From math.ohio-state.edu!howland.erols.net!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!newsfeed.internetmci.com!newsxfer2.it d.umich.edu!portc01.blue.aol.com!newstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail Wed Aug 14 15:37:57 1996 Article: 22866 of alt.tv.x-files.creative Path: math.ohio-state.edu!howland.erols.net!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!newsfeed.internetmci.com!newsxfer2.it d.umich.edu!portc01.blue.aol.com!newstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: amperage@aol.com (Amperage) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: Mistress 16/20 Date: 14 Aug 1996 12:10:20 -0400 Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) Lines: 382 Sender: root@newsbf02.news.aol.com Message-ID: <4ustpc$mli@newsbf02.news.aol.com> Reply-To: amperage@aol.com (Amperage) NNTP-Posting-Host: newsbf02.mail.aol.com Status: RO NC-17 material, including B&D. Do not read if underage or you do not like such material. Usual disclaimers. Mistress 16/20 by Amperage Morning. He was sore and tired and even through the haze of drug he felt like shit. The television blared news. He was not in the mood for anything but news. News was impersonal and current. He got his guacamole and chips and went back to the couch, grabbing a blanket to curl up under. Guacamole and chips and soft drinks and he would ride this storm out without thinking. The apartment still seemed so fucking small that he couldn't breathe. He woke with a start. His dreams had been fever dreams, although he knew he didn't have a fever. He hoped he didn't. Mulder put his head back against the pillow. Stared at the ceiling. CNN Headline news was still providing counterpoint to the quiet day. She'd installed a new tape drive to her computer, written every last single report she was supposed to have done, rearranged the furniture (again), and finished up every new book in the house. Okay. Monday at 3. Enough with the blizzard. Scully wandered into the kitchen and grabbed an orange. She'd checked out Mulder's stuff, since he hadn't had time to buy anything. He was well provisioned. About as well as she was, anyway. Lots of stuff in the freezer, getting ice crystals. Some fresh fruit that really needed eating. Who knew when another mutant would pop up in Idaho and they would be on a case for a couple of weeks or longer? She snorted, thinking of her woman friends who kept lots of food in the fridge. If she did that, she'd come back to slime and unidentifiable things. Lurking. She wouldn't even buy more than a quart of milk at a time anymore. Scully dug around in her portfolio for a pen. Was rewarded with a small, thick envelope. She pulled it free of her books and reports and bound copies of procedure datum to stare at the innocuous white bond. Oh fuck, this must have been in there since Friday. She knew what it was. She was just uncertain if she wanted to see it. Mulder didn't need to know what she had seen. Scully debated not opening it. She wasn't sure she really wanted to know more about her partner's sexual practices. She slit the envelope. The photos were small, a little over passport size. Twenty or thirty of them. Scully didn't have to look at them all. They were photographs of Mulder and Tanneka Bonet. Mulder with a spreader bar and a ball gag. Naked, his erection huge, his body glistening. There was a figure beside him, Tanneka. She had an anal plug. A bruised butt. Mulder's no doubt. A figure in handcuffs and a furry mask. Naked, head down cast. His genitals were in some kind of. . .pouch, but the head of his penis protruded. There were marks on his chest. There were nipple clamps. A wide leather strop. Scully had seen the strop before. The strop meeting Mulder's butt. She put the photos down, collected them all into the photograph. She didn't want to see this. Didn't want to read it. Didn't want to picture him like this. And know that he liked it. He preferred it. He wanted the beltings and the bruising and the humiliation and the pain. She stared at the full envelope. The sender was dead and there was no reason Mulder ever needed to see it. "I'm cold." "It's snowing." "I know." "Did you play in the snow, Secret?" "Sometimes. Why are you here, Tanny? You died." "I know. It's still cold. I don't like the cold." "Tanny. You're dead." "I'm still your mistress." "He killed you." "I know. You don't have to keep harping on it." "Where are you?" "Here. I'm sorry he hurt you, my sweet, sweet Secret. You know I wouldn't have you hurt." "I know." "I loved you, Secret. Did you love me?" "Yes." "Have you been hurt very badly?" "Yes. I don't tell anyone, even myself." "I'm sorry. I'm sorry he's doing this to you." "He's dead." Silence. "Tanny. They told me he was dead." Silence thicker and colder than tears turned to traceries of ice. He woke with a start, heart thudding in his chest. Unable to breathe, unable to think. Fox Mulder sat up, panting. Cold with the sweat running along his legs, into the nooks of his knees, along the soft, strong ridges of muscles and bone. His apartment was dark and he was alone. He wasn't sure, but he thought he wanted to be dead. CNN Headline was a mere noise. A counterpoint she barely noticed. But necessary. Scully sat under her blanket, staring at nothing, trying to control the nausea. Reconciling herself with the truth and the facts. She could not help thinking about the photographs. Her stomach heaved and she rubbed her hands against her arms, face pale. She didn't know why it upset her so. Oh yes, she did. Phones weren't down, electricity was fine. Mulder uncurled himself from the bed to grab his cordless. Probably Scully. "Hullo?" "I'm not dead." He was instantly awake. Sitting up. Staring at murky darkness. His breath was hot in his throat. The cordless, he knew the speaker had already hung up. In a moment the phone would start beeping at him. "If you would like to make a call, please hang up and try your call again. If you need help, please call your operator for assistance." Would sound in that irritating, sedative female voice. He could not breathe. He could not think. Oh God. His ears pulsed, filled with rushing sounds and his entire body was alternating between chills and hot flashes. He could not control the shaking that vibrated through his frame. He was going to fucking die. He was going to die. "Still snowed in?" Scully's voice. "Yeah." Mulder swallowed. Closed his eyes. He had the thin, fine edge of a single edge razor in his hands. The blunt safety edge against his palm. Cuts and cuts. He must be careful. There would be nasty scars if he wasn't careful. "No snow plows anywhere around here. But everything still