eyeing the contents of the tray as he realized how hungry he was. There was a bowl of vegetable soup, crackers, and a banana. He felt a vague hope that she would unlock the manacles in order to allow him to eat, but it was dashed when she picked up the spoon and held it, full of soup, to his lips. He opened his mouth and allowed her to feed him the soup, swallowing it gratefully. He really was starving. "You were unfaithful," she chided, wiping a dribble of juice from his chin with the bloody napkin. "The penalty for adultery is death." The penalty for...? The chill he had felt at her earlier statement was nothing to the shivers he was attempting to suppress now. Scully had been right, this woman was beyond reason. "Adultery?" he managed to ask, eagerly accepting another spoonful of the soup. It was delicious and he hadn't eaten in what he estimated to be at least eighteen hours. "You were unfaithful," she repeated childishly, obstinately. "Who was I unfaithful to, Nancy?" he pressed. "I couldn't have committed adultery. I'm not even married." He was walking a tightrope, not wanting to feed her delusion but reluctant to risk angering her while he was helpless. When she stared at the bowl, sulkily stirring the spoon around through the vegetables, he decided to push a little harder. "Who was I unfaithful to?" Too hard. "Me!" she screamed, throwing the bowl of soup suddenly across the room. He jumped, surprised at her sudden change, and watched in horror as the bowl hit the wall and shattered, sending shards of glass flying and creating an orange stain speckled with bits of celery and potato on the wall and floor. He remembered suddenly, with a detached clarity, that he had read this in a Stephen King novel once. He certainly hoped she wasn't going to cut off his foot. "You slept with her! With that red headed bitch!" she ranted. Nancy grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him up nose to nose with her. "I'm going to make you both pay!" she hissed in the most evil voice he had ever heard. Mulder shivered involuntarily at the venom in her words. Desperately he tried to defuse her anger. "I--I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to upset you." "Upset me? You didn't mean to upset me?" She released his shirt and sank down on the floor, half crying and half laughing. "How did you think I would feel, Fox, when I saw you kissing her? YOU KISSED HER RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!" she screamed suddenly, in his face again. She grabbed his hair and forced his head painfully back. He felt a thud as she banged his head against the wall and nausea threatened to overwhelm him. Mulder fought to retain consciousness as she screamed at him, slamming his head against the sheetrock with every few words. "You knew I was (slam) watching and you (slam) FUCKED her and you (slam) KISSED her and you didn't even (slam) care about me!" she yelled. Her fingers were still wound tightly in his hair and he closed his eyes, willing the pain and sickness to subside. In the next instant her mouth was on his, devouring, punishing, brutalizing him. There was no tenderness or affection in her kiss, if it could be called a kiss at all; it was more like a rape of his mouth. It was a mark of pure ownership. As suddenly as it had begun, her tirade ended and she was stroking his hair gently, her face a mask of devotion. Mulder opened one eye and was immensely relieved that she had settled down a bit. "Nancy," he managed through his bruised and swollen lips, after struggling to remember her name. "Please forgive me. I'm sorry for hurting you." It seemed absurd to Mulder to be apologizing to her when his entire head was a mass of agony, but he sensed it was what she wanted to hear. //What's your theory, Spooky?// Maybe if he could convince her he was properly contrite she would let him live long enough for Scully to find him. She had to find him. She was his only hope. "I know you're sorry now, Fox, because you're in trouble," she said tolerantly, much as a parent speaks to a naughty child. "But the fact remains that you were unfaithful. Adultery must be punished by death. Ideally you should be stoned to death, but I don't have the heart to make you suffer that much. Although you will have to suffer, I'm afraid." He opened his mouth to protest and she pressed her fingers to his lips gently. "No, don't speak anymore. It's getting late. You need to sleep now." She rose, taking the tray, ignoring the mess on the floor from the soup bowl she had thrown earlier, and started for the stairs. "Oh, and Fox, there's nobody around nearby to hear you if you feel you must scream for help, but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't keep me awake all night with it." She smiled at him affectionately and disappeared down the stairs. He heard her footsteps fade away and leaned his head carefully back against the wall, trying to avoid the spot she had injured. He hoped he wouldn't have another concussion. Scully would want him to try and stay awake, just in case. "Shit!" he muttered after Nancy was gone. His head was splitting in agony, he was afraid she might return at any moment and decide to shoot or stab him to death, and he had only had two bites of the soup to eat. She seemed to have forgotten all about feeding him once her fit overtook her. "Scully, you've got to find me, I am in so much trouble!" he whispered to the empty room. His only answer was silence. ***** Scully trudged up the front steps and entered her empty apartment. She hadn't wanted to give up the investigation for something so mundane as sleep, but Skinner had ordered her to go home and get some rest. He assured her a team of agents would be working round the clock to ascertain Mulder's whereabouts, but Scully knew that it was ultimately up to her to find Mulder, no matter what anyone else's intentions might be. She stripped off her clothing as she walked through the apartment, uncaring of where it fell, intent only on getting into a hot bath and relaxing her tired body so that she could get her mind working again. She saw the message light on her answering machine blinking as she passed and quickly backtracked, pushing the button to retrieve her messages, unable to squelch the hope that Mulder may have been able to get to a phone and call her. She slumped as the one and only message replayed itself. Mom wondering what was up, please call. That was it. No Mulder. The loneliness of that phrase hit her as she began to run water in the tub. No Mulder. Her life up until the time she had been paired with him was a hazy memory, a series of unrelated events, almost as if it had been only a prelude to the important phase of life spent with him. Every recollection of Mulder was crystal clear in her mind, treasured moments she stored in her memory, to be replayed whenever she was feeling down. Usually they served to cheer her up but tonight the recollections only made the tears she had so carefully kept under control all day begin to fall against her will. Settling down in the water, as hot as she could stand it, Scully gave her sobs free reign. The sound of the water running would hide them. When the tub was full and she had again managed to subdue the loudest of her cries, she toed the faucets off and lay her head back, closing her eyes. It wasn't long before she was asleep, but she was too tired to dream. She started awake an hour later, disoriented for a moment until she remembered where she was and why. Her face crumpled as she realized that she was facing a long night without Mulder at her side. Funny how quickly she had become dependent upon his presence. They had only spent two nights together but already the apartment felt empty and frightening without him. She climbed out of the tub and threw on some sweats, studiously avoiding looking at the bed. Scully wandered into the kitchen, stared absently into the refrigerator, reached for an apple, put it back. She knew she didn't have the stomach for food