From: daydream59@aol.com
Date: 22 Oct 2002 22:13:10 -0700
Subject: xfc: NEW: Profiles in Caring: Everett Case 00 of 13 by Daydreamer
Source: atxc

Title: Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 00/13
Author: Daydreamer
Author E-mail: Daydream59@aol.com
Rating: NC-17 for language, graphic violence, 
        and disturbing imagery 
Category: SAR, Profiler!Mulder 
Spoilers: none
Keywords: M/Sc/Sk friendship, MSR - established
Archive: Yes, please.
Feedback: Yes!  Please! 

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner are owned by 
Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television 
Network, etc.  They are wonderfully brought to life 
by David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and Mitch Pileggi. 
I will make no profit from this, and neither will Fox 
if they sue me, for I am poor and have nothing material 
they can profit from. 

Comments: Check out my web page, Daydreamer's Den
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/2113 

Summary:  To find and rescue Skinner's nephew, Mulder
faces the hardest challenge of his career -- entering
the mind of a pedophile.

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 00/13

OK, folks -- this is the WARNING.  Don't skip over this
and rush right into the story -- you may be sorry.  

I've done it again.  

This is a dreadfully dark and intense story, much more so
than even my other tales.  This case involves pedophilia 
-- sexual exploitation of children.  This story has the 
potential to be very disturbing. The heading clearly says 
"graphic violence and disturbing imagery."  I do realize, 
however, that sometimes that is not enough.  It's very 
easy to fall into a habit of skimming the disclaimer and 
jumping right into the story. 

People do just that, and then they find themselves 
somewhere they don't want to be.  Upset, distressed,
sick, disgusted.  Choose your own reaction.  

To protect those of you who don't want to be exposed to
this topic, I've added this additional warning.  I have 
taken every step I can to make it clear to you that 
this story has the potential to be extremely 
distressing to some folks.  I've done all I can to be 
up front and open about the content, despite the fact 
that I dislike revealing the course of the story before 
you even read it. 

So, if you choose to read The Everett Case:
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. 

In other words, if you don't like it, or it upsets you, or you 
find it disturbing and have nightmares, PLEASE, do not
feel you need to share this with me. I have no desire to 
receive such feedback, and your reactions, if negative, after
the warnings and disclaimers I have posted, are your own
responsibility. 

Sincerely, 

Daydreamer

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 01/13

The door opened and someone entered.  He didn't look 
up.  He knew it would be Kim.  She was the only one 
who would enter without knocking.  He finished the 
note he was writing on a yellow post-it, stuck it on 
the cold file he'd been reviewing, and tossed the 
whole thing into the out basket.  Then he looked up 
and rose, moving toward the door where she stood.  
"What is it?" he asked, working to keep his voice 
pleasant.  Kim didn't interrupt without good reason, 
so there was no point in being annoyed with her.

"I have a woman on the phone, Sir," she began.  "She
insists on talking with you."

"Did she say why?"  Skinner wrinkled his brow as he 
studied his secretary.  She was agitated and it was
out of character for her to bring something like 
this to him.  She handled all his calls and she was 
damn good at it.  He could count on one hand the 
number of times someone had gotten past her to his
direct line without him knowing about it.

"She says it's -- she's -- your sister-in-law."

Skinner's eyes widened behind his lenses.  "Lynne?"
One hand came up to rub his chin speculatively.  "God,
I haven't seen or heard from Lynne and Tom since ..." 
his hand moved up from his chin to scrub at his face, 
"...since Sharon's funeral."  He looked at Kim.  "We
didn't part well.  Sharon's family -- well, they blamed 
me."  Skinner's shoulders slumped.  "Rightfully so," 
he added quietly.

"Oh, no, Sir -- it wasn't ..."  She paused, not sure if 
she should go on.  "Anyway, she's really upset, Sir."  
Kim was even more agitated, wringing her hands nervously.  
"Insisted only you could help her."  It was Kim's turn 
to drop her eyes.  "She wouldn't tell me what it was 
about."

Skinner reached out absently, patting his secretary
on the shoulder.  "It's all right, Kim.  Just put her
through."  He watched his efficient secretary exit
and by the time he returned to his desk and sat, his
line was beeping.  He swallowed hard and picked up the 
phone, forcing a welcome note into his voice.  "Lynne, 
hello!  What a surprise!"

"Walter!"  The woman's voice was breaking, ragged from 
tension and tears.  "Tommy's missing."

"Tommy?  The baby?"  Skinner found himself trying to 
figure out how old his nephew would be now.  He was,
what? two? when Sharon died?  Six years ago?  

"He's eight, Walter.  Only eight."  A sob came through 
the line.  

One sob turned to many, and he was at a loss.  Why was 
she calling him?  He didn't do missing children.  But
he was FBI, and this was family.  Albeit a stretch, this 
was still his family.  And they must be desperate to be 
willing to reach out to him.  "Lynne?" he asked gently.  
"Lynne?  What can I do?"

He could hear murmuring in the background, the phone was 
put down and sounds of feet shuffling and soft sobs 
echoed over the line.  He waited patiently, hoping
someone would pick up the phone and tell him what was
going on.  "Hello?"  His voice was loud in his own ears.
Hopefully someone on the other end of the phone could
hear him.

His patience was rewarded when a male voice spoke.
"Walter?  This is Tom.  Look, I know we haven't kept
in touch, and, uh, well, the family was pretty shitty
to you at the funeral ..."

"Tom," Skinner interrupted, "it doesn't matter.  What
happened to the baby?"  He revised his mental image
of the nephew who was still in diapers the last time
he saw him.  "To Tommy?"

"Oh, God, Walter ..." the man groaned.  In some ways,
the man's grief was worse than the woman's.  Women
were supposed to cry, men just soldiered on.  But the
pain in his brother-in-law's voice was palpable. 
"The local police are here.  The Postal Inspectors. 
And then they called in the FBI -- and I thought of 
you."

"Tom, listen to me.  Tom?" 

"Yeah, uh, Walter ..." A strangled sob came over the 
line.  "Our neighbor.  Two doors down.  Walter ..."
There was a deep breath, another groan.  "He had pictures,
Walter.  Pictures of Tommy."

Skinner's heart was in his throat.  "Jesus, Tom."  
Skinner rubbed his face, pacing.  "All right.  Let me 
think a minute."

"Walter," the man's voice was urgent, insistent, pleading.
"You have to help us.  You *have* to find him."

"Of course."  Skinner didn't hesitate.  "I'm coming."
He looked at his watch.  "I'll be there as fast as I 
can."  He looked up to see Kim standing in the doorway.
Behind her, he could see Mulder and Scully.  He smiled 
at the woman, lifted three fingers knowing she would 
make three plane reservations, and beckoned his agents 
in.  

"Tom?" he spoke again to the man on the phone.  "Tell
Lynne I'm coming."  He looked at Mulder, waiting 
patiently to be called into the AD's office, and waved
the man forward.  "Tell her I'm bringing the best man 
in the country.  If anyone can find Tommy, he will."

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

There was another groan.  Scully left her place
at the conference table and raced to her partner,
holding him as he leaned over the wastebasket and
retched yet again.  Skinner looked at the clock.  It
was after midnight.  The fax in his office and the 
one in Kim's were still spitting out paper.  Arrest 
documents, surveillance notes, interview transcripts, 
witness statements, and -- pictures.  It was the 
seemingly unending stream of pictures that was 
affecting his agent the most.  

Scrupulous as ever in reviewing all available data on
a case, Mulder had read through all the information as
it arrived, and was now carefully matching the pictures 
to the cases.  Some of the pictures were normal.  School
photos, baseball and soccer portraits.  Some of the
pictures were uncomfortable.  Young boys, with scared, 
frozen looks on their faces, posed in just a T-shirt, 
or a pair of underpants, or a swimsuit.  And some were --
unbearable.  It was this last category that had Mulder 
bent over the trashcan, reeling from the sight. 

Mulder finished heaving and Scully took the can, removing
the clear plastic liner, tying it off, and handing it to
Skinner.  She put another liner in the can, then accepted
the soda Skinner passed her, and took both back to her
partner.  She looked at the AD as he carefully double- 
bagged the liner and set it to one side to take down to
the custodian's area.  It was a trip he'd already made
four times, and their pattern of dealing with Mulder's
reaction had become routine.

Now she would pass Mulder the soda and he would refuse.
She would insist he get up and go to the bathroom,
at least rinse his mouth, and he would refuse.  Skinner
would growl, a wordless sound that nonetheless had the
ability to make Mulder finally rise and stumble off 
to the bathroom, slamming the door angrily.  If they
were lucky, they'd hear only the water running and
the toilet flushing.  If luck was against them, there
would be the sound of more dry heaves and Mulder would
eventually emerge, pale and shaking.

This time they were lucky.  Water ran, the toilet flushed, 
the water ran again as he washed his hands.  Then Mulder 
came back out, head down, the back of one hand swiping 
across his mouth.  

Scully went to him, her arm going around his waist as 
she steered him away from the piles of paper and over
toward the sofa.  He pulled away from her when he
realized where they were going, but Skinner was suddenly
there, an immovable object in the path of Mulder's 
less than steady self.  "Take a few minutes, Mulder,"
he said quietly, urging the younger man to go with
his partner and sit.  

Mulder stared up at the AD and Skinner could see the
indecision in his face as he weighed the choices of
sitting as he'd been ordered, or trying to force his
way back to the table, and back to the horrors he was
trying to comprehend.  Sitting won.

Exhausted, he took a step back, stumbled slightly, then
leaned heavily on Scully as she wrapped an arm around 
him, leading him to the couch.  He sat wearily, flopping
down with legs spread, elbows on knees, head cradled 
in his hands as he stared at the floor. Scully perched
next to him, murmuring softly and rubbing his back in
little circles.  

Skinner studied the man critically.  Less than 8 hours
into the case, and he was already exhausted.  Profiling
did that to him -- it sapped the life out of him.  It
was a large part of why he wasn't in VCS anymore -- he
simply couldn't bear the strain of the work.  Mulder 
took everything so personally.  He'd never been able
to distance himself the way others could.  Every victim
was someone Mulder knew, someone he cared for, someone
he loved.  He took them all into his heart, cared for 
them, sweated over them, and then died a thousand deaths
for every moment of pain or torment they went through.
Mulder wore guilt the way most people woke up in the
morning -- it was a painful necessity that had to be
lived with daily.

He looked up at Skinner.  "I think we need to look
at deaths of boys fitting this profile.  Young.  Eight
to eleven.  Physically immature.  No body hair or other
signs of puberty.  And," he paused a moment, mentally 
reviewing the pictures, "they're all fair skinned, 
aren't they?"

Skinner scanned the pictures, then looked at Mulder and
nodded.  "From what we have so far, yes." 

"So the question is, do we have any young John Does 
like that out there?"

Skinner nodded at Scully and she moved to the phone to
make the call.  The California people had been very
cooperative in meeting their requests all night.  

Skinner was feeling more than a little guilt himself
right now.  As he watched Mulder lift himself from the
couch, rising to move back to the table, he spoke.
"You don't have to do this, Mulder.  I don't have any
official status here -- I have no right to just draft
you into this."

Mulder paused and turned tired eyes his way.  He reached
out and touched Skinner's arm briefly.  "He's your nephew.
Family.  Of course you have the right."  He straightened
himself up, squaring his shoulders and lifting his head.
"I'm all right, Sir.  It's just -- well, it's late and
I'm a little tired."  The younger man shrugged.  "I'll
be okay."

Skinner looked at the clock again.  Almost 1:00.  Their 
flight was in less than 6 hours.  "Why don't you go home
and get some sleep?  We can work on this --" he gestured
at the expanse of papers littering the large conference
table, "on the plane." 

Mulder shook his head stubbornly.  "We can't wait."  The
fax beeped three times, and began to spew forth more 
photos.  Mulder waved at it as he grabbed up a picture
of a young boy, nude and obviously in distress, beneath
a heavy man.  He winced, lowering his eyes to stare at
the floor as he passed it to Skinner.  "That's Jack 
Potter.  Age 11.  Missing for 2 months.  Parents are 
divorced.  One sister -- she lives with the mom."

Skinner paled as he looked at the picture, then laid it
on the pile with the other material related to Jack Potter.
The photos they'd been sent of his nephew had been 
relatively innocuous compared to that.  Nothing completely
nude, nothing with anyone else.  Just one scared little
8-year-old boy, wearing only his underpants, and staring 
with large eyes into the lens of a camera.  And still
Skinner's stomach turned when he thought of someone ...
doing ... touching ...  He shook his head and growled,
an angry, wounded sound that seemed torn from his throat.

"He's your nephew, Sir," Mulder said as he met Skinner's
eyes.  "You have every right."  He went to the fax and 
pulled off several more photos, then stepped to the table.
"And we need to do this now, Sir."  Mulder waved the new
photos in the air.  "We can't very well be looking at 
these on the plane."

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

Mulder was asleep.  Scrunched up in the window seat,
his head resting against a pillow on the bulkhead, he
had finally given in and drifted off to sleep.  Scully
sat in the middle seat, and Skinner, by virtue of legs
even longer than Mulder's had been granted the aisle.

"Why is he so tired already, Scully?  I know it was
a long day, but still.  He looks like he's been at it 
for 12 days instead of 12 hours."  Skinner squirmed in
the too small seat, and stretched his legs out into
the aisle for a moment.

"It's the nature of the case, Sir."  She looked over
at her partner with concern.  "You know, probably
better than anyone, why he left VCS.  He has an even
harder time with the sex cases than the murders.  And 
he hates anything involving kids.  This is all of them:
sex, murder, kids.  It's just -- too hard for him to 
crawl around in the sewers of these perverts' minds, 
and still hold onto who he is."  She met Skinner's gaze.  
"And he's definitely worth holding onto."

Skinner nodded in agreement, then frowned.  "I shouldn't
have asked him ...  Scully, what if this is too much?
What if this is the one that pushes him too far?"

She touched his arm, blue eyes locked with brown.  "It 
won't be.  We won't let it be.  You and I, we can keep 
him together."  She sighed.  "I'm not saying it will 
be easy."  She looked at Mulder again, then back at 
Skinner.  "He won't make it easy.  You watch -- he 
won't eat, won't sleep, he won't want to talk to us, 
won't want to let us help.  But we have to.  Between 
the two of us, we have to make him let us help."

Skinner nodded grimly.  "I understand.  But you know, 
you're better at that than I am.  I don't mean to, but 
I know I always come across like I'm angry with him."  One 
hand came up to scrub at his head.  "I can't deny it, 
this one is important to me.  It was important enough 
that I went to the Director to get in on it.  The Postal 
Inspectors had the ball, but I'm running the play now."

"You called in some serious favors, Sir, to get this taken 
from another agency."

"It's family, Scully.  God knows I don't have enough of
it.  I need to take care of what I do have, however
tenuous the connection."

"It's gonna cause some resentment."

"They'll get over it, or they'll get out."  Skinner
shrugged.  "Either way, I'm running this show.  Which
means ..."

"Which means," interjected a weary voice from the left,
"that for a change, maybe people will listen to me and
not waste valuable time questioning everything I have
to say."

"Mulder," Scully scolded gently, "you're supposed to be
sleeping."
                                                                              
                                                                              
                                                                              
                  Mulder shifted his head to the left, then right, one 
hand rising to knead at a tense muscle as he rolled his 
shoulders.  "Not real conducive for sleeping, Scully," 
he replied.  "And, Sir, I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"You know you've got that, Mulder, and anything else
you need.  It may be my show, but you're in the spotlight.
I'm just the mouthpiece.  I assure you, the words will 
be yours.  Whatever you need to find Tommy ..."

Mulder nodded, waving the words away.  "I'll do my best,
Sir, but we all know time is critical.  We're already
pushing the first 48 hours ..."

The attendant approached and apologized for interrupting.
"We'll be serving a meal shortly.  We have chicken, 
beef, or a vegetarian lasagna."

"Beef."  Skinner picked up the air phone as he spoke.  
"I'm going to check in with the team," he said, running 
his credit card through the slot to get a signal.

"Chicken," said Scully.  

Mulder just shook his head.  

"You have to eat, Mulder."  Scully took his arm, 
soothing him even as she insisted.

"I can't, Scully."  

The words were spoken so softly, Scully thought Skinner
had missed them, but the AD turned immediately and 
growled, "Try."  

He stared at the younger man until Mulder choked out
"Chicken," and then returned to his call.

Mulder turned away, staring out the window and shrugging
off Scully's touch.  She sighed and settled back in her
seat, waiting for Skinner to get off the phone.  

"Two bodies, Mulder," the AD said as he replaced the
air phone.  "They've got two unidentified boys in the
morgue now who meet your description.  Both John Does,
both unclaimed."

"How did they die?"

Skinner looked around, then lowered his voice.  "It
wasn't pretty.  Both were beaten to death."

"Sexual assault?"

"Yeah."

"Beaten?  With fists?"  Mulder's eyes were closed as he
leaned against the window, and his long, elegant fingers
fisted and unfisted monotonously in his lap.  

Skinner cleared his throat as he looked at Mulder's hands.  
"Fists, yes, but ... Fuck!"  He looked around again, 
worried about his involuntary explosion, but no one was 
looking their way.  "Not just fists, Mulder."

Mulder opened his eyes, looking first at Scully, then
settling his gaze on Skinner.  "Whips?"

Skinner nodded.

"And other -- implements?"

Again, the AD nodded.

Mulder winced.

"There was old bruising as well, old marks?"

"Yeah.  How'd you know there would be deaths?"

Mulder shrugged.  "Too many kids missing for this
to be one pervert who falls in love with one unlucky
kid.  Jack Potter, the Collins boy, Dennis Jenkins,
TJ Anderson, as well as your nephew.  And those are 
the ones we know about.  This is going to be bigger -- 
a whole group.  A -- dare I say it -- conspiracy."  
He gave a sardonic almost-smile.

The attendant came up the aisle just then, pushing
a cart and serving others.  As he reached them, Scully
and Skinner lowered their trays.  At another growl
from Skinner, Mulder lowered his as well.

"You need to eat, Mulder," Scully said again.  "I know
airline food isn't the greatest, but you will wear 
yourself out if you don't sleep and eat."

Mulder picked at his food, pushing the peas around
in a circle and poking the chicken with his fork. 
"I know," he whispered.  "It's just, I can see it all,
Scully.  It's there, right behind my eyelids if I shut
my eyes, or just in front of me if they're open.  It 
makes me sick.  The last thing I want to do is eat."

Skinner grunted this time, a wordless sound of 
understanding.  There was the sound of plastic crackling
and then the AD passed over two crackers.  "Here.
You should be able to keep this down."  Skinner lifted
Scully's crackers as well and passed them to his agent.
He leaned over Scully and took Mulder's plate, then raised
the tray, giving his agent back what little legroom
there was.  "But when we land, Mulder, I want to 
see you eat a real meal.  Your choice, whatever you
think you can keep down, but a real meal.  Understood?"

Mulder nodded.  "Soup.  I might be able to eat some
soup."  He nibbled at a cracker, then pushed the whole
thing in his mouth, chewed twice, and swallowed.  "And
some more crackers.  I can do crackers."

"Whatever you want, Mulder," Skinner reaffirmed.  "But
you've got Scully and I watching you -- caring for 
you -- and you are going to eat, and you are going to
sleep.  I'm not going to see you fall apart on this."

"It doesn't matter," Mulder murmured, looking out the
window again.  "We just need to find these boys."

Skinner reached past Scully, touching Mulder for the
barest of moments, drawing Mulder's eyes to his own.
"It *does* matter.  You're important, too, Mulder, 
and you've got two people who aren't going to forget
that."

Mulder held Skinner's gaze, then nodded.  Scully's
hand had crept into his, and he felt her squeeze -- her
own agreement with the AD's words.  Her promise that
she was watching out for him.  

He sighed.  It was always hard, doing what he did.
He didn't understand it himself, but he knew that
somehow, there was something in him that let him put
together the facts, synthesize the information, and
come up with answers.  It probably had something to
do with his eidetic memory and being able to retain 
more information than most people could, so that when
he was trying to add it all up, he had more of the facts
available than most people.  

He shook his head.  That was part of it, of course.  He
knew that.  But there was something else, something 
indefinable.  An innate ability to see what the predators
saw, to feel what the killers felt.  He could understand
them almost as if he *were* them.  There was something
dark and ugly in himself, something he fought against
every day of his life, that he could use to know these
deviants.  He often wondered what brought him to this 
side of the table.  What twist of fate enabled him to
hunt the monsters, instead of being one of the monsters?

It didn't matter.  How he did it, why he did it, none of
that mattered.  All that mattered was that he could do it.
And if he did it well, the boys would be found.  

Of course, if he did it too well, he could be lost 
forever.

End part 01/13


Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 02/13

"Take a shower, Mulder," Scully ordered calmly as she
began to unpack his bag.  "I'll bring clean underwear
in for you."  She dropped the card for the third room 
on the dresser.  They wouldn't need it, but they had 
to have three rooms for appearance's sake.  She'd be
in with Mulder, and Skinner had taken what would have
been her room -- the one next door with the connecting
doorway.  Skinner's room across the hall would remain
empty.  

She looked up as her partner -- her lover -- began to 
undress.  He sat on the bed, toed off his shoes, then 
tugged the dark socks off as well.  His feet were long 
and slender, and she suppressed a delicious shiver as 
she thought of those callused feet caressing her just
shaven legs.  Mulder had told her there was nothing softer
in the world than her legs when she'd just shaved them, 
and what had been a formerly odious task had become a 
labor of love that she embraced willingly each day.

He stood and draped his suit coat and pants over a chair,
then shed his tie and shirt.  Despite the stressful 
conditions, or maybe because of them, she took a few 
moments to just enjoy the view.  It was always a pleasure 
just to look at him.  He was long and lean, smooth skin 
stretched over hard muscles, all lines and planes and 
angles, and she laughed.  Visual aids such as Mulder 
would have made geometry a lot more interesting.

He looked up, caught her watching him and flushed.
"What?"  He looked down, confusion on his face.  
"Am I hanging out, or something?"

She rose, walking slowly across the room to wrap her
arms around him.  "You wish."  She ran her hands up
his back, feeling the tension there, and holding him 
close until he relaxed under her ministrations.  "Don't
you know by now that I just love looking at you?" she 
murmured into his chest.  

He relaxed further, lowering his head to rest on 
her shoulder, and she held him for a long minute,
caressing the wayward strands of brown that brushed
her face, peppering his neck with tiny kisses.

" 'm scared, Scully," he whispered.  "This one scares
me."

"I'm here, Mulder.  You're not alone anymore."  

"It's hitting me way too hard, way too fast."  The words
were ragged, choked out through a tight throat.

"It's hitting all of us hard."  She tugged him gently,
pushing him to sit on the bed, so that she could hold
him more comfortably.  He leaned into her belly, wrapping
his arms around her waist as she stepped between his 
legs.

"You and Walter aren't throwing up every hour."  His 
words were muffled and she could tell he was embarrassed.
The tips of his ears were red.

"Everyone's different, Mulder.  You know that.  The AD
may be able to keep his meals down, but he's feeling it, 
too."  She stroked his hair, then held him tightly.  
"You've done this enough -- you know you tend to react,
uh, that is, your reactions are more -- outward."

He laughed -- a dull and hollow sound.  "That your way
of telling me everyone can see me as I fall apart?"

She stepped back, a soft touch on his chin forcing his
eyes up to meet hers.  "No.  That is not what I was
saying.  I know I wasn't clear, so let me try again."
She held his face in her hands, willing him to listen
and take to heart what she was going to say.  "What I
want you to understand is that we know this is hard on
you.  Walter and I, we've seen that.  I don't know
how you can do what you do, and I suspect you don't
fully understand it yourself.  But you *can* do it.  And
it takes its toll on you."  She took a deep breath,
settling herself to go on.  "I know that.  Walter
knows that.  You don't have to be embarrassed or 
ashamed of your reactions."  She shook her head, then
went on.  "It's not a competition, Mulder.  You don't
have to have the strongest stomach or be able to stay
awake the longest.  If there's any competition going
on, it's who can find the boys first.  And when it 
comes to that, you, my love ..."  She paused, staring 
at him and then leaned down to gently kiss his lips.  
"You will win."

"I understand, Scully, really, I do."  

He dropped his head, eyes closing, and she pulled him to 
her again.  Her hands resumed their soothing touch, 
rubbing small circles on his back and stroking the silky 
strands of his too short hair.

"It's just -- I have to be in control, Scully.  I'm 
going to have to go in there and be in control."  He 
lifted his eyes again, entreating her to understand.
"You and Walter may understand, but all the rest of 
them -- they won't.  And if I'm not strong, and sharp,
and focused, well ..."  He shrugged helplessly.  "They
just won't listen to me."  He pulled away and rose, 
his frustration forcing him to move.  "And that'll 
just waste time.  We don't have time for me to explain
every little thing to everyone."  He turned, planting 
his feet on the floor as he faced her.  "Hell, you
know I usually *can't* explain half the things I do."

One eyebrow arched as she looked at him.  "Only half,
Mulder?" she asked, and was rewarded with a laugh that
sounded real.

He looked better.  She had to keep him talking.  She
had to keep him fed.  She had to make him sleep. And
somewhere in there, she had to fit in time to go and
look at the bodies of the two boys, as well as play
an active part in this investigation.  She might be
Mulder's lover, but she was still his partner, and 
a damn good agent in her own right.  She brought her
own not inconsiderable talents to the table on every
case.  She stopped that train mid-thought.  She wasn't
insecure in her abilities, and it did not reflect 
poorly on her skills to show some concern for her 
partner.  He was still looking at her, a half-smile
on his face, and she smiled back at him.

"Go. Shower."  She walked over and touched the stubble
on his cheek.  "Shave."  A soft push and he was moving
toward the bathroom.

"I'm going to find something for you to eat, and then
we'll head over to the command center."

He stopped at the bathroom door, turned and came back,
sweeping her into his arms.  "I love you, Scully," he
whispered into her ear.  "I'd be lost without you."

She snuggled for a moment, relishing his touch, his
comfort.  "Love you, too," she murmured back.  When
she reluctantly pulled away, she looked up and said
with mock sternness, "And there will be no getting 
lost on my watch.  Got that, Mister?"

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

Skinner sat in the car, staring at the house.  There
were law enforcement officials inside.  He could see
the cars parked at the curb, the local police officer
standing on the step to keep the curious at bay.  It
had been a long time since he'd been here.  He and
Sharon had come west several times to visit her sister,
and during his assignment in LA, they'd seen quite
a bit of Tom and Lynne.  That was before the baby
had been born, of course.  He really couldn't remember
how many times he'd actually seen his nephew.  He
could remember a visit a few months after the baby's
arrival.  As he'd watched Tom and Lynne so obviously 
enamored of their new son, he'd felt a twinge of 
jealousy, and sadness that fate had not granted him 
the privilege of being someone's father.  But then, 
the red-faced bundle had been thrust upon him, protesting 
loudly, and he'd thought perhaps fate had made the right 
decision after all.  He didn't seem to have a knack with 
children.

He sighed and got out of the car.  He could only delay
this for so long.  And truth be told, relative or not, 
as the head of this investigation, he needed to 
interview these people.  Or get his agents out here
to do it.  Or both.  He walked up to the door, flashed
his badge at the young man on guard duty, and entered
the house.  

They were in the kitchen.  Lynne had always been more
domestic than Sharon, and her kitchen was always the 
hub of the house.  A large wooden table occupied over
half of the space, and was usually filled with friends
laughing and enjoying the wonderful meals his sister-
in-law turned out daily.  Now there was only silence.
Tom and Lynne sat together, but no one spoke.  A female
uniform stood by the bay window, obviously uncomfortable 
and unsure of what to do.  She looked up when he paused 
in the hall, then nodded as he lifted his badge.  

A glance into the living room revealed that a trace 
had been set up on the phone.  Two men were seated on 
the couch, a laptop open on the coffee table before 
them as they spoke in hushed tones.  They, too, noted 
his presence, and his badge, then went back to their 
conversation.

He squared his shoulders and moved forward into the
kitchen.  The sound of his shoes on the tile floor
caused Tom to lift his head.  

"Walter!"  He nudged his wife, then rose and moved
around the table to take Skinner's hand.  "You're
here.  We've been waiting."

Skinner returned the handshake, then much to his 
surprise, found himself pulling the man into a hug.
"God, Tom, I'm so sorry!  I -- I just don't know
what to say ..."

His brother-in-law returned the embrace, choking back
a sob at Skinner's compassion.  "Can you help us,
Walter?  Please tell us you can do something."

Skinner nodded as he moved to sit beside his sister-
in-law.  "Lynne," he said softly, reaching out to
wrap an arm around her.  

"Oh, Walter," she sobbed as she fell against him,
"I don't know what to do ..."

"Shh," he soothed.  "I know.  We're going do everything
we can to find him."  He straightened, sighing again
as Lynne pulled back and then leaned into her husband.

"I should feel horrible for the way we've treated you,
and still you've come."  Skinner could see the words 
were hard for Lynne, and he appreciated her effort.

"That doesn't matter, Lynne.  And now is not the time.
You've got more important things to worry about."  
Skinner noted the two coffee mugs on the table, both
still almost full, and both stone cold.  "I'm going 
to need to talk to you, you understand that, right?"

When they nodded, he went on.  "I have some questions ..."
He held up his hand to stop Tom's interjection.  "I 
know, you've answered a hundred questions.  You've 
been over it and over it, but I need to go over it
again."  He shook his head regretfully.  "If there 
were some way I could spare you this, please believe
me, I would.  But you've got to walk me through
everything that happened that night."

Lynne began to cry again, burying her face in Tom's
shirt.  "I don't think she can take anymore, Walter,"
he said as he stroked his wife's hair.  "We've been
over it and over it."  He looked away, staring out 
the bay window over the large backyard.  "Can't you
just read the reports?"

"I've read the reports," Skinner said quietly.  "And
no, it's not enough."  He picked up the mugs and moved
to the sink, quickly rinsing the cups while Tom and
Lynne murmured to one another.  He checked the pot --
still warm -- pulled another cup from the mug tree, 
and filled all three cups.  "Listen," he said as he
walked back to the table, "I'm not going to ask you
all the questions you've already answered."  He smiled
slightly as the couple looked at him.  Pushing a mug
at each of them, he added, "Go on.  Not the best for
you, but at least take a few swallows.  I mean, I did
pour it in the cups and you should remember I'm not
the most domestic person in the world."  It was an
old joke between him and Sharon, and only slightly
true, but it brought a ghost of a smile to Lynne's 
face.  She lifted her cup and drank obediently.

"You are going to have to go through it again.  I'm 
sorry, I can't help that."  He patted Lynne's shoulder
as he spoke.  "But it can wait until my agents get 
here."

"The man you told Tom about?"  There was hope in Lynne's
voice for the first time.  "The one you said was the
best?"

Skinner nodded.  "The absolute best.  A little unorthodox
at times, but he gets results."  Skinner sipped from his
own mug.  "And he'll insist on hearing it all from you.
He's already read the reports.  He'll have to hear what
happened from you both."  He reached up and pinched the
bridge of his nose, trying to push back the headache 
that was threatening.  He winced slightly, then forced
himself to smile again, gesturing at one of several
pictures that hung on the fridge by magnets.  "For now, 
why don't you catch me up on my nephew?"

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

Skinner walked into the command center and looked
around.  It was obviously a multi-agency task force.
He could see FBI shields, Postal Inspectors, and
representatives of several local police departments.
Lynne and Tom lived in Tustin, the Potter boy was
from Culver City, and the others were from LA, and their
respective home departments were represented.  

The Postal Inspection Service deserved the credit for
the fast break on identifying Tommy's kidnapper.  They
had been investigating the neighbor for several months
under the various sections of the US Code as it related
to Child Exploitation.  Long recognized as the leading 
federal law enforcement agency in the effort to combat 
the production and distribution of child pornography 
and other crimes exploiting children through the mail
or over the Internet, the Inspectors had been quick to 
make the connection between their suspect and the young 
boy who'd been listed in the nation's latest Amber Alert.

The FBI had, of course, been brought in to handle the
kidnapping aspects of the case, as soon as the connection
was made.  The LA SAC, Theresa Delgado, had been more
than a little nervous when he informed her he was 
coming to personally oversee this case.  But she had
heard of Mulder, and seemed to respect his abilities, 
so he was counting on having her on his side.  

Jurisdiction -- control -- of the case could really
have gone either way.  Inspection Service or FBI.
It was only Skinner's early morning negotiations with
the Director that had assured him a free rein in how
to pursue the case.  Now he just needed to see how
badly the Inspection Service had been alienated.
They'd been on the neighbor, Swinton, for months now,
even before he moved into the house two doors down
from Skinner's sister-in-law.  

He looked around, quickly identified Delgado, and
waved her over when he caught her eye.  Shaking her
hand, he said, "My involvement is not a reflection on
you or your staff, Agent Delgado.  I want you to 
understand that from the beginning."  He explained
his relationship to the latest missing child, noting
her surprised look at the fact that he was involved
at all.  It was strictly against policy to allow a 
family member to participate in a situation like this.

"My wife and I were about to be divorced when she died,"
he explained.  "I haven't had any contact with her 
family in the last six years.  And I didn't have that
much contact before then."  He paused, and rubbed
his hand over his head.  "They called me."  Eyes 
locking with the LA SAC, he added, "I couldn't say no."

Delgado nodded with understanding.  "Of course you
couldn't.  Where do you want to start?  My team is 
ready to brief you whenever you say."

Skinner shook his head.  "Not yet.  I, uh, need to go
ahead and beard the lion in his den.  Where's the
Inspector in Charge?  And how badly have I smashed his
toes in yanking this away from him?"

She laughed and pointed to a tall, slender black man,
about his age, with graying hair and a mustache.  "Mike
Simms.  And you'll be happy to hear, he's extremely
reasonable and I think he's pleased to have the help."
She lowered her voice as two locals walked past them.
"He's dealt with quite a few sexual exploitation of
children cases, but the kidnapping aspects of this 
one seemed to throw him."

"Anyone I should worry about?"

She shook her head.  "The locals have been great.  
They've taken on a lot of the scut work, but no
complaints that I've heard.  Everyone's thinking it
could be their kid, so getting volunteers to canvas
door to door hasn't been a problem."  

She paused a moment, and he could see her debating 
something.  "Come on," he prodded.  "Spit it out.
So far, everything's been too good to be true.  There's
got to be a problem personality in here, right?"

Delgado nodded reluctantly.  "Well, uh, yeah.  Simms
has a second in command.  Guy's a real butt kisser, 
apple polisher, what have you.  I could tell he thought
this was the case that was going to break him out of
number two and put him in contention for an Inspector
in Charge slot of his own."  She frowned as she spoke.
"He's not a happy camper."

"Point him out."

She nodded to their left and he looked up to see a
fairly young man, about Mulder's size, glaring daggers
at him.  "Let me guess.  Mr. Angry Eyes over there?"

The SAC nodded.  "Ron Matthews."

"Well, at least I know what I'm up against.  Guess it's
time to go and meet Inspector Simms.

End part 02/13 

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 03/13

Skinner looked into the room where men and women in
a variety of uniforms and plainclothes were gathering.
The room hummed with an undercurrent of questions and
hurt feelings.  He could hear the comments that ranged
from insulted to questioning to angry and more than
a few unhappy looks were shot his way.  He needed to
turn that around -- and fast.  As Mulder and Scully
entered the room and took seats near the front, he
observed several hostile looks they were given.  No 
one acknowledged their presence, other than SAC 
Delgado and Inspector Simms.  

He took a deep breath, straightened his tie and pushed
his glasses up on his nose, then stepped into the room.
It went quiet almost immediately.

"Good afternoon.  I'm Walter Skinner, Assistant Director 
with the FBI.  I'd like to open this briefing by thanking 
Inspector Mike Simms for his warm reception.  The work 
done by the Inspection Service has been exemplary, and 
I'm proud to be working alongside such dedicated men and
women."  Skinner glanced over at the Inspector in Charge
who gave a pleased little smile even as he shifted as
if uncomfortable to be in the limelight.  Ron Matthews,
on the other had, stood in the back of the room, despite
the fact that there were still chairs available, his
legs spread and arms crossed.  He watched the whole
proceeding unfold with the same angry glare that had
greeted Skinner earlier.

"I'd also like to recognize the men and women of the
Los Angeles Police Department, the Tustin Police 
Department, the Culver City Police Department, and 
the Orange County Sheriff's Department.  I've been 
told that the majority of the canvassing has fallen to 
that group, and your efforts and dedication have not 
gone unnoticed."  Skinner looked around, pleased
to see that his words seemed to be appreciated.  Now
to make formal what everyone had already heard -- that
the FBI was taking over.  Specifically, that he was 
taking over the case.  The timing was good -- his
diplomatic approach seemed to have settled almost all
the hostility and everyone, except Matthews, seemed
receptive to what he was going to say next.