works." "Yeah." He agreed. "I got a number." "A number?" "For a hotline. They're confidential. They won't even want to know your name. You can talk to them." How could he talk to them? For Godsakes he was going to tell a strange woman's voice about how it felt. Pull up all the thoughts and emotions. "No thanks." "I know you've pushed it down for now. But if you don't deal with it, it's going to come up and it's going to bother you. Mulder. Please." "No. I'm okay. I'll be okay." He heard her sigh, heard her want to push it further, want to insist, but know that he could not stand it if she did. "I want you to call. I want you to call whenever you feel like talking. I'm going to call again this afternoon. Okay?" "I'm okay. Scully. It's all right." He reassured. "I'm here for you, Mulder. I want you to know that." Oh God, she was sounding more and more like those damn fucking counselling classes where they taught you to be supportive. "Okay." he hung up, grateful to be left alone in his apartment, in his drafty cold apartment. Where a killer called. He had to do something. Mulder paced the apartment, drinking only things from closed bottles. He had to do something. He had to fucking do something. The phone rang and the machine picked it up. "Secret. I don't appreciate this juvenile behavior. Pick up your phone." Impatient. A deep, rich, cultured voice. A touchy sigh. "Pick up now." Mulder stared at the phone as though it were dangerous, murderous. He did not move from his place on the couch. "I know where your partner lives. And she means nothing to me." The voice of a parent, reciting a story that had already been recited too many times. His hand snaked out and he picked up the phone. "Hello?" "Hello. Why didn't you pick up the phone?" No answer. Mulder swallowed. Licked his lips. "Are you frightened of me?" Mulder did not answer. Saying yes would give this man what he wanted. But they both knew that saying no would be a lie. "Do you want me to be?" He asked softly. "You know perfectly well what I want. Tell me what I want." "You want me frightened to show your power and domination over people. You've never been able to dominate a man before." "That's not true." Outrage. "It isn't?" "No. Take off your clothes." "I thought we were discussing what you wanted." "I want you to take off your clothes." Mulder was winning the last conversation so the voice changed topics. "Why? Can you see me take off my clothes?" "Maybe. Maybe not." "How will you know?" "Take off your clothes." Trying to be dominant. Trying to be aggressive. "Do it. You do everything I say. Because I can kill anyone. I can do it and do it and no one will stop me." "They said they killed you." "They didn't. Take off your sweatshirt." So he could see. Mulder put down the phone, took off his sling, wincing. Pulled off his sweatshirt. Picked up the phone. "Very good. Play with your nipples." Mulder slowly edged his hand up his chest. Fingered the surface of his nipple, made it erect. "Lean your head against the couch and close your eyes." Mulder complied. Bitterness like the taste of metal scrapings filled his mouth. His breath came in soft, hard little pants. His stomach boiled with outrage. But he continued fingering his nipple, toying unwillingly with the hardness. "Put your hands into your sweats. Put your hands deep into your sweats and play with your dick. Play with it. Massage it. Does it feel good?" "No." "Take off your sweats. Take off your sweatpants and sit on your couch naked." He complied slowly, drawing off the clothes, awkward with the sling, wincing once, not meaning too. Sitting back on his couch, shivering. He was so fucking cold and the sweat on his body was glistening and cold and the goosebumps covered him. "Can you make yourself grow hard?" "No." "Because I'm watching?" "I don't feel like it." "Put all of your genitals in your hand. Hold them. Yes. Now take your hand and bring it up to your mouth. Very good. Yess. Put your index finger into your mouth. Leave it wet and slick. Good. Nice. Take it down to your butt. Put your legs on the coffee table. Put your legs on the coffee table and slide your butt forward. Stick that wet finger up your ass. Do it." Mulder squinted. He would not show this man anything. He would not give this man anything. His own finger felt wet and foreign and evil and he could not stand it. The voice on the phone stroked him obscenely. The voice on the phone told him to finger fuck himself. Do it. Do it now. Do it or else. Do it because otherwise Scully gets in on the little game. He had no interest in keeping her alive except as a pawn in the game he played with Mulder. She was a piece on a board. And to this man of no importance except that she meant something to Mulder. He'd wanted to go for a jog. He'd settled for being out on the streets. Only the kids were out in the snow, building snow forts and throwing snow balls. Making snow angels. The children were often light enough to trudge across the top of the snow crust without breaking it. They laughed and played in the middle of the street, Up the street where the houses were built along hills, the kids had sleds and cardboard boxes and Garbage can lids. They were hurtling headlong in the snow, sliding down the hills, their screams and screeches of pure delight. He watched them. No cares, no worries. If it had snowed like this and Tanny had still been alive, what would she have done? She would have had a silk anorak and a shetland wool sweater and she would have laughed and laughed and laughed and played games in the snow. She would have had warmth and hot chocolate with whipped cream. Oh God, Tanny. I'm trying to find him. I thought I had him. Everyone thinks he's dead. Oh God, who told them I needed you? How did they find me? My father. Tanny, we cannot escape our father's sins. You could not. We do not make our own choices, or our own paths. He trudged through Hummer tracks, staring at the cars, at the houses. At the spears of icicles glistening in the sun. The paths we take are created for us. And in the end, we do not choose. *You're a smart boy, Fox. Smarter than I ever was.* Did he know, there at the end? Had his father understood? *You never have thrown in. Once you do, their politics become your politics.