right now, no matter how much the rest of her body might require it. Her thoughts strayed to Mulder and she wondered briefly if that woman had given him anything to eat. Furiously she pushed the thought out of her mind. There was no point in dwelling on what might or might not be happening to him. Worrying about him wouldn't help him, a situation like this one required action. She began prowling the apartment like a cat, her eye catching so many things that screamed Mulder to her. His dress shoes on the floor by the couch, an open bag of sunflower seeds on the kitchen counter, his leather jacket hanging by the door. Finally her gaze landed on the clock on her desk. One in the morning. With a resigned sigh, Scully turned to the bedroom. As unappealing as it might seem, she knew she had to get some of the rest Skinner had ordered her to get. If she didn't, she would never be able to function in the morning, and she planned on being in the office very early. Swallowing hard, Scully turned back the sheets and climbed into bed, pulling his pillow close to her. She buried her nose in it, inhaling his scent, and felt the tears welling up in her eyes again. Giving in to them, since nobody was there to see, Scully hugged the pillow tightly and sobbed herself to sleep. It was not a restful sleep--every little while she would awaken, sure she had heard Mulder's step in the other room. She would sit up and turn on the lamp, listening for another sound from him and would finally admit to herself that it had been only wishful thinking. Around four in the morning she drifted into a dreamless state of semi-relaxation, one where her mind drifted in and out of reality but never really settled on sleep. When she next opened her eyes it was ten o'clock. It was the first night in a week that she hadn't had the dream. That fact scared her more than anything. ***** Mulder opened his eyes to the dim light of early morning beginning to make its way into the attic room, illuminating the dancing particles of dust in the air. He groaned aloud as he attempted to stretch his cramped muscles, slowly working the feeling back into his wrists and hands. He was relieved to note that the pain in his head had subsided to a dull ache. Maybe he wouldn't have another concussion after all. His fingers were aching and bloodied from his attempts to loosen the screws that held the iron ring to the wall. It was maddening to be able to feel them but not budge them at all. He had tried, oh how he had tried, all during the long night. He'd broken every nail and was afraid one had ripped completely off, as sore as that particular finger was, all to no avail. The screws had not loosened a fraction of an inch. There would be no escape that way. Looking around, he tried to get an idea of where he might be, but was unable to see much from his position on the floor. All that was framed in the one window the room offered was blue sky and the top of a nearby tree. An occasional bird flew by in his field of vision and he found himself gazing longingly at them; they were free, they could fly away. Mulder knew they had driven for about two hours, because he'd been able to catch a glimpse of her watch when she had unlocked the front door of the house. It was afternoon when they had arrived, it had been early evening when she had brought him the soup, so now it must be Sunday morning, he reasoned. He wondered how Scully was holding up, and how she had managed to get through the night. He had rested his head gingerly against the wall, in between efforts to unscrew those damned screws, and lain awake thinking about her long after Nancy had left him for the evening. How ironic it was that after all their years of friendship they had finally admitted their love for each other only to have it snatched away two days later. In his more desperate nighttime moments he had been convinced he would never see her beautiful face again, and he'd had to fiercely blink back tears on more than one occasion. The pain in his head had been awful, adding to his misery, but it had thankfully lessened while he finally slept, somewhere close to dawn. His sleep had been brief but merciful. He only hoped Nancy didn't plan on inflicting any further injuries on him before Scully came to rescue him. He refused to let himself consider the possibility that she might not arrive in time. He'd been awake for about an hour, shifting uncomfortably from time to time, wondering if he could convince Nancy to release him long enough to use a bathroom, when he heard her footsteps on the stairs. He tensed immediately, expecting the worst but hoping he was wrong. Mulder also sincerely hoped that this time she was bringing him a meal that he would get more than two bites of. His stomach had been complaining nonstop for hours and he was getting tired of listening to it. She was. She had another tray, this one containing eggs, toast, bacon and juice. His mouth watered when he smelled the food. He cringed when he saw what else she was carrying. It was a urinal jug just like the nurses forced him to use every time he was hospitalized. He didn't want to use it, certainly not with her assistance, but with a sigh he realized he really had no choice. She smiled a good morning at him and set the tray down on the floor beside him. His eyes followed it, lustfully regarding the food on the plate. Wordlessly Nancy picked up the urinal and Mulder closed his eyes as she reached for the buttons on his jeans. This was too embarrassing. He felt a blush darken his face as she pulled the fly of his jeans open and reached for him. Her touch, to his relief, was purely clinical. Turning his face away he just completed the horrible task as quickly as possible. He finally opened his eyes when she had his jeans buttoned up again, but refused to look at her. That she should steal his dignity from him like this was really too much to bear. Nancy didn't seem pleased or displeased by his actions; she was simply attending to a necessary function. She held out a piece of toast to him, and he devoured half of it in one bite. Mulder ate ravenously, as quickly as she could get the food into his mouth. He hadn't realized quite how hungry he was until the first delicious bite crossed his tongue, and then he couldn't get enough. He was glad she didn't want to make small talk, because all he wanted was to get the food into himself as quickly as possible before she decided to dispose of it against the ceiling or something. When the plate was empty, she wiped his face with the napkin and put the tray and the filled urinal aside. Only then did she speak. "I don't think I'm quite ready to kill you today," she said conversationally. "I'm really glad to hear that," he replied after a few seconds of forcing his breathing rate to slow. Another day of this torment meant another day of life. Every minute that he could stay alive was one more minute that Scully had to get to him. Nancy reached out a hand and ran her finger along his face, feeling the stubble there. "I like you with this unshaven look," she announced. "I was going to shave you, but I think I'll leave you this way. It's quite sexy." Since Mulder didn't want her getting anywhere near him with anything as sharp as a razor, he simply nodded acceptance. He wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of her finding him sexy, but no comment seemed called for. Instead, he thought he would begin trying to draw her out. If he could make her see him as a real person, perhaps, just maybe, he could begin to reason with her somewhat. "Do you think I could ask you a question?" he queried softly, hesitantly. She looked uncertain for a minute, then her face brightened. "You can ask, but I don't think you want to make me angry again," she said easily, gesturing with a jerk of her head at the stain on the wall and floor from last night. He shook his head with a slight smile gracing his lips. "I don't want to make you angry, I would just really like to know something. Just