"As I'm sure you've all heard, the FBI will be assuming
administrative control of this investigation.  And while 
I will be the ranking official on-site, I want to assure
everyone that this is going to be very much a team
effort."  He smiled as he spoke and was rewarded with 
several people nodding their heads in agreement.  "While
I have some experience with violent crimes, kidnapping
per se, is not my area of expertise.  For that, we will
rely on SAC Delgado and her people.  They've had the
unfortunate job of handling over 35 child stranger
abductions in just the past 6 months.  And for the elements
of sexual exploitation of children, we will rely on 
the considerable talents of the Postal Inspection 
Service.  With the years of experience they bring in
this area, we are well-served to have them on the team."
He nodded at Simms as he spoke, then turned back to 
the room.  "And the local knowledge and familiarity 
brought in by the LAPD and surrounding area departments
is something that no outsiders could hope to bring to
an investigation."

He paused a moment, looking around the room and making
eye contact with specific individuals as he did so.  
He was met with small smiles and nodding heads, and 
the body language overall was opening up as people
unfolded their arms and leaned forward to hear what 
he had to say.  "I cannot stress enough -- this is 
a team effort.  Everyone, and I mean everyone," he 
met Matthews' eyes as he spoke and was surprised to 
see the other man drop his gaze, though whether from
anger or embarrassment, he couldn't tell, "has a 
critical role to play.  Our first and foremost priority
is to find the missing boys.  Second, we look for the
abductor, whom we believe to be Robert Swinton.  And
third, we look for a larger group -- an organized
pedophilia ring -- about whom we have very limited
information at this time."

Skinner stepped to a white board and lifted a marker.
"I'd like to get the group broken into teams ..."

He was interrupted by an angry voice from the back --
Matthews.  "Who the hell came up with the idea that
we're dealing with a ring?  And what the hell gave 
him that idea?"

Skinner glared at Matthews, then wrote "Profiler" on 
the board.  Under it, he wrote "Fox Mulder."  He turned,
pointed at Mulder, then said to the room, "Special 
Agent Mulder worked in VCS for over five years and 
is an experienced profiler.  He will be working to
develop a profile of our abductor and any other principals
in this case."

"And he thinks we're dealing with a ring?"  The sneer
in Matthews' voice was clear.  "I've got 10 years in with
sex crimes and child pornography, and I don't see 
anything that says ring."

"Well, Inspector Matthews, you certainly bring a great
deal of valuable experience to our investigation."  
Skinner kept his voice cool and detached.  "And while
I respect your judgment, I don't feel our investigation
will be hindered in pursuing other avenues."

He turned back to the board.  "Now, if I may continue ..."

Matthews interrupted again.  "Isn't it true Mulder doesn't
work for VCS anymore?  I heard he burned out, he's useless."  
Matthews smiled as the room began to murmur and uncertain 
glances were cast at Mulder.

The color drained from Mulder's face and he pulled himself
erect in the chair.  Even from the front of the room, 
Skinner could see the tension in Mulder's jaw, the veins
corded on his neck, and the slightest tremor in the man's
hands where they were clasped in his lap.  As he watched,
Scully gently touched Mulder's arm.  It was smoothly done, 
invisible to anyone else in the room, but by the way 
Mulder's hands stilled, it was just what he needed.  He
was still far too pale, however.

"You are correct, Inspector Matthews," Skinner said,
smiling tightly at the man.  "Agent Mulder no longer
works in VCS and is not an active profiler.  He has 
been *promoted* to the head of a different department, 
a not unusual career move, as I'm sure we can all agree."

The room murmured again, and the looks that were cast
at Mulder now were more of admiration than concern.
A few people even turned and glared disapprovingly at
Matthews.

"However, Agent Mulder's record as a profiler is 
untouched.  During his tenure in VCS, he closed more
cases than anyone in the history of the department.
We are, indeed, very fortunate to have him on our
team."

Matthews snorted loudly, then turned and left the
room.

Skinner looked around the room one more time.  "And now,
if there are no further interruptions, I would like
very much to divide into teams and get this investigation
moving again."

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

"No!  I don't need a fucking babysitter!"  Mulder
lifted his hands and scrubbed at his face in frustration.
He looked at Skinner.  "You need to stay here.  I know
you haven't gotten everything set up the way you want.
You still have people you need to talk to, and you
need to finish gathering the rest of the reports, 
the ones we haven't seen yet."

"And you," he turned to look at Scully, "you need to
get over to the morgue and look at those two boys.
I want to know what was used on them.  Whips, chains,
barbed wire, what?  And what was done to them.  Sodomy's
a foregone conclusion, but was there object rape as well?"

He rubbed his face again, then crossed his arms in front
of his chest and pulled, trying fruitlessly to stretch
out muscles that were so kinked he could barely move.
"I, on the other hand, am pretty useless until we get
some new information."  He held up one hand to forestall
the objections he knew were coming.  "I'm going back to
the hotel and I'm going to hit the gym.  Maybe I can
work out some of this tension there."

"I'd rather you sleep, Mulder," Scully said softly, 
her hand resting on his arm as she looked up to meet
his eyes.

"So would I," Skinner added.

Mulder turned and stared at Skinner.

"But if you won't," the older man continued, "then at
least let me come with you."

"And we're right back where we started," Mulder mumbled.
"Look," he said in a louder voice, "I don't need a fucking 
babysitter!"  He took several steps away, distancing 
himself from his lover and his friend.  "I know you are 
both concerned.  I know you worry about me.  I appreciate 
that.  But I *am* a grown man, and I *am* entitled to a 
little privacy.  And what I want right now, is the 
opportunity to be by myself and work some of this out 
in my own way.  Is that too damn much to ask?"

"You have a tendency to attract trouble, Mulder," Skinner
said softly.  "Scully and I, we're not trying to demean
you or imply that you are anything less than a capable
person, but you're right, we do worry.  Why can't you
wait a few minutes, and let me go with you?"

"Because if I don't get out of here, *right now,* I am
going to explode!"

Scully and Skinner exchanged glances.  "Compromise, Mulder?"
Scully asked quietly.  "I'll go and start on the autopsies.
You head back to the hotel.  Take a shower, watch a little
TV, and then when Skinner gets back, you can both go down
to the gym.  You get your privacy, and we don't have to 
worry."  She smiled up at her partner/lover, one hand 
rising to cup his cheek, her finger running along his
sensitive jawbone.

He closed his eyes at her touch, leaning into it as he
nodded slowly.  "Don't make me wait too long, okay, Sir?"

Skinner patted the younger man on the shoulder.  "Within
the hour, I promise."

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

The cab ride was short and Mulder found himself lost in
thought.  He was startled when the cabbie called him,
but quickly jumped out, paid, and headed into the hotel.
He didn't even realize there was someone else in the
elevator until he was thrown into the wall.  His head
hit sharply and he knew skin was broken because he had
to close his eyes to avoid the blood running down his 
face.

He was reaching for his gun when his hand was grabbed 
and he was thrown down onto the floor.  His right arm was
yanked up behind his back, and he felt the shoulder pull
painfully.  Two quick moves later, his hands were cuffed
behind his back.  A hand fisted in his hair and he was
slammed, face down, into the floor of the elevator 
several times in quick succession.

It stunned him, and he realized he was close to passing
out.  It also occurred to him that he didn't have a clue
who was doing this.  He didn't think he'd been in town
long enough to piss anyone off this badly, and he hadn't
gotten close enough to a suspect to be in danger from
that front.  Robbery?  Was he just being mugged?  For
some reason, this seemed too personal for a mugging,
but what did he know?  He was just the idiot who had
managed to get himself attacked inside an elevator in
the hotel.  

Why the hell didn't he listen to Scully and Skinner?

A toe kicked him in the side, right side, just below the 
rib cage, and he began to cough.  His attacker reached
under him, pulled his gun, and then there was a sharp
crack against his skull and he didn't feel anything at
all.

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

Where the hell was he?  Skinner stood with both hands 
on his hips, surveying the gym.  No sign of Mulder.  
And the man hadn't signed in the logbook, either.  Not 
that that necessarily meant Mulder wasn't here.  Skinner 
paced over to the men's locker room and entered.  

"Mulder?"

No response.

He walked through the locker room and entered the pool
area.  Still no sign of Mulder.  He waited a few moments
to see if the man might arise from the depths, but no
one came up, no one came out, and he was still missing
one trouble-prone agent.

He sighed and shook his head.  He'd already checked the
rooms, and the restaurant on the odd chance that the 
man had rediscovered his appetite, but he'd come up
empty both places.  Where the hell had he gone?  Skinner
really didn't relish the thought of having to launch 
an investigation into his own agent's whereabouts, but
if the man didn't turn up soon, that was exactly what 
he was going to do.  

He headed back up to the room, noting that one of the
elevators was still off line.  He was in the room 
Mulder and Scully were sharing, staring at Mulder's 
running shoes, and thereby deciding the man hadn't
gone running, when an excited conversation in the
hall drew him out.

" ... just lying there in the elevator."

He reached out and grabbed the woman's arm, stopping
her with an apology.  "Excuse me," he said, holding 
up his ID as he let her go, "What did you say about
the elevator?"

"It's been stuck for almost an hour now, and they 
just got it going.  There's a man in there, beat
up and handcuffed.  The police ..."

Skinner didn't hear the rest because he was already 
halfway down the stairs, certain that the man in 
the elevator would be Mulder.  It would be just like
his agent to find trouble when he'd been in town less
than a day, and knew no one.  

He shoved through the crowd that had gathered, using
his ID to get past and rushed to kneel by Mulder's
side.  The man was starting to stir, and Skinner
quickly dug out Mulder's keys and released him from
his cuffs.  They'd been put on too tight and left on
too long, and Mulder's hands were purple, his wrists
abraded.  His weapon lay on the floor of the elevator
and Skinner wanted to secure it, but he wasn't wearing
gloves.  He eyed the goose-egg on Mulder's head, and the 
blood on the handgrip of the gun, and it didn't take
long to put two and two together.

Mulder opened his eyes, and Skinner placed a firm but
gentle hand on his back and said, "Just lie still, 
Mulder.  Paramedics are on the way."

"No hospital!"  Mulder gasped the words out.  

"Shhhh," Skinner soothed.  "Let's let the professionals
decide that, shall we?"

"No."  Mulder twisted under Skinner's hand, fighting
to sit up.

"Will you please be still?"  Skinner tried to slow
Mulder's rise, but he didn't want to start fighting
with the man and inadvertently injure him more.

"Not.  Going.  To the.  Hospital."  

The words were choked out and it was clear Mulder's 
chest was sore.  He managed to get himself into a 
sitting position, and Skinner got his first good look 
at the man's face.  Covered in dried blood, he could 
see at least two gashes across the forehead and one 
eye was swollen and well on its way to black.  His 
nose had bled copiously and his lip was split in two 
places.  

But it was his hands that bothered Skinner most.  Mulder
held them awkwardly in his lap, almost as if he didn't
want them to touch anything.  Sensation had to be 
returning and from the look on Mulder's face, it wasn't
pleasant.  He seated himself in front of his agent,
gently took one of the damaged hands in his own and
began to slowly rub.  He used his thumb to stroke the 
palm and his fingers to push the blood back into
the fingers.  He reached up and rubbed Mulder's forearm,
stimulating hesitant veins to open and blood to flow 
downward into the starved digits.  He was careful of
the wrists, skipping over them, as he moved his hands
from forearm back down to his agent's palms.  He watched
Mulder for signs of pain, but the gentle massage seemed
to be helping because his agent had leaned back against
the wall and relaxed somewhat.

"So," Skinner began, "you want to tell me what happened?"

Mulder gave a half-shrug, wincing slightly.

Skinner finished the right hand, noting that the purple,
blood-starved look had faded to an angry red, and lifted
Mulder's left hand.  "You don't know, or you don't want
to tell me?"

"Both," Mulder mumbled.  "But no, I don't know what
happened.  The guy was in the elevator when I got on,
I think."

"You think?"  Skinner forced himself to keep his touch
on Mulder gentle.  "You didn't notice?"

Mulder shook his head, slightly embarrassed.  "I was
thinking.  I was thinking about what that guy in the
back said, about not having any real reason to think
this is anything more than Swinton's kink for little ..."
He broke off, eyeing the crowd suspiciously.  "Do you
really want me to talk about this here?"

Skinner looked over his shoulder and shook his head.
He spoke to the manager.  "Would you please clear this
area?  This is a crime scene and we don't need all 
these people around."  He looked back at Mulder.  His
eyes were closed again.  Then he spoke once more to 
the hotel manager.  "And send the paramedics over 
immediately when they arrive."

"What about the police?" the man asked.

Skinner nodded.  "Them, too.  But I don't think my
agent is going to feel much like making a statement." 

The manager nodded and immediately the press of people
began to fade.  Skinner looked down at the hand he held,
pleased to see that blood flow seemed to have been 
restored.  "How's that?" he asked Mulder.

Mulder flexed his fingers on both hands.  "Much better.
That coming back awake sensation is a pain -- literally."

"I'm going to call Scully."  Skinner pulled out his phone
and dialed.  "Do you want to talk to her?"

Mulder shook his head slowly.  "Not now.  But ... can she 
come back?"

"Of course."  If Mulder hadn't looked so distraught at 
having asked, Skinner would have laughed.  "I was planning
to ask her to return anyway."

The paramedics arrived and Skinner borrowed a glove to
grab Mulder's gun, stowing it in his own pocket.  He 
finished his call to Scully quickly, arranging for her
to return as soon as possible, then rose to meet the 
police.

End part 03/13

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 04/13

Mulder was lying on the far bed when Scully rushed in.  
The remote was in one hand and he was clicking through 
the channels, even though his eyes were closed and the 
volume was muted.  She paused inside the door, stepping 
close to Skinner who stood by the other bed.

"How is he?" she asked in a quiet undertone.

"Sort of out of it," Skinner replied.  "He's awake, but
he's not talking much."

She moved toward the door and motioned the AD to
join her in the hall, wanting to speak out of Mulder's
hearing.

"Did he tell you what happened?"

Skinner shook his head.  "I don't think he knows.  He
was attacked from behind, in the elevator, and he doesn't
know who it was.  Didn't even see the guy when he got
on -- said he was lost in thought."

Scully frowned, but nodded.  "Why won't he listen when 
we tell him he shouldn't be alone?"  She bowed her head,
and lifted one hand to press against her eye.

"He *is* a grown man, Scully.  And a more-than-capable
agent."  Skinner sighed as he stared at the floor.

"He's vulnerable when he's working a case like this.
You know that."

Skinner grunted in agreement.  "I'm reluctant to do
anything that is going to interfere with his self-
confidence.  I don't want him thinking we don't have
faith in him."

"This is not a matter of having faith in him, Sir."
Scully waited until Skinner met her eyes.  "At this
point, I want your assurance that one of us will be
with him at all times -- at least until we figure 
out who did this to him and why."

"The locals dusted his weapon.  They picked up a partial
on the barrel.  They're trying to get a match now."

"I can't even think of anyone from out here who would
be after him, can you?"

Skinner shook his head.  "I've got people back in DC
researching his old cases, trying to see if someone 
holding a grudge just happened to see him and decided
the moment was too good to pass up."

"He wouldn't have gone down so quick if he wasn't
so distracted by this case.  You know he's usually
much more aware of his surroundings."

"I know," Skinner agreed, running his hand over his
head.  "Anyway, it's like I told you on the phone.
Mostly superficial.  They closed the cuts on his head
with butterflies.  He's going to look a little scary
for a week or so, until the black eye go away.

"And his side is bruised?" Scully asked in concern.
"They're sure it's just bruising?"

Skinner shrugged.  "Pretty sure.  I guess without 
an X-ray, we can't be certain, but he's moving okay,
a little stiff and sore, but not in the kind of pain
he'd be in if he had a broken rib."  He looked at 
Scully hopefully.  "I don't suppose you can get him
to go to the hospital and be X-rayed?"

She snorted.  "Oh, yeah.  No problem.  And for my
next trick, I suppose you'd like it to snow in hell?"

"All right, all right, I get it," Skinner grumbled.
"I thought maybe he'd listen to you."

"Oh, he's going to listen to me all right."  Scully's
face tightened as she thought about her wayward partner.
"And I'll be able to make him agree to staying with one
or the other of us.  But anything else ..."  She 
shrugged.  "You said it yourself.  He's a grown man.
I can only bully him so far."  She looked back at 
the closed door.  "I should get in there and talk to
him."

Skinner nodded.  "When should I come back?"

Scully looked at her watch.  "I can tell you now, he's
going to insist on going to the Swinton crime scene 
sometime today, and I don't want it to be too late.  I 
also need to go back and get through at least one of 
those bodies."  She looked up at the AD.  "Let me have 
about 45 minutes with him.  I'm going to get him out 
of those clothes ..."

Skinner laughed and held up his hands in the universal
gesture of surrender.  "Too much information, Dana," he
chuckled, and was rewarded with an answering laugh.

"As I was saying, *Walter* ..." 

She giggled over his name and Skinner smiled.  A giggle 
from Dana Scully was to be treasured -- they didn't occur 
often enough.

"... I'm going to get him out of those clothes and 
cleaned up.  He'll feel better if he showers again, and
changes.  And if you'll scout out some soup for him, 
maybe we can get him to eat before you go to the crime
scene."

Skinner nodded, then reached out and touched her arm.
"What about you?  Can you eat, too?"

She shook her head, saying, "I'm not really ..."

"He won't eat if you don't.  You know that's the key.
He'll try and get something down if he thinks it's
helping you."

Scully looked up at the big man, noting the concern
on his face and the cautious tone of his voice.  "And
you, Sir, play us both against each other."  She smiled
as she spoke, and then giggled again as Skinner flushed
slightly.  "I'll eat.  A salad or something, okay?"

Skinner nodded, content that she hadn't made him work
harder to persuade her.

"You're going with him to the scene, right?"

Skinner nodded.  "As you said, one of us stays with him
from here on out."

"He's planning on interviewing your wife's sister and
husband today as well."

"I know," Skinner sighed.  "I've already told them I'd
be back and that Mulder would be with me.  They know 
they're going to have to run through it again."   He
looked at his watch, then met Scully's eyes.  "Forty-
five minutes?  Are you sure that's enough time?"

"It's never enough," she said softly, "but it will have
to do."

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

"Mulder?"  She spoke softly as she approached the still
figure on the bed.  "How ya feeling, partner?"

He stirred slowly, turning first his head in her direction,
then opening his eyes to gaze upon her, and finally, 
reaching out one hand.

She took his hand, noting the slight swelling and still 
red appearance, then sat beside him on the bed.  "Walter
said you wouldn't go to the hospital?"

He shook his head slowly.  "Didn't need to.  Really.  I'm
a little banged up, but nothing serious."

"Do you mind if I check that out for myself?"

When he shook his head and closed his eyes again, she bent 
slowly and gently kissed the hand she held.  "Does that 
hurt?" she whispered.

A slow smile spread across his lips and he shook his head.
"No ..."

Another touch on his abraded wrist, her lips dancing over
the damaged skin.  "How about that?"

"No ..."  The smile was bigger now, and he was watching 
her through his lashes.

"Oh, good," she said as she pulled her legs onto the
bed and tucked them under.  She opened his belt, then
unbuttoned his pants and rested her hand on the zipper.
"Is that loose enough for me to check?" she asked coyly.

"The, uh, damage, uh, is a little higher up, Scully," 
Mulder said, his voice husky and low.  "But then, you 
already knew that, right?"

"Just wanted to make sure you weren't -- constricted,"
she whispered as she began to slowly tug his shirt
upwards.

"Buttons, Scully.  The shirt has buttons."

"So it does."  Her hand brushed his groin as she started 
at the bottom of the shirt and began unbuttoning.

"And if you keep that up," Mulder groaned, "I'm 
going to be a lot more than constricted ..."

She laughed, then went silent as the vivid bruise 
on his side was revealed.  "Oh, Mulder," she said
softly, bending over to gently kiss the multi-hued
skin.  "How do you get yourself into these things?"

"Uh, Scully?"

"Hmmm?" she murmured as she placed another gentle 
kiss on his injured side.

"That's not helping my, uh, constriction ..."

"God, Mulder, how can you think like that when you're
this badly hurt?"

"Hey," he protested, "I didn't start it."  He pulled
himself up, ignoring the pain in his muscles, and leaned
against the back of the bed.  "And I'm not that 'badly
hurt' -- just a little banged up."  

Scully slipped forward and placed two pillows behind him.
"Is this the worst of it?" she asked, tracing the bruise
with one finger.

Mulder pulled back slightly.  "Tickles.  And yes, that's
it."

She took his chin in her hand and studied his face, then
leaned forward and kissed his forehead.  He closed his 
eyes and she placed soft kisses on each one.  And then, 
with a feather-light touch, she brushed her lips across
his.  "You'll feel better if you shower again.  And you
need to change before you go to the crime scene."

"I, uh, didn't think you'd want me to go now."

She pulled him forward and slid the shirt off of him.
"I don't particularly *want* you to go."  Scully rose
and went to the foot of the bed, untying Mulder's shoes
so he could toe them off.  "I don't particularly *want*
you to be here at all," she said as she removed his 
socks and then rose to help him up.  "And I certainly
don't *want* you working these kinds of cases."  She
helped him slip out of his pants and boxers, then 
gently deflected his hand as he reached toward her
breast.  "But sometimes, we don't get what we want."
She smiled as she pushed him toward the bathroom.
"Go ahead and shower.  Skinner will be here in about
half an hour."

"Gonna be a cold shower," he mumbled as he pulled
the door shut.

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

"You okay, Mulder?"  Skinner reached out and took the
other man's arm as he stumbled slightly on the uneven
flooring.

"Yeah," Mulder mumbled, "I'm fine."  He shook off
Skinner's hand and stepped forward into the bedroom.
He stopped just inside the door, staring in horror
around the room.

"I tried to warn you, Mulder," Skinner said quietly
as he carefully watched the other man's reactions.

Mulder moved to the middle of the room and turned
in a slow circle, carefully taking in all the walls.
"There aren't words to warn about something like
this," he said under his breath.  

The walls were covered in pictures.  Pictures of
young boys in all stages of dress and undress and
depicted in depraved activities too numerous to count.  
All designed to excite and titillate the pedophile.
Mulder stared a few more minutes, sometimes stepping
forward to look at something more closely, then 
stepping back to the center of the room to stand 
close to Skinner.

"We've, uh, identified a couple of the boys," Skinner
offered.

Mulder nodded.  "I know."  He stepped forward and 
pointed at one particularly brutal photo.  "Jack
Potter."  He moved to another wall, reaching out 
again, but stopping his hand before he actually 
touched the picture in question, and said, "TJ
Anderson."  His voice had lost all inflection.  He 
moved to a third picture, this one taken from behind, 
and the boy's face was not visible.  "Dennis Jenkins."

"How? Uh..." Skinner cleared his throat.  "They've 
only identified the Potter and Anderson boys from
in here.  What makes you think that's Dennis Jenkins?"

"Birthmark," Mulder said shortly.  He turned away as
Skinner looked at the picture more closely and made a
mental note to add this information to the file.  Mulder
was back in the center of the room again, turning in
his slow circle.

There was a desk against one wall, a TV/VCR combination
on a stand next to it, and a futon on the opposite wall.
That was all the furniture.  The futon was stained and
grungy and Mulder's stomach lurched as he thought of
what had contributed most of the stains and grunge.

Mulder studied the walls for close to twenty minutes,
and Skinner resisted the urge to speak or move, or
just plain get the hell out of this sick place.  
Finally Mulder closed his eyes and asked, "What did
they take out of here?"

Skinner looked over at their escort and indicated he 
wanted the file the young man was holding.  He opened
it and scanned through it until he got to an inventory 
list.  "Uh, you want the list of what they removed
from the house, or just this room?"

"Start with this room."  Mulder folded his arms around
his chest, hugging himself.

"Computer from the desk.  Videos from the TV cabinet."
He looked up at Mulder.  "Do you want the titles?"

Mulder shook his head and Skinner breathed a sigh of
relief.  He really didn't want to read this out loud.
"Magazines from beside the futon."

"How many?"

Skinner scanned the list, counting.  "Looks like twenty-two."
He waited to see if Mulder had another question, then went
on.  "Books."  He counted before Mulder asked and added, 
"Twelve."  

"Let's do the titles this time."  Mulder's voice was weary
and he shuddered slightly.

Skinner cleared his throat and began to read.  "Daddy's Boy.
Adopted.  Visit with Uncle.  My New Friend."

"Fairly straightforward," Mulder said, nodding.  "Sex with 
a boy."  He opened his eyes and looked at Skinner.  
"Anything weird on the list?"

"It's all weird," Skinner grumbled, but he read ahead,
trying to see the titles as Mulder did.  "Weekend at the 
Farm?"

"Bestiality."  Mulder nodded.  His eyes were closed 
again and he shivered.  

"Mulder?  You okay?"  Skinner closed the folder, one finger
marking his place, and reached out to touch his friend's
shoulder.  When Mulder shivered again, he ran his hand
up to the man's cheek, checking for temperature with 
the back of his hand.  Sure enough, Mulder was cold.
"You need a break?"

Mulder shook his head.  "Gotta get this done."

"You're cold.  Let me get a blanket."  Skinner started
for the door, but Mulder reached out and stopped him.

"Don't."  Mulder's hand dropped as soon as Skinner 
paused.

"Don't what?"

"Don't leave me."  

The words were whispered, barely audible, and Skinner's
stomach tightened as he realized how hard it had been
for his agent to ask.  He stepped back quickly, standing
very close to the other man, and said, "Not going 
anywhere."

Mulder was silent for a moment, then nodded.  He drew
in a deep breath, as if bracing himself, and said, "Go
on."

Skinner opened the folder.  "Hanging with the Guys."

"Oh, God."  Mulder's hand came up to cover his mouth
and he gasped out, "Gonna be sick."

Skinner raced to the door, grabbed the trashcan he'd
placed there beforehand, and raced back, holding the
can where it was needed.  When Mulder was done, he pulled
a small bottle of water from his pocket and passed it
over.  Mulder rinsed his mouth and passed the bottle
back.  "Why that one, Mulder?  Why did that one make 
you sick and not the farm one?"

"Hanging, Sir."  Mulder lifted haunted eyes and stared
at the AD.  "All the titles sound innocuous, don't they?
I mean, what's wrong with being Daddy's boy, or a visit
with your uncle.  Those books could almost belong to any 
eight to twelve year old boy, right?  A weekend at the 
farm.  Hanging with the guys.  The titles themselves are 
part of the excitement."  He brought up his hand and 
scrubbed at this face, rubbing harshly and repeatedly 
until Skinner reached out and made him stop.  "Hanging.  
It means just what it says."

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

Mulder had spent several more hours at the house, 
walking slowly through the rooms, reconstructing
it in his mind as Skinner read off the list of items
that had been taken.  There had been quite a tally
between the reading and viewing material, the various
toys and other implements, and the material that had
been on the computer the Inspection Service had seized.

They were in the garage now, and Mulder was pointing
out things that had seemed as innocuous as the book 
titles.  Hooks in the ceiling from which flowers hung.
Pegboard.  Vise grips.  Jumper cables.  Mulder hadn't
even had to explain.  Once he pointed them out, Skinner's 
own mind betrayed him and he could think of several 
ways these simple tools could be misused.

Mulder had picked up the vise grips, turning them 
over and over and shivering.  He'd finally walked to 
the wall and half-collapsed onto the floor.  "I need
to sit," he'd muttered, but by then he was down and
Skinner hadn't been able to ease the descent.  He
knelt before the younger man, studying his pale face
and asked, "What can I do?"

"Take that blanket now, Walter," Mulder whispered, 
shivering again.  

Skinner placed his hand on Mulder's arm, waiting until 
the other man looked up and met his gaze.  "You'll stay
here?"

Mulder nodded.

"I won't be gone long.  I'm just going to run down to 
Lynne's.  I'll bring back a couple."

Mulder nodded again.  "Not going anywhere."

Skinner spoke harshly to their escort, ordering the young
man not to take his eyes off Mulder, and to make sure
his agent didn't get up from the floor, then he took
off at a jog for his sister-in-law's house two doors
down.

When he got back, Mulder was gone.  Oh, he was physically
there, but he'd vanished into that black hole of his
profiling mode and Skinner gasped when he realized
Mulder had taken the vise grips and attached them to 
his already sore hand.  Attached to the fleshy part of 
the palm, the skin between the thumb and first finger,
even as the AD watched, Mulder was turning the little
gear and the grips were tightening.  He stopped his 
first reaction, to reach out and yank the thing off, 
and instead reached out gently, taking hold of Mulder's
right hand and placing it back in his lap.

"There's an element of excitement in the pain," Mulder
said hoarsely.  "It's not just that they're young, which
is forbidden, or that they're boys, which is also forbidden,
it's the pain.  And the power he feels from being the one 
to cause the pain."

"It's all right, Mulder," Skinner said softly as he began
to release the grips.  "This is going to hurt coming off."

"Doesn't do anything for you though, does it?"  Mulder's
eyes were focused now and he was watching the AD carefully.

"Excuse me?"

"The pain.  It hurts.  I mean, you're hurting me as you
take the thing off, but it doesn't excite you."

Skinner kept his eyes on his task -- getting the damn grip
off Mulder's hand.  "Doesn't do a fucking thing for me,"
he grunted.  "Jesus Christ, Mulder, how can you ask that?"

Mulder shrugged, then winced as the grip came off and 
blood began to flow back into the starved area.  Skinner
threw the vise across the room, then took Mulder's hand
again and began to rub gently, as he had earlier.

"It's part of it for them.  The power.  They give pain,
they give pleasure.  They are in control."

"And they're sick bastards.  Don't forget that, Mulder."
Skinner still held Mulder's hand, looking at it carefully
to make sure the skin was not broken.  

"I'm okay, Sir," Mulder said.

"Jeez, Mulder, you've got to stop doing this."  Skinner 
rose and pulled Mulder up, then wrapped him in the quilt 
he'd brought.  And then he wrapped him in a hug, holding 
him close for just a moment.  "Scares the shit out of 
me."

Mulder laughed as Skinner released him.  "Sorry, Sir."
He turned and looked at the heavy workbench secured to 
the back wall of the garage.  "There's more of this
shit back there.  He's got a cache they didn't find."

"How the hell do you know that?" 

"They always have a secret stash.  You know, just in
case they have to ditch the stuff in the house in an
emergency.  You never want to have to start from scratch
again."

"Speaking from experience, Mulder?"

The younger man shook his head.  "Nah, I got rid of my
stuff.  Even before, I wasn't hiding it too much."
He flushed, averting his eyes.  "Maybe I should have
been embarrassed, but my stuff was pretty vanilla.
Boy meets girl.  Boy fucks girl.  Boy meets new girl.
And so on and so on and so on."  He paused a moment,
then added, "Maybe I should rephrase -- man meets
woman.  Just wanna be real clear on that point."

"So?"  Skinner raised an eyebrow as he looked pointedly 
at the back wall.

"I was just thinking -- this is about power.  Not pain.
Not pleasure.  But control and power."

Skinner nodded.

"So what's the ultimate in control?  Beating the system.
And you beat the system when you don't let them see all
you've got, no matter what happens.  He'll have a stash,
just because he'll think he can sit back and laugh at 
us while we think we have it all."  

Mulder took a deep breath and swayed.  Skinner reached
out and steadied him.  

"There'll be faces on the stuff in the stash.  Maybe
names in the videos.  We'll finally have a place to 
start."

End part 04/13

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 05/13

"What happened to him, Walter?"  Tom's words were spoken
in a quiet tone as he followed his wife and Mulder down 
the hall to the kitchen.  "He looks dead on his feet."

"He's tired, Tom.  And he got mugged today."  That was 
the cover story they had agreed on prior to coming over
to his sister-in-law's house.  

Mulder was seated at the table and Lynne was fussing 
with the coffeepot as Skinner joined his agent.  He
really didn't want Mulder drinking coffee now, because
the man needed to sleep tonight instead of staying up
all night again.  But he also didn't want to make 
a big deal about people needing sleep when he knew
Lynne and Tom probably hadn't slept more than a couple
of hours at a time since Tommy had been taken.

Skinner took off his glasses and rubbed his face, 
finally deciding on silence and a late start tomorrow.
He'd get Mulder to sleep, however late it was, and
the day would start when his agent woke up.

"Tell me about Tommy," Mulder said as he nodded his
thanks for the coffee placed before him.

Skinner accepted his cup with a quick, "Thanks, Lynne,"
then added, "Now, come sit with us."  He pulled out
a seat next to him and watched as Tom took the last
two cups from his wife's hands, seated her, then went 
back and brought the cups over.  He sat on the other 
side of his wife, which inadvertently left Mulder on 
the far side of the table -- alone.

"Did Tommy know Swinton?"

Tom jumped as if he'd been slapped and Lynne dropped
her head.  "Uh, yeah, sort of."  Tom lifted a hand
to rub his eyes.  "I mean, we didn't socialize, if
that's what you mean.  But, well, the guy was our 
neighbor.  We didn't have any way of knowing he ...
that he ..."

"Of course you didn't," Skinner soothed.  "It's not 
your fault."  He waited a minute for Tom to regain 
his composure, then asked, "How did Tommy know Swinton?"

"He didn't go over to his house or anything!"  The 
words were angry, full of hurt and remorse.  "I was
sitting on the front steps one day, a couple of weeks
after that bastard moved in, and he came over and
introduced himself.  I introduced Tommy."  Tom dropped
his head and a strangled groan escaped his throat.  
"I introduced our baby to that sick fuck!"

Lynne began to cry and Tom visibly pulled himself 
together, struggling for control as he turned to 
his wife.

Mulder took a swallow of coffee, watching closely as
Tom wrapped his arm around his wife and murmured into
her ear.  "Tommy?" he nudged.  "Tell me what he's
like."

"Like?"  Lynne sounded confused as she lifted her head
from her husband's shoulder.  There were tear streaks 
visible on her cheeks and her breathing was ragged.  
"What do you mean 'what he's like?'"

"What does he do?  What does he enjoy?  Sports?  Books?
TV?  Video games?  Is he quiet or rambunctious?  Always
in trouble or is he a low-maintenance kid?"

Tom smiled at Mulder's words.  "Low-maintenance.  That's
what I always said, and Lynne hated it.  But it's true.
We couldn't ask for a better kid."  Tom squeezed his
wife's shoulder as he spoke.  "I don't think that kid
has ever been in trouble a day in his life."

"He's quiet," Lynne added softly.  "He loves to read."
She glanced over at her husband, then said, "Tom worries
that he's not 'boy' enough, whatever that means."  She
pulled away from her husband, shaking off the arm he
had wrapped around her.

"Now, Lynne, that's not fair."  Tom turned and looked 
at Mulder then at Skinner.  "I just don't want him being
the class geek -- getting picked on and teased."  He
held his cup in both hands and stared into the inky liquid.

Mulder looked acutely uncomfortable, and Skinner could 
see that he wanted to say something comforting but didn't 
know what to say.  He knew that Mulder's childhood had 
been anything but idyllic, and wondered what old wounds
this conversation was opening for his friend. 

Had Mulder been a low-maintenance kid?  Class geek?  Did
he get teased a lot?  Somehow, he was sure Mulder had 
had more than his fair share of pain as a boy, even 
before his sister disappeared.  There was just something
about the man that radiated suffering.  

But now was not the time to delve into his complicated
friend's past.  They needed to focus on Tom and Lynne,
and finding their son.  He studied the two, no longer
sitting together, no longer touching, both staring at
Mulder as if he had the magic answers that would make
everything all right. 

"Every kid is different.  You both know that."  Skinner
forced himself to speak up, distracting Lynne and Tom
from Mulder.  "I bet you didn't know I was a reader as
a boy.  Always liked books better than other kids."
It wasn't exactly the truth.  But it seemed to serve the
purpose as both Tom and Lynne relaxed.  And when Tom 
reached for Lynne's hand, she didn't draw away.  

"So, er," Mulder cleared his throat.  "Tommy likes to read.
He's kinda quiet ..."

"He's smart," Tom interrupted.  "Incredibly smart.  He's 
in the gifted program at school."

Mulder nodded.  "Very smart.  A lot of smart kids are 
low-maintenance."  This was directed at Lynne.  "They
seem to be able to grasp the concept of unpleasant
consequences earlier than their peers, and they just
avoid bad situations."

"So why didn't he avoid this one?"  Tom rose in anger,
the wooden chair banging hard against the floor as he
knocked it backward.

"Tom!" Lynne gasped.  "It's not his fault!"

"No, it's not," Skinner said as he rose to stand behind
his brother-in-law.  "And it's not your fault, either."
He spoke softly and let one hand come out to rest on 
the other man's shoulder.  "You are not at fault here,
Tom.  You didn't fail your family.  You didn't fail
your son."  

The other man stood there for a long moment, his face
buried in both hands, struggling for control.  When it
seemed he wasn't going to move, Skinner motioned to 
Lynne, who had been frozen in place by her husband's
outburst, but she rose and moved to stand with him.
Slowly, she insinuated herself between Tom and the 
wall, and even more slowly, his arms came down and
wrapped around her.

Mulder was staring miserably into his coffee, refusing
to look up.  Skinner stepped away from his in-laws,
and went back to the table, this time resting his hand
on Mulder's shoulder.  "You want to look at Tommy's
room?" he asked quietly.

Mulder nodded.

"This is probably a good time."  