* He thought of Tanny's father, a welder in Texas, selling his daughter like she was a used car. Who Tanny had been she had been because of her life. There never had been a choice for her. No matter what he did, no matter where he went he would always be his father's son. He had been so arrogant. Join the FBI. It had nothing to do with his father's work. His father had taken care of German scientists for the government. His father had coordinated things in the state department. The FBI had nothing to do with that. In the FBI he could find answers. About Sam. He could separate himself. What he was doing now had nothing to do with his father. He had not even realized any facts, any truths. Everything in his life hinged on his father. Samantha had been taken, because of his father. He was searching for Samantha. For the truth. Verber. What had been real there? What had he actually remembered? Aliens? Or mutants, some kind of obscene force the government had created? Except there were aliens, because he had met them. Except the government was experimenting with alien proteins, with the building blocks of life forms foreign to this world. And Tanny had been given to him, at first, to keep an eye on him. Then he had become more dangerous and Tanny hadn't been needed anymore. Except that Tanny needed him. And he needed Tanny. And it didn't bother anyone, because everyone knew that Mulder. . . That Mulder was his father's son. The killer wasn't used to dominating men. The killer was used to being dominated by men. The killer could dominate women. But he knew that world. He wanted Mulder. If he was in the circles he had to know who Mulder was. They thought they had killed the killer. They hadn't killed him. He was still there. Still terrorizing Mulder. But it was better now. Because everyone thought that he was dead. Chris Godwin. If he'd lived, what games would They have played with Chris Godwin and his father? What games had been played with Mulder's own father? We'll keep your son alive, even though he is becoming a nuisance. We'll keep your son alive, so long as you stay on the Vineyard. So long as you never look up from your scotch bottle and your guilt. Samantha was an old hostage. Too long ago to be of any use. But your boy Fox. He's a sharp one. And we'll let him have his head. You just keep your mouth shut, William. Do you know how he likes his sex? Is that your fault, Bill? It is. You know it is. And his father had stayed in the scotch bottle. Was this some ploy by the circle to keep Mulder in his place? Was the killer actually dead and this was someone else, someone they could use to terrorize him? They knew he had slices across his groin. The man with his cancer sticks could tell Skinner and Skinner would order Mulder to take a physical and that would be the end. But the game wouldn't be as fun anymore. And Mulder had his uses, didn't he? Mulder could be manipulated. If you knew what strings to pull. His father had been alone. But Mulder wasn't alone. He didn't want to tell Scully any of this. Not her battle. Sink into your misery. At least your father forgot about everything when he fell into a drunken sleep. He couldn't tell Scully. The killer was using her as a trump card. Fuck that. Scully wasn't a trump card. What if they took her? What if the killer split her open from pubis to sternum? Mulder looked up, surprised at how far he walked. How far he'd come. His legs ached and his body was cold. He had to talk to Scully. Some place, some way that no one would hear him. From math.ohio-state.edu!howland.erols.net!tank.news.pipex.net!pipex!usenet2.news.uk.psi.net!uknet! usenet1.news.uk.psi.net!uknet!psinntp!psinntp!portc01.blue.aol.com!newstf01.news.aol.com!new sbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail Thu Aug 15 15:34:52 1996 Article: 22888 of alt.tv.x-files.creative Path: math.ohio-state.edu!howland.erols.net!tank.news.pipex.net!pipex!usenet2.news.uk.psi.net!uknet! usenet1.news.uk.psi.net!uknet!psinntp!psinntp!portc01.blue.aol.com!newstf01.news.aol.com!new sbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: amperage@aol.com (Amperage) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: Mistress 17/20 NC-17 Date: 14 Aug 1996 18:22:23 -0400 Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) Lines: 372 Sender: root@newsbf02.news.aol.com Message-ID: <4utjiv$26r@newsbf02.news.aol.com> Reply-To: amperage@aol.com (Amperage) NNTP-Posting-Host: newsbf02.mail.aol.com Status: RO NC-17 material, including B&D. Do not read if underage or you do not like such material. Usual disclaimers. Mistress 17/20 by Amperage "Scully." He had planned this carefully. So carefully. There was a thin, fine edge here he had to use. An edge to her worry. "Hi. How's it going?" "Okay. It's going okay. I went walking." "In this?" "Yeah. " Mulder stared at the bloody towel and the razor blade he'd left on his coffee table. Left from this morning just in case he might need it again. Funny. He was nervous and tense and his heart was pounding, but he didn't need the razor blade. Because now he was in control. He didn't need the cuts to make believe he was. He was. "It's. . ." "It's cold. I know. I wore my snow stuff. Scully. . .I. . ." A deliberate pause. Come on, Scully. Worry about me. He had to keep his body poised and depressed. In case someone could see. He had to play this just right. Make the other end think they'd pushed too hard and now Mulder needed help or he'd just lose it. A swallow. He sniffled. Good. But you're going to have to cry. He couldn't cry. Okay. Bite your lip. "Mulder? Are you okay?" "I'm. . ." He did not finish it. He tucked his knees against his chest. "I'm sorry." "Mulder, what are you sorry for? Mulder? What's going on?" He didn't have his gun. Important that they not think he was so close he would think about suicide. Important that Scully think he might be. "I just. . .I didn't. . .I don't. . ." "Mulder. What's going on?" "I. . ." Come on. Don't give her enough to call a hospital. Just give her enough to be scared. She's gonna kill you when she finds out what kind of games you're playing. You know that don't you, Muld? "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. . .called." "No. No. I want to talk." "It's okay." He put the phone down. Now to wait. The phone rang immediately. He let the machine pick up. "Mulder. Mulder, you answer this phone right now. Mulder, answer me. I'll call the police if you don't fucking pick up the phone. . .I mean it. I've got my cellular and I'm dial. . ." "Scully." "Don't do that again." Her breathing was heavy with worry. He sniffled and waited. "Are you feeling bad?" "I'm okay." "Like hell you are." "I'm okay." He repeated. "You don't sound okay. I think you called for a reason." He did not answer. "I just. . .I'm tired." "Tired?" He sniffled into the phone again. "I just. . .I don't know what to. . ." he stopped. Take the bait Scully. Take the damn bait. "I didn't do anything and he. . .he. . ." another sniffle. Oh yeah, take it wayyyyy over the top, why don't you? "Mulder, I don't think you should be alone." "I'm