to satisfy my curiosity." He kept his voice low and soothing, not wanting to risk sending her into a frenzy again. The last thing he needed was to awaken her rage while he sat here at her mercy. "What would you like to know, Fox?" she asked, brushing back the hair that had fallen in his face. He locked his eyes with hers. "Why did you kill those people?" She looked startled at his question for a moment, and then her face flushed. For a moment he winced inwardly, the thought 'I'm fucked!' crossing his mind, but a moment later she cast her eyes downward, and Mulder thought in a flash of realization that she looked embarrassed. Not remorseful, not even angry--just embarrassed. She was actually proud that he had noticed her...accomplishment. Her gift to him. Like a small child accepting praise for a job well done. "I wasn't sure you knew about that," she commented shyly, the blush tinging her cheeks a light pink. "Well I didn't at first, but eventually I figured it out," he said carefully. He was sailing in unfamiliar waters here, uncertain how to tread the fine line between giving her false hope and pissing her off. False hope, he decided, was much better for his well-being. Who cared what she thought of him if only Scully would arrive soon? Her face looked as if the sun had burst upon it suddenly. "I knew you would!" she told him joyfully. "You're such a brilliant man, I knew you would realize how much I had done for you, how much you owed me." Thunderclouds appeared then, instantly blocking out the sunshine on her face. It turned from a somewhat pretty countenance to one that was twisted and mottled with rage. Mulder marveled at the rapidity of the transformation. "But you went and slept with her anyway," she said angrily. "After all the sacrifices I made for you, you betrayed me!" Mulder was shocked and frightened at how quickly her moods could change. He'd seen people like this before, but he had always been the doctor, the counselor, the one in authority; never had he been helpless in the presence of such psychosis. There was no way to predict from one minute to the next--hell, from one second to the next--what she would be like. "I didn't realize it at first, Nancy--how much you had done for me. Please forgive me." As he spoke the words he realized they were just what she wanted to hear. They were bitter in his mouth, hard to spit out even though he knew they may be a key to his freedom. Not that those words alone would persuade her to release him, certainly, but those words coupled with whatever actions may be required... It may be too little too late, but she wanted him to beg her forgiveness for his "unfaithfulness". She smiled again, a sad smile this time. "It's all right, Fox. I understand--she tempted you and you were weak. Such as it was in the Garden, such as it is today." Her voice took on a weird, sing-song quality. "The woman is the temptress, and she must die, but she will go quickly. You, I'm afraid, must suffer more. In suffering you will be purified, you see. And he who is purified will reach eternal salvation. She will die for her sin, but for her there is only darkness." He shook his head, desperately willing her to listen to him. "Nancy, please, punish me if you have to, but leave her out of this." He gave her a searching look. "This is between the two of us, isn't it? We're the ones who were meant to be together. I just...didn't see that before. You have to give me another chance." "No. It's too late. The time for it is past." She cupped his chin in her hand gently, the smile never leaving her face, her eyes filling with sorrowful tears as she answered his question of many minutes ago. "I did it because they were mean to you, Fox. They deserved to die." ***** Scully sat dejectedly at the desk in the basement office. She was still searching maps, but in her heart she knew it was fruitless. Unless she had more to go on than the image of a house and the name of a street she would never find Mulder. And she just had to find him before that crazy woman hurt him. The images from her dreams tried desperately to replay themselves in her mind and she kept forcefully pushing them away. Nothing would be served if she let herself get upset by them now. She needed to take the bits of what might be useful information from them and shove the rest aside for now. She would dwell on them later, though, she knew, torment herself with them when she was alone and the tears could fall unheeded. Where no one could see. She had been at this for hours and was still no closer to finding a clue than when she had started. Scully lay her head on her arms, unbelievably weary. It had been a very long couple of weeks, what with the case they had finished in Idaho, then trekking all over the country chasing down nonexistent clues about Aspen, and now this situation. She felt as if she hadn't slept a full night in months. Her tossing and turning of the night before had done nothing to alleviate her exhaustion and she knew she was slowing down, becoming less effective every minute. Still she kept plodding onward, knowing that if she gave up Mulder would surely die. Scully wanted to scream in frustration at the feeling that she wasn't accomplishing anything. Sitting around this office poring over map after map hadn't brought her one inch closer to Mulder, and she ached with the need to be out doing something. Mindless activity wouldn't locate him either, though, and that knowledge was what kept her where she was, pursuing the only slim lead she had. At nine o'clock Skinner poked his head around the door of the office to gently break the news to her that the search teams had had no luck, either. He took in her haggard appearance and knew that his order of the night before for her to get some rest had not really been obeyed. Knowing Scully, though, she had at least tried. Mulder wouldn't have even--Skinner pushed thoughts of Mulder away. He didn't want to think about Mulder right now. The man was his friend and the knowledge that he was in danger was too personal. There was no room for emotion right now. Skinner knew that in order to head up this investigation he had to keep his own feelings in check. The time to give in to them would come later. When Mulder was safe. "Scully..." he began. "I know, Sir," she sighed, pushing away from the desk. "Get some rest." "We'll find him, Scully," he said gently as she brushed past him. It seemed to be all he could think of to say to her these days, constant, empty reassurances that they would locate her partner. Skinner had no doubt that those reassurances were accurate--sooner or later they would find him. Whether or not they found him alive depended upon their speed. She just nodded, not trusting herself to speak. There was no way in hell Scully was going to let herself break down in front of the boss. No way in hell. At home she again tried to find something appetizing to eat and again gave up when her stomach began to do flip-flops. She wandered the apartment some more, desperately trying to recall any vague memory of a Briarwood Street that she and Mulder may have seen on one of their investigations, but she knew they hadn't. Mulder would have remembered. With his photographic memory he would have been able to recall it immediately, she thought, and the vision of Mulder standing in front of her busily calling up stored memories as easily as one accessed a computer disk almost made her break down and cry again. Stop! she told herself angrily. You can't do Mulder any good if you keep crying, you have to THINK! Eventually her wanderings led her into the bathroom. She gazed around the pink and cream decorated room, not really seeing the walls and floor and vanity. Her eyes strayed to the shower and she turned away, fighting back memories. Next her gaze fell on the small closet where she kept extra towels and rolls of toilet paper and bottles of shampoo and any other thing that seemed to belong in the bathroom but didn't really have a defined