Mulder rose and they slipped out of the kitchen and
up the stairs.  Once inside, Mulder leaned against 
the wall, staring without seeing.  He shuddered and
buried his face in his own hands, then slipped downward
until he was sitting on the floor.

Skinner knelt quickly before him.  "What's wrong?"

" 's like looking at my mom and dad.  It was like that
all the time after Sam disappeared.  Sorrow, then anger,
then despair, then more anger.  It was this unending
cycle ..."  He shook himself, then looked up as if seeing
Skinner for the first time.  " 'm sorry, Sir," he began,
as he tried to scramble to his feet.  

Skinner held him in place.  "Hush.  You have nothing to
be sorry for."  Mulder was still struggling to get to
his feet, and Skinner tightened his grip, saying, "Just
sit for a minute, Mulder."

"I need to get started ..."  Mulder's face was flushed
with emotion, but which emotion, Skinner couldn't tell.
Scully would know.  He always felt so inadequate when he
had to deal with this gifted, talented, complicated man.
He was working in the dark, with no idea if he was doing
the right thing, or causing more damage.

"You need a few minutes."

"We don't have a few minutes!"  Mulder pushed hard against
Skinner but the older man didn't move.

"If it will make you feel better, Mulder, go ahead and
take a swing.  But you're not getting up yet."  Skinner
sighed as Mulder paled again, seeming to crumple within
himself.  "Look, Mulder, I'm not trying to discount how
critical things are -- but I am not going to let you
destroy yourself.  That scene downstairs, that brought
up some pretty powerful feelings for you.  Take a few
minutes and deal with them.  You want to tell me more?"

Mulder shook his head.  "Not really.  I mean, I was
a pretty low-maintenance kid, too.  Not quite as bookish
as Tommy, I don't think.  My dad was into sports, and 
I was always trying to impress him..."

Mulder had stopped struggling and Skinner moved to sit
beside him against the wall.  "It was hard on your whole 
family, when your sister disappeared."

Mulder nodded.  "It tears a family apart.  I was lucky
I was low-maintenance -- pretty self-sufficient.  I can't
remember my mom cooking after Sam was gone.  I, uh ..."
he flushed uncomfortably, and Skinner looked away.  "I
just sorta took care of things -- cooking, cleaning, the
yard."

"What did your folks do?"

"Oh, uh, it was hard on them.  Things were so confused.
Everybody was blaming everyone else."  

Mulder was staring at the floor.  He'd gone incredibly 
still, not a muscle moved, not a nerve twitched.  It was 
as if he were waiting for something, and Skinner hadn't 
a clue what it was.  He studied the man, a task made
easier because of Mulder's unnatural stillness.  

At length, Skinner reached out and touched Mulder,
shocked when the man flinched.  "Mulder?" he asked
quietly.

Mulder gave a shaky laugh.  "Sorry, Sir."

Skinner's hand still rested on his friend's arm.  "What
was that about?"

Mulder shrugged.  "Old memories."

"You do know that you were not responsible for your
sister's disappearance."  Skinner waited until the
younger man looked up.  "You do know that, right?"

Mulder nodded slowly.  "It didn't always seem that 
way."

There were footsteps on the stairs and Skinner scrambled
to his feet, reaching down to help Mulder up in deference
to the bruise on his side.  They made it up just as Tom 
and Lynne arrived.  Mulder was moving across the room to 
look at the window, and Skinner realized that he'd just 
lost a valuable opportunity to get a good look at his 
agent's past.  And who knew when it would come around 
again.  He made a note to discuss this with Scully.  
Maybe she could fill in the blanks.

"He, uh, that bastard Swinton, came in through the window,"
Tom said from the door.

Mulder nodded.  He spent a few more minutes looking around,
then nodded at Skinner, indicating he was ready to go.

"Lynne, Tom, we're going to take off now."  Skinner moved
to the door, forcing the couple to back up, and then
followed them down the stairs.  

"That's it?" Lynne asked.  "I thought you were going to
go through everything again."

Mulder shook his head.  "I don't want to put you through
that again.  I just wanted to see what Tommy is like."
He was very careful to use the present tense -- 'what
Tommy *is* like,' not 'what Tommy *was* like.'  He
smiled and reached out to gently touch Lynne's arm.
"He's a wonderful boy.  You both have a lot to be proud
of."

"Please find him for us!"  Lynne threw herself at Mulder,
begging.  "Please!  We'll do anything, pay anything.  Just
bring him home!"

Mulder had tensed at the woman's assault, but he brought 
his hand up to stroke her back once, then he gently 
passed her to her husband.  "I'm doing everything I can.
We have some new information, and I'm hopeful that it 
will be very useful."  

Skinner touched Mulder, gently pushing him toward the
front door.  "Tom, Lynne, we're leaving, but I'll be in
touch.  I'll let you know the minute we know something."
He reached out again, touching first his sister-in-law,
then his brother-in-law.  "I'm so sorry, so sorry."

And then he turned and followed Mulder out.

Mulder was waiting on the front steps, just outside the
door, and Skinner almost tripped over him.  When the
AD stopped, Mulder stood and the two men walked quickly
to the car.  "What was that about new information, 
Mulder?"

"The window.  It was done from the inside."

"That's not what forensics said."

"Then they were lazy, or sloppy.  I'm telling you,
the window was done from the inside."

"You know how it happened?"

Mulder nodded.  "Did you notice that the door to the
master bedroom was closed?"

Skinner shrugged.  He hadn't noticed.

"Did you see the hide-a-key in the shrubbery?"

Skinner shook his head.  "No ..."

"Here's what I think happened ...  Swinton waits
til everyone is asleep.  Then he uses the hide-a-key
to go in, goes up to the boy's room.  He tells the
kid something happened to Mom.  She's sick or something,
and Dad took her to the hospital.  Tommy is supposed
to go with the neighbor."  Mulder shrugged.  "So he 
goes."

"You think he'd fall for something like that?"

"Why not?  I mean, the bedroom door is always closed,
so he doesn't see that his parents are sleeping, and
the guy is a neighbor, someone his dad introduced
him to.  And the guy is in the house.  Kid's sleepy,
not processing real well.  Probably worried about
Mom.  Of course he's going to go with the one adult
around who promises he can answer all the questions."

"What about the other kids?"

Mulder shrugged.  "Can't be sure.  But probably something
similar."  He tugged at the seat belt, having to open the
door to free it, and then buckled himself in.  "I'm
willing to bet all the boys were quiet, bookish, low-
maintenance kids.  The kind who obey adults and have a
good sense for when it's okay to question and when it's
best to just do as you're told."

Skinner thought it through for a minute.  "I fucking
hate this."

"Me, too."

"Is there any way to keep a kid safe nowadays?"

Mulder shook his head.  "Nobody's safe.  Ever."

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

His cell phone rang loud in the quiet car.

"Skinner."  

He was quiet for a long time, listening, and Mulder
watched him curiously.  At length, he pulled over to
the side of the road, stopped and squinted up at
the street signs.  "Corner of Jamboree and Irvine."

He listened a minute longer, then said, "We'll be
waiting.  And you'll have someone escort Agent Scully
to the scene?"  Skinner nodded.  "Thanks."

He closed the phone and looked at Mulder.

"There's been another one, hasn't there, Sir?"

Skinner nodded.

"Abduction, or murder?"

"The boy is dead."

"Where?"

"Some old warehouse in LA.  Tustin is sending a car
to escort us.  They'll be here shortly."

"And Scully?"

"She'll meet us there.  LAPD is picking her up and 
taking her to the warehouse."

Flashing lights pulled up beside them and Skinner lifted
his badge to the officer. 

"Yes, Sir, Mr. Skinner," the man said, "if you'll just
follow me, I'll get you to the scene as quickly as 
possible."

"How far a drive is it?" Mulder asked quietly, and
Skinner repeated the question to the officer.

"About 45 minutes, normally, but we're to go with
lights and sirens so that will shave some time."

Skinner nodded.  "Let's go."  He put his hazard lights
on and pulled out behind the squad car, punching the
accelerator to keep up.  He glanced over at his agent, 
slumped in his seat, one hand wrapped around his middle.  
"You okay, Mulder?"

Mulder shrugged.  "Hurts a little, I guess."

"Tylenol.  Glovebox," Skinner said shortly.  When Mulder
didn't move, he added, "Now."

Mulder shook himself, sat up in the seat, and opened the
glovebox as directed.  He pulled out the bottle Skinner
had stashed there earlier, opened it and shook out three
of the small red and yellow capsules.  He closed the
bottle and replaced it, then looked around in confusion.

"Water bottle is still in my pocket," Skinner said, pulling
it out and passing it to his agent.  

Mulder swallowed obediently, capped the bottle and leaned
back, closing his eyes.  "Thanks, uh, Walter."

"You're welcome."

Mulder opened his eyes to look at Skinner.  "No.  I mean
it.  Thank you, Walter."  He waited until Skinner met
his gaze then added, "I mean, you think about things
like this.  I, uh, appreciate it."  He turned his head
and stared out the window.  "I feel lucky."

Skinner suppressed a snort as he looked at the battered,
bruised and exhausted man next to him.  "How so?" he 
asked quietly.  

"Got two people who care about me."  Mulder leaned against 
the window.  " 'm gonna sleep now," he said, and Skinner
let him get away without talking about it anymore.

End part 05/13

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 06/13

"Mulder!"  Scully hurried across the bare concrete
floor to take her partner's arm.  "Are you all right?"

He smiled, then winced as the movement pulled his
split lip.  " 'm okay, Scully."  He looked around at the
local cops, the representatives from the Inspection 
Service, one of whom was a decidedly dark shade of
green, and all the crime scene people who were racing
around doing what crime scene people did best --
chasing everyone else out.

He turned and looked at Skinner.  "I need a few minutes
in here alone.  Can you arrange that?"

"Not alone," Scully said firmly, her hand still holding
his arm.

"Well," Mulder amended, "I need a few minutes in here 
with only my pathologist."

Skinner smiled and nodded and began to clear the area.
It took a few minutes and Mulder watched as Skinner had
to pull rank several times, but eventually, the space
was clear and he was free to observe the scene.

Three walls had been set up to mimic a room and the boy
lay within their confines on a bare mattress.  He was
face down, his knees on the concrete floor and his
upper body across the dirty mattress.  Lights hung from 
the walls, and a tripod for a video camera stood at the 
end of the bed, though the camera was nowhere to be found.

The boy was nude.  Blood streaked his back and buttocks.
Welts and broken skin were visible beneath the blood and
his arms were extended across the bed, secured by cords
tied to his wrists.  He had black hair and dark skin --
he looked Hispanic.  There was a man's tie wrapped tight
around the boy's neck -- the apparent cause of death, 
though Mulder suspected it had been neither swift nor
painless.

"We'll have to amend the victim profile to include
darker-skinned boys now, Scully," Mulder said forlornly.
"I knew it was too much too hope for that these people
would stick to one type."

"We'll have to check for other bodies then, too, Mulder"
she responded.  

Mulder nodded as he continued to study the boy.  He was 
bigger than Mulder would have expected, probably 5'1" 
or 5'2" and closer examination revealed the first
tufts of hair under the child's arms.  He reached out
and carefully pulled the boy's legs apart, noting the
fine lined scars on the inside of his thighs as well 
as his genitals.  "Oh," he said thoughtfully, "he'd
gotten too old."

"What?"  Scully asked.  She had been trying to wait 
patiently as Mulder made his observations, but it was
hard.  Her partner was obviously in pain, and not
just from the beating he had taken.  Everything about
this case was hurting him, and she felt powerless
to help.

"Pubic hair."  Mulder made the statement then walked 
away.

Scully moved quickly to intercept him.  "Explain, 
Mulder."  She stopped his forward movement, then tookay
his hand and led him around behind the hastily set 
up false walls, drawing him down to sit beside her.

"The boy had gotten too old.  He had hair under his 
arms and pubic hair.  They didn't want him anymore."

Scully nodded.  "So they killed him?"

"Probably not on purpose.  They could have passed
him on to someone who liked teenagers, but I think
this boy had been with them a long time.  He was
damaged."

"Of course he was damaged!"  Scully closed her eyes
for a moment, then said, "He'd been whipped till he
bled and sodomized."

Mulder shook his head.  "Not that.  They wouldn't
consider that damage.  That's just part of the scene --
part of the excitement."  Mulder shuddered violently,
and Scully moved closer to him, nudging him until he
lifted an arm and wrapped it around her.  "He had
scars on the inside of his thighs.  I think they were
self-inflicted."

"Cutting for control?"

"Exactly.  I think he had so much pain in his life,
that this was the only thing he could control.  If 
he hurt himself, he was in control."  Mulder shook 
his head sadly.  "Unfortunately, it signed his death
warrant."

"How do we find them, Mulder?  The ones who did this
to this boy?"  She snuggled in closer, her arms wrapped
around her lover, careful of his bruised and tender 
side.  He was cold again, and she could feel his breathing
grow ragged.  

"They filmed this.  A special performance for someone 
with very specific tastes."  He rose suddenly and moved
quickly to the bed.  "I need a glove, Scully," he demanded,
hand outstretched.  He slipped it on quickly, his eyes 
never leaving the boy on the bed.  "It was someone 
rich -- someone who can afford to indulge his desires."  
He grabbed the tie around the boy's neck, and stared down 
at the elegant little label, hand-sewn onto the delicate 
silk.  "Someone who can afford hand-made silk ties from 
Andre's."

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

Mulder was lying on the bed again, skipping through the
channels with one arm thrown over his eyes.

"I'm going for Chinese," Skinner said quietly.  "When
should I come back?"

Scully looked at her watch.  "It's 8:15 now.  I want 
to change before I go back to the morgue and start on
the boy from the warehouse."  She glanced back at her 
partner.  "He wants to come with me.  Says he doesn't 
want me going alone."  She smiled as she uttered the 
words.

"Does he just not want to be alone?"  Skinner still
wasn't always sure how to read Mulderspeak.

"Probably."  She smiled again.  "And besides, he doesn't
need to be present at the autopsy, not the way his 
stomach's been acting."  She looked up at Skinner.  "I
really want him to sleep tonight."

"He's going to fight you."

"I'm going to insist."  She sighed softly.  "He didn't
sleep at all last night and he's been going full tilt
all day, plus the assault.  He needs to rest."

"You can't make him sleep."  Skinner sympathized, but there
really was a limit to what they could do.  

"No, I can't.  But I'm tired, too."  She set her lips in 
firm resolution.  "And I'm going to be even more tired
when I get back from this autopsy at midnight."  She
looked over at her partner.  "He can just damn well lie
down with me and sleep."

"What was that?" Mulder called from the bed.

"I said, when I get back, we are both going to sleep."

Mulder sat up, looking almost panicked.  "I, uh, don't
think I can sleep, Scully.  There's still so much to
do."

She moved across the room to sit on the bed with him.
"I understand, Mulder.  But you can lie down with me while
I sleep, so I won't be alone, right?"

He nodded at once, and enfolded her in a hug.  "I can
do that."

She pulled away reluctantly and nodded at Skinner.  
"Walter is going for Chinese.  What do you want?"

Mulder waved dismissively.  "Some kind of soup.  Chicken
rice, chicken noodle.  Something like that."

"You can't eat anything more substantial?" Scully asked
quietly.

He shook his head.

"All right," she sighed.  She looked up at Skinner.  "Got
that?"

"Yeah," Skinner answered.  "I'll just get a bunch of 
stuff and we can all pick."  He looked at his watch 
again.  "I'll be back in an hour?"  It was a question,
and Scully answered it as such.

"An hour will be fine, Walter.  And -- thank you."

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

They were in the shower.  He had flat out refused to 
take a third shower that day, but then caved when she
said she would join him.  Or he would join her.

The warm water beat down on his head, sluicing down
his back as she worked her hands across the tense
muscles of his shoulders.  Hands slippery with soap,
she worked on smoothing out the kinks in his arms,
his back, his neck.  He stood in the classic pose of
'assume the position,' arms lifted, hands against the
wall, leaning forward with his legs spread.  

She washed his back carefully, letting her hands linger,
strokaying his arms and delighting in the feel of strong 
muscles just below the soft skin.  It was part of her
joy in touching him, to be constantly reminded of both
his strength and his vulnerability, the hard and the
soft.  

Her arms wrapped around his chest and she carefully
bathed the vivid bruise, then let her hands wander 
upward to pluck at his tiny nipples.  He sighed softly, 
dropping his head, but when her hands worked their way
down to his genitals, he was flaccid.

"Uhm, 'm sorry, Scully," he whispered, and she turned
him to face her, silencing him with a soft kiss.

"It's all right, Mulder.  I don't think either of us
is up for that right now."

"Can't stop seeing what those boys went through," he
mumbled, standing unmoving as she finished washing him
and then turned off the shower.  

"Shhhh," she soothed.  "Don't.  Try and let it go, just
for a little while."

He nodded, then swooped up a towel and enfolded her in
it.  He knelt slowly, still stiff and sore, and began to 
dry her.  His touch was soft but sure, and he strokayed her 
almost lazily, large hands kneading her calves, her 
thighs, her buttocks.  There was a sensuality to his 
touch that somehow avoided sexuality -- it was vaguely 
arousing, but mostly comforting, and she hoped it 
comforted him as well as her.

Once dried, she led him to the bed and watched as he
dressed in the sweats she put out for him.  She dressed 
casually as well, in jeans and a sweater, rightfully 
assuming that the corpse she would be working on would
not mind that she didn't wear her suit to work.

She was pleased to see that Mulder lay down again
while she went to do her hair.  She had been afraid
he would start rereading the files that sat on the 
table by the window.  But he was apparently trying
to follow her injunction that he let it go, just
for a little while.  

Her hair dry, she went and joined Mulder on the bed,
curling up against his good side, her head pillowed
in the hollow of his shoulder.  His eyes were closed,
and he had one arm thrown over them.  He cradled her
against him with his other arm, the hand making 
lazy circles on her shoulder and playing with her
hair.  

"This is stirring up a lot of memories, Scully,"
he murmured to her.

She swallowed hard.  "So Skinner said.  Reminds you
of when Sam disappeared?"

He nodded and she could feel the rough stubble of 
his evening beard scrape against her scalp.  It was 
oddly comforting, a reminder of the many nights they'd
lain together, content to hold and be held.  She sighed
quietly, thinking that while their sex life was good
and satisfying, their work life all too often put
them in situations where neither felt like partaking
of that particular fruit.  And how fortunate they
were, that their relationship was based on so many
more elements than just sex.  Now, for example, 
they were able to lie quietly with one another 
and draw strength from that sharing.

"Walter said you flinched when he touched you."
She waited a moment for a reaction, then went on.
"He thought that you thought he was going to hit 
you."  When Mulder still didn't answer, she added, 
"You were talking about your dad."

Mulder gave a deep sigh and removed his arm from
his eyes, bringing it across his chest to encircle
Scully.  "My dad was angry -- a lot."

"He hit you?"  Scully kept her voice quiet, and tried
to keep her body relaxed.

Mulder shook his head.  "I can't talk about this now,
Scully," he groaned.  "Please don't ask me."

"It's all right," she whispered.  "I'm just worried 
about you."

"I know," he said, his head dipping down so his lips
brushed her ear as he spoke.  "But I'm going to be
okay."  He smiled; she could feel the movement where
his lips rested on her neck as he pressed a tender 
kiss there.  "Didja know Walter had Tylenol in the
car for me?"

"He cares about you, Mulder."  She brought her hand 
over to gently rub his chest, carefully avoiding the
bruised area.  

"I know, I know."  Mulder paused, pulling himself up 
to lean on his elbow and looking down into her face.
"I just have trouble remembering that.  It seems ..."

"Right," she finished for him.  "He's your friend, so
it's right that he cares."  She looked up into his
beautiful gray-green eyes, eyes swirling with emotion,
and pulled him down to her.  His lips met hers, and
if the intensity of the kiss was dampened by her
desire not to hurt his already damaged lips, the 
intensity of the emotion behind it only flared higher
for her care and concern.

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

It was nearly midnight.  He hadn't thought it possible,
but Mulder had actually given in and fallen asleep.
Skinner stretched in the chair, then rose and paced 
to the far side of the room.  Scully should be back 
any time, and to be honest, he would be happy to 
give up Mulderwatch and get some sleep of his own.
Not that he begrudged the exhausted man his rest, 
but truth be told, he wasn't all that young anymore, 
and he could use a little rest himself.

He walked to the sink and splashed some water on 
his face.  He didn't want Scully to come back and
find him sleeping on the job.  It wasn't long before
he realized he was scrubbing at his face and hands,
as if mere soap and water could ever take away the
stain that this case had marked on his soul.  He'd
read what had been done to those boys, viewed a couple
of the videos, and there was a filth in his mind now
that would never go away.  Skinner had stopped reading,
long before the file was done, and still he felt
soiled, tainted.  How much worse it must be for Mulder,
who'd read everything, most of it more than once.  If
Skinner worried that it would never leave his mind, how
much more so that must be true for Mulder of the eidetic
memory.

He shook his head, turned off the water and patted his
face and hands dry with the clean white towel.  He was
putting his glasses back on when he heard it.

"No..."

The word was whimpered, and Mulder twitched in his 
sleep.

"Mulder?" he called softly.

"Noooo ..."

This time the cry was drawn out, still soft, but a 
long, plaintive protest that seemed to echo in the
room.

Skinner reached out to the man, but drew back when 
Mulder cried, "Don't touch me there!"  This outburst 
was accompanied by a violent roll and then Mulder 
began to thrash about and fight with the covers on 
the bed.  He was crying, huge, gulping sobs, and the 
panic on his face was evident as Skinner struggled 
to free him from the confines of the linens without 
touching him.

He had never been so happy to see a door open in all
his life as he was when Scully slipped in.  "What's
going on here, Walter?" she asked as she raced to the
bed.

"Damned if I know."  He was busy trying to unwind a sheet
from around Mulder's foot without touching him and 
without getting kicked.  Scully reached out, but Skinner 
stopped her.  "He was crying out about not being touched."

She drew back, nodding. 

"Does he do this often?"

"Nightmares?"  Scully grabbed the bedspread and pulled.
Skinner had most of it untangled and her yank pulled it
free.  "Yes.  He has nightmares."  She studied Mulder
who had settled now that he wasn't confined, but was 
still crying in his sleep.  "But he's never said he
didn't want to be touched."

Skinner eyed the man on the bed, then watched as Scully
spoke quietly to him and slowly slipped onto the bed
beside him.  

"Scully?" Mulder whispered, still mostly asleep.

"Shhh," she answered, "it's all right.  It's me."

He was on his side, and she inched over to him, carefully 
spooning herself behind him.  At her touch, he relaxed 
and the crying slowed and then stopped.  Under her touch,
he stilled and fell back into a deep sleep.  All the while, 
she crooned to him, soft, low nonsense sounds aimed at 
comfort and soothing.  

"You all right here, Scully?" Skinner asked at last.

"We'll be fine, Walter."  She looked up at the big man.
"Thanks for looking out for him for me."

Skinner nodded.  "Try and get some sleep.  We'll meet
in the morning and discuss your report."

She nodded again.  "Good night, Walter.  You get some
sleep, too, okay?"

Skinner picked up the blanket and draped it over his 
two agents, then slipped out of the room.  Scully's
comfort sounds had begun again, and they followed him
out, vaguely soothing to his own troubled soul.

End part 06/13

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 07/13

There was that sound again.  He groaned as he rolled 
over, one hand groping the empty bed beside him.  What 
the hell was that noise?  It came to him in a shock of
adrenaline as he popped up in bed, fumbled for his
glasses, and dragged the cell phone off the night table
and up to his ear.

"Skinner," he grunted, his voice heavy with sleep.

"Oh, fuck!"  He threw back the sheet and rose, padding
quickly to the bathroom.  "Have someone pick us up in
front of the hotel.  We'll be down in ten."

He stepped to the doorway between the rooms, offered
up a quick prayer that his sudden appearance wasn't 
going to result in anyone being embarrassed, knocked
once and walked through.  Mulder was peering blearily
at him, and Scully had rolled over to look up at his
unexpected entry.  "Ten minutes, agents," he said in
his best AD voice.  "Swinton was trying to get another
kid and the father woke up.  He's still got the kid, 
but every cop in the state is on his tail, and we're
going to join them."

Mulder was out of bed before he finished the first 
sentence, and he backed out quickly so that Scully
could rise as well.

He was at the elevator in eight minutes, and wasn't
surprised to see Mulder and Scully coming up behind 
him.  They, like him, had dressed for the day.  Mulder
had on a charcoal gray suit with a white shirt, and 
Scully had on a gray suit, with a pale blue blouse.
He looked down at his own gray suit, and wondered if
there was some subliminal transfer that went on at
Quantico.  It was all gray and navy.  Why didn't anyone
ever wear a brown suit?

There was an unmarked car waiting for them in front 
of the hotel, and the night clerk looked very pointedly
at the clock -- 3:38 am -- as they all walked out in
their business suits, carrying attaches and laptops.
It would almost be comical if the current events weren't
so dire.

"What's the situation?" Skinner asked as he climbed
into the front seat beside the detective who'd drawn
driver duty for the out-of-towners.

"He wrecked the car.  Hit a light pole.  He's holed
up with the kid in an abandoned tenement on the 
outskirts of town with about 100 cops and so on 
surrounding him.

Mulder leaned forward.  "Don't let them get near him,
Sir.  He'll kill the boy if he feels threatened.  He'll
kill himself.  I've got to talk to him."

Skinner nodded and said to the detective, "Who's in
charge at the scene?"  

The man flushed uncomfortably.  "That would be Inspector
Matthews, Sir."

Shit!  Skinner removed his glasses and pinched the bridge
of his nose.  Nothing to do but deal with it.  "Get him
on the radio for me," he ordered.

It didn't take long until Matthews was on the radio, 
obviously furious at having what he saw as his command
thwarted once again.  Skinner gave the order not to
approach, but he wondered seriously if the man would
follow it.

"Who else is there?" Skinner asked, looking at the
LAPD detective next to him.  

"My captain," the man responded.  "Want me to get 
him on the horn?"  He smiled as he spoke and Skinner
couldn't tell if it was because he was pleased to 
think LAPD would take over from the Inspectors, or
if it was because he, too, thought Matthews was an
asshole.

Skinner spoke to Captain Beltran, and then leaned
back, waiting to arrive.  There was nothing else he
could do.

They pulled up a block away and jumped out, Mulder
racing ahead to reach the scene.  "I need to talk
to him," he called back over his shoulder to Skinner
as he pushed his way through to the front to look at
the building.  

It was a four-story apartment building, very old, with
bricks missing from its facade, boarded up casements, 
and gaping holes where windows used to be.  The streetlight
on the corner was dark and the full moon cast the only
light on the area.  Fortunately the sky was clear and 
the moon bright, so there was some visibility.

Matthews strutted up, walking past Mulder and ignoring
his questions, to stand before Skinner.  He pointed to
a couple of men setting up high wattage lights on either
side of the cordoned off area.  "We'll chase the bastard
out as soon as we shed a little light on the subject,"
he said, obviously impressed with his own witticism.

"No, Sir," Mulder interjected.  "No lights.  You've got 
to let him stay in control."

"Fuck that!" Matthews spit on the ground.  "Only one 
in control around here is me."  His eyes cut to Skinner
and he quickly amended, "Us.  The good guys.  Ya know ..."

Skinner ignored him.  "All right, Mulder.  No lights.
What else do you need?"

"I've got to have a way to talk to him."

Skinner looked at Matthews.  "Bullhorn?"

The man stared back angrily, then nodded.  He gestured
with his head.  "Over there.  And I'm outta here."  He
glared at Mulder, taking in the battered face and the
tension in his body.  "Shame whoever got you didn't put
you out completely.  Fucking burnout."  He turned on
his heels and stormed off.

"Delightful man," Mulder observed casually to Scully as
Skinner loped off to grab the bullhorn.

"What are you going to do?" he asked as he passed it to
Mulder.

"Open a dialogue."

"Swinton," he called through the bullhorn.  "You're in
control here."  

He waited to see if there was an answer but it was silent.
Mulder looked over at Scully.  "What's the boy's name?"

"Robby Hayes," she answered.

"Swinton, nobody wants Robby to get hurt.  And we know 
you control that.  It's your show.  You're in control
and we work this however you want."

Mulder paused again.  

"Get rid of the cops."  The voice came from a second story
window, one without glass or board.

"Do you have a phone?" Mulder asked, ignoring the man's
order as if he hadn't heard it.  "You need to be able to
communicate with us -- to tell us what you want."

"Get rid of the cops!"  The voice was louder this time, 
but Mulder still ignored it.

"Tell you what, Swinton, I'm going to give you my cell
phone number.  You just call me so that I can hear you,
and we'll work this out." 

"I said, GET RID OF THE COPS!"  The man was screaming 
now, but still Mulder ignored him.

He rattled off his cell phone number, then settled against 
the hood of a car to wait.  It was a short wait.
Mulder's phone rang and he flipped it open.  "Swinton?"
He nodded at Scully.  "My name is Mulder."

"Get rid of the cops."

Mulder shook his head.  "I'm sorry, I can't."

"I thought you said I was in control."

"Well, I did," Mulder replied, "but only as far as they
will let you be.  You understand that, don't you, Swinton?
I mean, you've got people you report to, I've got 
people I report to.  We're both just soldiers, following
orders, right?"

"I don't want to hurt the boy."

"No, I understand that.  I don't want Robby to get hurt
either."

He looked up to see Scully nodding at him.  "That's good,
Mulder.  Keep using the boy's name.  Don't let Swinton
depersonalize him."

"Why Robby?" Mulder asked.  "Why did they want Robby?"

"Wasn't my idea," Swinton whined.  "I don't like to 
hurt the boys."

"No, of course not," Mulder soothed.  "You're not like
the others."

"Damn straight!"  Swinton spoke with feeling.  "I *love*
my boys.  I'm not into that sick shit, like Dalton and 
Everett."

Skinner was on another phone and he quickly passed along
the new names.

"You're not like the others, Swinton.  I knew that.  I 
could tell from your house."  Mulder swallowed hard.  He
lifted one hand and wiped his face.  "You loved the boys
you touched.  Not like the others."

"I made it good for them.  I showed them how good it 
could be."

Mulder closed his eyes and stepped away from Scully
and Skinner, holding up one hand to keep them from 
coming too close.  "I understand.  You wanted it to 
be good for them.  You were going to show Robby how
it could be good, too, weren't you?"

Mulder winced and he strangled a moan that tried to 
escape, holding his hand over the phone as he struggled
to keep breathing evenly.  He could hear the boy cry,
could see in his mind's eye as the man caressed the 
child and the child drew back in terror.  He had to 
see things the way Swinton did, understand what drove 
the man, in order to get him to give up the boy.

"I don't want all these cops around.  Makes me nervous."

"It's not my call.  I just do what I'm told, just like
you."  Mulder waited a minute.  "Who told you to get
Robby?"

"Everett."  Swinton sounded distracted, and Mulder
could hear the boy crying harder in the background.

"Bob?  May I call you Bob?"

"Oh, uh, yeah."  

Mulder had the man's attention again now, and the
boy's crying softened.

"Well, Bob, we've got to figure out a way to get
you and Robby out of there, without anyone getting 
hurt."

"What if I just let the boy go?  Will you let me go
then?"

Mulder nodded.  "I think that can be arranged.  I 
mean, you were just doing what you were told, right?"

"Yeah."  There was fear in Swinton's voice as if he
was really beginning to understand that he was in
a lot of trouble, and just maybe, the man on the other
end of the phone could make it better.

"So, why don't you let Robby go now?  Just send him
down the stairs and when he comes out, we'll talk 
about getting you out of here."

"Can't you get rid of the cops?" Swinton whined again.

"Sorry, man, I would if I could."  Mulder tried to keep
his voice relaxed.  He wanted the man to know it was
totally out of his hands.  "But once Robby is out, my
boss here says we can talk about it."

"You said I was in control."  Anger and resentment from
Swinton now, as the reality of his situation began to
truly sink in.

"You are, Bob, you are.  But you know, and I know, we 
can only be in control as long as they let us, right?"
Mulder paused, still holding Scully and Skinner away.
"You're in control with the boys, right?"

"Totally.  My show, my way.  I don't hurt 'em -- I love
the little guys."

"Right."  Mulder paused, considering.  "You love 'em. 
But you still have to give 'em up, right?  You pass
'em along to Dalton and Everett, even if you love 'em?"

"That's the deal, man."

"Well, here's the deal tonight, Bob.  You pass Robby
along to me, and then we can see about getting you a free
pass out of here."

"You want the kid?"  Swinton sounded surprised.  "What
are you going to do with the kid with all those cops
around?"

Mulder took a deep breath, struggling for control of
his stomach.  "Same thing you do, Bob.  I'm gonna love
him."  The phone dropped from his suddenly numb hands
only to be caught by Skinner before it could hit the
ground.

"You're doing fine, Mulder."  Scully was there, her
hand on his arm and he jumped from her touch, stepping
away.  

"Don't touch me, Scully.  Not now."  He was fighting
panic and nausea.

"You've got to keep talking, Mulder," Skinner said
urgently, holding out the phone.  "He's ready to let
the boy go."

"I KNOW, I know ... I'm trying.  Give me just a minute."
Mulder ran his hand through his hair and stalked away.
"I just need a minute."

"You don't have a minute, Mulder."  Skinner was pushing
the phone at him.  "I'm sorry -- I'm sorry.  I'd give it
to you if I could, but you've got to talk to him.  He's
calling for you."

Mulder shuddered, then nodded and took the phone.
His whole demeanor changed and the panicked, pained man
of a few seconds ago was replaced by the cool and collected
FBI agent.  "Sorry, Bob, that was my boss.  We're ready
for you to send Robby out."

"What the fuck???"  

Mulder heard the exclamation through the phone and then
the boy screamed and there were two gunshots and the 
sound of a heavy body hitting the floor.

"Bob?  Bob?  Swinton?"  Mulder was screaming into the
phone, and then he grabbed the bullhorn and screamed 
again, "What's going on, Bob?"

Swinton appeared briefly at the window, and then 
a police badge holder was thrown at them.  "Fuck all
of you!  If I'm not getting out of here, neither is
the boy!"

Mulder watched in horror as Swinton disappeared again,
and then he took off, racing across the cleared area
in front of the building and disappearing into the front
door.

"Jesus H. Christ," Skinner swore, looking around.  "Did 
he at least take the fucking phone?"

Scully turned haunted eyes his way as she held up the
abandoned phone.

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

Mulder stood outside the door.  "Swinton?  Bob?  It's
me, Mulder."

"Go away or I'll kill the boy."

"What happened, Bob?"

"As if you didn't know."

"I don't know.  Remember?  I just follow orders, like 
you."

"Well, someone ordered a cop to try and kill me."

Mulder dropped his head.  So that was what had happened.
Someone had tried to get the drop on Swinton while he
was talking to him.  Time to try another tack.  "Hey,
Bob?  I, uh, didn't exactly follow orders when I came
in here, ya know?"  He waited, but the other man didn't
respond.  "Like you?  You didn't follow orders all 
the way either.  You took the boys, but you loved them
first.  Everett doesn't know that, does he?"

"Didn't matter.  I just didn't want their first time 
to be bad.  I loved them."

"I know."  Mulder grimaced as he forced the next words
out.  "I love them too.  I can still get you out of
this.  You just have to let me in."

"You want the boy?  Is that what this is about?"

"Yeah," Mulder answered smoothly, "I want the boy."

"With all the cops around?  How good do you think you
can make it for him?"

"Good," Mulder said.  "And it doesn't have to be here.
I'm a cop, too.  I can spend time with Robby."

"You'll get in trouble.  He'll say you hurt him."

"He's just a kid.  Who's going to believe him against
a cop?"  Mulder waited a moment, then said, "I'm coming
in."

"Push your gun through the door first."

Mulder dropped the clip from his gun, then obeyed, 
kicking his weapon in with his foot and pulling his 
spare from the ankle holster and slipping it into his 
pants.  He positioned the weapon in his crotch, 
thinking it could serve two purposes.  It would 
provide protection, and in case Swinton checked, it 
might pass as an erection so the man would think he was
stimulated by the thought of having the boy.

"I'm coming in now."

"You can really get me out?"

"Yeah.  I can.  That other guy, the one you shot?  He
was acting on his own.  My boss, he listens to me.  If
I say let you go, he'll let you go."

Swinton was silent for a minute, then he said, "All 
right.  You can come in."

Mulder took a deep breath, then came around the corner
and stopped in the doorway, both hands raised above
his head.  Swinton was pointing a gun at him, and he
moved forward and quickly patted Mulder down.  "Come
on in."

Mulder pointed at the man laying face down on  the 
floor.  "I need to check him."

Swinton nodded and Mulder knelt by the man.  The man
moved, coughing.  "Where you hit?" Mulder asked quietly
as Swinton moved back to stand beside Robby.  His hand
reached out and stroked the boy's hair, and Mulder 
could see the boy's eyes fill with tears again, but
he did not move.  There was a large bruise on the 
boy's face -- a handprint clearly visible.

"Leave me the fuck alone."

"You want to tell me where you're hurt, or you want
me to roll you and take a look?"

"Fuck off!"