okay." "Mulder, stop saying that. Listen. I'm going to call some people. I think it would probably be better if you came here." "I'm fine. I'm fine here. I can't leave." "Why not?" Mulder swallowed. Like, oh shit. Oh shit. "I just can't. I won't go." "Mulder. I think you need to be someplace where you don't have to be alone." She was panicking. Good. She was panicking. Her partner had been raped and now he was finally reacting to being raped. Any watchers would think that they (he? they?) had pushed entirely too far. Let him go before he broke completely. He won't tell her anything. He wants to protect her too much. He always wants to protect her. He never tells her until it's too late. "I'm not crazy." The words exploded in anger. "Nobody said you were crazy." Calming words. Good. Come on Scully. Come on. He was painting himself into a corner. No way would she want him alone. No way. Come on Scully. Even you know I'm emotionally fragile. Oh God, not like I haven't thrown off enough signs. "I think you're handling everything that's happened to you very well." "I'm okay." "I know." She was calming. "I'd rather you come to my apartment. Okay? I'll go to yours, but I'd just rather you come to mine. Will you pack a bag? Hmm?" "I can't. Roads blocked." "You let me worry about that. Okay?" Something totally unexpected happened. Mulder closed his eyes, put his forehead to his knees and sobbed. Relief mostly. But also some sadness that he had to use this to get to Scully. That she would accept so readily that he was off his rocker. That he knew exactly how to play this game. That it came so easily. "It's okay. It's okay. You're going to be okay. I'm glad you called me." Her voice was warm and gentle and he wanted to laugh. He settled for a soft intake of breath. "I'm sorry. I'm not supposed to leave." He said it between the heaves of tears. "I'm sorry." "There's nothing to be sorry for. Nothing in the world." Her voice was gentle now. "Mulder, I can't. . .I can't just leave you alone. If you won't come to my house, I've got to call the police." "I'm not gonna' hurt myself." A howl. Whoever it was, that entity *had* to believe that he hadn't wanted to go. Had to. Less danger for Scully. Less danger for him. He heard her swallow and knew she had taken the bait. "I don't know if you will or not." "I'm not!" "But I have to tell them you're depressed and that I don't know if you will or not." "I don't need to go to a hospital. I won't!" "I don't want you to. I want you to come to my house. I'll let you decide. I can call the police. Or you can come to my house." He sniffled for a few moments. "It's okay. You've been through a lot. Mulder? It's okay. Are you going to come to my place?" "Yes." Sullen. Like a child. "All right. Now, you stay on the line and you get some clothes together. I'm going to get on my cellular and talk to some people. We'll get you to my apartment. Okay?" She called friends. He heard her edging around reasons. Getting no's. Finally calling someone. "Jess. Do you remember I called to get the rape numbers? That person. . .that person needs. . .no." A laugh of almost hysteria. "I need a hummer. It's important. Yeah. Alone. . .thanks." He had his clothes together, feeling like a small child being sent to the noncustodial parent's for a weekend. Had an overnight bag and the honeydew melon. Scully finally let him off the phone when the Hummer was almost there. So long suckers. The little corporal drove silently, obviously questioning why this rider had such high precedence. But she didn't ask any questions as they slid along the streets. There were some four wheel drive vehicles out in the mush now. But none were anything but emergency. Mulder did not regret this deception. Not at all. He was fine. Fine only because he had taken a step. Because he had broken patterns. Because he wasn't being controlled anymore. She was waiting. "Is this Camp Wachuka?" Mulder asked in a monotone. Scully smiled. "No. But it's close. I'm glad you're here." "Thank you." She nodded. "Come on. Let's get your snow clothes off." He took off the anorak and the expensive snow boots. She had hot chocolate. Mulder didn't know, but he suspected that there weren't cameras. He hoped there weren't cameras. He handed her a letter he'd composed while he was in the hummer. Hasty and she would probably be pissed as all hell at him. If she didn't blow it. Please don't blow it. She took the note silently, solemnly. No doubt she thought he was half a meter off the edge. She read it. Reread it. Stared at him. Mulder shrugged. "Are you tired?" Her voice was soft. "Not really." She nodded. "It's okay. I'm glad you're here." Her hand gripped his hard. He stared across the two mugs of hot chocolate. He did not see any anger in her face. Only calm acceptance. And relief that he was not going it alone. She treated him like a child, loudly making him settle in to watch TV under an afghan. Concerned and clucking. She was almost overdoing. Mulder hoped anyone listening didn't know Scully too well. She hadn't been this solicitous when he'd come around in the Arctic. "How're you feeling?" Her voice was calm as he walked into the kitchen the next morning. "I'm okay." There was hot coffee. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I don't know why I went off the deep end. I hate. . .imposing on you." "Don't be sorry. And it isn't an imposition. You know that." He did, actually. But he had to give a little oh-pity-me speech. He sat down at the table with his coffee. "My neighbor down the hall says that we aren't going to get plowed out until tomorrow or the next day. She's got a daughter in grade school." Apparently having a daughter in grade school conferred upon one magical powers of knowing when the snow plows would come. Must be an X-file. "Do you want to go to the bakery?" "Bakery? Where your neighbor with the magical snow plow prognosticating abilities got the pastries?" "Yes." "Uh. . .I don't mind breaking in. . .but won't every thing be stale?" "They've been open. The owner lives right down the street and so do her two daughters--teenage daughters." "Ah." Mulder nodded wisely. "She's usually even got some coffee to drink." Mulder stared at his partner. "And some place to sit?" "Kind of." Scully admitted. "Take a shower, get dressed and we'll go." Mulder frowned, annoyed at the maternal treatment, but let it pass. "I need my drugs." He said, trying not to let his irritation out into words. Scully had all his pills. Which made sense if Mulder were depressed. She nodded. It was cold again. The echoes of children still bounced off of the buildings lining the street, but they were less. Novelty