place. Unthinking, Scully absently pulled opened the door. Her eye was caught by a pill bottle shoved back behind the extra tubes of toothpaste, (for Scully believed in always being prepared, stocking up) and she reached for it, curious. Dalmane. Sleeping pills. Left over from the time right after her abduction when she had been having trouble getting any rest due to the nightmares she'd had--she shuddered, remembering them. They had been unreal, hideous, and somehow she could never remember them the next day, just the creepy feeling they left her with. She hadn't taken very many of the Dalmane tablets because they had made her sleep too soundly--it's harder to escape a nightmare when you're drugged, she had found--and she had just never gotten around to throwing them out. Eventually the dreams had gone away on their own. Scully picked up the small bottle and fingered it thoughtfully. The pills were horribly out of date and had probably lost their potency by now, but still-- She saw the idea coming from a mile away and her thinking side, Practical-Scully, tried to stop it but wasn't able to deter Emotional-Scully, the one who would do anything under the sun to save Mulder. So far, Emotional-Scully reminded her, everything she knew about Mulder's disappearance had come from her dreams. The dream had not come to her last night, but she had been so upset that she had never fallen into a deep, dreaming sleep at all. Maybe...just maybe this could work. She needed to sleep anyway, and the worst thing that could happen if she took one was...nothing. That it would be so old it would have no effect on her at all. Practical-Scully countered with all the reasons why one should never take out-of-date medications, reasons she had given to people many times herself. Then Desperate-Scully got into the fray, and reminding the other two bickering Scullys that Mulder was going to die soon if she didn't do something, took over. It was Desperate-Scully who opened the bottle, shaking out one of the pills into her hand, and Scully would tell herself that later--that it was desperation and nothing more that made her finally decide to try this offbeat experiment. How's this for a new investigative technique, Skinner? When searching for clues, GO TO SLEEP! She allowed herself one more second of hesitation, then decisively threw the pill to the back of her throat, dry-swallowing it. Too late now, she thought grimly, crossing her fingers and praying that this extreme measure would work. Twenty minutes later Scully had no doubts whatever about the effectiveness of the medication. She realized suddenly, while sitting blankly in front of the television, that she was so woozy she could barely hold her head up. Taking the pill on an empty stomach had only increased its potency, apparently, and Scully stood up carefully, holding on to furniture, praying she would make it to the bed. She did arrive there safely, eventually, and crawled under the covers still wearing the comfortable clothes she had changed into after arriving home. Scully again pulled Mulder's pillow to her, the scent of his hair and skin comforting to her, and closed her eyes, beseeching God to let her please, please have another nightmare with even more terrifying detail than the previous one. ***** Mulder had been dozing against the wall again, and he jerked awake when he heard Nancy's feet treading up the stairs. She was empty handed this time, he saw, and he ignored the twisting feeling in his stomach. He hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast this morning, because Nancy had decided that as part of his 'purification' he needed to suffer the pangs of hunger. //Fasting is good for the soul, Fox.// He figured by now his soul must be almost perfected, because his stomach had settled on a steady sharp ache whenever he allowed his mind to wander toward food, which was often. It was funny, he thought. He often went for hours on end without eating when he was involved in a case, and in times of intense stress (and what was more intensely stressful than being abducted by a madwoman who had promised to kill you soon?) Mulder had always been one to lose his appetite. By all rights he should be thoroughly uninterested in food at this moment anyway. But let the food be denied him, rather than voluntarily ignored, and it became all his body craved. His mouth watered as he recalled the last meal she had fed him, and for a moment he thought he smelled bacon and eggs again, but his rational side told him his nose was playing tricks on him and, as usual, his rational side, when he bothered to access it, was correct. He wondered what she wanted now. She had brought the urinal to him again late that afternoon and Mulder had again turned his face away in shame while he performed the necessary function. When he was finished she had gently re-fastened his jeans and left him alone again, never saying a word during the entire episode. Now she had no reason to come to him--no food, no bodily wastes to dispose of--and he felt a touch of fear. Was this it? Time to pull the plug? Take the plunge? Light the fire? Mulder swallowed hard and made himself sit up straighter. If she was going to kill him now he was going to try and at least go out with an ounce of his dignity intact. Although he didn't really see that it mattered much. If Scully's dreams proved correct there wasn't going to be any dignity or mercy or anything like it for him. There was only going to be fear, pain and death. By fire. God, why did it have to be fire? Nancy crossed to where he sat against the wall and knelt before him. "How are you feeling, Fox?" she asked kindly, stroking the side of his face gently. The absurdity of the question struck him. He marveled at the insanity that could wonder how he was feeling with such apparent compassion, all the while planning a horrible death for him, date and time unknown but still certain. He also wondered, briefly, if she would tell him when he was to die or if she would merely set the fire without his knowledge, making sure that he only found out about it when the flames and smoke began to creep closer and closer to his attic, when the heat and the smell of the smoke were upon him. //What's your theory, Spooky?// Shaking his head angrily, partly at himself and partly at her, he demanded, "How do you think I'm feeling? I'm hungry, I hurt, and I want you to let me go." He jerked at the chains holding him out of frustration, and then winced as the abrasions around his wrists began to ache once more. Bad idea, Mulder. Hope they don't start bleeding again. "I told you why I can't let you have anything else to eat," she explained patiently, as if to a small child. "And the pain won't last much longer." Mulder felt the breath leave his body."How--how much longer?" Did this mean she was going to set the fire? Now? Maybe she had already set it! Was that the smell of---? "Tomorrow, I think," she mused in a faraway voice. "Of course, I'll have to kill the temptress as well." "No, leave Scully alone," he pleaded. "It wasn't her fault. She didn't tempt me. I--I was the one." He cast his eyes downward in an attitude of repentance, hoping she wouldn't decide to end his life then and there at his confession. "I tempted her. She wanted to resist me but I wouldn't let her." He held his breath for a moment, waiting to see what she would do. A few seconds later he heard her soft laughter as her hands continued stroking his face and hair. "So gallant, to try and take the blame for her," Nancy smiled. "But I know the truth, Fox. You can't endure someone else's punishment for them, no matter how noble you are. We all must suffer for our own sins. You are a true gentleman, Fox." "How did you get into my motel room in Dallas?" he asked suddenly, wanting to change the subject before she went into another spell of total insanity. "I never was able to figure that out." Truth of the matter was, it had been driving him crazy. When she revealed her secret to him he wanted