"Quiet, asshole.  There's a kid present."  Mulder
rolled the man, already sure of who it would be.    
"God damn it, Matthews!  Don't you ever learn?"

"Leave me the fuck alone."

"Yadda, yadda, yadda."  Mulder kept one eye on Swinton,
trying to think of an intervention if the man's hand
moved below the boy's head.  He looked back at the man
on the floor, taking inventory.  "Leg.  Not too bad.  
Looks like it grazed you.  Chest."  He leaned closer,
hearing the bubbles as the man breathed.  "That one's 
bad."  He leaned over and whispered in the man's ear,  
"Hang in there.  I'm gonna get you out."

"You and what army?" the injured man breathed, as Mulder
patted his shoulder gently.

"You shouldn't have come in," he said in a louder tone
for Swinton's benefit.  "You weren't following orders.

"Fuck orders," the man swore.  "You weren't doing anything
but getting your rocks off talking to the perv."

"Let me see the boy," Mulder said.  When Swinton hesitated,
Mulder added, "That was the deal.  I get the boy, you get
out."

"Fuck that," the man on the floor moaned.  "You ain't
never gettin' out, you fucking pervert."

Mulder toed the man on his uninjured leg, trying to 
make the motion look more brutal than it was.  "You
should shut up, if you want to live."

He looked at Swinton, the man's hand still fondling
the boy.  "Give me the boy.  Once I have the boy, I'll
tell my boss and he'll arrange to get you out."

"Why don't you come and get him," Swinton teased.  
"I like to watch, too."

Mulder swallowed, then walked over to the man and
the boy, and reached down.  The child shrunk from his
touch.  "C'mon, Robby," he said softly, "I'm not going
to hurt you."

Swinton had the gun on Mulder and the boy.  He licked
his lips.  "Show him what you mean, Mulder."

Mulder touched the boy's hair, then leaned over and
whispered to him, "I'm a cop, Robby.  I'm not going
to hurt you."

"What'd you say to him?"  Swinton sounded curious, as 
if he wanted to share in a nasty secret.

"Just told him what I was going to do."  He leaned down
again, whispering to the boy.  "Please hold my hand and
come with me."

The boy nodded and took Mulder's hand, eyeing Swinton
warily.

"Go on," Swinton urged, licking his lips again.  "Touch
him."

Mulder moved closer to the door, walking carefully with 
himself between Swinton and the boy.  He stopped in the 
doorway, then dropped the child's hand and stroked his hair.

"Go on," Swinton urged.  "Do it."

Mulder looked at the man; the gun was turned on him
now, and he turned back to the boy, dragging his left 
hand up and outward to stroke the boy's cheek.  He let 
his thumb rest on the boy's lip.  His right hand dropped
to his crotch and he shifted the gun, then reached inside.

"Fucking pervert!" Matthews screamed.

Swinton turned at the sound and Mulder shoved the boy 
backward, out the door, and whirled with his gun in hand, 
firing once and hitting Swinton in the knee.  The man went
down and Mulder landed on him, knocking the gun from his
hand and cuffing him in one swift move.  He lay there for
a moment, breathing heavily, then rolled off Swinton.

"All clear," he called out the window.  "All clear."

End part 07/13

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 08/13

"Matthews said you touched the boy."  

Skinner remained silent as Inspector Simms spoke quietly.

Mulder shrugged.  "I did."

"Not the way Matthews means, Mulder," Scully said shortly.
"He touched the child's hair, and his face, Inspector.  
Held his hand.  That was all."

Mulder shuddered.  "I tried to talk to him -- tell him 
what was happening."

"Matthews also said you were, uh, touching yourself."
The man was obviously uncomfortable, and he flushed
dark as he spoke.  "He said you had your hand in your
pants."

"Oh, for God's sake!  My gun was in my pants!"

Simms nodded.  "That's what the boy said."

"Then why are you even bringing this up, Inspector?" 
Skinner interjected.  "Don't we have other things we
need to be focusing on?"

"Matthews may bring formal charges of misconduct."  
Simms paused, one hand on his hip as he paced a few short 
steps to the window and then ran his fingers through
his close-cropped hair.  "I'll be surprised if he 
doesn't."

"But if the boy denies it ..."  Scully let the question
hang in the air.

Simms shrugged.  "It could still be a problem.  Matthews
is likely to claim the boy couldn't tell the difference
in the kind of touch Mulder used."

"Oh, for Christ's sake!"  It was Mulder's turn to pace
and he quickly filled the room with frenetic energy until
Scully placed a hand on his arm and stilled him.  "I
don't have time for this," he mumbled.

"Matthews is likely to be facing some charges of his
own, Inspector.  Let's start with failure to follow
a direct order, unauthorized entry into the building,
putting the life of the hostage and my agent at risk, 
and insubordination, just to name a few."  Skinner sighed
and removed his glasses, then pinched the bridge of his
nose before replacing them  "Inspector," he said, "we'll 
deal with Matthews, when and if the issues arise.  In 
the meantime, we have more pressing business."

"Matthews is good at his job," Simms said quietly.  "I
don't know why he took such a dislike to your boy here."

"He feels threatened," Scully answered.  "We've run into
this before."  Her hand was still on Mulder's arm and 
she led him to the table, pushing to get him to sit down.

"I just want to find the boys," Mulder said softly.

Simms watched as Scully sat beside the profiler, and
the big AD moved to stand behind him.  This man had a
talent, and it exacted a tremendous toll on him.  He
was lucky he had people like his partner and the AD
to take care of him.  Simms couldn't remember a single
working colleague whom he had related to the way these
three did.  He sighed, thinking about the horrors he
saw daily and knew if it wasn't for his wife, he'd
be walking the edge the same way this man was.  

"I'll do what I can to keep a lid on Matthews," he said
firmly.  "In the meantime, do you have any ideas what 
we do next?"

Mulder looked up, a tight expression on his face.  
"Actually -- I do."

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

"You said your boss would let me go."

Mulder nodded.  "And he would have, too, if you hadn't
shot the cop."

"What was I supposed to do?  Let him kill me?"  Swinton
dropped his head, cradling it in his hands as he stared
down at the table.

"No, but I can guarantee you that guys are gonna be lining
up to do just that on the inside."  Mulder watched as 
Swinton jumped, wrapping his arms around himself.  
"They don't like child molesters on the inside."

"I didn't hurt them," Swinton protested.

"I know," Mulder said soothingly.  "You're different.  
You only loved them."

"You understand."  Swinton looked up.  "You gotta
keep me outta there.  You gotta keep me safe."

"I may be able to arrange something," Mulder said,
nodding.  "After all, you did give me the boy."

Swinton's black eyes glittered as he licked his lips.
"Was he good?  Did you love him?"

Mulder shrugged.  "He was okay."  He leaned over, planting
his hands on the table and staring right into Swinton's
face.  "I like blondes," he murmured.  "Tell me how to
get a blonde, and I'll make sure you don't get into
the general population."

"Blonde?  Fair-skin?"  Swinton nodded.  "I can do that."
He looked around the interrogation room, as if for the
first time.  "Do you really want to talk about this
now?  I mean, don't they record everything in here?"

He pulled back from Swinton, standing up.  "Can't.  
Gotta tell you if we're recording."  He shook his head.
"Now, tell me about the boy -- the blonde one."

"I just got him a couple days ago."  The man was 
getting visibly excited as he spoke.  "He was my
neighbor's kid.  Everett saw him one day -- said he
had to have him."

"Did you touch him?"

Swinton shook his head.  "Nah -- no time."

Behind the mirrored glass, Skinner breathed a sigh of
relief.

"Everett wanted him right away."

This time, Skinner let out a groan, and raised a hand
to cover his eyes.  Scully placed a hand on his arm in
silent support.

"How do I get in touch with Everett?"

"E-mail," Swinton said.  "Whenever I have a client for
him, I e-mail him and he sets up a meet."  He looked at
Mulder.  "It ain't cheap, ya know."

Mulder shrugged.  "I've got money."  He smiled as he
moved to the wall and leaned casually against it, staring
at the man at the table.  "It's amazing what you can do
when you're a cop."

"So ... I set up the meet and you get me outta here?"
Swinton's eyes were hopeful.

Mulder shook his head.  "No can do.  You set up the meet,
and I keep you out of the general population.  You shot
a cop.  No way can I get you out."

Swinton looked at the table for a long time, then nodded
slowly.  "I need a computer," he said.

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

"Mulder," Skinner said softly as they sat at the table
in the hotel room, "what exactly are you planning to 
do?"

Mulder was wrapped in a blanket -- he'd been shivering
since they left the stationhouse -- and he held a cup
of hot tea in both hands.  Scully stood behind him, 
her hands working on the knots in his shoulders.

"I'm going to e-mail this guy Everett, tell him I'm 
looking for a fair-skinned, blonde-haired 8 year old,
and then I'm going to go and get your nephew."  He
sighed as he contemplated what that entailed.  He
would have to convince this man Everett that sex with 
a child was what turned him on.  He dropped his head,
drawing both hands down his face and wincing as his
stitches pulled and he pressed against the bruising
around his eyes.

Scully reached out and caught his wrists. "Stop, Mulder,"
she said softly.  "Don't do this to yourself."

"Pain's a big component, Scully.  I've got to fit in."

"Not like that, you don't," Skinner said firmly.  "Isn't
there something else we can do?"

"They've had your nephew four days.  Two weeks for the 
Anderson boy.  A month for Dennis Jenkins.  Jack Potter's
been gone two months.  And that's just the boys we know
about.  Jack was eleven when they took him.  He was small
for his age, immature, but that could change.  Hell, it
could have already changed in two months.  Do you really
want to see another boy laid out like the last one?  Just
because he got too old?"

"We can track Everett.  Set up the meet, you go in, and
then we follow him."

Mulder shook his head.  "I don't think we'll get away 
with it.  And I can guarantee we'll only get one shot
at this."

There was a knock at the door and Skinner rose, opening
it and allowing the server to push the cart with their
lunch inside.  He busied himself setting out soup for 
each of them, and warm bread and drinks.  He pushed the
cart back by the door, then said, "Take my seat, Scully.
I'm going to pull the desk chair over."

It was a tight fit, with all three of them at the small
round table, but Mulder seemed comfortable sandwiched
between his lover and his friend.  Skinner watched him
closely, sure that whatever was running through his mind
was disturbing, but from his outward appearance, you
would never be able to tell.  He was eating, and seemed
relaxed and Skinner revised his earlier opinion.  Maybe 
nothing more than feeling comfortable and cared for
was running through Mulder's mind.  Maybe the man was
finally learning how to live for the moment, to appreciate
the now and enjoy it.  

It was something he himself had a hard enough time doing,
but something he'd been working on since his relationship
with his agents had shifted from supervisor to friend.
Mulder was trying to pull a piece of bread from the loaf,
and Scully smacked his hand gently, before he could crush
the loaf, then delicately separated a slice and passed 
it to him. 

"What?" he asked in mock hurt, "you're not going to butter
it for me?"

She gave a long-suffering sigh, but buttered the warm 
bread and passed it over, her hand lingering on his after 
he accepted her offering.

Skinner saw how they were so comfortable with each other, 
so in sync.  In a way, it pointed out his own aloneness, 
but it also made him feel that he belonged.  That they 
were so open with each other before him, made him feel 
accepted, almost a part of the group.

The table was small, very small.  When reached for a 
piece of bread, he jostled Scully, and some soup sloshed 
off the spoon that was partway to her mouth, leaving a 
spot on her blouse.  He started to apologize, but she 
brushed him off with a quick, "Don't worry about it, 
Walter."  He watched as Mulder dipped a napkin in water 
and sponged at the spot for her.

Again, he felt that sense of acceptance and belonging,
that he was privileged to be with these two very special
people.  He looked at them both, relaxed and smiling, 
and he hated to be the one to break the mood, but they
needed to move on.  Time was critical, and the short 
break for lunch seemed to have done wonders for Mulder.
For them all, truth be told.  

The meal had been demolished and he sat back as Mulder 
took a turn at clean up, watching as the younger man
stacked the dishes back on the cart, then pushed it out
into the hall.  He stuck the 'do not disturb' sign on 
the door, closed and locked it, then flopped onto the
bed.

Skinner watched as Mulder settled, pulling off his tie
and toeing off his shoes.  He'd shed his suit coat when
they'd first arrived, and as he watched, Scully sat
next to him, unbuttoning his cuffs and then taking one
hand into her lap.  They both turned and looked at 
Skinner.

"I'll do it," the big man blurted out without thinking.  
"I don't want you to have to do that, Mulder."

Mulder smiled, a self-deprecating expression that he
had down pat.  "I appreciate that, Walter, but you 
can't."

"Why not?  I can be a pervert."  Skinner flushed as 
the words escaped his mouth.

"Actually, Sir," Mulder drawled, "I don't think you
can.  You're too uptight."  He pulled his hand free 
from Scully's and sat up.  "And you're too high profile 
anyway.  You've already held two press conferences on 
this case.  There's no way Everett is going to think 
you're a kiddie lover."  He rose from the bed, moving 
to the far side of the room and distancing himself from
Scully and Skinner.  "I'm the one to do it.  You both 
know that."  He shrugged and his arms came around his 
chest as he hugged himself.  "I can convince him it's 
my kink, just like I convinced Swinton."

Skinner moved immediately to Mulder, Scully only a 
step behind.  "Don't do this, Mulder," he murmured,
one hand reaching out to grasp the other man's arm,
halting him before he backed into the wall.

"Do what?"  Mulder looked up, seemingly surprised to
see them both so close.  "Be a pervert?  Talk about 
little boys like they're the biggest turn-on of my life?
Like I think about touching them, stroking them, holding 
their little ..."

"Shhhh," Scully whispered, silencing him with a finger 
on his lips.  "Don't do this."  She indicated where 
he was, the far side of the room, backed all the way
into a corner.  "Don't run from us."  She removed her
finger from his lips, and turned her hand to stroke 
his cheek.  "Don't ever run from the people who love
you."  She moved forward, pressing herself against him,
and when he didn't respond, Skinner lifted one of Mulder's
arms and placed it around Scully.  

Mulder stared at the AD, then slowly brought his other
arm around to enfold Scully.  He met Skinner's eyes for 
a long moment, then dropped his head, burying his face
in a mane of red.  Skinner's hand was still on Mulder's
arm, and he took his other one and placed it on Scully's
shoulder, connecting the three of them for a short space
of time.  Then he cleared his throat and backed away.

"It was an early morning.  I think a nap is in order."
He looked at his watch, then added, "I'll see you both
at 3:00," and turned and slipped into his room.

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

Skinner's eyes were closed.  There was a warm body
beneath him and he could feel his erection, hard and
strong, jutting forward.  It felt good.  He stroked
soft skin, murmured in an ear, and then nibbled on
the tiny lobe.

There was a sound from beneath him, high-pitched and
strangled, and he immediately adjusted his weight a 
bit, holding himself up with one hand as the other 
roamed the pliable body beneath him.  He was a considerate
lover; he always wanted it to be good for his partner.

Eyes still closed; he lowered his head and sucked 
gently at the pulse point on the woman's neck.  God,
she was small!  He could feel her feet at his knees,
and he drew himself up a bit more, trying to keep his
weight off her.  His hand moved to her breast and 
then stopped.  There was a moan, and a strangled 
cry, and then he felt again. 

Nipple, but no breast.  

His head was down again, buried in the woman's neck,
and he ran his hand across her chest.  Still no
breast.  

He knew he wasn't thinking clearly, he never did in 
the heat of passion, but hadn't this woman had breasts
when he brought her home?

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, then
ground his erection against her, an unconscious reaction
to the wriggling she was doing.  She cried again, but
this time there was something about it that hinted
of fear, rather than passion and he stopped moving.

With a growing sense of dread, Skinner opened his 
eyes and stared down into the face of a terrified 
child, naked and pinned beneath his body, tears
streaming down his face.

It was as if he been burned!  He threw himself backward,
off the boy, off the bed, landing hard on the floor
and scuttling back until he connected with the dresser.
His heart was racing and he couldn't breathe, and then
his stomach lurched and he knew he was going to be
sick.  He tried to stand, but he was too dizzy, so he
settled on a fast crawl to the bathroom, and lost his
lunch in the bright, white toilet.

He leaned back against the tub, cradling his head in 
his hands, the blood pounding in his temples.

It wasn't true.  It wasn't true.  It wasn't true.

He crawled to the door, peeked around the corner, half-
terrified there would be a child in his bed, and then
drew back in relief when all he saw was an empty expanse 
of white sheet and blanket and spread on the floor.

It was just a dream.  Not true.

He rose shakily to his feet, and washed his face in
cold water, then pulled back the shower curtain and
stepped in.  The water was cold when it came on, and
he relished the discomfort.  Was this what it was
like for Mulder?  Did he have to make it this real 
to be able to understand the monsters he hunted?

Skinner shivered in the freezing stream, but made
no move to turn on the hot water.  

Was it this connection to the monsters that made
Mulder self-destructive?  Was it because he made it
real, that he felt he had to be punished?

Skinner stood motionless, feeling his testicles 
retreat into what little warmth was left in his
body, all vestiges of an erection erased by the
icy water.  Intellectually, he knew he was not 
responsible for his body's reaction to a dream.
And in the dream, he'd truly thought he was with
a woman -- nothing wrong with that.  

He shivered again, standing stubbornly in the cold.
He waited, letting his mind blank, letting the water
wash over him, letting time pass.

It hadn't been his fault.  It was a dream, and we're
not responsible for our dreams.  We don't control
them, we don't direct them.  They just come to us.

He'd thought it was a woman.  His body had reacted
to a woman.  He'd been aroused by a woman. 

Not a frightened little boy.

His mind flashed on the vision of the boy in the bed,
wide, terrified eyes staring up at him in fear and pain,
and Skinner felt the tears fill his eyes and spill over
onto his cheeks.  The child had been so scared, so
afraid, and so helpless.  

And he'd been hard, and erect, and pushing against
the small body.

Skinner choked on a sob.  He shivered in the hard, 
cold water, his hands covering his face as he cried.
He was so cold.  He couldn't think, he couldn't feel,
and he didn't want to.  

Only one thing remained.

Dear God -- he'd thought it was a woman.

End part 08/13

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 09/13

Skinner emerged from the shower, still shivering, 
and despite rough scrubbing with a washcloth, not
feeling any cleaner.  He wanted to shut down his
mind but wasn't able to, and again he wondered
if this was what it was like for Mulder all the time.
And if it was, how did the man remain sane?

He wasn't ready to put on a suit again, so he slipped
into sweats, feet still bare, and moved silently to 
the door of the adjoining room.  He couldn't believe
he was considering going in, waking them, intruding
on the little bit of private time they had, but he
was desperate not to be alone now.  And he couldn't 
stop shivering.

He needed someone to tell him the dream wasn't his
fault.

He needed Mulder to tell him he understood.

He needed Scully to tell him she forgave him.

He hadn't figured that one out just yet, but something
inside him felt like he owed the woman an apology.
He didn't particularly like the idea of discussing
his erotic imagery -- the woman, not the boy -- with
his friends, but he was still shaking from the experience,
and not just from the cold shower.  

He needed to talk about it.

He stood just inside his door.  They were both cracked
slightly, a precaution he and Scully had agreed on in
case Mulder had a nightmare.  Though in fact, it used
to be Scully's nightmares the men worried about.  But
somehow, in the months since their last case, her 
nightmares had eased.  And now, it was Mulder who was
dreaming at night.  Mulder who fought demons unknown.
Mulder who needed the open door.

Hand on the door, he paused, reconsidering his right 
to disturb his two friends, when he heard the quiet
murmuring of voices.  At least they weren't asleep.
And he was so cold.  Why was he still so cold?  He
could ask Scully.  It was getting harder and harder
to think.  He shivered again, then knocked.

"Mulder?  Scully?  May I come in?"  Even he could 
hear the tremor in his voice, and he hated it.

"Of course," came a soft voice as the inside door
was pulled open and Scully stood there, looking up
at him with concern.

"What happened?" she asked, reaching up to touch his
cheek.

"Huh?" he asked in confusion.

"Your face.  You're bruised."  She pulled him to the
bed, pushed him down gently and shone a light on his
face.  "Did you fall?"

"Nightmare," he said shortly, suddenly reconsidering 
the wisdom of his decision to share the dream with
his friends.  His voice trembled, and he felt dizzy.

"Did you hit your head?" Scully asked, soft hands 
tracing the bruise and then feeling across the broad
expanse of his scalp.  "And why are you so cold?"

He shivered again, and Mulder pulled the blanket off
the unmade bed, wrapping it around the big man.

"Wanna tell us about it?" he asked softly, gently 
pulling Scully away and sitting with her on the
other bed.  She began to fuss, and he quieted her
with a soft, "Shhh, Scully.  He doesn't need a doctor
right now, he needs friends."

Skinner grabbed the blanket, pulling it tighter around
himself, and stared at the ground.  He did need friends.
That was why he was here.  But damn, this was hard.

"I had a -- dream," he began.  He turned his head, staring
away from the two people seated across from him.  "An
erotic dream."  He could feel the sudden rush of heat in 
his cheeks as he flushed.  He stopped, suddenly unable
to continue.

"It's all right, Walter," Mulder said quietly.  "You can
tell us."  Skinner lifted his head, turning back to meet
the other man's eyes.  "You need to tell us, don't you?"

Skinner nodded.  "I thought I was with a woman."  His eyes
sought out Scully, and he beseeched her to understand.  
"A woman.  A willing partner."

"But you weren't?"  That was Mulder, prodding gently,
waiting patiently.

"No."  Skinner ran his hand across his face, staring 
at the floor again.  "It was a boy."  He let go of the
blanket, letting it fall on the bed behind him, took 
off his glasses, dropping them to the floor as he 
buried his face in his hands.  "I was with a little 
boy."

"No, you weren't," Mulder said in a matter-of-fact 
tone.  "You just had a dream."  He rose and sat next 
to Skinner, touching the man's arm and frowning at its 
icy feel.  He reached out and pulled the blanket back 
up, tucking it around the AD, then rubbing his arm to 
restore heat.  "He's really cold, Scully."

She gave Mulder an 'I tried to tell you, but you said
he didn't need a doctor' look, and then picked up Skinner's
glasses from the floor and sat on his other side.

"You had a dream," Mulder repeated.  "Nothing you can 
control."

"I had an erection," Skinner forced out through chattering
teeth.

"What did you do when you realized it was a boy?"

"I jumped out of the bed."

"Is that when you hit your head?"  Scully stood again,
running her hands over Skinner's scalp, finishing the
examination Mulder had halted earlier.

Skinner shrugged, a movement that evolved into a full 
body shiver.

"What did you do then?" she asked.  "After you jumped
out of the bed?"

"Got sick."  He was mumbling now and didn't seem to be
thinking clearly.  It had seemed like a good idea to
come over here earlier, but now all he wanted to do
was lie down and sleep.

"Did you take a shower?" Mulder asked.

Skinner nodded.

"A cold shower?"

"It wasn't your fault, Walter," Mulder said, pulling the
big man to his feet.  "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Is it like this all the time for you, Mulder?  So
real, it hurts?  Does it make you feel like you did 
it, even when you know you didn't?"

Mulder shook his head.  "It doesn't matter.  You need
to get warmed up.  You stayed in the cold too long."

Skinner gripped the younger man's arm.  "You're in the
cold all the time, aren't you, Mulder?"

"Not anymore."  Mulder smiled as he looked at the AD and 
then at his partner.  "But now, we need to get your body 
temp back up."

Scully scooted by him, and he wanted to say something
but the words wouldn't come.  He could hear the sound
of a shower running, and he resigned himself to more
time under the frigid flow.  It was what he deserved.

Scully was back now, standing in front of him, watching
his face as Mulder was undressing him.  He should be
embarrassed.  He should be protesting.  He should be 
doing something other than standing here like an idiot,
unmoving except for the periodic shivers that convulsed
his body.  His glasses were gone, and everything was
fuzzy, but he was sure it was Scully looking at him
so carefully.  He reached out, fumbling for her hand,
and was eternally grateful when she took his, clasping 
his large one in her smaller one, not rejecting him.

" 'm sorry, Dana," he whispered.

"It's all right, Walter," she murmured.

He realized then that he'd lost his clothes and he
was only wrapped in the blanket.  Mulder was leading
him toward the bathroom.

"Hot shower," Scully pronounced, and it sounded like
music to his ears.  Hot, not cold.  He'd been forgiven.

"Stay with him, Mulder, until he warms up enough
to think straight.  Make sure he doesn't fall again." 
She shut the door and then he was in the water, warm,
warm, warm, water washing over him and he was crying 
again, somehow thinking he'd confessed and been forgiven
and all was okay again.

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

"Scully, let it go.  He's not going to want to talk
about it right now."  They'd finally gotten a response
to Swinton's email to Everett, and were due in a chat
room shortly.  Mulder as the computer tech finished 
the connections to set up the chat for Swinton and 
Everett and then left.

"I'm worried about him."  She dropped her eyes and
stared at the floor.  "He's hurting and I want to
help."

"He'll be okay.  But, Scully, please," Mulder lifted her
chin, forcing her eyes up to meet his, "he's not a talker.
He'll come to us, when and if he's ready."

"He could have seriously injured himself.  That water 
was really icy."

"But he didn't.  And he came to us for help."  Mulder
leaned down and brushed her lips with his own.  "That
had to be hard for him."

"Doesn't he know he can come to us anytime?"  Her 
frustration was showing.

"Of course he does.  That's why he came."

"Then why can't we talk about it?"

"Maybe because you stripped him naked and shoved him
in the shower and he's embarrassed?"

She snorted.  "I'm a doctor," she said shortly.

"You're also his subordinate, and his friend.  Maybe
he feels a little awkward."  

Scully looked at the door, knowing Skinner had found
busy work to keep himself on the other side of it,
and sighed.  "All right.  But he better get over it 
quick, or I'm liable to strip him down again and
explain why people don't need to be embarrassed in
front of their doctor -- or their friend."

"You go, girl," Mulder said softly, kissing her again.
"Just give him a little time.  He'll come around."

She turned an appraising eye on Mulder.  "How about you,
Mulder?  Are you all right with this?"

"Feeling the need to play doctor, Scully?" Mulder teased.

She shook her head.  "I just realized, we sorta got
sidetracked with Skinner's dream, and I never really had
a chance to talk to you about what you're going to do
here today."

He shook his head.  "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why, Mulder?"

"'cause it's like Skinner's dream -- it makes me feel
icky."

"It's not you, you know that."  She wrapped her arms
around him.

"I know," he nodded.  "I'm going to sit in there with
Swinton, laugh and joke about getting off with little
boys, and then I'm going to hold a cyberchat with the
king pervert, and convince him this is my kink."  He
shuddered as he drew a deep breath.  "And if I do it
well enough, then I'll have an address for a meet when
I'm done."

"When you're done, you're going to come back to the 
hotel, and I'm going to rub your back, and your feet,
and you're going to watch the game, and eat junk food,
and we're not going to think about this case.  You're 
going to be in the here and now with me -- not thinking
about what's happened, not planning what's to come.
Just you and me, okay, partner?"

Mulder nodded slowly, bending to rest his head against
hers.  "Oh, Scully ... you know what I like."

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

They'd be mad.  He didn't know who he should be more
afraid of -- his boss or his lover.  Okay, dumb question.
Scully was way scarier than Skinner when it came to
things like this.

But the thing was, he needed to do this, and he didn't
really want to take them with him.  Well, amend that,
there was no way in hell he was taking Scully, and 
after Skinner's reaction to the dream, he wasn't about
to put the older man through this as well.

He stared at the door to the seedy Triple X Shop, then
pushed it open and entered.  He needed some things before
the meet, and this was the closest place to get them.  
If he was gonna play the part, he had to have the
accoutrements.  

Skinner and Scully were back at the station, reading
through the transcripts of his chat with Everett.  He
must have done a good job of selling himself as a
perv, since he now had instructions on where to go
to arrange the meet.  Swinton's arrest had been kept
quiet, so Everett didn't know the man was in jail, 
and his referral, plus Mulder's ability to talk the
talk had secured the connection.

$20,000.00 for one night with a small blonde-haired,
blue-eyed boy -- and he could do anything he wanted
to him, as long as he didn't kill him.  Mulder 
shuddered and clamped down hard on his stomach.  
Now he needed the tools to back up the fantasies he'd
spun.

He walked around the store looking for a long time
as he tried to figure out what he'd need.  He was
surprised to find that they had those little baskets,
the kind you find in the grocery store, so that 
you could conveniently carry your cock whips and
latex dildos, and still have your hands free.  It
was vaguely surreal.

Mulder continued adding items to his basket until 
there was no more room.  He grabbed a box of condoms
as his last choice, then dropped it all on the counter.
Once again, he was surprised by the surreal nature 
of the experience as a very ordinary looking young
woman, not a tattoo or body piercing in sight, began
to ring him up.  She made a couple of comments about
a butt plug being a big seller and suggested a water-
based lube instead of the Vaseline he'd selected, and
he found himself handing over his charge card with a
bemused look on his face.  

His heart fluttered as he looked at the total -- this
shit was expensive -- but he signed the slip and accepted
his bags as graciously as possible and headed back 
out to the cab he had waiting.  If he was lucky, he
might get back before they realized he was missing.

He was almost to the door when the fist hit him.  
His head rocked back and he dropped the bags, one 
hand instinctively going for his gun.

"Fucking pervert!"

Mulder stopped the draw on his gun, blinked to clear
the blood from his eyes and stared angrily into the
face of Inspector Ron Matthews.

"What the fuck do you want, Matthews?" he snarled.
"And why aren't you still in the hospital?"

"Checked myself out today," the other man said shortly.
"And since I'm the only one who knows what a total
fucking pervert you are, I'm the one who's going to
prevent you from getting anywhere near those kids."

"Look, you fuck," Mulder began, "you've got this 
all wrong."

"I don't have shit wrong!  You're as fucked up as that
bastard who took that kid."  Matthews was breathing 
hard and Mulder couldn't help but feel bad for the 
man -- even if he was an asshole.

"I never hurt Robby," Mulder said quietly, one hand
reaching up to feel where the wound had opened again
over his brow.  He swiped at his forehead, his hand
coming away slick with blood.  

"I saw the way you touched him," Matthews panted.  It
was clear the man had overexerted himself.  "I'm 
bringing you up on charges of misconduct."  He bent 
over double, clutching his chest.

"Here," Mulder said, reaching out, "let me help you."

"You stay the fuck away from me!" the man spit out.

Mulder shrugged.  "Suit yourself."  He picked up the
bags and stepped to the door.  "But I know who it was
in the elevator.  And now you've assaulted me here.
Touch me again, and I'm pressing charges of my own."

Mulder stalked out, climbed into the taxi and was gone.

He didn't see Matthews flash his badge at the confused
clerk as he got a copy of Mulder's charge receipt -- 
and a listing of all the items he had bought.

End part 09/13

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 10/13

"Where the hell is he?" Skinner asked in exasperation.

Scully shook her head.  "I'm not sure."

"Didn't you tell him to stay in the break room?"

She stared at Skinner, head cocked and her lips pursed.
She didn't even need to say the words.  As if telling 
Mulder to do anything was ever effective.

One of the local cops came in, approached quietly and
said, "The desk sergeant said he left about an hour 
ago in a cab."

"Jesus H. Christ!" Skinner exclaimed angrily.  "Just 
once -- just one fucking time I would like that son of 
a bitch to do as he's told!"  He looked at Scully.  "Is
that too much to ask for?  I ask you -- is it too
much to ask for?"

Scully looked at the young woman and asked, "Did the
sergeant notice what kind of cab?  Can we get a trace
on it?"

"No need," said a deep voice.  "I can tell you exactly
where that sick fuck was, and what he was doing."

"What the hell are you doing here, Matthews?"  Skinner
rounded angrily on the man, then eased back as he 
realized the Inspector was very pale, and in obvious
pain.  "What are you talking about?" he asked in a 
softer tone.

Matthews held up a photocopied receipt.  Skinner reached
out and took it, even as Scully grabbed the other man's
arm and moved him toward a seat.  Matthews fought weakly,
but she prevailed, which let both of them know the man
was worse off than he was letting on.

"Does he need a doctor, Scully?"

"He needs to go back to the hospital."  She pulled 
Matthews' coat open, noted the blood soaking through
his shirt and nodded at the female officer still 
hovering nearby.  "Call an ambulance," she said 
softly.

"You can send me to the hospital, but you can't stop
me from bringing charges."  Matthews' breath was ragged,
and he began to cough.  "I followed him.  I followed him
when he left here, and I saw exactly where he went and
what he was doing."  Matthews nodded at Skinner.  "Just 
look at the list.  Look at the shit he bought.  You tell 
me he's not a pervert."

"If Agent Mulder bought these items, I can assure you
he had a good reason to do so."  Skinner frowned as he
read the list, then looked up to meet Scully's eyes.

She reached out a hand and he gave her the receipt.
"Oh," she said, coloring slightly as she exchanged a
worried look with the AD.

"See," said Matthews, "even his partner knows this is
too kinky not to be real."  He panted briefly, then gripped
the arm of the chair.  "I've done this for 10 years,
Skinner," he said, staring up at the big man.  "I *know*
what those things can do to a little kid.  I'm not
going to stand by and watch while an agent of the FBI
violates everything we stand for.  We're supposed to
protect those kids -- not be instruments of their
torture."

"Matthews," Skinner began softly.  He could hear the 
siren on the ambulance in the distance.  "I don't know
how else to explain this to you.  Mulder knows what
he's doing.  And he isn't going to hurt those boys.
For whatever reason, he thinks he needs these things.
Maybe as part of his cover, maybe for research, maybe
both.  I don't know.  But I assure you, when I talk 
to him, he'll tell me what it is."

"I'm still pressing charges," Matthews said petulantly.

"Then you'll press them from your hospital bed."  He 
looked up as the paramedics came through.  "Your ride
is here."

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

He was naked.  He had taken off his clothes and hung them
up neatly.  His shoes were lined up beneath the suit,
and the socks and underwear had been placed in the 
dirty clothes bag.  Scully would be proud of him.

He snorted softly.  No, she wouldn't.  She was going
to be furious at him.  He looked around the pristine
white of the bathroom and shifted uncomfortably on
the tiles.  Maybe he should sit on the tub.  He
looked over at it.  He didn't want to make a mess.
He shook his head angrily.  It wasn't going that far.
He wasn't going to draw blood.  

He just -- needed ...

What?

He needed to know what it felt like to inflict the 
pain.  

He couldn't very well ask anyone else -- there was 
no way he was going to ask someone to let him whip 
them -- so he was going to have to see if he could 
focus on inflicting the pain -- not on receiving it.

He thought about the Hispanic boy, the one they still
hadn't identified.  You could take control in any
number of ways, and it was all about control. If he
wasn't going to control someone else's pain, he could
still see what it was like to control his own.

He looked at the tub again.  He really didn't want
to make a mess.  If he stayed here on the tile, would
the incentive to keep the tile clean be strong enough
to keep him from drawing blood?  Or should he move to 
the tub, just in case?  If he wanted the whole experience, 
he needed to be able to go with it.

He looked down at the little whip he held in his hand.  
It had a black leather handle and six thin strands of 
dark brown leather protruded from the top.  It was 
small -- the handle no more than four inches and the 
strands about six inches long.  He slapped it across 
his palm, recoiling at the sting.  It was effective.

He rose and got into the tub.  One long leg slid up and
over the edge, giving him a good target on his inner
thigh.  That was where he'd seen the scars on the
boy in the warehouse.  He drew a deep breath -- he hated
this.  It was going to hurt and Scully would be mad
and Skinner would be mad, too, and he really didn't 
want to do this, but ...

He lifted the whip and brought it down hard, gasping
at the pain.  He studied the red lines on his thigh,
traced the welts with his finger, then struck again.
It was worse this time -- the pain was blinding.  Is
this what it felt like to the boys?  Was it this over-
whelming sensation that eclipsed all other sensory 
input?

He shook his head.  He needed to look at it, not from
the boy's point of view, but from Swinton, or Everett's.
He brought the whip down again, before he could change
his mind, a quick, brutal strike that bit deep and
caused him to cry out.  

The whip was smooth in his hand -- an instrument of
power.  He could make someone cry, make them moan, 
make them writhe beneath it.  He stroked the leather
handle, then struck again, hearing the cry, but
no longer connecting it to himself.  He was the 
aggressor here -- he was in control.  He brought the
whip down softly this time, dragging the rough
strands across the tender flesh and heard the whimpers
that escaped his mouth, but again he couldn't make the
connection.  He could make it cry -- he struck hard,
and was rewarded with a loud sob.  Or he could make
it whimper -- and he dragged the strands across the 
wounds again, listening to the voice begging for 
it to stop.  He could even make it moan -- he took
the handle and pressed down hard, hearing the moans
that echoed in the cramped space.

He had the whip raised, poised to strike again, when
the door opened and someone burst in.

"Mulder!"  There was a gasp and then she had his arm,
fighting him for the whip.  He wasn't going to let
go -- it was his whip -- he was in control.

"Help me, Walter!"

There was another hand there now, starched white cotton
covering a surprisingly strong arm, and he was being
forced to give up the whip, forced to lie back in the
tub.  He was so cold -- shivering really, and now he'd
lost his control.