having worn off, Mulder supposed most children were in the house, web crawling or fighting off alien invaders or watching television. They were outside in the clear, and Scully opened her mouth to talk. Mulder held up a gloved hand. Just wait. They looked like two polar bears, but experience had taught them both to keep heavy snow gear in their wardrobes. By Mulder's estimation it was not really, really cold. And so he didn't wear his insulated snow pants. He hadn't even put on thermal underwear. Scully had an easier time in the heavy muck of snow than her partner did. Mulder wished, again, for snow shoes and the knack for using them properly. Had he really gone several miles across ice pack in stuff worse than this? Had he? The bakery was small, almost unexpected. A bakery with brass trimmings and heavy wood fixtures. It edged a huddled, upscale grouping of commercial buildings that must have been "approved" by the residents as acceptable. A bakery, a dry cleaner--with *no* neon sign in the window advertising rates, and no cheesy blue and white, sparse design, such as Mulder was used to--a grocery story and a stationary story. The only store open was the bakery. It was warm and bright and friendly and when Scully opened the door it smelled heavenly. Inside, only one of the display cases had been filled, obviously with favorites. And older woman and two very young, very nubile younger women were sitting in chairs around the cash register, holding mugs of coffee and noshing on sweet dough. They were listening to a radio that blared rock hits. One looked up. "Hi." "Hi." Scully smiled brightly. "Trying to escape cabin fever?" The older of the two girls asked. Scully chuckled. "is it that obvious?" "No. That's just 95% of our business. The government shut down and ends and what happens? We get snowed in." "Oh. Well. I'm essential personnel." Scully replied ruefully. The older woman, the mother, Mulder supposed, made a face. "Lucky Duck. What do you want?" "Coffee and I want some baklava." Mulder gazed at the pastries lining the display case. "Could I have a Jumbo Cinnamon roll?" Even Scully blinked at that request, then remembered what Mulder had had in his pantry. "God, I hate men." The eldest daughter moaned, getting up. "I'm going to gain 10 pounds, just eating a little sweet dough, but you. . ." She pulled Scully's pastry and set it on a styrofoam plate, then pulled the rack of cinnamon rolls out. "You'll probably eat this and then go home and eat as much lunch as you want. It's just not fair." She expertly cut and served up the pastry. Scully paid as Mulder carried the plates over to a small, rather dilapidated table, juggling both in his right hand. The chairs at least, looked comfortable. Two tables, two chairs. And it wasn't much of a corner. Just blank space away from the display cases. Scully brought over two filled styrofoam cups of coffee. "Refills are free." Her smile was bright, almost real. He nodded absently. Seating and with a bite of cheese danish in her stomach, Dana Scully was quite ready to get on with matters at hand. "Are you angry?" Mulder asked, using a plastic knife to separate layers on his roll. "No. You did what you had to. Do you think there will be repercussions?" "I don't know. They're not going to kill me. I doubt they want to kill you. You're not much a bargaining chip unless you're alive." "They?" Scully searched his face carefully. Mulder shrugged. "I don't know. Sometimes I think it's one individual lunatic and sometimes. . .I wonder if they didn't take care of the murderer and now the consortium's playing games with me. Breaking me down." Scully watched him. Not agreeing. Not disagreeing. "Besides if this is an individual killer, not the consortium, I don't think he wants me. . .he wants me miserable so he can play with me. Not so miserable I do something stupid." "Do you think the Consortium lied to you?" Mulder drew back from his position, hunched over his plate. leaned against the padded back of his chair. Stared out the plate glass at a frozen, white world. "I don't know. I honestly don't know. I know that the killings have stopped, or the consortium thinks they stopped the killings because they deprioritized the task force, right? But I don't know anything else." He shrugged helplessly. "What. . .what has the killer done to you?" Mulder shook his head. "Just phoned me. Threatened you." "Why did he have to threaten me?" "No reason." His eyes were somewhere else. Abruptly he brought his focus back to the present. "We don't have time for touchy feely stuff, Scully." "We'll have plenty of time if he sends you over the edge." Scully muttered. Mulder ate some cinnamon roll, said nothing for a moment. "I've tried contacting Godwin. I can't reach him. I don't know where he is." Scully stared at Mulder, concerned. "I don't know. Some part of me hopes he took off on vacation to avoid all the reporters and snide comments and the pressure." "That could be it." "Or it might not." Mulder sighed. "What do you want to do?" "The killer doesn't know you know anything, that's a advantage. And he thinks I'm emotionally unstable, that's another advantage." Mulder shook his head. "He's going to keep the phone calls up until he feels. . .like he's got me dominated more. He won't risk a face to face meeting again unless I'm drugged. I think the risk of a face to face is also slighter if I'm not alone." "So go through your whole angst routine tomorrow afternoon. Lock yourself in the bathroom and make me work to get you out or something. There won't be any question in his mind that you need to stay with me for a while." Mulder grinned. "Think I can pull it off?" Scully snorted. "You had me fooled." "But eventually he's going to want a face to face. I've got to. . .play it carefully. He knows what kind of person I am. So he knows it's going to be difficult. But when he thinks I'm more subjugated, I think he'll want a face to face. He'll probably have me take several Klonopin and pain killers, make me extremely woozy. Have me wear a blindfold. But he thinks I'll be alone." "Don't you think he'll be careful about where he wants to meet you?" "He's got to have a place private enough for sex." Mulder interrupted. Scully nodded at this. "And I don't think he plans on the back seat of a car either." "Okay. So, what are you going to do?" Mulder swallowed. Did not respond. "I don't know. I'll contact you. Somehow. I guess." It was not good enough. It was not acceptable. But Scully let it be. They could work something out later. Right now he was safe. Right now he wouldn't be hurt anymore. Scully licked her lips. Took a sip of coffee. Forced the next words out of her