to kick himself. Of course, so obvious. Her face clouded as he pulled her from her reverie. She shrugged. "It was a simple matter to steal a key from the housekeeping room and return it later. Nobody even noticed it was missing. And I wanted to leave you my gift." The necktie. "It--it was a very nice gift," he acknowledged, swallowing hard. The back of her hand suddenly smacked him across the face, cutting his lip on his own teeth. Mulder's head rocked back and bumped against the wall again, making him wince as his eyes teared up. It had come out of nowhere. "Don't lie to me," she said in a deadly voice. "No, honest, I loved it!" he forced himself to say, hoping to appease her anger. This time she punched him square in the stomach, driving the air completely from his body. "If you LOVED it so much, why didn't you ever WEAR it?" she screamed, getting right into his face, droplets of spittle from her mouth flicking over him. "You HATED it. Just like you hate ME! Like you've ALWAYS hated me!" He felt her hands gripping his hair again (no!nomorenomore!) and she resumed her attempts to rearrange his brain by slamming it against the wall. Mulder felt bile rise up in his throat from the nausea the pain caused him and he fought valiantly to control it. He knew he had to stop her before he lost consciousness. There was no telling what she would do to him if that happened. She might decide to finish him off. He did not want to be unaware in this woman's presence. He said the first thing that came to mind, struggling to get the words out. "I didn't want to mess it up!" he stammered, confused, between blows. "Please--Nancy--I wanted to keep it nice. I don't hate you! I don't! Honestly, I don't hate you!" He was yelling now, trying to get through to her, and she seemed to lose her rage with the next heartbeat. She kept her hands on either side of his head, but now their touch was gentle. She cocked her head to the side, regarding him carefully, as if wondering whether or not to believe him. "In my line of work," he went on in a calmer voice, hoping to soothe her, "you wouldn't believe how many of my suits get destroyed. I've never owned such a nice tie--I didn't want it to get ruined. I was saving it to wear for a special occasion." Inwardly he winced at his choice of words. Special occasion? Such a common term. He hoped he sounded sincere enough to her. Apparently he did, because she drew back and her assault seemed to be over. For now at least. Smiling tenderly at him, she smoothed the hair down where her fingers had mussed it. He forced himself not to draw back in horror and revulsion when she leaned over to kiss his forehead. Nancy rose to her feet and walked toward the exit. "I'll let you sleep now, Fox. We both have a big day tomorrow," she called over her shoulder as she descended the stairs. Mulder shivered at her words and began again to frantically think of what might be the magic word or phrase to get her to release him. As he thought, he unconsciously began working again at the screws that held the iron ring to the wall, unmindful of the pain and the blood. Oh please, Scully, please hurry! he begged silently. ***** Scully opened her eyes, waking herself with her own cries of helplessness. She had just watched Mulder die. He had not gone easily, either, not been overcome by smoke as she had always been told that most victims of fire were. No, he had died horribly, burning slowly to death, his worst nightmare and hers. Nothing was ever easy with Mulder. The thing that hurt her the most was that through it all, to the end, he had been begging, pleading for her to come and save him. She wiped away the tears that still clung to her face and lay back on the pillow breathing heavily. There was something more. This time there had been another voice, a woman's voice, before his screaming had started. The voice of Mulder's captor. "Here in Centerville," she was saying, "we keep to ourselves." Centerville. Mulder was being held in a town called Centerville. A generic name. There could be a thousand Centervilles near Washington D.C. Somehow she had to find the right one, and soon. She sensed that Mulder didn't have much time left, possibly only a matter of hours. Throwing on clothes and brushing her teeth quickly, not bothering to shower, Scully raced to the office and began frantically pawing through her maps again. Her eye was caught by any similar looking name--she bit her lip in frustration as she rejected Center Point and Centerton and several others. Eventually she found she had three Centervilles to choose from. Maryland, Rhode Island, Delaware. Determined now, Scully reached for the telephone. Twenty minutes later she had her answer--at least part of it. She had made telephone calls to some area Chamber of Commerce offices. Maryland was out. Centerville, Rhode Island and Centerville, Delaware both contained a Briarwood, although the one in Rhode Island was an Avenue, not a Street. She only hesitated a moment, deciding between the two states. It had to be Delaware. The sign she had seen in her dream clearly read Briarwood Street, not Avenue. Grabbing her jacket Scully left the office, telling nobody where she was going. Later she would look back on her actions and berate herself for running off with no backup-- something she was always scolding her partner about--but at the moment her mind was focused only on Mulder and the fact that she had to get to him as quickly as possible. ***** It was morning again. He shifted painfully, trying to ease the ache in his shoulders that came from having his arms restrained behind his back for the last forty-eight hours. Who thought it was a good idea, he wondered idly, to keep prisoners in this condition? Was there a book of 'kidnapper rules' out there somewhere that covered this? Chapter Three--Keeping Your Victim Restrained: Handcuffs or Ropes--Pros and Cons. His arms felt as though they had been wrenched from their sockets no matter what position he gingerly attempted. No relief was in sight, either, because according to Nancy this was the day he was going to die. Him and Scully. He clenched his eyes shut at the thought of his innocent Scully falling victim to this madwoman. I'm sorry, Scully, he thought helplessly. I tried to talk her out of it. I used every psychologist's trick I know, but nothing worked. I tried, Scully. He sat there, awake, for a long time before she came to him, a mass of aches and pains and nervousness. Surely she would appear one last time before she set the fire. If she did, it meant he had one last chance to dazzle her with his brilliant psychotherapeutic bullshit and save Scully, if not himself. If only he could make her see him as the guilty party instead of Scully he might have a chance at saving his partner, but so far Nancy had treated him as Scully's victim. It didn't make any sense to him that the victim had to die a more painful death than the victimizer, but hey, she'd already told him, hadn't she? She was saving him. She was doing him a favor by letting him suffer. Purifying him. Hell, don't want to face death in an impure state, now do we, Mulder? He grinned mirthlessly. //Gotta be squeaky clean to burn to death, now, none of that nasty lustfulness allowed. If you're gonna die, you're gonna do it right, boy! Is that it? What's your theory, Spooky?// Slowly and carefully, wincing as he moved aching muscles, Mulder strained to try and get a look at his watch. He failed. He just couldn't coax that much movement out of his arms or his head at this point. Common sense told him it must be about noon. He hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours and he was weak with hunger and fear. Mulder wanted to be brave, he really did, and had it been anything but fire he probably could have, but this phobia from his childhood reduced him to a quivering bucket of terror. He tried very hard to maintain his outward composure, though, at least while Nancy was around. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing him cower. He'd lost everything else; might as well retain a little pride if possible. He heard her step on the stair and turned slowly to face her. She was holding a familiar-looking red plastic jug, the kind sold in every gas station in America. Gas can. Full, from the way she was carrying it. His stomach suddenly felt as though it was filled with lead shot. For a moment he was afraid she was going to pour it on him and set him afire directly, but he breathed a sigh of relief when she put the can down near the attic entrance and approached him empty-handed. "Good morning, Fox," she said pleasantly. He took in her appearance; for the first time since she brought him here she had come to him fully dressed. Usually when she had come up to 'visit' with him she had been barefoot and wearing some type of comfortable, lounging-about clothing. Today she was wearing jeans, a nice blouse, and shoes and socks. Her hair and makeup were neatly fixed. It was apparent that she was prepared to go out. To find Scully, the thought occurred to him, and that idea made him jerk at his bindings again, causing the sores around his wrists to begin bleeding once more. His hands felt nasty from the dried blood and sweat that had accumulated there over the past couple of days. There were dried traces of blood matted in his hair from the pounding she had done on him the night before, as well. He was certain he was a sorry sight. "There's nothing good about it," he growled, struggling uselessly to pull away from the wall. She smiled indulgently as she watched his pathetic attempts at escape. Poor Fox. He simply couldn't give up, wouldn't calmly accept his fate. He just didn't realize that it was better this way, that he would be so much happier when it was all over. She knelt down beside him and took his face in her hands, kissing him gently on his swollen lips. "Don't be afraid, love, it will all be over soon," she whispered. "I'm going to go to the Temptress now and take care of her. When she opens her apartment door this evening she will be blown to bits. Simple. Easy. She won't suffer, I promise you." Her eyes were kind, understanding. Insane. Mulder closed his own eyes and tried to pull away from her grip. He didn't want his last memories to be of this lunatic woman kissing him, touching lips that belonged only to Scully, claiming love that belonged only to Scully. As if reading his thoughts, she nodded understandingly and stood up. "Do you know what this is, Fox?" she asked, holding up a glittering something that could only be the key to his freedom. His eyes grew wide with longing. Had she changed her mind? Was she going to let him go after all? Like a fool, he allowed himself to hope. He wanted to give up and cry at her next words. "I'm going to hang this key right here on this wall where you can look at it," she continued, sliding the key over a convenient nail. "That way you can think about your sin, and what it brought you. Your atonement will have more meaning if you come to a complete realization of your guilt." She walked toward the exit and then turned back to him. "Yell all you want to, Fox, nobody will hear you, and if they do, nobody will come. Here in Centerville, we keep to ourselves. This will be the last time you'll see me. I'm going to set the fire downstairs and then go to take care of her. When I return it will be all over and you'll be happy, you'll see." With that she disappeared down the stairs. "Nancy, wait!" he called desperately, frantically pulling at his chains. "Please, Nancy, don't do this! You don't have to do this! Please, I'll be what you want me to be, I'll do whatever--" He forced himself to get a grip. It was no use. She was gone. Mulder fixed his gaze on the key hanging on the wall. He could have sworn he had read this same scenario in one of Sam's old Nancy Drew mysteries when they were kids. Nancy--he laughed at the irony and then wondered if he were crazy already. In the story Nancy had shown up at the last minute to rescue her father. His Nancy wasn't likely to have a sudden change of heart and come back to release him. Scully was his only hope of rescue, and where was she? He was sure she was looking for him, but-- Mulder decided he would have given his right arm for Aspen's psychokinetic ability right then. ***** Scully had broken every speeding law ever written on her way to Centerville, Delaware. At one point a highway patrolman had flashed his lights at her and she had ignored him. Adrenaline flowing at the prospect of making an exciting arrest in his deserted patrol area, he pulled up beside her, motioning for her to pull over. His eyes had grown wide when he saw the identification badge the red-headed woman in the speeding car held up for him to see, and he had waved her on, slowing down from the eighty-five miles per hour he'd had to maintain to keep up with her. He might be green but he wasn't stupid enough to mess with the F.B.I., not even when she looked like that. Scully pulled into the tiny town of Centerville at a little after noon, noting with relief that it couldn't be too hard to locate Briarwood Street in a town this size. It couldn't possibly have a population of more than six or seven thousand and the downtown area looked like any small, sleepy town one might see on television. This, however, was not Mayberry. Scully spotted two teenage boys standing on a street-corner, boys who obviously should have been in school, and she approached them determinedly. They had given her wolfish grins until she flashed her badge at them, and then had lapsed into attitudes of helpful respect with comical speed. Within minutes she had complete directions to Briarwood Street, and even a confirmation that there were several big, old houses matching the description she gave them out that way. Scully thanked them, favoring them both with a sweet, if insincere smile, and screeched her tires pulling away from the curb. One of the boys whistled admiringly as she flew off. "She sure can drive!" he commented, and his friend nodded agreement, his eyes still on her disappearing vehicle. Less than ten minutes later, Scully found the house. It really wasn't hard to spot. It was the only structure on Briarwood Street that had smoke pouring from the ground floor windows. ***** Mulder tried not to panic. He told himself over and over again that panic would get him nowhere. Sometime before he completely lost his head he reminded himself that not panicking wasn't getting him anywhere either. About ten minutes after Nancy had gone downstairs he had heard her car start, and the diminishing motor sounds as it drove away leaving him here alone. Alone with the fire. Only for a little while he wondered if there really was a fire. He didn't smell anything. He didn't hear anything. If she had a smoke detector in that house it should have been screaming by now. With wishful thinking born of desperation and despair, Mulder had almost managed to convince himself that she had lied to him, that there was no fire at all, she was simply pulling a cruel hoax on him to frighten him. A few minutes after that the first whiff of smoke reached his nose, very faint, and he tried to tell himself he had imagined it. He told himself that right up until the time the first visible tendrils of it began to make their way up past the window. There was definitely smoke coming from the lower levels of the house. No mistake. And he could smell it now, stronger, no longer deniable. That was when he began to panic. Yanking at the chains that imprisoned him, unmindful of the blood that once again began flowing freely from his wrists, Mulder beat his feet on the floor, screaming and screaming for Scully to come and help him. He called her name over and over, knowing that there was nobody else he could count on, nobody else who cared, nobody else who could save him. Once or twice he thought he heard an answering yell but finally decided it was just the fire and his own imagination playing tricks on