"What have you done, Mulder?" The voice was soft and
the hands on his leg were soft too, but any touch
hurt and he moaned in protest.

He stared at the leg, totally detached now, surprised
to see that the skin had split and there was blood
running down it.  He looked at the whip the man had
thrown down -- it was bloody too.  How had that 
happened?  He shook himself, trying to chase away 
the cold.

There were hands on his face, on his arms, stroking
him gently and a soft voice called his name, begging
him to come back.  Come back from where?  He was right
here, wasn't he?  He looked up at the huge expanse of
white cotton, so big and broad and so far *up,* and
knew he should recognize it, but everything seemed out
of whack right now and he closed his eyes as the pain
washed over him.

"Mulder?  Come on, love, answer me ..."

That was Scully.  He smiled now because he had a name 
to go with the voice, and then it all came crashing 
back on him.  The whip, the leg, the blood.  Oh, shit!
He was in big trouble now.

He opened one eye, peeking beneath the lashes at his
partner.  He was trying to figure out how he could forestall
the scene he knew was coming, but he couldn't bear the
pain and fear in her face, so he opened both eyes wide
and tried to smile.  "Hey, Scully," he croaked.

"Oh, Mulder ..."  The words were choked out behind a sob
and he could see the relief on her face.  

He hadn't meant to worry her like that -- really he
hadn't.  But now, he was so cold.  " 'm sorry, Scully,
really I am, but I'm cold now.  Please?  I'm cold."

She looked over her shoulder at Skinner.  "Hot bath,"
she said quietly.  She eased his leg into the tub, then
turned the water on, not closing the drain until the blood 
had been washed away and the water ran clear.

"What are you going to need?" Skinner asked quietly.

"Large gauze pads, adhesive tape, antiseptic."

"It'll be ready when you are.  Call me if you need 
anything."

The door closed and Scully sat back on her heels, staring
at Mulder.  His eyes were closed again; he seemed to be
asleep.

"All right, Mulder," she whispered, "sleep now, but 
we're going to talk when you wake up."

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

He'd slept for over an hour.  She'd sat on the floor
by the tub, warming the water as it cooled, just
watching over him.  The bloody whip still lay on the
back of the toilet.

When he'd awakened, she'd helped him out, dried him as
carefully as she could.  Every touch made him wince, 
and the towel was streaked with red when she was done.

She'd wrapped the towel around his waist and led him 
out to the bed.  When he saw Skinner standing by the
table, he'd tried to protest.  "He's seen it all,
Mulder," she'd said firmly as she pushed him back
on the bed.  

"Can't I put my shorts on at least," he begged,
surprised at how embarrassed he was.  It didn't take
long for him to realize that most of the embarrassment
came from being caught, not from being seen naked.

"After your leg is bandaged."  

He gave up protesting and laid back, taking the time
to study Skinner as Scully worked on the wounds on 
his leg.  The big man stood in profile, staring out
the window, but Mulder could see the tension in his
back, the clenched jaw, and the nerve that twitched 
in the corded neck.  The next conversation was not
going to be pleasant.

Scully finished his bandage, passed him shorts, and
let him stand up to put them on.  When he sat again,
Skinner asked, "Is he okay?" and she said, "It'll heal."

Mulder started counting.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

That was it.  Skinner turned, his face red, the vein in 
his temple bulging so tight it was clearly visible from 
the bed where he sat, and said through gritted teeth,
"What the hell were you doing, Mulder?"

"I was trying to make a connection with Everett," Mulder
said quietly.  "I was trying to see what it was like."

Scully took his hand, her thumb stroking his palm in a
rhythmically soothing motion.

"It looked to me like you'd gone round the bend," Skinner
said.  "Mulder, I told you at the beginning, I wasn't
going to let this case destroy you, and I meant that."
He drew a deep breath, struggling for control.  "As of
this instant, you are off the case."

"What?!"  Mulder pulled away from Scully, flying to his
feet.  "You can't do that, Sir!  It's all set up!  I'm
the only one Everett will meet with.  The alias is in my
name."

"The alias is for George Fox.  That is not you."

"My picture's on the ID.  I'm the only one who can do
it."

Skinner shook his head.  "Not true.  I've read the
transcripts.  You've concocted a believable persona
to meet Everett, but someone else will be that person.
Pictures can be redone."

"They can't!  There isn't anyone else."  Mulder dropped
his head.  "They'll screw it up, Sir.  They won't be
able to talk to him, not the way he wants to be talked
to."

"There are other competent agents, detectives, inspectors,
who can make this meet."  Skinner folded his arms across
his chest.  "I'm not putting you at risk."

"I'm not at risk!"  Mulder stalked across the room,
into the bathroom and back, holding the whip before him
like the holy grail of pedophilia.  "I did this.  I'm not
crazy -- I'm not losing it.  I knew what I was doing."

"Then explain it to me, please," Skinner said, "because 
I am clueless as to why the brightest man I know just
spent -- how long? in the bathroom, flagellating himself?
Drawing blood?"

"Mulder, please," Scully added, "come sit down and explain
it to us."  

He nodded shortly and then sat, still holding the whip
before him.  "I told you it was about control."

Skinner and Scully nodded.

"I needed to see what that was like.  I needed to be the
one giving the pain -- instead of receiving it."

The room was silent.  Skinner froze, staring in disbelief
at the man sitting on the bed, his head hanging low as he
stared at the whip that dangled from his hand.  Scully
reached out to touch him, then drew back, unsure of what
to do or say.

"It was a long time ago," Mulder said.  "After Samantha
disappeared."  He shrugged.  "I don't want to talk about
it now."  He dropped the whip, rose and stepped away,
huddling by the far wall with his arms wrapped around his
chest.  "I just needed to see what it was like from
the other side."

Scully moved to stand by him, and Skinner followed.

"You're doing it again, Mulder," she said quietly.  
"I thought we talked about this?"

"Doing what?" he asked in confusion.

"Running from the people who love you."

She reached out and drew him to her, pulling his head
down to rest on her shoulder as she held him tightly.
Skinner reached out and touched his shoulder, then
began to rub his back in little circles.

He didn't cry, but it was close.  He stood there, 
surrounded by concern until he had to sit.  It was
with great reluctance that he pulled back, and sat 
on the bed.  "I didn't mean to scare you," he said
softly.

"Mulder."  Skinner's voice was firm, and he waited until
the man looked up and met his eyes.  "If you ever feel
you need to do something like this again -- something
that will hurt you, physically, mentally, or emotionally,
you *will* discuss it with me or Scully first."

Mulder nodded.

"I mean it, Mulder.  You talk to one of us.  We'll 
decide if it's safe."

"I really needed to do this, Sir," Mulder mumbled.

"And in the future, if you really need to do something
again, you will discuss it, and we'll decide together
if it's an acceptable risk, or if there is an alternative
that can meet your need."

"Does this mean I can still make the meet?"  He watched
as Skinner and Scully exchanged looks, noted Scully's
slight nod, but knew the answer was still up to the
AD."

"I don't like it, Mulder," Skinner said honestly.  "If
I thought someone else could do it, and have as good
a chance of success as you do, I'd say no way."  He
sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  "But I
don't think anyone else can do this -- not like you 
can.  So, against my better judgment, yes, you can
still make the meet."  He fixed Mulder with a steely
glare.  "Don't make me regret my decision."

End part 10/13

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 11/13

"There's a tracking device inside the briefcase with
the money."  Skinner patted the black attache as he 
spoke.  "There are additional devices within several 
of the bills, as well as in all the bundle wrappers."  

He reached out and touched the larger, brown case.
"This one is also wired."  He opened it and pointed
to the various devices and sexual accoutrements.  
"There are tracking devices inside a number of the,
uh, items, in here as well."

"I need reading material," Mulder said.

"Excuse me?" Skinner looked around, confused.

"The magazines, books, from Swinton's place.  That'll
do."

Skinner nodded at one of the Inspectors and the man
set off to requisition the required reading material.

"Transmitters in your shoes, belt, and glasses," Skinner
said, and Mulder nodded in agreement.

They were all so sure they would be able to follow him,
but Mulder knew better.  People who did what these men
did, who trafficked in little boys, they didn't take
risks.  Mulder fully expected to be stripped and searched,
and be given other clothing to wear when it came down to
it.  But as it was, he really didn't expect the FBI to
be able to follow him past the first pick up.

He thought through what he expected to happen.  

First, there was the plan Simms and Skinner had put
together.  A fairly standard kidnap drop with full
tails and transmitters.  He would go to the assigned
meet point; there would probably be a note.  He would 
then be run through several more meets, until he 
finally arrived at the designated place.  He'd drop
the money, go to a phone, and receive a final location.
The boy would be at that location, if he was lucky.  

That, however, was how kidnappings played out.  Not
purchases of sexual service from underage boys.  

Realistically, he expected to be met at the first
point by a driver, whisked away with careful attention
to losing anyone following him, and then taken to a
point where everything he had brought with him, right
down to his clothes would be removed and replaced.
He bought the variety of sex toys hoping to convince
the major players that he wanted to use his own. 
And he had a bloody one now, to show he knew how to
use them.

Thinking of the bloody whip brought to mind his discussion
with Scully and Skinner from a few hours ago.  Skinner
had come very close to canceling his involvement in
this investigation.  His continued participation 
depended on his promise to discuss any actions he 
intended to take in full detail with both his partner
and his boss, prior to taking said actions.

And here he was, mere hours later, already knowing 
things weren't going to go down the way Skinner thought,
and still letting the man go on making plans as if
they mattered.  jHe lifted his hand and covered his
eyes for a moment, thinking hard.  He could do this.
He knew he could.  He could make them believe he was
a pedophile, and he could get Tommy out.  But if he
did it his way, without telling Skinner and Scully
what to expect, what would it do to his relationships
with these two people.  What would it be like when 
he got back?  If he got back?

He paced a few steps away, aware of their eyes on 
him.  Everyone in the crowded briefing room was watching,
but Skinner and Scully followed his every move closely.
He rolled his shoulders, throwing his elbows back as
he stretched, then tilted his head from side to side
but he was still tense, still strung tight.

God, it was a dilemma!  What if he told Skinner what
he thought would happen and the AD wouldn't let him
proceed?  What if he went ahead anyway?  What would
Skinner do to him later?  What would Scully do?
Skinner had insisted that he discuss things with them
first, and he had agreed.  But could he really risk
losing the boy because Skinner might not like the
plan?

He looked back at Skinner and saw the big man and
Scully exchange a glance.  They were watching him,
and they knew something was wrong.  He swallowed
hard, said a prayer to any number of benevolent deities,
and stepped back over to his friends.  "Excuse me, 
Sir?  Agent Scully?"  His eyes darted around as other
people turned to look.  "May I have a word with you?"

"Certainly, Agent Mulder."  Skinner was all professionalism.
He stepped to the doorway and beckoned his agents to
follow him to a small interrogation room.  Once inside,
he closed the door, dropped the formality and asked,
"What's going on, Mulder?"

"It's not going to go down like you think."  Mulder
shrugged.

"What do you mean?"  Scully moved to stand beside Mulder.
He reached out, wrapping an arm around her and pulling 
her close.

Skinner crossed his arms, fixing his agent with a look.
"And how is it going to go down?"

Mulder sighed, pulled away from Scully and sat.  Staring
at the table, he detailed his view of how the meet would
happen, including his thought that having any kind of 
tracker was not only useless, but could put him in
jeopardy.

"I'm not sending you in there bare, Mulder."

"I don't think we have a choice, Sir."  Mulder took a 
deep breath and looked up.  "You asked me to talk to
you, so I'm talking.  I assumed that you'd listen."

"I'm listening."  

"I can do this, Sir.  As long as they think all I want 
is a night with this kid, I can get in and get him."

"And how do you plan to get out?"

Mulder rose and began to pace.  "I'm not going to kid
you -- it's not going to be easy.  But I've got a plan."

It was Skinner's turn to move.  Since Mulder was taking
what little space there was with his pacing, the older
man contented himself with pulling out a chair, turning
it backwards, and straddling it.  "Let's hear it."

"Okay."  Mulder halted, and they could see his mind working
as he put his thoughts in order.  "I can't give you anything
in concrete, because a lot of this is going to be seat
of the pants.  I'm going to have to see what the situation 
is, react accordingly, and then get the hell out."  He 
looked up, gauging Skinner's reaction and smiled slightly 
when the AD nodded.

"I have no doubts -- no doubts whatsoever -- that I can
get in.  You've gotta believe me on that."

"All right.  You can get in.  That's a given."  Skinner
tapped the table impatiently.  "Now convince me you can
get out.  Alive."

"Honestly?"  Mulder resumed his pacing.  "It's not as
sure a bet.  But I'd say I'm 75 - 80% sure I can do it."

"How?"  It was Scully's first foray into the conversation
and both men looked at her.  "Mulder, I want Tommy found.
I want all those boys brought home and their torment
ended."  She moved to stand before him, her hand coming
up to cup his cheek.  "But I can't bear to lose you.  You
can't just throw yourself away for something that *might*
work."  She shuddered delicately, stroking his face, and 
he reached up and took her hand.

"I'm not throwing myself away, Scully.  There's a good
chance -- a very good chance -- that this will work."  
He stepped away, then faced Skinner, gesturing back 
toward the briefing room.  "Didn't you see what I 
bought?  Didn't you notice?"

"I don't understand."  Skinner was confused again.
"I saw the contents of your 'toy' chest, yes.  What
was I supposed to notice?"

"I've got heavy emphasis on pain giving toys as well as
some pretty uncomfortable restraints and gags.  I've 
got several sets of handcuffs, an electrical stimulator 
that packs one hell of a wallop ..."  He held up his 
hand, shaking his head.  "No, I didn't try it on myself."

Scully and Skinner both breathed a sigh of relief.

"I just read the instruction manual.  It's -- powerful.
I also have a variety of knives -- everything from 
fine blades for delicate cutting to heavy duty ones
that could skin a deer."  He grinned and Scully shrank
from his expression.  "There's never a guarantee in
a situation like this, Sir, but I'm going in as well-
armed as I've ever been, and it's all with items they
won't look at twice."  He turned and moved to face 
the wall.  "Unless you've rigged everything they look
at so that they suspect me from the start."  Turning
back, he stared at Skinner, pleading, "Don't you see?
I've got to go in clean -- no tags, no tracers, no
transmitters.  Nothing that will tip them off, no
matter how thorough they search."

"How sure of all this are you, Mulder?"

"Pretty damn sure.  But just in case, why don't you
ask Matthews?  He's worked these types of cases for
years.  See what he has to say."

Skinner nodded.  "You and Scully stay here.  Take a 
few minutes together.  I'll be back shortly."

Scully sat as the AD left, holding her silence for a
minute as she thought of her lover going into this
nest of vermin armed only with knives and determination.
She didn't like it either, but she didn't have to 
check with Matthews to know that if Mulder said it
would go down that way, it would go down that way.
Skinner knew it, too, but he was the one who would
have to sign the reports, and it wouldn't hurt to
have an outside opinion on the plan.

"Mulder," she said softly, looking up to see him 
hunched over himself in the corner.  "Come sit with 
me."  She patted the chair next to her.

"I talked about it like you told me to, Scully," he said
plaintively as he moved to join her.  "I did what
Skinner said."

"I know, Mulder.  I know it was hard for you, but it
was the right decision."

"And if he won't let me go now?  What will that mean
to Tommy?  To the other boys?"

"It will mean that the AD made a difficult decision,
one that is personally painful for him, but that he
made just the same.  Because it was the right decision."
She looked at her lover, noted the weariness around
his mouth, the sadness and despair in his eyes.  
"Mulder, you didn't create this situation.  But because
of you, we're closer to saving those boys than we 
would have been if you hadn't been here.  You don't
have to save the world.  You *can't* save the world."
She reached out and stroked his face, then cradled his
hand in both of hers.  "You have to trust Walter.  He'll
make the right call."

Skinner cleared his throat as he entered the room fully.
"Thank you for that, Dana."  He looked at Mulder. "You
were right.  Matthews watched us go through all the
motions and never said a word.  He was sure you'd be 
exposed at the first check."  He shook his head.  "The
man just can't do anything right, despite the fact 
that he's got a wealth of experience.  Anyway, wear
what you want.  They're putting everything into untagged
bags and pulling the transmitters out of the money.
Even the 'toys' are being debugged.  You're going to
be clean."

"I'm going in?"

"Yeah, you're going in.  You're still going to have
a shitload of people following you, but you're going
in naked."

Mulder grinned.

"And don't look so pleased.  It's a deadly serious 
situation, and I want you out alive, got that?"

Mulder stood and drew himself erect, giving a mock
salute.  "Yes, Sir!"

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

There was a note at the first meet point.  Mulder
followed directions, racing across town in a cab,
only to be let off at the top of a steep set of
stairs.  He took off down them, effectively losing
anyone in vehicles following him, and climbed into
the limo that was waiting at the bottom.  He was 
blindfolded, relieved of his bags, and then offered
a drink.  He declined.  It was a long, silent drive
that lasted over three hours and his head pounded by
the time the car stopped.  He had no idea where he
was.

The car stopped and a voice from the front asked if
he was comfortable.

"Yes, I'm fine, thanks."  He fidgeted a little.  "When
do I get my boy?"

"There are a few matters to attend to first.  You may
remove the blindfold."  The voice spoke politely, but 
firmly.  The window between the driver and the back 
opened, and a bag appeared.  "There are clean clothes 
in the bag.  Please change."

He nodded and proceeded to strip and redress in the
navy blue sweat suit he had been provided.  He wasn't
given shoes.

"Thank you, Mr. Fox," the voice said as he held up
his hands to indicate he was done.

"I want to see the boy."  He gestured at the empty seat
beside him.  "You got your money."

"Indeed we did.  There was another $10,000.00 in the 
false bottom of your toy chest.  What was that intended
for?"

Mulder shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.  "I don't 
like going into a situation without cash."

"Admirable," said the voice.  "It will be returned
to you -- upon your departure."  The window opened
again, and a book appeared.  "Please make your 
selection," the voice said.

Mulder reached up and turned on the small overhead
light and opened the book.  It was a photo album.
He clamped down on his stomach, but forced his body
to relax as he leaned back in the seat and tried to
look like he was enjoying the viewing.  He turned 
the pages slowly, skipping the dark-skinned, dark-
haired boys, but seeming to linger over the blue-eyed
blondes.  He found Tommy midway through, but kept
going, then went back and went through the book 
again.  The third time through, he narrowed it to
three boys, flipping back and forth between the 
pictures until he finally landed on Tommy's.  With
the book open, he knocked on the window, and passed
it back.  "This one."

"An excellent choice," the voice said, as if he
had just ordered a particularly choice vintage
Cabernet.  "We'll reach our destination in about
an hour, and your selection will be waiting."

The car began to move again, but it was dark outside
now, and there were no streetlights.  Wherever he
was, it was deserted.  They drove for the hour
indicated, and then pulled into a covered drive.  
He could just make out the letters 'tel' on a sign,
before he was ordered to replace the blindfold.

In only his stocking feet, he was led into the building,
up a flight of stairs and down a corridor.  He was 
stopped at a door.  The blindfold was removed.  His
escort held out a key card, but Mulder stopped him.
"I want my toys."

"They're in the room, Sir," the man said as he swiped
the card.  He opened the door and ushered Mulder in.

Tommy sat in a chair by the wall, huddling into himself
and trying not to cry.  He wore a pair of too small 
underpants and a white T-shirt.  There were bruises on
his arms and legs.

His escort was speaking again, and Mulder turned back
to listen.  "The door will remain locked until 9:00 am
tomorrow morning.  At that time, someone will come for 
the boy, and to escort you back to, uh, to escort you,
Sir."  

Back to where? Mulder wondered.

"Should you need anything, the phone will connect you
directly to the concierge."  The man pointed to a white
phone on the wall by the sink.  "It is not an outside
line."  He indicated the small refrigerator.  "You are
welcome to anything from the mini-bar -- at no additional
expense, of course."

Mulder snorted.

"And should you require anything else," the man pointed
to Mulder's case, which was as promised, in the room 
on one of the beds, "you have only to call down and ask.
We have a variety of implements, tools, and toys available
to please the most discerning individual."

His stomach rolled.  If he had to listen to this man
one second longer, he was going to hurl.  Instead, he
smiled, and nodded at the door.  "Enough.  You can go.
I'll call if I want anything."

"9:00 am, Mr. Fox."

Mulder nodded.

End part 11/13

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 12/13

The door closed and the boy jumped, but he didn't move
from the seat.  Mulder took a moment to look around, 
noted the camera in the far corner, hidden in the 
ceiling.  He pulled the spread and blanket off one 
of the beds and carried them to the bathroom, then
carried the 'toy' chest in there as well.  

No camera in the bath meant that would be his base 
of operations.

But first, he had to convince the people watching that
everything was 'normal.'  Mulder snorted at the thought
and the boy jumped again.  Mulder closed his eyes and
shuddered, and hoped that the camera would interpret it
as his being too excited, and trying to get a grip on
himself -- so he could make it last.

He walked over to the chair where the boy sat and
reached out, ruffling the child's hair.  He made his
hand linger there in the blonde strands, as if he
enjoyed caressing them, then pulled back abruptly.
"Come with me, boy," he ordered, reaching out to 
take the child's hand.  "You need a bath."

The boy began to cry, and Mulder forced himself to 
reach and take the small wrist, then pull.  The boy
rose to his feet reluctantly and Mulder led him 
to the bathroom.  Once inside, he shut the door,
locked it, and released the boy who ran to the far
side of the surprisingly large room, and huddled 
on the floor against the wall.

Mulder got down on his hands and knees, trying to
make himself seem less huge to the child and crawled
forward.  Stopping far enough away that he couldn't
reach the boy, he hoped the boy would recognize that
he was respecting his space.

He reached over and started the water running in the
tub, hoping it would mask the sound of conversation
if there were audio pickups in the room.  The boy
stared in horror at the tub and began to cry even
harder.

"Tommy?" he whispered, and the boy looked up in
surprise.  "Hi, Tommy.  Are you cold?"  Mulder pushed 
the blanket to the boy, still keeping his distance.

The boy grabbed the blanket without speaking and
wrapped himself in it, covering himself so thoroughly
that only his eyes peeked out when he was done.

"Are you hungry, Tommy?" Mulder asked.

The boy didn't move, didn't answer.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"That's what the other man said."  Tommy sniffed, and
tried to push back further against the wall.

"I'm not like that man.  I'm really not going to hurt
you."

The boy didn't answer.

"Can you talk to me, Tommy?" Mulder tried again.

Blue eyes looked up at him for just a moment, then
skittered away.  "Do I hafta take a bath?"

"No," Mulder said immediately.

The boy nodded.  "I don't like the baths here."

"No more baths," Mulder promised.

"Are you hungry?"

This time, the boy nodded slightly.

Mulder spoke quietly.  "I'm going to go out to the
fridge and get you something to eat.  I'm going to
stand up, and then I'm going to walk out the door.
You can stay where you are, Tommy, okay?  You don't
have to come with me."

The boy nodded again.

"I'm going to shut the door, though, because there
are cameras out there, and I don't want them peeking
in at you.  Understand?"

Another nod.

"But, Tommy ..."  Mulder hated this.  He didn't want to
be giving this child any orders, any commands.  This
boy needed to be given control back over his body, his
life, but there was no way to avoid it.  "Tommy, please
don't lock the door when I leave."

Mulder saw the flash in the child's eyes and knew that
was just what he'd been thinking.

"If you lock the door, Tommy, and I can't get back in,
the other man will come.  We don't want that to happen,
do we, Tommy?"  He hated it.  He knew it sounded 
threatening, but the child simply couldn't lock the 
door.

Tommy didn't respond.

"We don't want the other man to be here, do we?" he 
repeated.

Tommy's head was down, his voice muffled in the blanket.
"Don't want you to be here," he muttered, and Mulder 
smiled.

"I know you don't," he said with as much compassion as 
he could.  "But I'm not going to hurt you.  You have
to believe me."  He rose slowly and backed away, 
unlocking the door, then opening it, he slipped out,
then closed it with a prayer.  'Please don't let him
lock it.'

He sauntered over to the fridge, pulled out just about
everything that was in there, and moved back to the 
door.  He wondered what his watchers thought of that.
Maybe a food kink?  Mulder shook his head and touched 
the knob, relieved beyond words when it turned and the
door opened.  He slipped in again, closed the door, 
locked it and then dropped everything on the counter.

The boy was watching with interest as he laid out 
packages of crackers, cookies, bread, chocolate bars,
box drinks and other goodies across the vanity.
Mulder sat back down on the floor, still far enough
away that he couldn't touch the boy, but close enough
that the boy would have to risk it if he wanted something
to eat.

"Go ahead, Tommy," he said quietly, "help yourself."

The boy stared hungrily at the food, but seemed wary
of coming so close to Mulder.

Mulder pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his 
arms around them.  "I'm *not* going to hurt you, Tommy."

The boy rose slowly, blanket hugged about himself, and
took one slow step after the other as he moved to the
vanity.  He stopped for a long moment just outside Mulder's
range, then took another step and froze.  He closed his 
eyes and tensed his body, and Mulder knew he was just
waiting for the blow, the attack that was not going
to come this time.  Mulder didn't move.  The boy waited,
then cracked one eye and peeked at Mulder.  Mulder
smiled and nodded at the food.  Tommy took another couple
of steps, studied the array of edibles gravely, then
took the crackers.  He turned back to Mulder, eyes
pleading, and Mulder nodded again.  " 's all right, Tommy,"
he said softly, "you can have it."

The boy turned and scuttled back to the wall, sliding
down to sit and ripping open the package with his 
teeth.  He inhaled the crackers.

Mulder reached up, grabbed the cookies, and slid them to
the boy, watching as those were torn open and devoured
as well.  He passed over a drink box next, and the little
hands shook as they fumbled with the straw.  Mulder
wanted to reach over and do it, but he forced himself
to wait.

The boy finished the box, then gathered up the wrappings 
and threw them in the trashcan that was next to him.
He sat for a long time, not speaking, just staring at 
the floor, and Mulder waited with him.  At last, the
child looked up and asked, "You're not going to hurt
me?"

"I promise, Tommy.  I'm not going to hurt you."

"What happened to your face?"

Mulder laughed.  Leave it to a kid to go straight to
the obvious.  Everyone else he'd met had been too
decorous to ask.  But then, $20,000.00 bought a lot
of decorum.

"I got beat up."

The boy nodded as if that was to be expected.  "Who 
are you?"

"My name's Fox."  It was why he'd chosen the alias he
had.  If anyone overheard the boy calling him Fox, it
would pass.

"Really?"  The boy seemed delighted by the name, and 
Mulder wondered at the indomitability of a child's
spirit.

"Really."

The boy smiled for a minute and whispered, "Fox," then
his face grew serious again.  "Why'd you come here, if
you don't want to hurt kids?"

"I came for you."

The boy's face paled and Mulder hastened to add, "To
take you home."

Tommy stared at him for a long time, his face utterly
devoid of any emotion.  "Nobody wants me."

"Who told you that?"

"The man.  My mom and dad died in a car crash.  I don't
have any other family 'cept an uncle I don't 'member.
He's way away in -- somewhere -- I don't 'member, an'
he's too busy to keep me."  The words were tumbling out
in a rush and there were tears falling with them.

This time, Mulder couldn't resist.  He slipped
forward, reached out slowly and pulled the boy onto
his lap, wrapping his arms around him.  He kept them
loose, so that the child could pull free if he wanted
to, but he didn't.  He buried his head against Mulder's
chest and cried.  

"Your mom and dad are not dead, Tommy.  They've been
looking for you ever since that bad man took you.  They've
searched and searched and searched for you.  And your
uncle is here, too -- all the way from Washington DC.
He's not too busy for you.  He cares about you too.
You have lots of people who care about you.  None of 
us want you to be hurt or to ever have to cry again."

"My mom and dad?  Aren't dead?"

Mulder shook his head.  "They're waiting for you to
come home.  They love you very much."

Little arms wrapped around his chest and the boy 
burrowed in further.  Mulder shifted once to a
more comfortable position, but he never let go of 
the frightened child in his arms.  "I'm taking
you home," he whispered into the soft hair that
nestled against him.  "I promise."

Now, if he could only keep that promise.

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

At 3:00 am, Mulder roused the boy.  "Tommy," he
said softly, "I need you to get up."

The boy nodded sleepily, but arose without complaint.

"I want you to sit back over there."  Mulder pointed 
at the far wall, where the child had first sat by
himself.  

"Why?"  The word slipped out in the middle of a yawn.

"Because it's time for us to go, and I have to do 
a few things first."

The boy nodded and slid down the wall, his blanket
still wrapped around him.

"I want you to stay in here, Tommy, okay?"

Another nod.

"I'm going to close the door again.  You stay in here,
no matter what you hear, understand?"

"Is there going to be a fight?"

"Probably," Mulder answered honestly.  "And I don't
want you to get hurt."

The boy shrugged.

"Tommy, this is important.  You have to stay in the
bathroom -- with the door shut.  Okay?"

"All right."  The words seemed pulled from the child
as if he didn't want to say them.

Mulder picked up a chocolate bar and passed it down to
the child, who snatched at it greedily.  " 's okay, 
buddy," he said gently, "you can have more."

"Can I have eggs when we go home?"

"You like eggs, eh?"

The boy nodded happily, munching on the candy bar.

"Scrambled eggs," he mumbled through a mouth full of
chocolate.

"Eggs it is then," Mulder said.  He had opened his 'toy'
chest, and was busy pulling out the cuffs and knives and
stashing them about his person.  Major problem -- no belt
meant nothing to hang the cuffs on, nothing to stuff the
knives into.  He settled on tucking the cuffs in the back
waistband of his sweat pants, and carried one knife in 
each hand.

He moved to the door, looked back at the child who was
once again huddled in fear against the wall, swallowed
hard, and said, "You.  Stay.  Here."  

He stepped into the other room, and lifted the phone.
"Come quickly," he said in an urgent voice.  "The boy
won't stop bleeding."

He hung up and moved to wait by the door and very soon,
there were footsteps in the hall.  He heard the door
click as the key card was swiped, and then it pushed
open.  Mulder drove the knife into the first man's
belly, pulling him forward onto the point and then 
dropping him to the carpet.  The second man swung hard,
catching Mulder's left cheek, and his head rocked back,
striking the wall.  He reached out, grappling with the
man, and finally pulled him in, managing to kick the
door shut behind him.  Hands were on his back, and 
he turned on his heel, ducking to miss the punch the
other man swung, but connecting hard with a blow to 
the man's chest.  The man 'whuffed' as he was hit, and
began to gasp for air.  

Mulder managed to get the cuffs on him, and get him 
gagged -- there were many useful gadgets in the 'toy'
chest -- before he had totally recovered.  

Mulder was staring down at him when he felt a sharp
pain in his calf.  The first man had pulled the knife
from his belly and implanted it deep in the muscle of
Mulder's leg.  He moaned and almost went down, fighting 
the man for control of the knife, then screamed silently
when the man wiggled it deeper.  He could feel the
blade scrape bone.  The pain was excruciating.

They grappled for control of the blade a few seconds
longer, and Mulder prevailed.  A swift kick to the 
temple and the man was out.  He lay bleeding on the 
floor and Mulder cuffed him mercilessly, pausing only 
long enough to remove the knife and add another gag.

He searched them both and came up with a cell phone
car keys, and a gun.  He took them all.  

He was bleeding -- the gashes on his forehead had 
pulled again and there was an open wound on the back 
of his head.  His leg hurt like a son of a bitch, and
it was bleeding way too heavily for him to feel okay 
about.  He was tired -- the adrenaline high was crashing 
fast and there was still a long way to go.

He had to get the boy out.  He was probably facing 
several more obstructions to that goal.  He would
need to find transportation and then figure out where
they were and get the hell out of Dodge.  They had 
to make it home, and he was already exhausted.

He moved to the bed and ripped a sheet, wrapping 
it round and round the wound on his leg.  Then
he limped to the bathroom door and called, "Tommy?
It's me, Fox.  I'm coming in now."

He stepped in and found the boy still huddled on the
floor, crying. "It's time to go, Tommy," Mulder said.

" 'm scared," the boy whispered so softly Mulder 
almost missed the words.

"I know, buddy," he replied, "but you gotta be brave
a little longer."  He reached down and took the boy's
hand, pulling him to his feet.  When the boy bent to
retrieve his blanket, Mulder had to say no.  "Leave it,
Tommy.  We've got to move fast and it will drag and
slow us down."

"I don't have any clothes," the boy protested.

" 's all right," Mulder said.  "It's just me."  He
looked the boy in the eyes.  "And I'm not going to
hurt you, remember?"

The boy nodded and let go of the corner of the blanket,
taking Mulder's hand.  Mulder moved to the door of the
room, saying, "Follow me, and stay close.  If we see 
someone else ..." He turned to look at the boy as he
placed his hand on the knob, "you get out of the way.
If I go down, you run.  Run and hide, Tommy.  Understand?"

The boy nodded gravely and Mulder opened the door, peeking
both ways into the corridor.  It was empty.  They made it 
to the stairwell and down the stairs before they met anyone.
There was one man, apparently standing guard at the bottom
of the stairs, and Mulder jammed the gun in his back before
he could move.  The man froze; Mulder dragged him back into
the stairwell, turned the gun in his hand, and slammed it
against the guy's skull.  He was out.  Tommy never made
a sound.

There was another man in the lobby.  He saw them and
pulled a gun, firing.  Mulder felt the bullet hit his 
left arm, but he threw the boy to the ground, and 
returned fire.  He was extremely grateful that he was
a better shot than his opponent for a little round
hole appeared in the other man's forehead and he dropped
like a stone.

The limo was out front, and the driver was coming now,
attracted by the shots.  Mulder fired again, missing, 
but forcing the man to take cover.  Mulder emptied his
chamber, then grabbed the boy and raced to the front
guard's body, scooping up his gun and firing again. 
Still pulling the boy, he made it to the limo, threw
the child inside and climbed in.  There were keys in 
the ignition, and he turned them thankfully, rewarded 
with the sound of the engine humming to life.  He threw 
the car into gear, punched the accelerator and took off.  
Gunshots ricocheted off the rear, but the car kept purring.

Mulder took off back down the road he'd come up, with
no idea of where he was or where he was going.

The boy was crying again, and Mulder reached over, 
gently touching his hand.  " 's okay, Tommy," he
said, his own voice ragged, his breathing uneven,
"put your seat belt on."

The boy seemed to find comfort in this mundane task,
and spent a couple of minutes finding the strap and
tugging it out, then working to fit it into the other
end until he finally heard a 'click.'  He looked up
at Mulder and smiled.

"Good job, buddy," Mulder said.  He lifted a hand
and wiped blood and sweat from his face.

"You're hurt," the boy said in concern.

"I'll be okay," Mulder replied, but he wondered how true
that was.  His leg was still bleeding.  His arm was
bleeding too, now, from the gunshot.  He had a new gash
on the back of his head and he was dizzy and nauseous,
both signs of concussion.  He was tired, his limbs 
trembled.  He didn't know where he was, or where
he was going, and he didn't know if he was being followed.

He looked over at Tommy.  The boy had the cell phone in
his hand.  It must have fallen from his pocket when he
climbed in the car.

"Can we call my mom?" the child asked plaintively.

Mulder smiled.  "You bet, buddy.  You bet."

End part 12/13

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 13/13

Scully was pacing frantically.  "How the hell did we 
lose him?"  She turned on Skinner again.  "You said
we weren't going to lose him!"  The accusation rang
loud in the small room.

"I said we would do our best not to lose him," Skinner
answered calmly, though the hand running over his head
belied his own anxiety.  "I had fifteen vehicles out 
there.  I just didn't expect him to jump out of the
cab and run down those steps."  Skinner stepped to the
window and stared out.  "Stupid, stupid, stupid ..."

The pain in the AD's voice caught Scully and she turned
to him, moving to stand by his side and lay her hand 
on his arm.  "I'm sorry.  I know you're worried, too.
And it wasn't stupid, Walter," she said softly.  "You 
did the best you could."

"Wasn't enough," the big man grunted.

"It still wasn't your fault.  We made the mistake of
thinking we'd tamed the 'Fox' when he came to us and
talked about how things would go down."  She laughed
softly.  "We should both know by now, there is nothing
tameable about that man."  She moved away, sitting at
the little table and looking up at the AD.  "Any
action in one direction -- his discussion with us --
is bound to result in a reaction in a completely 
different direction -- his taking off on his own again."
She shrugged.  "Guess we just have to have faith."

"And do what?"  Skinner still stared forlornly out
the window.

"We wait."

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

The briefing room was quiet.  There were still people
in the station house, but most of them had tried to 
find a quiet corner to sleep, while they waited.

Scully still sat at the table in the interrogation
room.  Skinner kept her supplied with coffee, and
had even found a blanket to wrap around her when he
noticed a shiver.  She had smiled a thank you at 
him.

The waiting was the hardest.  With no idea where
Mulder was, no way to contact him, there was nothing
to do but wait.

And Skinner wasn't very good at waiting.