mouth. "I want you to talk to a friend of mine. She's the rape counselor at Maryland. She's the one who got you here." Mulder stared out the window. "Please. If for no other reason than the fact it will make me feel better." "I can't think about it. I can't." His voice was soft. "You can do that for a while, but not forever. And now you have some down time. You're staying with me, it's safe." "After I take care of this." Mulder replied. "Then maybe I can let myself think about it." "How long is this going to take? Weeks? Months maybe?" Scully's voice was harsh. "Are you going to stand before him in your blindfold and start screaming when you're touched? He won't want you when you start screaming." "That's not going to happen." "Are you sure? He wants you isolated. He doesn't want you getting help. You took a big, really hard step. You reached out to me. That's. . .you don't do that usually. Take another step." Mulder closed his eyes. "Look. I'll just call her. I'll make sure she understands something of the situation." "Please Scully. I can't handle that." "I think you can. I think you're strong enough to handle it." From math.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!news.sprintlink.net!news-stk-200.sprintlink.net!zdc-e!zdc!nntp 04.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!winternet.com!uunet!in2.uu.net!newsxfer2.itd.umich.edu!po rtc01.blue.aol.com!newstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.co Tue Aug 20 09:58:18 1996 Article: 23144 of alt.tv.x-files.creative Path: math.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!news.sprintlink.net!news-stk-200.sprintlink.net!zdc-e!zdc!nntp 04.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!winternet.com!uunet!in2.uu.net!newsxfer2.itd.umich.edu!po rtc01.blue.aol.com!newstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: amperage@aol.com (Amperage) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New:Mistress 18/20 Date: 20 Aug 1996 06:20:22 -0400 Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) Lines: 424 Sender: root@newsbf02.news.aol.com Message-ID: <4vc3h6$qij@newsbf02.news.aol.com> Reply-To: amperage@aol.com (Amperage) NNTP-Posting-Host: newsbf02.mail.aol.com Status: RO I'm back with the last three pieces parts. Had an incredibly busy weekend. . .no time. No time. When I'm finished posting this and I can GET on line w/ the fast modem and all that rot, I'll resend the entire thing. . .forgive me for my indolence and unreliability. Oh. If you want a response from me, I would suggest routing or copying it to Goo. Livengoo@tiac.net. She'll either prod me or she'll answer you herself. . .she doesn't bite unless you're into that. . . Wait a minute that last sounded a bit. . .I don't know. . .I . . .I like the mail. Love it. But I'm just. . .oh I don't know. I don't know what to say. . . Story. Yeah that's it. This is a posting for the story. NC-17 for violence, sexual situations, adult language and adult situations. Usual disclaimers to 10-13, Chris Carter, and Fox television. Mistress 18/20 by Amperage She helped him cut up the melon. Scully might scoff at the cost, but she certainly didn't turn her nose up at eating any of it, Mulder reflected as the phone rang. "Can you clean up?" She asked, running her hands under the water, racing for the phone. She came in with the phone as he was drying his hands. "No. He. . .I. . .Okay." She put the phone in his face. Mulder stared at the offending instrument. "It's Jess. My rape counselor friend." Mulder wanted to back away. He settled for a disgusted look. Scully thrust the phone at him in a manner that said she would brook no excuses. He took the phone. "Hello?" "Hi." "Thanks for. . .for getting me the ride." "I'm glad I could do it. It sounds like you've had a rough time." Mulder swallowed. Sat down. "I guess." He allowed. "Dana told me you didn't want to talk to me." "I'm okay." "Why not? Why am I such a horrible person to talk to?" Mulder bit his lip. "It isn't you. I just. . .It's over." "Are you straight?" "Yes." "So had you ever had anal intercourse?" "Not with a man." To his surprise, the woman did not laugh. "Can you tell me what happened?" "I don't want to." "Because you don't want to remember?" "I don't want to talk to you about it." She didn't say I see or anything. Just sat and let silence accumulate between them until it was thick as fog. "I certainly can't make you talk about it." "No. You can't." Mulder agreed bluntly. Closed his eyes. "I don't want to remember it. You can't make me remember it" *Bird's wings. Pain. Rats are in the bird's Nest. Tanny?* "Sometimes you can't help but remember it. And sometimes it feels good to talk to someone who understands. Who isn't shocked by it. Who can listen." "I don't want to talk about it." He was going to cry and give any listeners, any watchers, a perfect show. "I'm not going to talk about it." His finger slipped to the disconnect button before he thought about it. He sat in the kitchen, eyes closed, silently letting the tears flow down his face. When Scully came in she did not speak or cajole or try to understand. She simply took the phone and let him cry and for some reason, Scully's actions, simply letting him by, not prodding or probing or showing excesses of sympathy released something inside him. And the tears became sobs that wrapped his arm around his chest and shook him until his chest hurt with every rasping, horrible intake of breath. Scully had put the wedges of good green melon in her refrigerator for Mulder. He scooped up a small bowlful with his fingers and put the tupperware container back in place. She was in the living room, punching channels. "Anything you want to watch?" She asked as though she weren't carefully ignoring the fact that he still had red, bloodshot eyes and a puffy, snotty nose. Mulder shook his head. It was supposed to be a show, his staying here. He hadn't cried. He hadn't cried after the first. He'd been brave. That's what boys are supposed to be. He felt miserable, embarrassed. "There's nothing on but kid's shows and talk shows, anyway." Scully sighed. "I'm not ever talking to that woman again." His voice carried immense bitterness. Scully stared at her partner, surprised by this reaction. "She was just trying to help." "She wasn't helping." Each word precise and clear, sharp with perfect diction. "I don't even want any help." "Then why are you here?" Scully could not help the cool exactness of her own voice and she hated it. Mulder stared at her. "I'll go." He said softly. Scully stared back at her partner and saw that he would indeed go, no threats. He would go. He would go back to his own personal hell. She also knew he