him. He screamed until his throat was sore and his voice was so hoarse that no intelligible sound would come from it. ***** Nancy drove southward, full of satisfaction at the way her plan was working. She had taken care of the Adulterer, and now she would finish off the Temptress. She would keep her promise to Fox not to make the redheaded bitch suffer. She didn't need to suffer. She only needed to die. She needed to die for hurting Fox, for leading him down the path of temptation so far that now he was going to have to suffer to atone. His agony would cleanse him of his sin, though, and the Jezebel didn't deserve to be cleansed. There would be plenty of burning for her, too, but not at Nancy's hands. She would deliver the woman up to He Who Burned--Jezebel would have her own fire to face--and then return to Fox. She had already decided that she would bury what was left of his body out behind the charred remains of the house, under the apple trees. He would be happy there. It was a beautiful place. As she thought of Fox her body grew hot with longing. They had never even been able to consummate their love because of the interference of the woman. She could have taken him while he was at her mercy but she wanted him to come to her freely. Now she felt cheated. She wanted Fox, and she deserved him. He belonged to her. As she drove, an idea came to her. Why not keep him and play with him a little before he died? There were no rules against it, and the more pain he suffered, the more complete his atonement would be. When she was certain that he was fully, completely cleansed, then she would end his life so he could be happy. It would really be doing him a favor, she reasoned, although she was certain Fox wouldn't see it that way. She smiled indulgently. Men were such babies when it came to pain. He would cry and plead with her, but in the end he would be better off. He would be happy. Making a decision, she swung the car off the road and turned it around. She had to get back to Fox before the fire found him. ***** Scully had the presence of mind to hide her car in a copse of trees a quarter of a mile down the road from the house. She ran faster than she had ever run in her life back to the house, hoping against hope that the fire hadn't reached the upper floors yet. When she reached the front porch and ran up the steps, Scully put her hand on the door and knew it was hopeless. The door was hot and she could see the fire, glowing orange, through the glass. There was no way she could get in here. With tears of fear and frustration pouring down her face, her breath hitching sobs, she ran quickly around to the back of the house. The door was cool here, and Scully knew the fire hadn't made it to this room yet. She tried to turn the doorknob. It was locked. Suddenly a heart-wrenching scream pierced the air. "Scully!" She blanched when she heard him. It was the same sound that had jarred her from sleep almost every night for the past week. The sheer terror in his voice pierced her heart. She had to get to him in time. Losing Mulder was not an option. "Mulder, hang on, I'm coming!" she yelled as she stepped back and looked around for something to break the glass in the door with. She didn't know if he could hear her or not, but she had to try. Spying a large rock on the ground at the foot of the steps Scully grabbed it and within moments she was inside the kitchen of the house. She made her way quickly, ignoring the glass on the floor, to the living room, where the worst of the fire seemed concentrated. She saw her immediate goal, the stairs, on the other side of the room. The smoke was heavy but Scully could see that the flames were just beginning to lick at the bottom step. Hesitating only for a second, Scully threw her arm across her nose and mouth, using the fabric of her coat to try and filter the air she was breathing. Before she could chicken out, she ran for the stairs, jumping for the third step and almost missing it. Her heart stopped briefly when she felt herself slip, but she threw out her right arm for balance while her left hand grabbed at the bannister. She drew in a deep breath without thinking and instantly regretted it when she received a lungful of smoke. Halfway up the stairs, Scully sagged against the wall for a moment, coughing and trying to get her bearings. When she felt that she was in control once more, Scully turned her gaze upward. Refusing to look back, where the heat from the flames was already beginning to singe the hair on the back of her head, Scully pushed onward up the stairs. Time was quickly growing shorter. ***** He thought he heard a voice call to him and then glass breaking, but convinced himself that in his terrified state he had imagined it. Mulder had fought a rough battle with his fear and had finally managed to regain some semblance of self-control. Now it was getting harder to hold onto with each passing second and he had all but given up hope that Scully would find him in time. It comes to this, he thought sadly, leaning back against the wall in extreme fatigue. He'd used up all his energy fighting, but then, wasn't that the story of his entire miserable existence? Constantly fighting an enemy he could smell and hear, but not quite see and never really prove the existence of? Mulder had always thought that his end would come either quickly, from a bullet wound received in the line of duty, or through slow torture at the hands of his enemies. Never in his wildest imaginings could he have come up with this. Trapped like a rat in a cage, helpless while the world was ending all around him. //Mom, Dad, if you wanted to name me after an animal you picked the wrong one. *I* should be Ratboy.// It was ironic that Krycek should outlive him, considering all the times Mulder had spared the man's life, he thought. Dimly he recognized the signs of impending delirium, but decided it really didn't matter. It didn't even matter what was causing it--fear or his many injuries. Death was death was death, and lo, here it came for him. He could hear it on the stairs now--or was that a footstep? Nancy? Had she come back? No! As the steps drew rapidly closer he began to struggle again, shaking himself back to reality. Scully! It was her! He would know the sound of her footsteps anywhere. "Scully!" he yelled with all the strength he could muster, "I'm up here! Please hurry!" Her head emerged through the opening and he knew he had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. "Oh, Mulder!" she cried, running to him and cradling his head against her for a second. Thank God he didn't appear to be badly injured, but he wasn't in very good shape either. On the other hand, that head injury might turn out to be more than it appeared. No time for a thorough inspection now, though, she had to find a way to get them out of here. She pulled his body away from the wall to get a look at his restraints and almost screamed in frustration. He wasn't held with ropes, as she had hoped, or standard issue F.B.I. handcuffs, as she had thought. These manacles were thick and strong and there was no way she would get Mulder out in time without the key. And the fire was creeping closer. "Mulder..." she said helplessly, and he interrupted her, nodding toward the opposite wall. "Key, Scully, over there!" he panted. "She wanted to torture me with it!" Scully turned and saw where he was indicating, and in a flash she was back beside him working the iron restraints loose from around his wrists. She cringed inwardly at the amount of blood coating his wrists and hands, but the cuts didn't appear to be deep enough to cause trouble. Mulder cried out in pain as his arms shifted position for the first time in days, but there was no time to be gentle with him. Scully took his arms and, with his assistance, was able to pull him to his feet. "We've got to get out now, Mulder, the first floor is almost completely ablaze," she told him urgently, tugging him on unsteady legs toward the stairs. Mulder