He'd been barking orders all night -- chasing people
out on specious tasks, demanding reports he couldn't
focus on, reviewing evidence he'd reviewed a dozen
times.

The only thing he hadn't done was call Lynne and Tom
and tell them what was going on.  He was waiting for
good news before he made that call.  

He was standing at the white board, reviewing the teams
again, when Scully slipped in silently.  It was 4:30 in
the morning.  She'd apparently washed her face several
times through the night, and devoid of makeup, she looked
years younger.  He was reminded of the bright new agent
he'd first met when he was first assigned the X-Files.  
She stood beside him for a long moment, then reached out 
and laid her hand on his arm.  "Come and sit with me, 
Walter," she said softly.  "I'm tired of waiting alone."

The last thing he wanted to do was sit, but how could he
say no?  He nodded and was following her to the small
interrogation room, when his cell phone rang.

He paused, holding up one finger to halt her, and said,
"Skinner."

The voice on the other end was shaky, and hoarse with
exhaustion.  Skinner could hear the sound of tires on
asphalt through an open window.  "Sir?" Mulder said.
"I can't believe I finally got a signal."

"Where are you, Mulder?" Skinner demanded, smiling hugely
at Scully as she turned to look at him, her own face
lighting up.  "Are you all right?   Do you have the boy?"

"One little boy, safe and sound, sleeping in the seat
next to me," Mulder said.  "Don't know where I am."

Skinner heard the weariness in the man's voice.  "It's
all right, Mulder.  We can find you.  What's the cell
phone number?"  

He heard fumbling and then the sound of the car going
off the road before the smooth sound of rubber on pavement
resumed and Mulder's voice was back.  He rattled off a
number.

Skinner repeated it to Scully who took off to get the 
tech-wizards at work on locating the signal.  "Really
tired, Walter," Mulder mumbled into the phone, and Skinner
heard the car go off the road again.  It took longer
before the smoother sounds returned this time.  "Opened
the window to keep myself awake."

"Mulder, talk to me," Skinner ordered.  "Tell me what's
going on."

No answer but the steady thump, thump, thump of the wheels.

"How long have you been driving?"

"Hmmmm?  Oh, about an hour."

"What can you see?"

"Not much."  Mulder's voice was slightly clearer now, and
Skinner wanted to keep him talking.

"Describe it.  Tell me what you see."

" 's dark.  Flat land, no lights.  No houses.  Scrubby
brush."

"Have you seen any houses?  Road signs?"

There was a long silence.  "I didn't think about road
signs."  Another pause.  "Sir?  I'm not thinking real
clear."

From Mulder, this was an admission that he was either
very badly hurt or thoroughly exhausted.  Or both.  
"It's all right, Mulder," Skinner said calmly, though 
he felt anything but calm.  "Scully's tracking you.  
She'll find you and we'll come and get you."

"I killed two people.  Maybe three."

"It's all right, Mulder," Skinner repeated.  "We'll sort
it out when we get you back."

"You mad at me?"  Mulder's voice was stronger again, 
curious, but not concerned about the answer.

"Damn straight I am," Skinner snapped back, and was
rewarded with a solid-sounding Mulderlaugh.

Scully rushed back in.  "Mexico," she said breathlessly.
"He's in fucking Mexico."

Skinner shook his head in disbelief.  "Mulder, you still
with me?"

"Still here, Sir."  He was fading again.

"We're coming."  He thrust the phone at Scully.  "Talk 
to him.  I've got calls to make."

"Hey, partner," Scully said softly into the phone.

"Scully!"  Mulder perked up.  "That really you?"

"No one else."  She smiled as she spoke, knowing he
would hear it in her voice.  "You doing okay?"

"Head hurts," he said quietly.  "Got a couple other
bangs, too."

"You're doing great, Mulder," she said to encourage 
him.  "Skinner said you got Tommy."

"Only one there.  Couldn't find the other boys."

"That's okay, Mulder," she said, "we'll find them.  We'll
get them all."

"Sweet kid, Tommy," Mulder mumbled.  "Bruises all over
him, though."

"Did they ...?" she couldn't bring herself to ask the
question.

"I didn't ask.  But he didn't want to be touched."  Mulder
took a deep breath.  "I didn't want to know."

"It's all right, Mulder.  You got him out.  He's alive.
He's got his mom and dad and he'll be a survivor."

"They told him his folks were dead."

"Poor kid."

"Yeah.  He even knew about Walter.  Said they told him
his uncle was too busy to keep him."

Scully chuckled.  "Guess he'll be surprised to actually
meet old Uncle Walter ..."

Skinner stalked up hurriedly.  "Let's move," he said, 
taking Scully's arm as he led her toward the front 
of the station house and out the door.  

"Where are we going?"

"Airport," the AD said shortly.  "I've got choppers on
stand-by, including a medical unit.  Tom and Lynne
are meeting us there."

"You hear that, Mulder?" Scully asked into the phone.
"We're coming to get you."

"Sounds like a plan to me, Scully.  I'll just keep
driving til you get here, okay?"

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

There were lights in the distance, and as he watched
they grew bigger and brighter.  The cell phone had
died and he missed the sound of Scully's voice.  To 
be honest, he missed the sound of Walter's voice, too.
They had taken turns talking to him, helping him 
stay awake, reminding him that they were coming and
he wasn't alone.

His head throbbed and he was so dizzy.  It was getting
harder and harder to stay on the road.  He couldn't 
see straight, his vision was blurry, and the road 
just seemed to stretch on forever into an empty
nothingness.  

He glanced over to his side.  The boy was still
sleeping.  His legs were curled up under him and he
leaned against the door.  He looked cold in just his
underwear and T-shirt, but Mulder didn't have anything
to wrap him in and he needed to keep the window down
or he knew he would fall asleep again.

There was a loud roaring sound filling his ears now,
and he looked again at the lights.  They were much
bigger, and closer, and it looked like they were landing
on the road in front of him.  He jerked the wheel to
the left, driving across the blacktop and onto the 
flat, sandy ground beyond.  He hit the brakes which
squealed and slid within mile.  This triggered the air 
bag.  Before he was aware of what was happening, he'd 
been smacked in the face with the air bag, and shoved 
back hard in the seat, cracking his head against the 
headrest.

He sat there, stunned.  He could hear Tommy crying, and he
wanted to say something, but his mouth didn't seem to want
to work anymore.  He tasted blood.  He heard Tommy cry, 
"Mom!" and smiled to himself.  He'd gotten the boy
home.  He could rest now.  

He heard voices calling him, a deep baritone fraught with
concern, and Scully's so sweet alto, but he was so tired
all he wanted to do was sleep.  He closed his eyes, let
his head slide back again, and drifted away.

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

"Has he woken up again?"  Skinner stepped in the room 
and sat in the hard chair scavenged from who knew where.
Scully had claim on the padded chair, as she had not
left the room for two days.  They both watched the man 
in the bed sleep.

"Just a few times, but he's groggy and I don't think
he remembers it."

"He did great," Skinner said.

"You have to tell him.  He doesn't hear it enough."

"I try to.  I realized back on the Emerson case that 
he didn't hear it enough.  I've tried to make sure he
knows that all his gifts are appreciated, not just his
talent for profiling."  Skinner sighed as he spoke.

"He's a good agent," Scully added.

"The best," Skinner agreed.

"They find the motel?"

Skinner nodded.  "The Mexican officials have been very
cooperative.  Found a ranch about an hour away from the
motel, where the rest of the boys were being held."

"How many?" she asked.

"Fourteen there."  He shook his head sadly.  "There were
twenty-two pictures in the book, though, so we don't know
if the others are dead, or if there's another place.  We're
pursuing it jointly with the Mexican authorities."

They sat in companionable silence, then he said, "Everett
got away."

"Mulder won't like that."

"He wasn't there when the task force got there.  No adults.
Just the kids."  Skinner sighed again and pinched the bridge 
of his nose.  "I got the report back on the tie -- purchased
by one Charles Everett.  We even got a local address, but he
was gone."

"Maybe we can use it later -- to track him."  

Skinner nodded and stretched his legs out.  It was 
comfortable -- not the chair, or the fact that Mulder
was so out of it in the hospital bed -- but being here
with Scully.  They were both tired, but there was 
still a comfortable companionship to their back and 
forth conversation.  It was something he wouldn't 
have had a few years ago, and he valued it.  "Got 
the partials back off Mulder's gun, too," he offered.

"The assault?  Who was it?"

"Matthews."

Scully snorted.  "Why am I not surprised?"  She looked
over at the bed, sighing.  "How does he manage to piss
so many people off, just by breathing?"

Skinner gave a little laugh.  "My guess would be practice.
Years and years of practice."

Scully laughed too, then sobered.  "What did you do?  I
mean, the guy was an asshole, but in the end he did
confirm what Mulder expected, helped us get a feel for
what to expect."

"Only because he had to."  Skinner shifted in the chair,
crossing one ankle over the other.  "Still, from what I
have been able to determine, he's a good man, a good
cop -- when he's not pissed off by our boy there."  He
nodded at the bed.  "I held the report.  I'm going to 
let Mulder decide what to do."

"He won't push it."

Skinner shrugged.  "Still, it's his call."

They sat in silence a bit longer.  This time, it was 
Scully who spoke.  "How's Tommy?"

"He's good.  Glad to be home with his folks.  I think
he was glad to meet me.  He said Mulder told him I'd 
come from Washington to find him."  Skinner smiled.
"The little guy seemed impressed with that."

"It's impressive," Scully said quietly.  "Glad he's 
mature enough to realize it."  She paused, then asked
delicately, "Was he ...?"

Skinner scowled, answer enough.

"Oh," she said.

"They've got a counselor -- someone good who came highly
recommended."

"He's a strong kid. He's got people who love him.  He'll
survive."

"How about Mulder?" Skinner asked, deflecting the topic.

"He'll survive, too."

"Physically, yes.  Psychologically?"

Scully nodded.  "He's also got people who love him.  And 
we already know he's a survivor."

"Did he ever talk any more about his dad?  About what
happened when he was a kid?"

Scully shook her head.  "I never pushed.  This case was
hard enough on him without dredging all that up.  I've
suspected for some time he had issues along those lines,
but I've never pushed it."

"I don't like doing this to him.  He got out of VCS for
more reasons than just to work the X-Files.  I didn't
realize that for a long time."

"He can do it when he has the support."

The man on the bed moaned softly and shifted under the
sheet and they both turned to watch him.

"He's got that -- my support," Skinner said at last.

"He knows it, Sir," Scully replied.  "We both do."

"I wish I could do more."

"You do all you can at work."  She looked at the older
man, noted the lines on his face and pinched look of
exhaustion around his mouth.  "And you're our friend."
She reached out, taking his hand.  "We value that."

Skinner squeezed her hand gently.  "So do I."  He held
her hand a moment longer, then released it, clearing
his throat.  "You know I would give anything to never see
either one of you in a hospital bed again."

Scully nodded.  "We know."  She rose and went to stand
by the bed, lifting Mulder's hand in her own.  

Skinner rose as well.  "I've got to go back to the 
station.  Reports."

" 's okay, Walter.  I understand."

He stepped over and touched her, waiting until she 
turned to look up at him, then he pulled her into a
hug.  "You all right here, Dana?" he asked softly.

She lay her head against the stiff cotton of his 
shirt, resting against his strength and support.  Then 
she pulled away and looked back at the man in the bed. 
 
"I'm all right wherever he is."

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

There was beeping.  Why was there always beeping when he
woke up?  He took a deep breath.  Hospital.  That was why
there was beeping.  He'd done it again.  

He opened one eye and peeked out to a mane of red hair
and beautiful blue eyes looking down at him.

"Hey, you," Scully said softly.

"Hey, yourself," he replied.

She reached out and stroked his cheek and he leaned 
hungrily into her touch.

"You got shot."  

He couldn't decide if she was mad or worried or both,
so he said, "I'm sorry," and she laughed.

"Oh, Mulder ... what am I going to do with you?"

"Take me home?"

He reached out and took her hand, bringing it to his
lips and placing a chaste kiss in her palm.

"You just woke up and already you want to go home."

"I just don't want to be away from you."

Her eyes filled with tears and she pulled away from 
him.  "You ditched us, Mulder," she accused.

"I talked to you first."

"You didn't tell us we wouldn't be able to follow
you."

"I wasn't sure."  He reached out, calling, "Scully,
please, don't be mad."

She couldn't resist the entreaty in his voice and
she returned to his side, taking his hand in both
of hers.  She lowered the bed rail, and he scooted
over accommodatingly as she hopped up to sit beside
him.

She held his hand in her lap, and reached out to 
gently touch his wounds.

"One," she whispered as she touched the knife wound
on his leg.

"Two," as she slid her hand carefully over the 
gauze covering the whip marks.

"Three," accompanied the soft stroke of his arm.

"Four," was a tender brush of her lips against his
chest, badly bruised from the air bag.

"Five," and a hand stroked his brow, nimble fingers
dancing over the stitches there.

"Six," as the hand ran through his hair, carefully
avoiding the oh-so-tender spot beneath the bandage 
on the back of his head.

"Seven," she said softly, bringing his hand up to 
touch her own heart.  

His eyes filled with tears.  "I'm sorry, Scully, I'm
so sorry."

"I didn't know if I'd ever see you again," she said.
"I wondered if you knew, if you really, really knew."

He held his hand against her heart, feeling the beats
as she spoke.  Her eyes were still full, the tears
threatening to spill over at any moment.

"Knew what?"

"How much I love you."  She stared into his face, her
mouth pursed, her eyes worried behind the shimmer of 
tears.  "Do you know how much I love you?  Do I tell you
enough?  Do I show you?  Mulder, if I were gone today,
have I loved you enough?"

"Oh, God, Scully," he groaned, pulling her down to
lie against his chest.  "Yes, yes, a thousand times
yes!"

"All we have is now, Mulder," she whispered, her words
muffled against his chest.  "Because of who we are and
what we do, all we have is now."  He could feel the 
tears start as the hospital gown grew suddenly damp
beneath her.

"I'll take now," he murmured into her hair.  "As long as
it's with you."

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

The End of Part 1 of The Everett Case
Look for the exciting conclusion in the months to come!


From: daydream59@aol.com
Date: 22 Oct 2002 22:13:10 -0700
Subject: xfc: NEW: Profiles in Caring: Everett Case 00 of 13 by Daydreamer
Source: atxc

Title: Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 00/13
Author: Daydreamer
Author E-mail: Daydream59@aol.com
Rating: NC-17 for language, graphic violence, 
        and disturbing imagery 
Category: SAR, Profiler!Mulder 
Spoilers: none
Keywords: M/Sc/Sk friendship, MSR - established
Archive: Yes, please.
Feedback: Yes!  Please! 

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner are owned by 
Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television 
Network, etc.  They are wonderfully brought to life 
by David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and Mitch Pileggi. 
I will make no profit from this, and neither will Fox 
if they sue me, for I am poor and have nothing material 
they can profit from. 

Comments: Check out my web page, Daydreamer's Den
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/2113 

Summary:  To find and rescue Skinner's nephew, Mulder
faces the hardest challenge of his career -- entering
the mind of a pedophile.

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 00/13

OK, folks -- this is the WARNING.  Don't skip over this
and rush right into the story -- you may be sorry.  

I've done it again.  

This is a dreadfully dark and intense story, much more so
than even my other tales.  This case involves pedophilia 
-- sexual exploitation of children.  This story has the 
potential to be very disturbing. The heading clearly says 
"graphic violence and disturbing imagery."  I do realize, 
however, that sometimes that is not enough.  It's very 
easy to fall into a habit of skimming the disclaimer and 
jumping right into the story. 

People do just that, and then they find themselves 
somewhere they don't want to be.  Upset, distressed,
sick, disgusted.  Choose your own reaction.  

To protect those of you who don't want to be exposed to
this topic, I've added this additional warning.  I have 
taken every step I can to make it clear to you that 
this story has the potential to be extremely 
distressing to some folks.  I've done all I can to be 
up front and open about the content, despite the fact 
that I dislike revealing the course of the story before 
you even read it. 

So, if you choose to read The Everett Case:
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. 

In other words, if you don't like it, or it upsets you, or you 
find it disturbing and have nightmares, PLEASE, do not
feel you need to share this with me. I have no desire to 
receive such feedback, and your reactions, if negative, after
the warnings and disclaimers I have posted, are your own
responsibility. 

Sincerely, 

Daydreamer

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 01/13

The door opened and someone entered.  He didn't look 
up.  He knew it would be Kim.  She was the only one 
who would enter without knocking.  He finished the 
note he was writing on a yellow post-it, stuck it on 
the cold file he'd been reviewing, and tossed the 
whole thing into the out basket.  Then he looked up 
and rose, moving toward the door where she stood.  
"What is it?" he asked, working to keep his voice 
pleasant.  Kim didn't interrupt without good reason, 
so there was no point in being annoyed with her.

"I have a woman on the phone, Sir," she began.  "She
insists on talking with you."

"Did she say why?"  Skinner wrinkled his brow as he 
studied his secretary.  She was agitated and it was
out of character for her to bring something like 
this to him.  She handled all his calls and she was 
damn good at it.  He could count on one hand the 
number of times someone had gotten past her to his
direct line without him knowing about it.

"She says it's -- she's -- your sister-in-law."

Skinner's eyes widened behind his lenses.  "Lynne?"
One hand came up to rub his chin speculatively.  "God,
I haven't seen or heard from Lynne and Tom since ..." 
his hand moved up from his chin to scrub at his face, 
"...since Sharon's funeral."  He looked at Kim.  "We
didn't part well.  Sharon's family -- well, they blamed 
me."  Skinner's shoulders slumped.  "Rightfully so," 
he added quietly.

"Oh, no, Sir -- it wasn't ..."  She paused, not sure if 
she should go on.  "Anyway, she's really upset, Sir."  
Kim was even more agitated, wringing her hands nervously.  
"Insisted only you could help her."  It was Kim's turn 
to drop her eyes.  "She wouldn't tell me what it was 
about."

Skinner reached out absently, patting his secretary
on the shoulder.  "It's all right, Kim.  Just put her
through."  He watched his efficient secretary exit
and by the time he returned to his desk and sat, his
line was beeping.  He swallowed hard and picked up the 
phone, forcing a welcome note into his voice.  "Lynne, 
hello!  What a surprise!"

"Walter!"  The woman's voice was breaking, ragged from 
tension and tears.  "Tommy's missing."

"Tommy?  The baby?"  Skinner found himself trying to 
figure out how old his nephew would be now.  He was,
what? two? when Sharon died?  Six years ago?  

"He's eight, Walter.  Only eight."  A sob came through 
the line.  

One sob turned to many, and he was at a loss.  Why was 
she calling him?  He didn't do missing children.  But
he was FBI, and this was family.  Albeit a stretch, this 
was still his family.  And they must be desperate to be 
willing to reach out to him.  "Lynne?" he asked gently.  
"Lynne?  What can I do?"

He could hear murmuring in the background, the phone was 
put down and sounds of feet shuffling and soft sobs 
echoed over the line.  He waited patiently, hoping
someone would pick up the phone and tell him what was
going on.  "Hello?"  His voice was loud in his own ears.
Hopefully someone on the other end of the phone could
hear him.

His patience was rewarded when a male voice spoke.
"Walter?  This is Tom.  Look, I know we haven't kept
in touch, and, uh, well, the family was pretty shitty
to you at the funeral ..."

"Tom," Skinner interrupted, "it doesn't matter.  What
happened to the baby?"  He revised his mental image
of the nephew who was still in diapers the last time
he saw him.  "To Tommy?"

"Oh, God, Walter ..." the man groaned.  In some ways,
the man's grief was worse than the woman's.  Women
were supposed to cry, men just soldiered on.  But the
pain in his brother-in-law's voice was palpable. 
"The local police are here.  The Postal Inspectors. 
And then they called in the FBI -- and I thought of 
you."

"Tom, listen to me.  Tom?" 

"Yeah, uh, Walter ..." A strangled sob came over the 
line.  "Our neighbor.  Two doors down.  Walter ..."
There was a deep breath, another groan.  "He had pictures,
Walter.  Pictures of Tommy."

Skinner's heart was in his throat.  "Jesus, Tom."  
Skinner rubbed his face, pacing.  "All right.  Let me 
think a minute."

"Walter," the man's voice was urgent, insistent, pleading.
"You have to help us.  You *have* to find him."

"Of course."  Skinner didn't hesitate.  "I'm coming."
He looked at his watch.  "I'll be there as fast as I 
can."  He looked up to see Kim standing in the doorway.
Behind her, he could see Mulder and Scully.  He smiled 
at the woman, lifted three fingers knowing she would 
make three plane reservations, and beckoned his agents 
in.  

"Tom?" he spoke again to the man on the phone.  "Tell
Lynne I'm coming."  He looked at Mulder, waiting 
patiently to be called into the AD's office, and waved
the man forward.  "Tell her I'm bringing the best man 
in the country.  If anyone can find Tommy, he will."

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

There was another groan.  Scully left her place
at the conference table and raced to her partner,
holding him as he leaned over the wastebasket and
retched yet again.  Skinner looked at the clock.  It
was after midnight.  The fax in his office and the 
one in Kim's were still spitting out paper.  Arrest 
documents, surveillance notes, interview transcripts, 
witness statements, and -- pictures.  It was the 
seemingly unending stream of pictures that was 
affecting his agent the most.  

Scrupulous as ever in reviewing all available data on
a case, Mulder had read through all the information as
it arrived, and was now carefully matching the pictures 
to the cases.  Some of the pictures were normal.  School
photos, baseball and soccer portraits.  Some of the
pictures were uncomfortable.  Young boys, with scared, 
frozen looks on their faces, posed in just a T-shirt, 
or a pair of underpants, or a swimsuit.  And some were --
unbearable.  It was this last category that had Mulder 
bent over the trashcan, reeling from the sight. 

Mulder finished heaving and Scully took the can, removing
the clear plastic liner, tying it off, and handing it to
Skinner.  She put another liner in the can, then accepted
the soda Skinner passed her, and took both back to her
partner.  She looked at the AD as he carefully double- 
bagged the liner and set it to one side to take down to
the custodian's area.  It was a trip he'd already made
four times, and their pattern of dealing with Mulder's
reaction had become routine.

Now she would pass Mulder the soda and he would refuse.
She would insist he get up and go to the bathroom,
at least rinse his mouth, and he would refuse.  Skinner
would growl, a wordless sound that nonetheless had the
ability to make Mulder finally rise and stumble off 
to the bathroom, slamming the door angrily.  If they
were lucky, they'd hear only the water running and
the toilet flushing.  If luck was against them, there
would be the sound of more dry heaves and Mulder would
eventually emerge, pale and shaking.

This time they were lucky.  Water ran, the toilet flushed, 
the water ran again as he washed his hands.  Then Mulder 
came back out, head down, the back of one hand swiping 
across his mouth.  

Scully went to him, her arm going around his waist as 
she steered him away from the piles of paper and over
toward the sofa.  He pulled away from her when he
realized where they were going, but Skinner was suddenly
there, an immovable object in the path of Mulder's 
less than steady self.  "Take a few minutes, Mulder,"
he said quietly, urging the younger man to go with
his partner and sit.  

Mulder stared up at the AD and Skinner could see the
indecision in his face as he weighed the choices of
sitting as he'd been ordered, or trying to force his
way back to the table, and back to the horrors he was
trying to comprehend.  Sitting won.

Exhausted, he took a step back, stumbled slightly, then
leaned heavily on Scully as she wrapped an arm around 
him, leading him to the couch.  He sat wearily, flopping
down with legs spread, elbows on knees, head cradled 
in his hands as he stared at the floor. Scully perched
next to him, murmuring softly and rubbing his back in
little circles.  

Skinner studied the man critically.  Less than 8 hours
into the case, and he was already exhausted.  Profiling
did that to him -- it sapped the life out of him.  It
was a large part of why he wasn't in VCS anymore -- he
simply couldn't bear the strain of the work.  Mulder 
took everything so personally.  He'd never been able
to distance himself the way others could.  Every victim
was someone Mulder knew, someone he cared for, someone
he loved.  He took them all into his heart, cared for 
them, sweated over them, and then died a thousand deaths
for every moment of pain or torment they went through.
Mulder wore guilt the way most people woke up in the
morning -- it was a painful necessity that had to be
lived with daily.

He looked up at Skinner.  "I think we need to look
at deaths of boys fitting this profile.  Young.  Eight
to eleven.  Physically immature.  No body hair or other
signs of puberty.  And," he paused a moment, mentally 
reviewing the pictures, "they're all fair skinned, 
aren't they?"

Skinner scanned the pictures, then looked at Mulder and
nodded.  "From what we have so far, yes." 

"So the question is, do we have any young John Does 
like that out there?"

Skinner nodded at Scully and she moved to the phone to
make the call.  The California people had been very
cooperative in meeting their requests all night.  

Skinner was feeling more than a little guilt himself
right now.  As he watched Mulder lift himself from the
couch, rising to move back to the table, he spoke.
"You don't have to do this, Mulder.  I don't have any
official status here -- I have no right to just draft
you into this."

Mulder paused and turned tired eyes his way.  He reached
out and touched Skinner's arm briefly.  "He's your nephew.
Family.  Of course you have the right."  He straightened
himself up, squaring his shoulders and lifting his head.
"I'm all right, Sir.  It's just -- well, it's late and
I'm a little tired."  The younger man shrugged.  "I'll
be okay."

Skinner looked at the clock again.  Almost 1:00.  Their 
flight was in less than 6 hours.  "Why don't you go home
and get some sleep?  We can work on this --" he gestured
at the expanse of papers littering the large conference
table, "on the plane." 

Mulder shook his head stubbornly.  "We can't wait."  The
fax beeped three times, and began to spew forth more 
photos.  Mulder waved at it as he grabbed up a picture
of a young boy, nude and obviously in distress, beneath
a heavy man.  He winced, lowering his eyes to stare at
the floor as he passed it to Skinner.  "That's Jack 
Potter.  Age 11.  Missing for 2 months.  Parents are 
divorced.  One sister -- she lives with the mom."

Skinner paled as he looked at the picture, then laid it
on the pile with the other material related to Jack Potter.
The photos they'd been sent of his nephew had been 
relatively innocuous compared to that.  Nothing completely
nude, nothing with anyone else.  Just one scared little
8-year-old boy, wearing only his underpants, and staring 
with large eyes into the lens of a camera.  And still
Skinner's stomach turned when he thought of someone ...
doing ... touching ...  He shook his head and growled,
an angry, wounded sound that seemed torn from his throat.

"He's your nephew, Sir," Mulder said as he met Skinner's
eyes.  "You have every right."  He went to the fax and 
pulled off several more photos, then stepped to the table.
"And we need to do this now, Sir."  Mulder waved the new
photos in the air.  "We can't very well be looking at 
these on the plane."

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

Mulder was asleep.  Scrunched up in the window seat,
his head resting against a pillow on the bulkhead, he
had finally given in and drifted off to sleep.  Scully
sat in the middle seat, and Skinner, by virtue of legs
even longer than Mulder's had been granted the aisle.

"Why is he so tired already, Scully?  I know it was
a long day, but still.  He looks like he's been at it 
for 12 days instead of 12 hours."  Skinner squirmed in
the too small seat, and stretched his legs out into
the aisle for a moment.

"It's the nature of the case, Sir."  She looked over
at her partner with concern.  "You know, probably
better than anyone, why he left VCS.  He has an even
harder time with the sex cases than the murders.  And 
he hates anything involving kids.  This is all of them:
sex, murder, kids.  It's just -- too hard for him to 
crawl around in the sewers of these perverts' minds, 
and still hold onto who he is."  She met Skinner's gaze.  
"And he's definitely worth holding onto."

Skinner nodded in agreement, then frowned.  "I shouldn't
have asked him ...  Scully, what if this is too much?
What if this is the one that pushes him too far?"

She touched his arm, blue eyes locked with brown.  "It 
won't be.  We won't let it be.  You and I, we can keep 
him together."  She sighed.  "I'm not saying it will 
be easy."  She looked at Mulder again, then back at 
Skinner.  "He won't make it easy.  You watch -- he 
won't eat, won't sleep, he won't want to talk to us, 
won't want to let us help.  But we have to.  Between 
the two of us, we have to make him let us help."

Skinner nodded grimly.  "I understand.  But you know, 
you're better at that than I am.  I don't mean to, but 
I know I always come across like I'm angry with him."  One 
hand came up to scrub at his head.  "I can't deny it, 
this one is important to me.  It was important enough 
that I went to the Director to get in on it.  The Postal 
Inspectors had the ball, but I'm running the play now."

"You called in some serious favors, Sir, to get this taken 
from another agency."

"It's family, Scully.  God knows I don't have enough of
it.  I need to take care of what I do have, however
tenuous the connection."

"It's gonna cause some resentment."

"They'll get over it, or they'll get out."  Skinner
shrugged.  "Either way, I'm running this show.  Which
means ..."

"Which means," interjected a weary voice from the left,
"that for a change, maybe people will listen to me and
not waste valuable time questioning everything I have
to say."

"Mulder," Scully scolded gently, "you're supposed to be
sleeping."
                                                                              
                                                                              
                                                                              
                  Mulder shifted his head to the left, then right, one 
hand rising to knead at a tense muscle as he rolled his 
shoulders.  "Not real conducive for sleeping, Scully," 
he replied.  "And, Sir, I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"You know you've got that, Mulder, and anything else
you need.  It may be my show, but you're in the spotlight.
I'm just the mouthpiece.  I assure you, the words will 
be yours.  Whatever you need to find Tommy ..."

Mulder nodded, waving the words away.  "I'll do my best,
Sir, but we all know time is critical.  We're already
pushing the first 48 hours ..."

The attendant approached and apologized for interrupting.
"We'll be serving a meal shortly.  We have chicken, 
beef, or a vegetarian lasagna."

"Beef."  Skinner picked up the air phone as he spoke.  
"I'm going to check in with the team," he said, running 
his credit card through the slot to get a signal.

"Chicken," said Scully.  

Mulder just shook his head.  

"You have to eat, Mulder."  Scully took his arm, 
soothing him even as she insisted.

"I can't, Scully."  

The words were spoken so softly, Scully thought Skinner
had missed them, but the AD turned immediately and 
growled, "Try."  

He stared at the younger man until Mulder choked out
"Chicken," and then returned to his call.

Mulder turned away, staring out the window and shrugging
off Scully's touch.  She sighed and settled back in her
seat, waiting for Skinner to get off the phone.  

"Two bodies, Mulder," the AD said as he replaced the
air phone.  "They've got two unidentified boys in the
morgue now who meet your description.  Both John Does,
both unclaimed."

"How did they die?"

Skinner looked around, then lowered his voice.  "It
wasn't pretty.  Both were beaten to death."

"Sexual assault?"

"Yeah."

"Beaten?  With fists?"  Mulder's eyes were closed as he
leaned against the window, and his long, elegant fingers
fisted and unfisted monotonously in his lap.  

Skinner cleared his throat as he looked at Mulder's hands.  
"Fists, yes, but ... Fuck!"  He looked around again, 
worried about his involuntary explosion, but no one was 
looking their way.  "Not just fists, Mulder."

Mulder opened his eyes, looking first at Scully, then
settling his gaze on Skinner.  "Whips?"

Skinner nodded.

"And other -- implements?"

Again, the AD nodded.

Mulder winced.

"There was old bruising as well, old marks?"

"Yeah.  How'd you know there would be deaths?"

Mulder shrugged.  "Too many kids missing for this
to be one pervert who falls in love with one unlucky
kid.  Jack Potter, the Collins boy, Dennis Jenkins,
TJ Anderson, as well as your nephew.  And those are 
the ones we know about.  This is going to be bigger -- 
a whole group.  A -- dare I say it -- conspiracy."  
He gave a sardonic almost-smile.

The attendant came up the aisle just then, pushing
a cart and serving others.  As he reached them, Scully
and Skinner lowered their trays.  At another growl
from Skinner, Mulder lowered his as well.

"You need to eat, Mulder," Scully said again.  "I know
airline food isn't the greatest, but you will wear 
yourself out if you don't sleep and eat."

Mulder picked at his food, pushing the peas around
in a circle and poking the chicken with his fork. 
"I know," he whispered.  "It's just, I can see it all,
Scully.  It's there, right behind my eyelids if I shut
my eyes, or just in front of me if they're open.  It 
makes me sick.  The last thing I want to do is eat."

Skinner grunted this time, a wordless sound of 
understanding.  There was the sound of plastic crackling
and then the AD passed over two crackers.  "Here.
You should be able to keep this down."  Skinner lifted
Scully's crackers as well and passed them to his agent.
He leaned over Scully and took Mulder's plate, then raised
the tray, giving his agent back what little legroom
there was.  "But when we land, Mulder, I want to 
see you eat a real meal.  Your choice, whatever you
think you can keep down, but a real meal.  Understood?"

Mulder nodded.  "Soup.  I might be able to eat some
soup."  He nibbled at a cracker, then pushed the whole
thing in his mouth, chewed twice, and swallowed.  "And
some more crackers.  I can do crackers."

"Whatever you want, Mulder," Skinner reaffirmed.  "But
you've got Scully and I watching you -- caring for 
you -- and you are going to eat, and you are going to
sleep.  I'm not going to see you fall apart on this."

"It doesn't matter," Mulder murmured, looking out the
window again.  "We just need to find these boys."

Skinner reached past Scully, touching Mulder for the
barest of moments, drawing Mulder's eyes to his own.
"It *does* matter.  You're important, too, Mulder, 
and you've got two people who aren't going to forget
that."

Mulder held Skinner's gaze, then nodded.  Scully's
hand had crept into his, and he felt her squeeze -- her
own agreement with the AD's words.  Her promise that
she was watching out for him.  

He sighed.  It was always hard, doing what he did.
He didn't understand it himself, but he knew that
somehow, there was something in him that let him put
together the facts, synthesize the information, and
come up with answers.  It probably had something to
do with his eidetic memory and being able to retain 
more information than most people could, so that when
he was trying to add it all up, he had more of the facts
available than most people.  

He shook his head.  That was part of it, of course.  He
knew that.  But there was something else, something 
indefinable.  An innate ability to see what the predators
saw, to feel what the killers felt.  He could understand
them almost as if he *were* them.  There was something
dark and ugly in himself, something he fought against
every day of his life, that he could use to know these
deviants.  He often wondered what brought him to this 
side of the table.  What twist of fate enabled him to
hunt the monsters, instead of being one of the monsters?

It didn't matter.  How he did it, why he did it, none of
that mattered.  All that mattered was that he could do it.
And if he did it well, the boys would be found.  

Of course, if he did it too well, he could be lost 
forever.

End part 01/13

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 02/13

"Take a shower, Mulder," Scully ordered calmly as she
began to unpack his bag.  "I'll bring clean underwear
in for you."  She dropped the card for the third room 
on the dresser.  They wouldn't need it, but they had 
to have three rooms for appearance's sake.  She'd be
in with Mulder, and Skinner had taken what would have
been her room -- the one next door with the connecting
doorway.  Skinner's room across the hall would remain
empty.  

She looked up as her partner -- her lover -- began to 
undress.  He sat on the bed, toed off his shoes, then 
tugged the dark socks off as well.  His feet were long 
and slender, and she suppressed a delicious shiver as 
she thought of those callused feet caressing her just
shaven legs.  Mulder had told her there was nothing softer
in the world than her legs when she'd just shaved them, 
and what had been a formerly odious task had become a 
labor of love that she embraced willingly each day.

He stood and draped his suit coat and pants over a chair,
then shed his tie and shirt.  Despite the stressful 
conditions, or maybe because of them, she took a few 
moments to just enjoy the view.  It was always a pleasure 
just to look at him.  He was long and lean, smooth skin 
stretched over hard muscles, all lines and planes and 
angles, and she laughed.  Visual aids such as Mulder 
would have made geometry a lot more interesting.

He looked up, caught her watching him and flushed.
"What?"  He looked down, confusion on his face.  
"Am I hanging out, or something?"

She rose, walking slowly across the room to wrap her
arms around him.  "You wish."  She ran her hands up
his back, feeling the tension there, and holding him 
close until he relaxed under her ministrations.  "Don't
you know by now that I just love looking at you?" she 
murmured into his chest.  

He relaxed further, lowering his head to rest on 
her shoulder, and she held him for a long minute,
caressing the wayward strands of brown that brushed
her face, peppering his neck with tiny kisses.

" 'm scared, Scully," he whispered.  "This one scares
me."

"I'm here, Mulder.  You're not alone anymore."  

"It's hitting me way too hard, way too fast."  The words
were ragged, choked out through a tight throat.

"It's hitting all of us hard."  She tugged him gently,
pushing him to sit on the bed, so that she could hold
him more comfortably.  He leaned into her belly, wrapping
his arms around her waist as she stepped between his 
legs.

"You and Walter aren't throwing up every hour."  His 
words were muffled and she could tell he was embarrassed.
The tips of his ears were red.

"Everyone's different, Mulder.  You know that.  The AD
may be able to keep his meals down, but he's feeling it, 
too."  She stroked his hair, then held him tightly.  
"You've done this enough -- you know you tend to react,
uh, that is, your reactions are more -- outward."

He laughed -- a dull and hollow sound.  "That your way
of telling me everyone can see me as I fall apart?"