was not thinking clearly. She knew that if he left he would not ask for her help, would refuse her help. "Stop it." Her voice was sharp and carried the firmness of a parent's voice. "Stop it now. You can't go back home and you know why. You need my help and you know you need my help. Stop it. You are not going through this alone. I'm here. And I can help you. Every time something like this comes up you have to go out on your own. Like you just can't let anyone else take any risks for you. Damn it. Damn it Mulder, that's such bullshit. We all take risks in life that aren't our own. Every time you and I go out with our credentials and our guns we're taking risks that aren't our own." Mulder recoiled from her as though he'd been slapped. Stared at his partner. Scully felt like apologizing. Did not. She wondered if she had said too much for their listeners. Decided she had not. Hoped she had not. She sank back against her own chair. "I'm sorry you and Jess didn't hit it off. I still think you need to talk to someone. Eventually. You know you can't. . .hide this away forever." Mulder was staring at his bowl of fruit. "It's going to haunt you and haunt you. You've got to know that." Her voice was beginning to carry a note of desperation. "Mulder?" His fingers were pushing around small translucent cubes of melon. "I'm sorry." He said quietly. Scully wanted to hit him. "I just. . .Scully, I can't. I just can't. I can't." He sighed. "When it's time. Okay? When I can talk about it. I will. Okay?" He looked up, stared at her. It was all she could do to nod. Okay. They did not need an angsty scene to complete the portrait that evening. 7:30. The last of the wonderfully trashy, sinful Patio Mexican combination dinners fresh from *your* freezer, were sitting in Scully's microwave. Mulder couldn't believe Scully ate them. "So don't eat yours." Scully had responded, lifting her chin to this challenge. "No. That's okay. I used to eat this as a kid." Mulder stared at the cheese tamales under their thin cellophane wrap. "But I mean. . .you, of all people." Scully snorted. "This from a man who spends four dollars on a melon." A noise interrupted them. A Hummer? She saw Mulder stiffen, realized that her own body had gone into defensive and that her adrenaline was beginning to surge. Mulder's movements were quick and graceless. She watched him sag with relief. "Snow plow." "Snow plow? Now?" Scully raced to the bay window. "Oh God. Snow Plow." They watched the heavy truck throw snow onto both sides of the road. "Oh God." Mulder stared at his partners small car, now completely covered in pack. "Oh God is right." Scully commented wryly. "Because we're going to be expected back at work tomorrow, if the street's clear. . .And you don't even have a suit here." He sat in front of the soft blue light from Scully's computer, running through the web. See what you get when you start out with a completely random word like Samhein. It was distracting. He could count it as work. Gotta keep track of the scholarly and the just plain weird. He heard her pad across the floor. "You didn't take all your drugs," she murmured sleepily. "I took what I was supposed to." "You've got to take the Tylenol3 and the Flexeril." "They put me to sleep." Scully was silent a moment. "You need to be asleep. You were curled up on the couch when I went to bed. What happened?" "Nothing happened." He did not turn to face her. "I couldn't sleep. I'm web browsing." He heard her sigh. Look around. She wanted to talk to him, to find out what was going on. The idea of the bugs, of listeners, stopped her. He knew it was probably making her skin crawl. "Then just take the pain killers." "I'm okay, Scully." A fine edge had crept into his voice. Scully stared at the back of her partner, couldn't handle the fact that he wasn't facing her, wouldn't face her. Her hand grabbed the chair and spun. Mulder felt the jerk, but with one arm out of service couldn't stop her. The arm of the chair hit the edge of the desk stopping the movement half-way. But enough that they were looking at each other. "What is it?" She asked. "I'm not sleepy." "Are you having bad dreams? That's. . .normal. You know that." With a great deal of effort she refrained from pointing out that if he talked to someone that person could guide him through this. He started to tell her that that was not it. That it had nothing to do with that. He would be lying. "You have bad dreams." He reminded her. "Yes. I do." Scully felt her way back to a chair and slumped into it. "I have bad dreams that have nothing to do with being raped." "Yes. You do." Another tired, carefully neutral response. She waited. Mulder seemed content to stare at her. "I had a bad dream." "Did it have anything to do with the rape?" Mulder shrugged. "It had to do with her." "Tanneka?" Photographs in her portfolio spilling out onto the coffee table Mulder with a ballgag. Mulder with an anal plug. Mulder in a cock strap, being led by a cock leash. "Yes. She wasn't. . .it wasn't just about sex Scully." He was conscious that the voices were listening. His chest hurt from the tension of that voice, listening. "What was it about then?" Mulder orgasming onto a clear glass coffee table. Mulder hanging from his hands like a side of beef. Mulder strapped face down to a bed while hands shoved dildos up his ass. She'd avoided thinking about it. Avoided remembering it. But right now she could not stop. Mulder was thinking. "About pleasure and caring. She never did anything that. . .that I didn't really, honestly, want. She dominated me. But. . .it was. . .it was. . ." He stopped. In the morning he would know all the right clinical terms, he would remember all the psychologist words. "Do you know, if most agents found out that I had been raped, and then found out about. . .Tanny. . .they would make this horrible, horrible assumption that. . .that I wanted to be raped." Scully nodded. The reality of rape is that it is a physical act of terrorism against another person. It is an act of power. Literally, through actions, informing the victim that he or she has no power, that he or she can be violated at whim. For the rapist it was a source of pleasure, taking the power from the victim, using it to feed his own delusions, his own need for others to be subjugated to his will. But despite all the awareness seminars, despite the courses, most cops, most agents thought of rape as being strictly about sex. It was about sex. But not the way they thought of it as being about sex. And most agents, seeing the facts would simply shut the file. He wanted the rape. He wanted the domination. Scully still felt sick, her mind flitting through