held on tightly during the climb down, feeling weak and dizzy. His legs were only cooperating with the most adamant of protests. This was no time to lose his balance, he knew, and the attic stairs were steep, almost like a ladder. They reached the second floor hallway and Scully dragged him toward the stairs leading downward to the first floor. They were engulfed in flames. For a moment both agents stared in horror at the sight before them, then Mulder sprang into action. He forced his aching body to move in the direction he pointed it. "This way!" he hollered, tugging Scully back down the hall the way they had come. There was a window at the end of the hallway, and his hope was that they could climb out onto the roof and lower themselves safely down. Noting with relief that there was a slope of roof outside rather than a sheer drop, he tugged at the window. It wouldn't budge. "Damn!" he cried in frustration, pounding on the glass weakly, feeling his strength giving out as his adrenaline rush began to subside. "Let me," Scully commanded, seeming to understand his predicament. She strained at the window but was unable to make any progress with it. It simply was not going to open. "Stand back, Scully," Mulder said, anxiety clear on his face, and a moment later his elbow crashed through the glass, shattering it. The glass cut his skin and fresh trickles of blood began to make their way down his arm, but he barely noticed. Trying not to cut his hand, he quickly removed as much of the glass as he could and then proceeded to climb out onto the roof. "Be careful, Mulder," Scully pleaded, sudden visions of him plunging to the ground and breaking his neck after all he had been through coming unbidden to her. She resolutely shoved them away. "Don't worry, Scully, I'd rather break a few bones than burn to death," he told her grimly as he slowly inched his way downward toward the edge of the roof. There was a drainpipe along the rim of the house, and he tested its strength for a moment, then decided to take the risk. Grabbing it with both hands he carefully lowered himself over the edge. When his entire six-foot frame was hanging from the gutter he faced about a four foot drop to solid ground. Not too bad, he thought, taking a deep breath and letting go. Just as he released his grip, the first floor window next to where he was hanging exploded outward, sending glass and debris flying everywhere. The force of the blast threw Mulder backward a couple of feet, ruining his carefully planned landing. As he went down he felt his right ankle twist painfully under him and he hissed, not wanting to cry out and frighten Scully even more. It was too late. She had seen Mulder's fingers disappear just a split-second before the blast and now she feared the worst. With a glance behind her Scully realized that her own options were limited. The fire had reached the hallway and she could feel it's heat burning her back. She had to get out now. Taking a deep breath she crept out the window over to the edge of the roof and was relieved to find Mulder waiting for her, still alive if not kicking. "Drop down here, Scully, I'll catch you," he told her, and she wasted no time in obeying. He was able to grip her ankles as she hung downward and he pulled her to relative safety. She was no sooner on the ground than Mulder went down again, the weight of them both too much for his sprained ankle. ***** Nancy pulled up in the driveway and stared in awe at her house. The entire first floor was burning, and the second was well on its way to being consumed. For a moment she considered abandoning her plan, but she had already made her decision. Fox must be saved for another day. They had to consummate their love or he would never be happy. That was all she wanted--to make him happy. Nancy took a few deep breaths, then ran up the front porch, threw open what was left of the door, and entered the inferno. ***** Scully again helped Mulder to his feet and made him lean on her shoulder. They made their way slowly toward the front of the house, him hobbling with her support, both weak with relief that they were finally safe. When they came around the corner of the house there was a car in the driveway. At the same time they both caught sight of Nancy standing, staring toward the front door as if wrestling with a decision. Mulder moaned in fear and pulled Scully back around the corner, but Scully peeked around to see what was happening. Why had the woman come back? Her jaw dropped in surprise as she saw Nancy make a run for the porch and disappear inside the house. For a split second she considered trying to save the woman, but a quick glance at her partner changed her mind. He needed her now, and he came first. ***** Two days later Mulder stood at the door of his apartment as Scully and the Lone Gunmen opened the door for him. They claimed to have a surprise for him, but Mulder closed his eyes for a moment. He wasn't up to facing this mess, not so soon after everything that had happened. Scully had kept him at her place for the last two days, forcing him to stay off his ankle, taking care of him, and generally hovering. His lips curved in a smile as he thought of Scully's varied, wonderful ways of taking care of him. She was very good at what she did, he had to give her that. When at last he found the courage to open his eyes, he stared in amazement at what met them. His apartment was empty, but most importantly it was clean. All the debris and destruction that had been there the last time he had seen it was gone, cleaned up, disappeared. With a sense of deja vu he checked the number on the door. 42. He really was in the right place. "Thanks, guys, I don't know what to say," he began, turning to his friends, but Langly stopped him. "That's not the best part, Mulder. Look what Frohike managed to find!" With that Langly pushed the door open a little farther and Mulder saw what the real surprise was. A leather couch. His couch. Well, not his, because his had been destroyed, but one so much like it that he could barely tell the difference. He stared at it for a moment, then turned to Frohike as if seeking confirmation. The man nodded. "I always thought it strange that I had two friends who had almost identical couches, Mulder, and he was as attached to his as you were to yours. Fortunately for you his wife recently went on a redecorating spree and told him he had a week to get rid of it. When I told him what had happened to you he was happy to donate it to a good home. It's all yours." Blinking back the mist in his eyes, Mulder limped over and sat down on his new couch. It molded around his body as if it had been made for him. He turned and stretched out on it in his favorite position, settling his head back on the new pillow that he was certain was Scully's contribution. "Mmmmm," he murmured, closing his eyes. A moment later he opened them again. "I don't--I can't--" Mulder stammered, at a loss. Nobody had ever cared this much for him in his life, at least not that he could remember. "Go to sleep, Mulder," Scully told him, stroking the hair gently out of his eyes. "You need your rest, and I'll be right here with you." He was still exhausted from his ordeal, and the temptation to do as he was told for once was too much for Mulder, even if it did involve sleep--and those dreams he kept having. The stress to his body coupled with the pain pills Scully had been making him take were too much for him to fight, suddenly. "Thanks, guys," he muttered sleepily, sinking happily into his new couch. He heard Scully quietly shoo the men out of his apartment, thanking them and telling them he would call them later. Then he heard her footsteps cross to where he was almost asleep and settle herself on the floor next to him, leaning her back against the couch. His hand found her hair and wound a tendril of it softly around his fingers and he slept. He knew she would be there when he woke up. Scully would always watch over him. ********** THE END