She stepped back, a soft touch on his chin forcing his
eyes up to meet hers.  "No.  That is not what I was
saying.  I know I wasn't clear, so let me try again."
She held his face in her hands, willing him to listen
and take to heart what she was going to say.  "What I
want you to understand is that we know this is hard on
you.  Walter and I, we've seen that.  I don't know
how you can do what you do, and I suspect you don't
fully understand it yourself.  But you *can* do it.  And
it takes its toll on you."  She took a deep breath,
settling herself to go on.  "I know that.  Walter
knows that.  You don't have to be embarrassed or 
ashamed of your reactions."  She shook her head, then
went on.  "It's not a competition, Mulder.  You don't
have to have the strongest stomach or be able to stay
awake the longest.  If there's any competition going
on, it's who can find the boys first.  And when it 
comes to that, you, my love ..."  She paused, staring 
at him and then leaned down to gently kiss his lips.  
"You will win."

"I understand, Scully, really, I do."  

He dropped his head, eyes closing, and she pulled him to 
her again.  Her hands resumed their soothing touch, 
rubbing small circles on his back and stroking the silky 
strands of his too short hair.

"It's just -- I have to be in control, Scully.  I'm 
going to have to go in there and be in control."  He 
lifted his eyes again, entreating her to understand.
"You and Walter may understand, but all the rest of 
them -- they won't.  And if I'm not strong, and sharp,
and focused, well ..."  He shrugged helplessly.  "They
just won't listen to me."  He pulled away and rose, 
his frustration forcing him to move.  "And that'll 
just waste time.  We don't have time for me to explain
every little thing to everyone."  He turned, planting 
his feet on the floor as he faced her.  "Hell, you
know I usually *can't* explain half the things I do."

One eyebrow arched as she looked at him.  "Only half,
Mulder?" she asked, and was rewarded with a laugh that
sounded real.

He looked better.  She had to keep him talking.  She
had to keep him fed.  She had to make him sleep. And
somewhere in there, she had to fit in time to go and
look at the bodies of the two boys, as well as play
an active part in this investigation.  She might be
Mulder's lover, but she was still his partner, and 
a damn good agent in her own right.  She brought her
own not inconsiderable talents to the table on every
case.  She stopped that train mid-thought.  She wasn't
insecure in her abilities, and it did not reflect 
poorly on her skills to show some concern for her 
partner.  He was still looking at her, a half-smile
on his face, and she smiled back at him.

"Go. Shower."  She walked over and touched the stubble
on his cheek.  "Shave."  A soft push and he was moving
toward the bathroom.

"I'm going to find something for you to eat, and then
we'll head over to the command center."

He stopped at the bathroom door, turned and came back,
sweeping her into his arms.  "I love you, Scully," he
whispered into her ear.  "I'd be lost without you."

She snuggled for a moment, relishing his touch, his
comfort.  "Love you, too," she murmured back.  When
she reluctantly pulled away, she looked up and said
with mock sternness, "And there will be no getting 
lost on my watch.  Got that, Mister?"

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

Skinner sat in the car, staring at the house.  There
were law enforcement officials inside.  He could see
the cars parked at the curb, the local police officer
standing on the step to keep the curious at bay.  It
had been a long time since he'd been here.  He and
Sharon had come west several times to visit her sister,
and during his assignment in LA, they'd seen quite
a bit of Tom and Lynne.  That was before the baby
had been born, of course.  He really couldn't remember
how many times he'd actually seen his nephew.  He
could remember a visit a few months after the baby's
arrival.  As he'd watched Tom and Lynne so obviously 
enamored of their new son, he'd felt a twinge of 
jealousy, and sadness that fate had not granted him 
the privilege of being someone's father.  But then, 
the red-faced bundle had been thrust upon him, protesting 
loudly, and he'd thought perhaps fate had made the right 
decision after all.  He didn't seem to have a knack with 
children.

He sighed and got out of the car.  He could only delay
this for so long.  And truth be told, relative or not, 
as the head of this investigation, he needed to 
interview these people.  Or get his agents out here
to do it.  Or both.  He walked up to the door, flashed
his badge at the young man on guard duty, and entered
the house.  

They were in the kitchen.  Lynne had always been more
domestic than Sharon, and her kitchen was always the 
hub of the house.  A large wooden table occupied over
half of the space, and was usually filled with friends
laughing and enjoying the wonderful meals his sister-
in-law turned out daily.  Now there was only silence.
Tom and Lynne sat together, but no one spoke.  A female
uniform stood by the bay window, obviously uncomfortable 
and unsure of what to do.  She looked up when he paused 
in the hall, then nodded as he lifted his badge.  

A glance into the living room revealed that a trace 
had been set up on the phone.  Two men were seated on 
the couch, a laptop open on the coffee table before 
them as they spoke in hushed tones.  They, too, noted 
his presence, and his badge, then went back to their 
conversation.

He squared his shoulders and moved forward into the
kitchen.  The sound of his shoes on the tile floor
caused Tom to lift his head.  

"Walter!"  He nudged his wife, then rose and moved
around the table to take Skinner's hand.  "You're
here.  We've been waiting."

Skinner returned the handshake, then much to his 
surprise, found himself pulling the man into a hug.
"God, Tom, I'm so sorry!  I -- I just don't know
what to say ..."

His brother-in-law returned the embrace, choking back
a sob at Skinner's compassion.  "Can you help us,
Walter?  Please tell us you can do something."

Skinner nodded as he moved to sit beside his sister-
in-law.  "Lynne," he said softly, reaching out to
wrap an arm around her.  

"Oh, Walter," she sobbed as she fell against him,
"I don't know what to do ..."

"Shh," he soothed.  "I know.  We're going do everything
we can to find him."  He straightened, sighing again
as Lynne pulled back and then leaned into her husband.

"I should feel horrible for the way we've treated you,
and still you've come."  Skinner could see the words 
were hard for Lynne, and he appreciated her effort.

"That doesn't matter, Lynne.  And now is not the time.
You've got more important things to worry about."  
Skinner noted the two coffee mugs on the table, both
still almost full, and both stone cold.  "I'm going 
to need to talk to you, you understand that, right?"

When they nodded, he went on.  "I have some questions ..."
He held up his hand to stop Tom's interjection.  "I 
know, you've answered a hundred questions.  You've 
been over it and over it, but I need to go over it
again."  He shook his head regretfully.  "If there 
were some way I could spare you this, please believe
me, I would.  But you've got to walk me through
everything that happened that night."

Lynne began to cry again, burying her face in Tom's
shirt.  "I don't think she can take anymore, Walter,"
he said as he stroked his wife's hair.  "We've been
over it and over it."  He looked away, staring out 
the bay window over the large backyard.  "Can't you
just read the reports?"

"I've read the reports," Skinner said quietly.  "And
no, it's not enough."  He picked up the mugs and moved
to the sink, quickly rinsing the cups while Tom and
Lynne murmured to one another.  He checked the pot --
still warm -- pulled another cup from the mug tree, 
and filled all three cups.  "Listen," he said as he
walked back to the table, "I'm not going to ask you
all the questions you've already answered."  He smiled
slightly as the couple looked at him.  Pushing a mug
at each of them, he added, "Go on.  Not the best for
you, but at least take a few swallows.  I mean, I did
pour it in the cups and you should remember I'm not
the most domestic person in the world."  It was an
old joke between him and Sharon, and only slightly
true, but it brought a ghost of a smile to Lynne's 
face.  She lifted her cup and drank obediently.

"You are going to have to go through it again.  I'm 
sorry, I can't help that."  He patted Lynne's shoulder
as he spoke.  "But it can wait until my agents get 
here."

"The man you told Tom about?"  There was hope in Lynne's
voice for the first time.  "The one you said was the
best?"

Skinner nodded.  "The absolute best.  A little unorthodox
at times, but he gets results."  Skinner sipped from his
own mug.  "And he'll insist on hearing it all from you.
He's already read the reports.  He'll have to hear what
happened from you both."  He reached up and pinched the
bridge of his nose, trying to push back the headache 
that was threatening.  He winced slightly, then forced
himself to smile again, gesturing at one of several
pictures that hung on the fridge by magnets.  "For now, 
why don't you catch me up on my nephew?"

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

Skinner walked into the command center and looked
around.  It was obviously a multi-agency task force.
He could see FBI shields, Postal Inspectors, and
representatives of several local police departments.
Lynne and Tom lived in Tustin, the Potter boy was
from Culver City, and the others were from LA, and their
respective home departments were represented.  

The Postal Inspection Service deserved the credit for
the fast break on identifying Tommy's kidnapper.  They
had been investigating the neighbor for several months
under the various sections of the US Code as it related
to Child Exploitation.  Long recognized as the leading 
federal law enforcement agency in the effort to combat 
the production and distribution of child pornography 
and other crimes exploiting children through the mail
or over the Internet, the Inspectors had been quick to 
make the connection between their suspect and the young 
boy who'd been listed in the nation's latest Amber Alert.

The FBI had, of course, been brought in to handle the
kidnapping aspects of the case, as soon as the connection
was made.  The LA SAC, Theresa Delgado, had been more
than a little nervous when he informed her he was 
coming to personally oversee this case.  But she had
heard of Mulder, and seemed to respect his abilities, 
so he was counting on having her on his side.  

Jurisdiction -- control -- of the case could really
have gone either way.  Inspection Service or FBI.
It was only Skinner's early morning negotiations with
the Director that had assured him a free rein in how
to pursue the case.  Now he just needed to see how
badly the Inspection Service had been alienated.
They'd been on the neighbor, Swinton, for months now,
even before he moved into the house two doors down
from Skinner's sister-in-law.  

He looked around, quickly identified Delgado, and
waved her over when he caught her eye.  Shaking her
hand, he said, "My involvement is not a reflection on
you or your staff, Agent Delgado.  I want you to 
understand that from the beginning."  He explained
his relationship to the latest missing child, noting
her surprised look at the fact that he was involved
at all.  It was strictly against policy to allow a 
family member to participate in a situation like this.

"My wife and I were about to be divorced when she died,"
he explained.  "I haven't had any contact with her 
family in the last six years.  And I didn't have that
much contact before then."  He paused, and rubbed
his hand over his head.  "They called me."  Eyes 
locking with the LA SAC, he added, "I couldn't say no."

Delgado nodded with understanding.  "Of course you
couldn't.  Where do you want to start?  My team is 
ready to brief you whenever you say."

Skinner shook his head.  "Not yet.  I, uh, need to go
ahead and beard the lion in his den.  Where's the
Inspector in Charge?  And how badly have I smashed his
toes in yanking this away from him?"

She laughed and pointed to a tall, slender black man,
about his age, with graying hair and a mustache.  "Mike
Simms.  And you'll be happy to hear, he's extremely
reasonable and I think he's pleased to have the help."
She lowered her voice as two locals walked past them.
"He's dealt with quite a few sexual exploitation of
children cases, but the kidnapping aspects of this 
one seemed to throw him."

"Anyone I should worry about?"

She shook her head.  "The locals have been great.  
They've taken on a lot of the scut work, but no
complaints that I've heard.  Everyone's thinking it
could be their kid, so getting volunteers to canvas
door to door hasn't been a problem."  

She paused a moment, and he could see her debating 
something.  "Come on," he prodded.  "Spit it out.
So far, everything's been too good to be true.  There's
got to be a problem personality in here, right?"

Delgado nodded reluctantly.  "Well, uh, yeah.  Simms
has a second in command.  Guy's a real butt kisser, 
apple polisher, what have you.  I could tell he thought
this was the case that was going to break him out of
number two and put him in contention for an Inspector
in Charge slot of his own."  She frowned as she spoke.
"He's not a happy camper."

"Point him out."

She nodded to their left and he looked up to see a
fairly young man, about Mulder's size, glaring daggers
at him.  "Let me guess.  Mr. Angry Eyes over there?"

The SAC nodded.  "Ron Matthews."

"Well, at least I know what I'm up against.  Guess it's
time to go and meet Inspector Simms.

End part 02/13 

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 03/13

Skinner looked into the room where men and women in
a variety of uniforms and plainclothes were gathering.
The room hummed with an undercurrent of questions and
hurt feelings.  He could hear the comments that ranged
from insulted to questioning to angry and more than
a few unhappy looks were shot his way.  He needed to
turn that around -- and fast.  As Mulder and Scully
entered the room and took seats near the front, he
observed several hostile looks they were given.  No 
one acknowledged their presence, other than SAC 
Delgado and Inspector Simms.  

He took a deep breath, straightened his tie and pushed
his glasses up on his nose, then stepped into the room.
It went quiet almost immediately.

"Good afternoon.  I'm Walter Skinner, Assistant Director 
with the FBI.  I'd like to open this briefing by thanking 
Inspector Mike Simms for his warm reception.  The work 
done by the Inspection Service has been exemplary, and 
I'm proud to be working alongside such dedicated men and
women."  Skinner glanced over at the Inspector in Charge
who gave a pleased little smile even as he shifted as
if uncomfortable to be in the limelight.  Ron Matthews,
on the other had, stood in the back of the room, despite
the fact that there were still chairs available, his
legs spread and arms crossed.  He watched the whole
proceeding unfold with the same angry glare that had
greeted Skinner earlier.

"I'd also like to recognize the men and women of the
Los Angeles Police Department, the Tustin Police 
Department, the Culver City Police Department, and 
the Orange County Sheriff's Department.  I've been 
told that the majority of the canvassing has fallen to 
that group, and your efforts and dedication have not 
gone unnoticed."  Skinner looked around, pleased
to see that his words seemed to be appreciated.  Now
to make formal what everyone had already heard -- that
the FBI was taking over.  Specifically, that he was 
taking over the case.  The timing was good -- his
diplomatic approach seemed to have settled almost all
the hostility and everyone, except Matthews, seemed
receptive to what he was going to say next.

"As I'm sure you've all heard, the FBI will be assuming
administrative control of this investigation.  And while 
I will be the ranking official on-site, I want to assure
everyone that this is going to be very much a team
effort."  He smiled as he spoke and was rewarded with 
several people nodding their heads in agreement.  "While
I have some experience with violent crimes, kidnapping
per se, is not my area of expertise.  For that, we will
rely on SAC Delgado and her people.  They've had the
unfortunate job of handling over 35 child stranger
abductions in just the past 6 months.  And for the elements
of sexual exploitation of children, we will rely on 
the considerable talents of the Postal Inspection 
Service.  With the years of experience they bring in
this area, we are well-served to have them on the team."
He nodded at Simms as he spoke, then turned back to 
the room.  "And the local knowledge and familiarity 
brought in by the LAPD and surrounding area departments
is something that no outsiders could hope to bring to
an investigation."

He paused a moment, looking around the room and making
eye contact with specific individuals as he did so.  
He was met with small smiles and nodding heads, and 
the body language overall was opening up as people
unfolded their arms and leaned forward to hear what 
he had to say.  "I cannot stress enough -- this is 
a team effort.  Everyone, and I mean everyone," he 
met Matthews' eyes as he spoke and was surprised to 
see the other man drop his gaze, though whether from
anger or embarrassment, he couldn't tell, "has a 
critical role to play.  Our first and foremost priority
is to find the missing boys.  Second, we look for the
abductor, whom we believe to be Robert Swinton.  And
third, we look for a larger group -- an organized
pedophilia ring -- about whom we have very limited
information at this time."

Skinner stepped to a white board and lifted a marker.
"I'd like to get the group broken into teams ..."

He was interrupted by an angry voice from the back --
Matthews.  "Who the hell came up with the idea that
we're dealing with a ring?  And what the hell gave 
him that idea?"

Skinner glared at Matthews, then wrote "Profiler" on 
the board.  Under it, he wrote "Fox Mulder."  He turned,
pointed at Mulder, then said to the room, "Special 
Agent Mulder worked in VCS for over five years and 
is an experienced profiler.  He will be working to
develop a profile of our abductor and any other principals
in this case."

"And he thinks we're dealing with a ring?"  The sneer
in Matthews' voice was clear.  "I've got 10 years in with
sex crimes and child pornography, and I don't see 
anything that says ring."

"Well, Inspector Matthews, you certainly bring a great
deal of valuable experience to our investigation."  
Skinner kept his voice cool and detached.  "And while
I respect your judgment, I don't feel our investigation
will be hindered in pursuing other avenues."

He turned back to the board.  "Now, if I may continue ..."

Matthews interrupted again.  "Isn't it true Mulder doesn't
work for VCS anymore?  I heard he burned out, he's useless."  
Matthews smiled as the room began to murmur and uncertain 
glances were cast at Mulder.

The color drained from Mulder's face and he pulled himself
erect in the chair.  Even from the front of the room, 
Skinner could see the tension in Mulder's jaw, the veins
corded on his neck, and the slightest tremor in the man's
hands where they were clasped in his lap.  As he watched,
Scully gently touched Mulder's arm.  It was smoothly done, 
invisible to anyone else in the room, but by the way 
Mulder's hands stilled, it was just what he needed.  He
was still far too pale, however.

"You are correct, Inspector Matthews," Skinner said,
smiling tightly at the man.  "Agent Mulder no longer
works in VCS and is not an active profiler.  He has 
been *promoted* to the head of a different department, 
a not unusual career move, as I'm sure we can all agree."

The room murmured again, and the looks that were cast
at Mulder now were more of admiration than concern.
A few people even turned and glared disapprovingly at
Matthews.

"However, Agent Mulder's record as a profiler is 
untouched.  During his tenure in VCS, he closed more
cases than anyone in the history of the department.
We are, indeed, very fortunate to have him on our
team."

Matthews snorted loudly, then turned and left the
room.

Skinner looked around the room one more time.  "And now,
if there are no further interruptions, I would like
very much to divide into teams and get this investigation
moving again."

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

"No!  I don't need a fucking babysitter!"  Mulder
lifted his hands and scrubbed at his face in frustration.
He looked at Skinner.  "You need to stay here.  I know
you haven't gotten everything set up the way you want.
You still have people you need to talk to, and you
need to finish gathering the rest of the reports, 
the ones we haven't seen yet."

"And you," he turned to look at Scully, "you need to
get over to the morgue and look at those two boys.
I want to know what was used on them.  Whips, chains,
barbed wire, what?  And what was done to them.  Sodomy's
a foregone conclusion, but was there object rape as well?"

He rubbed his face again, then crossed his arms in front
of his chest and pulled, trying fruitlessly to stretch
out muscles that were so kinked he could barely move.
"I, on the other hand, am pretty useless until we get
some new information."  He held up one hand to forestall
the objections he knew were coming.  "I'm going back to
the hotel and I'm going to hit the gym.  Maybe I can
work out some of this tension there."

"I'd rather you sleep, Mulder," Scully said softly, 
her hand resting on his arm as she looked up to meet
his eyes.

"So would I," Skinner added.

Mulder turned and stared at Skinner.

"But if you won't," the older man continued, "then at
least let me come with you."

"And we're right back where we started," Mulder mumbled.
"Look," he said in a louder voice, "I don't need a fucking 
babysitter!"  He took several steps away, distancing 
himself from his lover and his friend.  "I know you are 
both concerned.  I know you worry about me.  I appreciate 
that.  But I *am* a grown man, and I *am* entitled to a 
little privacy.  And what I want right now, is the 
opportunity to be by myself and work some of this out 
in my own way.  Is that too damn much to ask?"

"You have a tendency to attract trouble, Mulder," Skinner
said softly.  "Scully and I, we're not trying to demean
you or imply that you are anything less than a capable
person, but you're right, we do worry.  Why can't you
wait a few minutes, and let me go with you?"

"Because if I don't get out of here, *right now,* I am
going to explode!"

Scully and Skinner exchanged glances.  "Compromise, Mulder?"
Scully asked quietly.  "I'll go and start on the autopsies.
You head back to the hotel.  Take a shower, watch a little
TV, and then when Skinner gets back, you can both go down
to the gym.  You get your privacy, and we don't have to 
worry."  She smiled up at her partner/lover, one hand 
rising to cup his cheek, her finger running along his
sensitive jawbone.

He closed his eyes at her touch, leaning into it as he
nodded slowly.  "Don't make me wait too long, okay, Sir?"

Skinner patted the younger man on the shoulder.  "Within
the hour, I promise."

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

The cab ride was short and Mulder found himself lost in
thought.  He was startled when the cabbie called him,
but quickly jumped out, paid, and headed into the hotel.
He didn't even realize there was someone else in the
elevator until he was thrown into the wall.  His head
hit sharply and he knew skin was broken because he had
to close his eyes to avoid the blood running down his 
face.

He was reaching for his gun when his hand was grabbed 
and he was thrown down onto the floor.  His right arm was
yanked up behind his back, and he felt the shoulder pull
painfully.  Two quick moves later, his hands were cuffed
behind his back.  A hand fisted in his hair and he was
slammed, face down, into the floor of the elevator 
several times in quick succession.

It stunned him, and he realized he was close to passing
out.  It also occurred to him that he didn't have a clue
who was doing this.  He didn't think he'd been in town
long enough to piss anyone off this badly, and he hadn't
gotten close enough to a suspect to be in danger from
that front.  Robbery?  Was he just being mugged?  For
some reason, this seemed too personal for a mugging,
but what did he know?  He was just the idiot who had
managed to get himself attacked inside an elevator in
the hotel.  

Why the hell didn't he listen to Scully and Skinner?

A toe kicked him in the side, right side, just below the 
rib cage, and he began to cough.  His attacker reached
under him, pulled his gun, and then there was a sharp
crack against his skull and he didn't feel anything at
all.

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

Where the hell was he?  Skinner stood with both hands 
on his hips, surveying the gym.  No sign of Mulder.  
And the man hadn't signed in the logbook, either.  Not 
that that necessarily meant Mulder wasn't here.  Skinner 
paced over to the men's locker room and entered.  

"Mulder?"

No response.

He walked through the locker room and entered the pool
area.  Still no sign of Mulder.  He waited a few moments
to see if the man might arise from the depths, but no
one came up, no one came out, and he was still missing
one trouble-prone agent.

He sighed and shook his head.  He'd already checked the
rooms, and the restaurant on the odd chance that the 
man had rediscovered his appetite, but he'd come up
empty both places.  Where the hell had he gone?  Skinner
really didn't relish the thought of having to launch 
an investigation into his own agent's whereabouts, but
if the man didn't turn up soon, that was exactly what 
he was going to do.  

He headed back up to the room, noting that one of the
elevators was still off line.  He was in the room 
Mulder and Scully were sharing, staring at Mulder's 
running shoes, and thereby deciding the man hadn't
gone running, when an excited conversation in the
hall drew him out.

" ... just lying there in the elevator."

He reached out and grabbed the woman's arm, stopping
her with an apology.  "Excuse me," he said, holding 
up his ID as he let her go, "What did you say about
the elevator?"

"It's been stuck for almost an hour now, and they 
just got it going.  There's a man in there, beat
up and handcuffed.  The police ..."

Skinner didn't hear the rest because he was already 
halfway down the stairs, certain that the man in 
the elevator would be Mulder.  It would be just like
his agent to find trouble when he'd been in town less
than a day, and knew no one.  

He shoved through the crowd that had gathered, using
his ID to get past and rushed to kneel by Mulder's
side.  The man was starting to stir, and Skinner
quickly dug out Mulder's keys and released him from
his cuffs.  They'd been put on too tight and left on
too long, and Mulder's hands were purple, his wrists
abraded.  His weapon lay on the floor of the elevator
and Skinner wanted to secure it, but he wasn't wearing
gloves.  He eyed the goose-egg on Mulder's head, and the 
blood on the handgrip of the gun, and it didn't take
long to put two and two together.

Mulder opened his eyes, and Skinner placed a firm but
gentle hand on his back and said, "Just lie still, 
Mulder.  Paramedics are on the way."

"No hospital!"  Mulder gasped the words out.  

"Shhhh," Skinner soothed.  "Let's let the professionals
decide that, shall we?"

"No."  Mulder twisted under Skinner's hand, fighting
to sit up.

"Will you please be still?"  Skinner tried to slow
Mulder's rise, but he didn't want to start fighting
with the man and inadvertently injure him more.

"Not.  Going.  To the.  Hospital."  

The words were choked out and it was clear Mulder's 
chest was sore.  He managed to get himself into a 
sitting position, and Skinner got his first good look 
at the man's face.  Covered in dried blood, he could 
see at least two gashes across the forehead and one 
eye was swollen and well on its way to black.  His 
nose had bled copiously and his lip was split in two 
places.  

But it was his hands that bothered Skinner most.  Mulder
held them awkwardly in his lap, almost as if he didn't
want them to touch anything.  Sensation had to be 
returning and from the look on Mulder's face, it wasn't
pleasant.  He seated himself in front of his agent,
gently took one of the damaged hands in his own and
began to slowly rub.  He used his thumb to stroke the 
palm and his fingers to push the blood back into
the fingers.  He reached up and rubbed Mulder's forearm,
stimulating hesitant veins to open and blood to flow 
downward into the starved digits.  He was careful of
the wrists, skipping over them, as he moved his hands
from forearm back down to his agent's palms.  He watched
Mulder for signs of pain, but the gentle massage seemed
to be helping because his agent had leaned back against
the wall and relaxed somewhat.

"So," Skinner began, "you want to tell me what happened?"

Mulder gave a half-shrug, wincing slightly.

Skinner finished the right hand, noting that the purple,
blood-starved look had faded to an angry red, and lifted
Mulder's left hand.  "You don't know, or you don't want
to tell me?"

"Both," Mulder mumbled.  "But no, I don't know what
happened.  The guy was in the elevator when I got on,
I think."

"You think?"  Skinner forced himself to keep his touch
on Mulder gentle.  "You didn't notice?"

Mulder shook his head, slightly embarrassed.  "I was
thinking.  I was thinking about what that guy in the
back said, about not having any real reason to think
this is anything more than Swinton's kink for little ..."
He broke off, eyeing the crowd suspiciously.  "Do you
really want me to talk about this here?"

Skinner looked over his shoulder and shook his head.
He spoke to the manager.  "Would you please clear this
area?  This is a crime scene and we don't need all 
these people around."  He looked back at Mulder.  His
eyes were closed again.  Then he spoke once more to 
the hotel manager.  "And send the paramedics over 
immediately when they arrive."

"What about the police?" the man asked.

Skinner nodded.  "Them, too.  But I don't think my
agent is going to feel much like making a statement." 

The manager nodded and immediately the press of people
began to fade.  Skinner looked down at the hand he held,
pleased to see that blood flow seemed to have been 
restored.  "How's that?" he asked Mulder.

Mulder flexed his fingers on both hands.  "Much better.
That coming back awake sensation is a pain -- literally."

"I'm going to call Scully."  Skinner pulled out his phone
and dialed.  "Do you want to talk to her?"

Mulder shook his head slowly.  "Not now.  But ... can she 
come back?"

"Of course."  If Mulder hadn't looked so distraught at 
having asked, Skinner would have laughed.  "I was planning
to ask her to return anyway."

The paramedics arrived and Skinner borrowed a glove to
grab Mulder's gun, stowing it in his own pocket.  He 
finished his call to Scully quickly, arranging for her
to return as soon as possible, then rose to meet the 
police.

End part 03/13

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 04/13

Mulder was lying on the far bed when Scully rushed in.  
The remote was in one hand and he was clicking through 
the channels, even though his eyes were closed and the 
volume was muted.  She paused inside the door, stepping 
close to Skinner who stood by the other bed.

"How is he?" she asked in a quiet undertone.

"Sort of out of it," Skinner replied.  "He's awake, but
he's not talking much."

She moved toward the door and motioned the AD to
join her in the hall, wanting to speak out of Mulder's
hearing.

"Did he tell you what happened?"

Skinner shook his head.  "I don't think he knows.  He
was attacked from behind, in the elevator, and he doesn't
know who it was.  Didn't even see the guy when he got
on -- said he was lost in thought."

Scully frowned, but nodded.  "Why won't he listen when 
we tell him he shouldn't be alone?"  She bowed her head,
and lifted one hand to press against her eye.

"He *is* a grown man, Scully.  And a more-than-capable
agent."  Skinner sighed as he stared at the floor.

"He's vulnerable when he's working a case like this.
You know that."

Skinner grunted in agreement.  "I'm reluctant to do
anything that is going to interfere with his self-
confidence.  I don't want him thinking we don't have
faith in him."

"This is not a matter of having faith in him, Sir."
Scully waited until Skinner met her eyes.  "At this
point, I want your assurance that one of us will be
with him at all times -- at least until we figure 
out who did this to him and why."

"The locals dusted his weapon.  They picked up a partial
on the barrel.  They're trying to get a match now."

"I can't even think of anyone from out here who would
be after him, can you?"

Skinner shook his head.  "I've got people back in DC
researching his old cases, trying to see if someone 
holding a grudge just happened to see him and decided
the moment was too good to pass up."

"He wouldn't have gone down so quick if he wasn't
so distracted by this case.  You know he's usually
much more aware of his surroundings."

"I know," Skinner agreed, running his hand over his
head.  "Anyway, it's like I told you on the phone.
Mostly superficial.  They closed the cuts on his head
with butterflies.  He's going to look a little scary
for a week or so, until the black eye go away.

"And his side is bruised?" Scully asked in concern.
"They're sure it's just bruising?"

Skinner shrugged.  "Pretty sure.  I guess without 
an X-ray, we can't be certain, but he's moving okay,
a little stiff and sore, but not in the kind of pain
he'd be in if he had a broken rib."  He looked at 
Scully hopefully.  "I don't suppose you can get him
to go to the hospital and be X-rayed?"

She snorted.  "Oh, yeah.  No problem.  And for my
next trick, I suppose you'd like it to snow in hell?"

"All right, all right, I get it," Skinner grumbled.
"I thought maybe he'd listen to you."

"Oh, he's going to listen to me all right."  Scully's
face tightened as she thought about her wayward partner.
"And I'll be able to make him agree to staying with one
or the other of us.  But anything else ..."  She 
shrugged.  "You said it yourself.  He's a grown man.
I can only bully him so far."  She looked back at 
the closed door.  "I should get in there and talk to
him."

Skinner nodded.  "When should I come back?"

Scully looked at her watch.  "I can tell you now, he's
going to insist on going to the Swinton crime scene 
sometime today, and I don't want it to be too late.  I 
also need to go back and get through at least one of 
those bodies."  She looked up at the AD.  "Let me have 
about 45 minutes with him.  I'm going to get him out 
of those clothes ..."

Skinner laughed and held up his hands in the universal
gesture of surrender.  "Too much information, Dana," he
chuckled, and was rewarded with an answering laugh.

"As I was saying, *Walter* ..." 

She giggled over his name and Skinner smiled.  A giggle 
from Dana Scully was to be treasured -- they didn't occur 
often enough.

"... I'm going to get him out of those clothes and 
cleaned up.  He'll feel better if he showers again, and
changes.  And if you'll scout out some soup for him, 
maybe we can get him to eat before you go to the crime
scene."

Skinner nodded, then reached out and touched her arm.
"What about you?  Can you eat, too?"

She shook her head, saying, "I'm not really ..."

"He won't eat if you don't.  You know that's the key.
He'll try and get something down if he thinks it's
helping you."

Scully looked up at the big man, noting the concern
on his face and the cautious tone of his voice.  "And
you, Sir, play us both against each other."  She smiled
as she spoke, and then giggled again as Skinner flushed
slightly.  "I'll eat.  A salad or something, okay?"

Skinner nodded, content that she hadn't made him work
harder to persuade her.

"You're going with him to the scene, right?"

Skinner nodded.  "As you said, one of us stays with him
from here on out."

"He's planning on interviewing your wife's sister and
husband today as well."

"I know," Skinner sighed.  "I've already told them I'd
be back and that Mulder would be with me.  They know 
they're going to have to run through it again."   He
looked at his watch, then met Scully's eyes.  "Forty-
five minutes?  Are you sure that's enough time?"

"It's never enough," she said softly, "but it will have
to do."

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

"Mulder?"  She spoke softly as she approached the still
figure on the bed.  "How ya feeling, partner?"

He stirred slowly, turning first his head in her direction,
then opening his eyes to gaze upon her, and finally, 
reaching out one hand.

She took his hand, noting the slight swelling and still 
red appearance, then sat beside him on the bed.  "Walter
said you wouldn't go to the hospital?"

He shook his head slowly.  "Didn't need to.  Really.  I'm
a little banged up, but nothing serious."

"Do you mind if I check that out for myself?"

When he shook his head and closed his eyes again, she bent 
slowly and gently kissed the hand she held.  "Does that 
hurt?" she whispered.

A slow smile spread across his lips and he shook his head.
"No ..."

Another touch on his abraded wrist, her lips dancing over
the damaged skin.  "How about that?"

"No ..."  The smile was bigger now, and he was watching 
her through his lashes.

"Oh, good," she said as she pulled her legs onto the
bed and tucked them under.  She opened his belt, then
unbuttoned his pants and rested her hand on the zipper.
"Is that loose enough for me to check?" she asked coyly.

"The, uh, damage, uh, is a little higher up, Scully," 
Mulder said, his voice husky and low.  "But then, you 
already knew that, right?"

"Just wanted to make sure you weren't -- constricted,"
she whispered as she began to slowly tug his shirt
upwards.

"Buttons, Scully.  The shirt has buttons."

"So it does."  Her hand brushed his groin as she started 
at the bottom of the shirt and began unbuttoning.

"And if you keep that up," Mulder groaned, "I'm 
going to be a lot more than constricted ..."

She laughed, then went silent as the vivid bruise 
on his side was revealed.  "Oh, Mulder," she said
softly, bending over to gently kiss the multi-hued
skin.  "How do you get yourself into these things?"

"Uh, Scully?"

"Hmmm?" she murmured as she placed another gentle 
kiss on his injured side.

"That's not helping my, uh, constriction ..."

"God, Mulder, how can you think like that when you're
this badly hurt?"

"Hey," he protested, "I didn't start it."  He pulled
himself up, ignoring the pain in his muscles, and leaned
against the back of the bed.  "And I'm not that 'badly
hurt' -- just a little banged up."  

Scully slipped forward and placed two pillows behind him.
"Is this the worst of it?" she asked, tracing the bruise
with one finger.

Mulder pulled back slightly.  "Tickles.  And yes, that's
it."

She took his chin in her hand and studied his face, then
leaned forward and kissed his forehead.  He closed his 
eyes and she placed soft kisses on each one.  And then, 
with a feather-light touch, she brushed her lips across
his.  "You'll feel better if you shower again.  And you
need to change before you go to the crime scene."

"I, uh, didn't think you'd want me to go now."

She pulled him forward and slid the shirt off of him.
"I don't particularly *want* you to go."  Scully rose
and went to the foot of the bed, untying Mulder's shoes
so he could toe them off.  "I don't particularly *want*
you to be here at all," she said as she removed his 
socks and then rose to help him up.  "And I certainly
don't *want* you working these kinds of cases."  She
helped him slip out of his pants and boxers, then 
gently deflected his hand as he reached toward her
breast.  "But sometimes, we don't get what we want."
She smiled as she pushed him toward the bathroom.
"Go ahead and shower.  Skinner will be here in about
half an hour."

"Gonna be a cold shower," he mumbled as he pulled
the door shut.

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

"You okay, Mulder?"  Skinner reached out and took the
other man's arm as he stumbled slightly on the uneven
flooring.

"Yeah," Mulder mumbled, "I'm fine."  He shook off
Skinner's hand and stepped forward into the bedroom.
He stopped just inside the door, staring in horror
around the room.

"I tried to warn you, Mulder," Skinner said quietly
as he carefully watched the other man's reactions.

Mulder moved to the middle of the room and turned
in a slow circle, carefully taking in all the walls.
"There aren't words to warn about something like
this," he said under his breath.  

The walls were covered in pictures.  Pictures of
young boys in all stages of dress and undress and
depicted in depraved activities too numerous to count.  
All designed to excite and titillate the pedophile.
Mulder stared a few more minutes, sometimes stepping
forward to look at something more closely, then 
stepping back to the center of the room to stand 
close to Skinner.

"We've, uh, identified a couple of the boys," Skinner
offered.

Mulder nodded.  "I know."  He stepped forward and 
pointed at one particularly brutal photo.  "Jack
Potter."  He moved to another wall, reaching out 
again, but stopping his hand before he actually 
touched the picture in question, and said, "TJ
Anderson."  His voice had lost all inflection.  He 
moved to a third picture, this one taken from behind, 
and the boy's face was not visible.  "Dennis Jenkins."

"How? Uh..." Skinner cleared his throat.  "They've 
only identified the Potter and Anderson boys from
in here.  What makes you think that's Dennis Jenkins?"

"Birthmark," Mulder said shortly.  He turned away as
Skinner looked at the picture more closely and made a
mental note to add this information to the file.  Mulder
was back in the center of the room again, turning in
his slow circle.

There was a desk against one wall, a TV/VCR combination
on a stand next to it, and a futon on the opposite wall.
That was all the furniture.  The futon was stained and
grungy and Mulder's stomach lurched as he thought of
what had contributed most of the stains and grunge.

Mulder studied the walls for close to twenty minutes,
and Skinner resisted the urge to speak or move, or
just plain get the hell out of this sick place.  
Finally Mulder closed his eyes and asked, "What did
they take out of here?"

Skinner looked over at their escort and indicated he 
wanted the file the young man was holding.  He opened
it and scanned through it until he got to an inventory 
list.  "Uh, you want the list of what they removed
from the house, or just this room?"

"Start with this room."  Mulder folded his arms around
his chest, hugging himself.

"Computer from the desk.  Videos from the TV cabinet."
He looked up at Mulder.  "Do you want the titles?"

Mulder shook his head and Skinner breathed a sigh of
relief.  He really didn't want to read this out loud.
"Magazines from beside the futon."

"How many?"

Skinner scanned the list, counting.  "Looks like twenty-two."
He waited to see if Mulder had another question, then went
on.  "Books."  He counted before Mulder asked and added, 
"Twelve."  

"Let's do the titles this time."  Mulder's voice was weary
and he shuddered slightly.

Skinner cleared his throat and began to read.  "Daddy's Boy.
Adopted.  Visit with Uncle.  My New Friend."

"Fairly straightforward," Mulder said, nodding.  "Sex with 
a boy."  He opened his eyes and looked at Skinner.  
"Anything weird on the list?"

"It's all weird," Skinner grumbled, but he read ahead,
trying to see the titles as Mulder did.  "Weekend at the 
Farm?"

"Bestiality."  Mulder nodded.  His eyes were closed 
again and he shivered.  

"Mulder?  You okay?"  Skinner closed the folder, one finger
marking his place, and reached out to touch his friend's
shoulder.  When Mulder shivered again, he ran his hand
up to the man's cheek, checking for temperature with 
the back of his hand.  Sure enough, Mulder was cold.
"You need a break?"

Mulder shook his head.  "Gotta get this done."

"You're cold.  Let me get a blanket."  Skinner started
for the door, but Mulder reached out and stopped him.

"Don't."  Mulder's hand dropped as soon as Skinner 
paused.

"Don't what?"

"Don't leave me."  

The words were whispered, barely audible, and Skinner's
stomach tightened as he realized how hard it had been
for his agent to ask.  He stepped back quickly, standing
very close to the other man, and said, "Not going 
anywhere."

Mulder was silent for a moment, then nodded.  He drew
in a deep breath, as if bracing himself, and said, "Go
on."

Skinner opened the folder.  "Hanging with the Guys."

"Oh, God."  Mulder's hand came up to cover his mouth
and he gasped out, "Gonna be sick."

Skinner raced to the door, grabbed the trashcan he'd
placed there beforehand, and raced back, holding the
can where it was needed.  When Mulder was done, he pulled
a small bottle of water from his pocket and passed it
over.  Mulder rinsed his mouth and passed the bottle
back.  "Why that one, Mulder?  Why did that one make 
you sick and not the farm one?"

"Hanging, Sir."  Mulder lifted haunted eyes and stared
at the AD.  "All the titles sound innocuous, don't they?
I mean, what's wrong with being Daddy's boy, or a visit
with your uncle.  Those books could almost belong to any 
eight to twelve year old boy, right?  A weekend at the 
farm.  Hanging with the guys.  The titles themselves are 
part of the excitement."  He brought up his hand and 
scrubbed at this face, rubbing harshly and repeatedly 
until Skinner reached out and made him stop.  "Hanging.  
It means just what it says."

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

Mulder had spent several more hours at the house, 
walking slowly through the rooms, reconstructing
it in his mind as Skinner read off the list of items
that had been taken.  There had been quite a tally
between the reading and viewing material, the various
toys and other implements, and the material that had
been on the computer the Inspection Service had seized.

They were in the garage now, and Mulder was pointing
out things that had seemed as innocuous as the book 
titles.  Hooks in the ceiling from which flowers hung.
Pegboard.  Vise grips.  Jumper cables.  Mulder hadn't
even had to explain.  Once he pointed them out, Skinner's 
own mind betrayed him and he could think of several 
ways these simple tools could be misused.

Mulder had picked up the vise grips, turning them 
over and over and shivering.  He'd finally walked to 
the wall and half-collapsed onto the floor.  "I need
to sit," he'd muttered, but by then he was down and
Skinner hadn't been able to ease the descent.  He
knelt before the younger man, studying his pale face
and asked, "What can I do?"

"Take that blanket now, Walter," Mulder whispered, 
shivering again.  

Skinner placed his hand on Mulder's arm, waiting until 
the other man looked up and met his gaze.  "You'll stay
here?"

Mulder nodded.

"I won't be gone long.  I'm just going to run down to 
Lynne's.  I'll bring back a couple."

Mulder nodded again.  "Not going anywhere."

Skinner spoke harshly to their escort, ordering the young
man not to take his eyes off Mulder, and to make sure
his agent didn't get up from the floor, then he took
off at a jog for his sister-in-law's house two doors
down.

When he got back, Mulder was gone.  Oh, he was physically
there, but he'd vanished into that black hole of his
profiling mode and Skinner gasped when he realized
Mulder had taken the vise grips and attached them to 
his already sore hand.  Attached to the fleshy part of 
the palm, the skin between the thumb and first finger,
even as the AD watched, Mulder was turning the little
gear and the grips were tightening.  He stopped his 
first reaction, to reach out and yank the thing off, 
and instead reached out gently, taking hold of Mulder's
right hand and placing it back in his lap.

"There's an element of excitement in the pain," Mulder
said hoarsely.  "It's not just that they're young, which
is forbidden, or that they're boys, which is also forbidden,
it's the pain.  And the power he feels from being the one 
to cause the pain."

"It's all right, Mulder," Skinner said softly as he began
to release the grips.  "This is going to hurt coming off."

"Doesn't do anything for you though, does it?"  Mulder's
eyes were focused now and he was watching the AD carefully.

"Excuse me?"

"The pain.  It hurts.  I mean, you're hurting me as you
take the thing off, but it doesn't excite you."

Skinner kept his eyes on his task -- getting the damn grip
off Mulder's hand.  "Doesn't do a fucking thing for me,"
he grunted.  "Jesus Christ, Mulder, how can you ask that?"

Mulder shrugged, then winced as the grip came off and 
blood began to flow back into the starved area.  Skinner
threw the vise across the room, then took Mulder's hand
again and began to rub gently, as he had earlier.

"It's part of it for them.  The power.  They give pain,
they give pleasure.  They are in control."

"And they're sick bastards.  Don't forget that, Mulder."
Skinner still held Mulder's hand, looking at it carefully
to make sure the skin was not broken.  

"I'm okay, Sir," Mulder said.

"Jeez, Mulder, you've got to stop doing this."  Skinner 
rose and pulled Mulder up, then wrapped him in the quilt 
he'd brought.  And then he wrapped him in a hug, holding 
him close for just a moment.  "Scares the shit out of 
me."

Mulder laughed as Skinner released him.  "Sorry, Sir."
He turned and looked at the heavy workbench secured to 
the back wall of the garage.  "There's more of this
shit back there.  He's got a cache they didn't find."

"How the hell do you know that?" 

"They always have a secret stash.  You know, just in
case they have to ditch the stuff in the house in an
emergency.  You never want to have to start from scratch
again."

"Speaking from experience, Mulder?"

The younger man shook his head.  "Nah, I got rid of my
stuff.  Even before, I wasn't hiding it too much."
He flushed, averting his eyes.  "Maybe I should have
been embarrassed, but my stuff was pretty vanilla.
Boy meets girl.  Boy fucks girl.  Boy meets new girl.
And so on and so on and so on."  He paused a moment,
then added, "Maybe I should rephrase -- man meets
woman.  Just wanna be real clear on that point."

"So?"  Skinner raised an eyebrow as he looked pointedly 
at the back wall.

"I was just thinking -- this is about power.  Not pain.
Not pleasure.  But control and power."

Skinner nodded.

"So what's the ultimate in control?  Beating the system.
And you beat the system when you don't let them see all
you've got, no matter what happens.  He'll have a stash,
just because he'll think he can sit back and laugh at 
us while we think we have it all."  

Mulder took a deep breath and swayed.  Skinner reached
out and steadied him.  

"There'll be faces on the stuff in the stash.  Maybe
names in the videos.  We'll finally have a place to 
start."

End part 04/13


Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 05/13

"What happened to him, Walter?"  Tom's words were spoken
in a quiet tone as he followed his wife and Mulder down 
the hall to the kitchen.  "He looks dead on his feet."

"He's tired, Tom.  And he got mugged today."  That was 
the cover story they had agreed on prior to coming over
to his sister-in-law's house.  

Mulder was seated at the table and Lynne was fussing 
with the coffeepot as Skinner joined his agent.  He
really didn't want Mulder drinking coffee now, because
the man needed to sleep tonight instead of staying up
all night again.  But he also didn't want to make 
a big deal about people needing sleep when he knew
Lynne and Tom probably hadn't slept more than a couple
of hours at a time since Tommy had been taken.

Skinner took off his glasses and rubbed his face, 
finally deciding on silence and a late start tomorrow.
He'd get Mulder to sleep, however late it was, and
the day would start when his agent woke up.

"Tell me about Tommy," Mulder said as he nodded his
thanks for the coffee placed before him.

Skinner accepted his cup with a quick, "Thanks, Lynne,"
then added, "Now, come sit with us."  He pulled out
a seat next to him and watched as Tom took the last
two cups from his wife's hands, seated her, then went 
back and brought the cups over.  He sat on the other 
side of his wife, which inadvertently left Mulder on 
the far side of the table -- alone.

"Did Tommy know Swinton?"

Tom jumped as if he'd been slapped and Lynne dropped
her head.  "Uh, yeah, sort of."  Tom lifted a hand
to rub his eyes.  "I mean, we didn't socialize, if
that's what you mean.  But, well, the guy was our 
neighbor.  We didn't have any way of knowing he ...
that he ..."

"Of course you didn't," Skinner soothed.  "It's not 
your fault."  He waited a minute for Tom to regain 
his composure, then asked, "How did Tommy know Swinton?"

"He didn't go over to his house or anything!"  The 
words were angry, full of hurt and remorse.  "I was
sitting on the front steps one day, a couple of weeks
after that bastard moved in, and he came over and
introduced himself.  I introduced Tommy."  Tom dropped
his head and a strangled groan escaped his throat.  
"I introduced our baby to that sick fuck!"

Lynne began to cry and Tom visibly pulled himself 
together, struggling for control as he turned to 
his wife.

Mulder took a swallow of coffee, watching closely as
Tom wrapped his arm around his wife and murmured into
her ear.  "Tommy?" he nudged.  "Tell me what he's
like."

"Like?"  Lynne sounded confused as she lifted her head
from her husband's shoulder.  There were tear streaks 
visible on her cheeks and her breathing was ragged.  
"What do you mean 'what he's like?'"

"What does he do?  What does he enjoy?  Sports?  Books?
TV?  Video games?  Is he quiet or rambunctious?  Always
in trouble or is he a low-maintenance kid?"

Tom smiled at Mulder's words.  "Low-maintenance.  That's
what I always said, and Lynne hated it.  But it's true.
We couldn't ask for a better kid."  Tom squeezed his
wife's shoulder as he spoke.  "I don't think that kid
has ever been in trouble a day in his life."

"He's quiet," Lynne added softly.  "He loves to read."
She glanced over at her husband, then said, "Tom worries
that he's not 'boy' enough, whatever that means."  She
pulled away from her husband, shaking off the arm he
had wrapped around her.

"Now, Lynne, that's not fair."  Tom turned and looked 
at Mulder then at Skinner.  "I just don't want him being
the class geek -- getting picked on and teased."  He
held his cup in both hands and stared into the inky liquid.

Mulder looked acutely uncomfortable, and Skinner could 
see that he wanted to say something comforting but didn't 
know what to say.  He knew that Mulder's childhood had 
been anything but idyllic, and wondered what old wounds
this conversation was opening for his friend. 

Had Mulder been a low-maintenance kid?  Class geek?  Did
he get teased a lot?  Somehow, he was sure Mulder had 
had more than his fair share of pain as a boy, even 
before his sister disappeared.  There was just something
about the man that radiated suffering.  

But now was not the time to delve into his complicated
friend's past.  They needed to focus on Tom and Lynne,
and finding their son.  He studied the two, no longer
sitting together, no longer touching, both staring at
Mulder as if he had the magic answers that would make
everything all right. 

"Every kid is different.  You both know that."  Skinner
forced himself to speak up, distracting Lynne and Tom
from Mulder.  "I bet you didn't know I was a reader as
a boy.  Always liked books better than other kids."
It wasn't exactly the truth.  But it seemed to serve the
purpose as both Tom and Lynne relaxed.  And when Tom 
reached for Lynne's hand, she didn't draw away.  

"So, er," Mulder cleared his throat.  "Tommy likes to read.
He's kinda quiet ..."

"He's smart," Tom interrupted.  "Incredibly smart.  He's 
in the gifted program at school."

Mulder nodded.  "Very smart.  A lot of smart kids are 
low-maintenance."  This was directed at Lynne.  "They
seem to be able to grasp the concept of unpleasant
consequences earlier than their peers, and they just
avoid bad situations."

"So why didn't he avoid this one?"  Tom rose in anger,
the wooden chair banging hard against the floor as he
knocked it backward.

"Tom!" Lynne gasped.  "It's not his fault!"

"No, it's not," Skinner said as he rose to stand behind
his brother-in-law.  "And it's not your fault, either."
He spoke softly and let one hand come out to rest on 
the other man's shoulder.  "You are not at fault here,
Tom.  You didn't fail your family.  You didn't fail
your son."  

The other man stood there for a long moment, his face
buried in both hands, struggling for control.  When it
seemed he wasn't going to move, Skinner motioned to 
Lynne, who had been frozen in place by her husband's
outburst, but she rose and moved to stand with him.
Slowly, she insinuated herself between Tom and the 
wall, and even more slowly, his arms came down and
wrapped around her.

Mulder was staring miserably into his coffee, refusing
to look up.  Skinner stepped away from his in-laws,
and went back to the table, this time resting his hand
on Mulder's shoulder.  "You want to look at Tommy's
room?" he asked quietly.

Mulder nodded.

"This is probably a good time."  

Mulder rose and they slipped out of the kitchen and
up the stairs.  Once inside, Mulder leaned against 
the wall, staring without seeing.  He shuddered and
buried his face in his own hands, then slipped downward
until he was sitting on the floor.

Skinner knelt quickly before him.  "What's wrong?"

" 's like looking at my mom and dad.  It was like that
all the time after Sam disappeared.  Sorrow, then anger,
then despair, then more anger.  It was this unending
cycle ..."  He shook himself, then looked up as if seeing
Skinner for the first time.  " 'm sorry, Sir," he began,
as he tried to scramble to his feet.  

Skinner held him in place.  "Hush.  You have nothing to
be sorry for."  Mulder was still struggling to get to
his feet, and Skinner tightened his grip, saying, "Just
sit for a minute, Mulder."

"I need to get started ..."  Mulder's face was flushed
with emotion, but which emotion, Skinner couldn't tell.
Scully would know.  He always felt so inadequate when he
had to deal with this gifted, talented, complicated man.
He was working in the dark, with no idea if he was doing
the right thing, or causing more damage.

"You need a few minutes."

"We don't have a few minutes!"  Mulder pushed hard against
Skinner but the older man didn't move.

"If it will make you feel better, Mulder, go ahead and
take a swing.  But you're not getting up yet."  Skinner
sighed as Mulder paled again, seeming to crumple within
himself.  "Look, Mulder, I'm not trying to discount how
critical things are -- but I am not going to let you
destroy yourself.  That scene downstairs, that brought
up some pretty powerful feelings for you.  Take a few
minutes and deal with them.  You want to tell me more?"

Mulder shook his head.  "Not really.  I mean, I was
a pretty low-maintenance kid, too.  Not quite as bookish
as Tommy, I don't think.  My dad was into sports, and 
I was always trying to impress him..."

Mulder had stopped struggling and Skinner moved to sit
beside him against the wall.  "It was hard on your whole 
family, when your sister disappeared."

Mulder nodded.  "It tears a family apart.  I was lucky
I was low-maintenance -- pretty self-sufficient.  I can't
remember my mom cooking after Sam was gone.  I, uh ..."
he flushed uncomfortably, and Skinner looked away.  "I
just sorta took care of things -- cooking, cleaning, the
yard."

"What did your folks do?"

"Oh, uh, it was hard on them.  Things were so confused.
Everybody was blaming everyone else."  

Mulder was staring at the floor.  He'd gone incredibly 
still, not a muscle moved, not a nerve twitched.  It was 
as if he were waiting for something, and Skinner hadn't 
a clue what it was.  He studied the man, a task made
easier because of Mulder's unnatural stillness.  

At length, Skinner reached out and touched Mulder,
shocked when the man flinched.  "Mulder?" he asked
quietly.

Mulder gave a shaky laugh.  "Sorry, Sir."

Skinner's hand still rested on his friend's arm.  "What
was that about?"

Mulder shrugged.  "Old memories."

"You do know that you were not responsible for your
sister's disappearance."  Skinner waited until the
younger man looked up.  "You do know that, right?"

Mulder nodded slowly.  "It didn't always seem that 
way."

There were footsteps on the stairs and Skinner scrambled
to his feet, reaching down to help Mulder up in deference
to the bruise on his side.  They made it up just as Tom 
and Lynne arrived.  Mulder was moving across the room to 
look at the window, and Skinner realized that he'd just 
lost a valuable opportunity to get a good look at his 
agent's past.  And who knew when it would come around 
again.  He made a note to discuss this with Scully.  
Maybe she could fill in the blanks.

"He, uh, that bastard Swinton, came in through the window,"
Tom said from the door.

Mulder nodded.  He spent a few more minutes looking around,
then nodded at Skinner, indicating he was ready to go.

"Lynne, Tom, we're going to take off now."  Skinner moved
to the door, forcing the couple to back up, and then
followed them down the stairs.  

"That's it?" Lynne asked.  "I thought you were going to
go through everything again."

Mulder shook his head.  "I don't want to put you through
that again.  I just wanted to see what Tommy is like."
He was very careful to use the present tense -- 'what
Tommy *is* like,' not 'what Tommy *was* like.'  He
smiled and reached out to gently touch Lynne's arm.
"He's a wonderful boy.  You both have a lot to be proud
of."

"Please find him for us!"  Lynne threw herself at Mulder,
begging.  "Please!  We'll do anything, pay anything.  Just
bring him home!"

Mulder had tensed at the woman's assault, but he brought 
his hand up to stroke her back once, then he gently 
passed her to her husband.  "I'm doing everything I can.
We have some new information, and I'm hopeful that it 
will be very useful."  

Skinner touched Mulder, gently pushing him toward the
front door.  "Tom, Lynne, we're leaving, but I'll be in
touch.  I'll let you know the minute we know something."
He reached out again, touching first his sister-in-law,
then his brother-in-law.  "I'm so sorry, so sorry."

And then he turned and followed Mulder out.

Mulder was waiting on the front steps, just outside the
door, and Skinner almost tripped over him.  When the
AD stopped, Mulder stood and the two men walked quickly
to the car.  "What was that about new information, 
Mulder?"

"The window.  It was done from the inside."

"That's not what forensics said."

"Then they were lazy, or sloppy.  I'm telling you,
the window was done from the inside."

"You know how it happened?"

Mulder nodded.  "Did you notice that the door to the
master bedroom was closed?"

Skinner shrugged.  He hadn't noticed.

"Did you see the hide-a-key in the shrubbery?"

Skinner shook his head.  "No ..."

"Here's what I think happened ...  Swinton waits
til everyone is asleep.  Then he uses the hide-a-key
to go in, goes up to the boy's room.  He tells the
kid something happened to Mom.  She's sick or something,
and Dad took her to the hospital.  Tommy is supposed
to go with the neighbor."  Mulder shrugged.  "So he 
goes."

"You think he'd fall for something like that?"

"Why not?  I mean, the bedroom door is always closed,
so he doesn't see that his parents are sleeping, and
the guy is a neighbor, someone his dad introduced
him to.  And the guy is in the house.  Kid's sleepy,
not processing real well.  Probably worried about
Mom.  Of course he's going to go with the one adult
around who promises he can answer all the questions."

"What about the other kids?"

Mulder shrugged.  "Can't be sure.  But probably something
similar."  He tugged at the seat belt, having to open the
door to free it, and then buckled himself in.  "I'm
willing to bet all the boys were quiet, bookish, low-
maintenance kids.  The kind who obey adults and have a
good sense for when it's okay to question and when it's
best to just do as you're told."

Skinner thought it through for a minute.  "I fucking
hate this."

"Me, too."

"Is there any way to keep a kid safe nowadays?"

Mulder shook his head.  "Nobody's safe.  Ever."

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

His cell phone rang loud in the quiet car.

"Skinner."  

He was quiet for a long time, listening, and Mulder
watched him curiously.  At length, he pulled over to
the side of the road, stopped and squinted up at
the street signs.  "Corner of Jamboree and Irvine."

He listened a minute longer, then said, "We'll be
waiting.  And you'll have someone escort Agent Scully
to the scene?"  Skinner nodded.  "Thanks."

He closed the phone and looked at Mulder.

"There's been another one, hasn't there, Sir?"

Skinner nodded.

"Abduction, or murder?"

"The boy is dead."

"Where?"

"Some old warehouse in LA.  Tustin is sending a car
to escort us.  They'll be here shortly."

"And Scully?"

"She'll meet us there.  LAPD is picking her up and 
taking her to the warehouse."

Flashing lights pulled up beside them and Skinner lifted
his badge to the officer. 

"Yes, Sir, Mr. Skinner," the man said, "if you'll just
follow me, I'll get you to the scene as quickly as 
possible."

"How far a drive is it?" Mulder asked quietly, and
Skinner repeated the question to the officer.

"About 45 minutes, normally, but we're to go with
lights and sirens so that will shave some time."

Skinner nodded.  "Let's go."  He put his hazard lights
on and pulled out behind the squad car, punching the
accelerator to keep up.  He glanced over at his agent, 
slumped in his seat, one hand wrapped around his middle.  
"You okay, Mulder?"

Mulder shrugged.  "Hurts a little, I guess."

"Tylenol.  Glovebox," Skinner said shortly.  When Mulder
didn't move, he added, "Now."

Mulder shook himself, sat up in the seat, and opened the
glovebox as directed.  He pulled out the bottle Skinner
had stashed there earlier, opened it and shook out three
of the small red and yellow capsules.  He closed the
bottle and replaced it, then looked around in confusion.

"Water bottle is still in my pocket," Skinner said, pulling
it out and passing it to his agent.  

Mulder swallowed obediently, capped the bottle and leaned
back, closing his eyes.  "Thanks, uh, Walter."

"You're welcome."

Mulder opened his eyes to look at Skinner.  "No.  I mean
it.  Thank you, Walter."  He waited until Skinner met
his gaze then added, "I mean, you think about things
like this.  I, uh, appreciate it."  He turned his head
and stared out the window.  "I feel lucky."

Skinner suppressed a snort as he looked at the battered,
bruised and exhausted man next to him.  "How so?" he 
asked quietly.  

"Got two people who care about me."  Mulder leaned against 
the window.  " 'm gonna sleep now," he said, and Skinner
let him get away without talking about it anymore.

End part 05/13

Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 06/13

"Mulder!"  Scully hurried across the bare concrete
floor to take her partner's arm.  "Are you all right?"

He smiled, then winced as the movement pulled his
split lip.  " 'm okay, Scully."  He looked around at the
local cops, the representatives from the Inspection 
Service, one of whom was a decidedly dark shade of
green, and all the crime scene people who were racing
around doing what crime scene people did best --
chasing everyone else out.

He turned and looked at Skinner.  "I need a few minutes
in here alone.  Can you arrange that?"

"Not alone," Scully said firmly, her hand still holding
his arm.

"Well," Mulder amended, "I need a few minutes in here 
with only my pathologist."

Skinner smiled and nodded and began to clear the area.
It took a few minutes and Mulder watched as Skinner had
to pull rank several times, but eventually, the space
was clear and he was free to observe the scene.

Three walls had been set up to mimic a room and the boy
lay within their confines on a bare mattress.  He was
face down, his knees on the concrete floor and his
upper body across the dirty mattress.  Lights hung from 
the walls, and a tripod for a video camera stood at the 
end of the bed, though the camera was nowhere to be found.

The boy was nude.  Blood streaked his back and buttocks.
Welts and broken skin were visible beneath the blood and
his arms were extended across the bed, secured by cords
tied to his wrists.  He had black hair and dark skin --
he looked Hispanic.  There was a man's tie wrapped tight
around the boy's neck -- the apparent cause of death, 
though Mulder suspected it had been neither swift nor
painless.

"We'll have to amend the victim profile to include
darker-skinned boys now, Scully," Mulder said forlornly.
"I knew it was too much too hope for that these people
would stick to one type."

"We'll have to check for other bodies then, too, Mulder"
she responded.  

Mulder nodded as he continued to study the boy.  He was 
bigger than Mulder would have expected, probably 5'1" 
or 5'2" and closer examination revealed the first
tufts of hair under the child's arms.  He reached out
and carefully pulled the boy's legs apart, noting the
fine lined scars on the inside of his thighs as well 
as his genitals.  "Oh," he said thoughtfully, "he'd
gotten too old."

"What?"  Scully asked.  She had been trying to wait 
patiently as Mulder made his observations, but it was
hard.  Her partner was obviously in pain, and not
just from the beating he had taken.  Everything about
this case was hurting him, and she felt powerless
to help.

"Pubic hair."  Mulder made the statement then walked 
away.

Scully moved quickly to intercept him.  "Explain, 
Mulder."  She stopped his forward movement, then tookay
his hand and led him around behind the hastily set 
up false walls, drawing him down to sit beside her.

"The boy had gotten too old.  He had hair under his 
arms and pubic hair.  They didn't want him anymore."

Scully nodded.  "So they killed him?"

"Probably not on purpose.  They could have passed
him on to someone who liked teenagers, but I think
this boy had been with them a long time.  He was
damaged."

"Of course he was damaged!"  Scully closed her eyes
for a moment, then said, "He'd been whipped till he
bled and sodomized."

Mulder shook his head.  "Not that.  They wouldn't
consider that damage.  That's just part of the scene --
part of the excitement."  Mulder shuddered violently,
and Scully moved closer to him, nudging him until he
lifted an arm and wrapped it around her.  "He had
scars on the inside of his thighs.  I think they were
self-inflicted."

"Cutting for control?"

"Exactly.  I think he had so much pain in his life,
that this was the only thing he could control.  If 
he hurt himself, he was in control."  Mulder shook 
his head sadly.  "Unfortunately, it signed his death
warrant."

"How do we find them, Mulder?  The ones who did this
to this boy?"  She snuggled in closer, her arms wrapped
around her lover, careful of his bruised and tender 
side.  He was cold again, and she could feel his breathing
grow ragged.  

"They filmed this.  A special performance for someone 
with very specific tastes."  He rose suddenly and moved
quickly to the bed.  "I need a glove, Scully," he demanded,
hand outstretched.  He slipped it on quickly, his eyes 
never leaving the boy on the bed.  "It was someone 
rich -- someone who can afford to indulge his desires."  
He grabbed the tie around the boy's neck, and stared down 
at the elegant little label, hand-sewn onto the delicate 
silk.  "Someone who can afford hand-made silk ties from 
Andre's."

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

Mulder was lying on the bed again, skipping through the
channels with one arm thrown over his eyes.

"I'm going for Chinese," Skinner said quietly.  "When
should I come back?"

Scully looked at her watch.  "It's 8:15 now.  I want 
to change before I go back to the morgue and start on
the boy from the warehouse."  She glanced back at her 
partner.  "He wants to come with me.  Says he doesn't 
want me going alone."  She smiled as she uttered the 
words.

"Does he just not want to be alone?"  Skinner still
wasn't always sure how to read Mulderspeak.

"Probably."  She smiled again.  "And besides, he doesn't
need to be present at the autopsy, not the way his 
stomach's been acting."  She looked up at Skinner.  "I
really want him to sleep tonight."

"He's going to fight you."

"I'm going to insist."  She sighed softly.  "He didn't
sleep at all last night and he's been going full tilt
all day, plus the assault.  He needs to rest."

"You can't make him sleep."  Skinner sympathized, but there
really was a limit to what they could do.  

"No, I can't.  But I'm tired, too."  She set her lips in 
firm resolution.  "And I'm going to be even more tired
when I get back from this autopsy at midnight."  She
looked over at her partner.  "He can just damn well lie
down with me and sleep."

"What was that?" Mulder called from the bed.

"I said, when I get back, we are both going to sleep."

Mulder sat up, looking almost panicked.  "I, uh, don't
think I can sleep, Scully.  There's still so much to
do."

She moved across the room to sit on the bed with him.
"I understand, Mulder.  But you can lie down with me while
I sleep, so I won't be alone, right?"

He nodded at once, and enfolded her in a hug.  "I can
do that."

She pulled away reluctantly and nodded at Skinner.  
"Walter is going for Chinese.  What do you want?"

Mulder waved dismissively.  "Some kind of soup.  Chicken
rice, chicken noodle.  Something like that."

"You can't eat anything more substantial?" Scully asked
quietly.

He shook his head.

"All right," she sighed.  She looked up at Skinner.  "Got
that?"

"Yeah," Skinner answered.  "I'll just get a bunch of 
stuff and we can all pick."  He looked at his watch 
again.  "I'll be back in an hour?"  It was a question,
and Scully answered it as such.

"An hour will be fine, Walter.  And -- thank you."

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

They were in the shower.  He had flat out refused to 
take a third shower that day, but then caved when she
said she would join him.  Or he would join her.

The warm water beat down on his head, sluicing down
his back as she worked her hands across the tense
muscles of his shoulders.  Hands slippery with soap,
she worked on smoothing out the kinks in his arms,
his back, his neck.  He stood in the classic pose of
'assume the position,' arms lifted, hands against the
wall, leaning forward with his legs spread.  

She washed his back carefully, letting her hands linger,
strokaying his arms and delighting in the feel of strong 
muscles just below the soft skin.  It was part of her
joy in touching him, to be constantly reminded of both
his strength and his vulnerability, the hard and the
soft.  

Her arms wrapped around his chest and she carefully
bathed the vivid bruise, then let her hands wander 
upward to pluck at his tiny nipples.  He sighed softly, 
dropping his head, but when her hands worked their way
down to his genitals, he was flaccid.

"Uhm, 'm sorry, Scully," he whispered, and she turned
him to face her, silencing him with a soft kiss.

"It's all right, Mulder.  I don't think either of us
is up for that right now."

"Can't stop seeing what those boys went through," he
mumbled, standing unmoving as she finished washing him
and then turned off the shower.  

"Shhhh," she soothed.  "Don't.  Try and let it go, just
for a little while."

He nodded, then swooped up a towel and enfolded her in
it.  He knelt slowly, still stiff and sore, and began to 
dry her.  His touch was soft but sure, and he strokayed her 
almost lazily, large hands kneading her calves, her 
thighs, her buttocks.  There was a sensuality to his 
touch that somehow avoided sexuality -- it was vaguely 
arousing, but mostly comforting, and she hoped it 
comforted him as well as her.

Once dried, she led him to the bed and watched as he
dressed in the sweats she put out for him.  She dressed 
casually as well, in jeans and a sweater, rightfully 
assuming that the corpse she would be working on would
not mind that she didn't wear her suit to work.

She was pleased to see that Mulder lay down again
while she went to do her hair.  She had been afraid
he would start rereading the files that sat on the 
table by the window.  But he was apparently trying
to follow her injunction that he let it go, just
for a little while.  

Her hair dry, she went and joined Mulder on the bed,
curling up against his good side, her head pillowed
in the hollow of his shoulder.  His eyes were closed,
and he had one arm thrown over them.  He cradled her
against him with his other arm, the hand making 
lazy circles on her shoulder and playing with her
hair.  

"This is stirring up a lot of memories, Scully,"
he murmured to her.

She swallowed hard.  "So Skinner said.  Reminds you
of when Sam disappeared?"

He nodded and she could feel the rough stubble of 
his evening beard scrape against her scalp.  It was 
oddly comforting, a reminder of the many nights they'd
lain together, content to hold and be held.  She sighed
quietly, thinking that while their sex life was good
and satisfying, their work life all too often put
them in situations where neither felt like partaking
of that particular fruit.  And how fortunate they
were, that their relationship was based on so many
more elements than just sex.  Now, for example, 
they were able to lie quietly with one another 
and draw strength from that sharing.

"Walter said you flinched when he touched you."
She waited a moment for a reaction, then went on.
"He thought that you thought he was going to hit 
you."  When Mulder still didn't answer, she added, 
"You were talking about your dad."

Mulder gave a deep sigh and removed his arm from
his eyes, bringing it across his chest to encircle
Scully.  "My dad was angry -- a lot."

"He hit you?"  Scully kept her voice quiet, and tried
to keep her body relaxed.

Mulder shook his head.  "I can't talk about this now,
Scully," he groaned.  "Please don't ask me."

"It's all right," she whispered.  "I'm just worried 
about you."

"I know," he said, his head dipping down so his lips
brushed her ear as he spoke.  "But I'm going to be
okay."  He smiled; she could feel the movement where
his lips rested on her neck as he pressed a tender 
kiss there.  "Didja know Walter had Tylenol in the
car for me?"

"He cares about you, Mulder."  She brought her hand 
over to gently rub his chest, carefully avoiding the
bruised area.  

"I know, I know."  Mulder paused, pulling himself up 
to lean on his elbow and looking down into her face.
"I just have trouble remembering that.  It seems ..."

"Right," she finished for him.  "He's your friend, so
it's right that he cares."  She looked up into his
beautiful gray-green eyes, eyes swirling with emotion,
and pulled him down to her.  His lips met hers, and
if the intensity of the kiss was dampened by her
desire not to hurt his already damaged lips, the 
intensity of the emotion behind it only flared higher
for her care and concern.

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

It was nearly midnight.  He hadn't thought it possible,
but Mulder had actually given in and fallen asleep.
Skinner stretched in the chair, then rose and paced 
to the far side of the room.  Scully should be back 
any time, and to be honest, he would be happy to 
give up Mulderwatch and get some sleep of his own.
Not that he begrudged the exhausted man his rest, 
but truth be told, he wasn't all that young anymore, 
and he could use a little rest himself.

He walked to the sink and splashed some water on 
his face.  He didn't want Scully to come back and
find him sleeping on the job.  It wasn't long before
he realized he was scrubbing at his face and hands,
as if mere soap and water could ever take away the
stain that this case had marked on his soul.  He'd
read what had been done to those boys, viewed a couple
of the videos, and there was a filth in his mind now
that would never go away.  Skinner had stopped reading,
long before the file was done, and still he felt
soiled, tainted.  How much worse it must be for Mulder,
who'd read everything, most of it more than once.  If
Skinner worried that it would never leave his mind, how
much more so that must be true for Mulder of the eidetic
memory.

He shook his head, turned off the water and patted his
face and hands dry with the clean white towel.  He was
putting his glasses back on when he heard it.

"No..."

The word was whimpered, and Mulder twitched in his 
sleep.

"Mulder?" he called softly.

"Noooo ..."

This time the cry was drawn out, still soft, but a 
long, plaintive protest that seemed to echo in the
room.

Skinner reached out to the man, but drew back when 
Mulder cried, "Don't touch me there!"  This outburst 
was accompanied by a violent roll and then Mulder 
began to thrash about and fight with the covers on 
the bed.  He was crying, huge, gulping sobs, and the 
panic on his face was evident as Skinner struggled 
to free him from the confines of the linens without 
touching him.

He had never been so happy to see a door open in all
his life as he was when Scully slipped in.  "What's
going on here, Walter?" she asked as she raced to the
bed.

"Damned if I know."  He was busy trying to unwind a sheet
from around Mulder's foot without touching him and 
without getting kicked.  Scully reached out, but Skinner 
stopped her.  "He was crying out about not being touched."

She drew back, nodding. 

"Does he do this often?"

"Nightmares?"  Scully grabbed the bedspread and pulled.
Skinner had most of it untangled and her yank pulled it
free.  "Yes.  He has nightmares."  She studied Mulder
who had settled now that he wasn't confined, but was 
still crying in his sleep.  "But he's never said he
didn't want to be touched."

Skinner eyed the man on the bed, then watched as Scully
spoke quietly to him and slowly slipped onto the bed
beside him.  

"Scully?" Mulder whispered, still mostly asleep.

"Shhh," she answered, "it's all right.  It's me."

He was on his side, and she inched over to him, carefully 
spooning herself behind him.  At her touch, he relaxed 
and the crying slowed and then stopped.  Under her touch,
he stilled and fell back into a deep sleep.  All the while, 
she crooned to him, soft, low nonsense sounds aimed at 
comfort and soothing.  

"You all right here, Scully?" Skinner asked at last.

"We'll be fine, Walter."  She looked up at the big man.
"Thanks for looking out for him for me."

Skinner nodded.  "Try and get some sleep.  We'll meet
in the morning and discuss your report."

She nodded again.  "Good night, Walter.  You get some
sleep, too, okay?"

Skinner picked up the blanket and draped it over his 
two agents, then slipped out of the room.  Scully's
comfort sounds had begun again, and they followed him
out, vaguely soothing to his own troubled soul.

End part 06/13