the small photos. But with Tanny, he knew it was all about games and all about pleasure and all about meeting needs. This was simply a violation. A theft of inward, personal powers. And it was still going on. "Are the pills still on the kitchen table?" She asked finally. It was such a plebeian thing to ask. He nodded. "Look, just take the Flexeril. Please?" Mulder stared at her. Shook his head. "I don't want it." "You can sleep in my bed and I'll sleep on the couch." He was staring at her oddly. "I don't want to be drugged. I don't want to be. . .not in control. Please?" Scully felt an electric shock ride through her body as she realized why he was so frightened. He was frightened of being raped here, in her apartment. Even the knowledge that she was in the next room could not keep him from this wary apprehension. She sat a moment. Finally nodded. "If you'll go back to sleep on your own. Or try." He nodded a response. His body felt heavy. Numb. He could open his hands and open his mouth. He could not move. He could feel his hands, big and clumsy and heavy. He could breathe. He could not move. And it should have scared him so badly he couldn't think. Drool. There was drool on his face. "Fox." He wanted the voice, wanted to feel the speaker, to make him scream. To make him scream and scream and scream and die. "Secret. You'll go back to your place. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of playing games with you. You won't tell your partner. I know what you've told her. I don't care. You won't tell her this. If you tell her she dies. I've killed many people. She doesn't matter at all. I won't hurt you. I love you, Secret. You'll take the pills that are beside your kitchen sink when you get in. You do what I say. I can hear everything you say. I can always hear everything you say. If you can't play the game she dies and then I'll just take you and play with you until you die." He saw hands moving above him. He saw a cloth. Then he saw nothing. Felt the needle sting. It hurt and it burned and it hurt. And he was spiralling away. Oh God, he was spinning and the cloth was on his face and he could not think. He could not think. His clothes were bugged. Oh dear God. The killer had heard everything. His clothes were bugged. Mulder started at the sounds of Scully in her kitchen, at the smell of coffee. Oh God. She'd made him go to bed, to sleep. With the roads. . .and his arm still stung. His clothes were bugged. He sat up, Scully, in her kitchen, back to him, did not see. The killer heard everything. How. Mulder stared at his winter coat. In the lining. He stared at his hiking shoes. Tonight. He had to be back at his apartment tonight. Or Scully would die. Hands on his body. Hands covering him. Hands. Hands. Hands. Bird's nests. Fluttering in his ears. The fluttering was so very loud. Mulder didn't say anything. Didn't eat any breakfast. Scully watched him. Wanted to talk. Wanted to speak to him. "Why don't you stay home?" Finally. The only words she could say. Mulder swallowed. Shook his head. "You don't feel like going into work. That's obvious." His head shook silently. "Mulder. Please." He shook his head again. "Mulder talk to me. You have to see Crane and Pandya today. You know they're going to want you in. High priority client." She had tried to make it light-hearted. But she saw his shoulders clench. "I'm okay. I had bad dreams last night. I don't want to be alone. Okay?" Her breath was deep and sad. "I'd rather go back." He muttered. "I'll make it through Pandya and Crane." Scully didn't see how. She swallowed. "You need to eat something." "You're not my mother." Each word so carefully modulated and precise, spat out with as much force as he could muster. He sipped at a cup of coffee. His hand shook badly. "We need to go and dig the car out. Then go by your apartment for a suit." Mulder nodded. She could not see how his heart was thudding in his chest. Scully could not see how the adrenalin was pumping inside his body so hard that he could scarcely breathe. She could hear though. And she heard his breath, tight and sharp. Scully shook out the Klonopin. They stared at one another, unspoken words passing between them in desperate arguments. He took one of the night doses. Mulder stood before Walter Skinner knowing the skin was going to be ripped from his flesh, not sure if he could stand it. Knowing he had to stand it. That it was nothing. What came tonight when he went home to an empty apartment was the only important thing. King was there. Sitting and looking pissed. And their local union representative from the Consortium #103, Templars International, was sitting in his leather chair, puffing on a cancer stick, oblivious to the fact that the Hoover building was going smokeless. Mulder stood and stared at the outside world, at the white and slush of a snowbound DC. Tried not to think about anything at all. "Have a seat Agent Mulder." Skinner's voice was sharp. Mulder sat. Skinner started talking about the case and the resolution Mulder had found. King wanted in, wanted to chew Mulder's ass. Skinner was cool. Mulder already knew the message from the tone and didn't bother trying to focus on what wasn't real. The only real things were getting through this day. The only real things were taking pills that would be left for him. Waiting and falling into sleep to be raped again. Skinner was pissed that Mulder hadn't gone through channels. Was extremely pissed but couldn't afford, ever, to say so. Couldn't afford to let King ever say so. So they wouldn't say so. They would let Mulder know simply by tone and by what was not said. Skinner shifted in his leather desk chair. Contemplated Mulder. Change in topic. Mulder tried to focus. "Agent King. Could you please leave us?" It was a dismissal. King stared and narrowed his eyes, but got up and left. It was the three of them. And the third wouldn't speak. Not today. Mulder knew that. "I have Dr. Crane's recommendation, approved by Dr. Pandya, for a psychological waiver. A leave of absence on disability pay." "Sir. I. . ." Skinner cut him off. "Agent Mulder I've already approved the waiver. We'll go ahead and say that today was on full pay. But you're on an undetermined leave of absence until psychiatric opinion is that you're well enough to work." No case, no pressing need to keep him. This was as good as a reprimand. This was better. Mulder didn't need a psychological waiver on his record. He didn't need anything else. He swallowed. "Sir, how can Crane make any observations. She hasn't seen me in a week." Skinner stared at him. Stared at Mulder as though he couldn't believe this. Look at yourself in a mirror, Agent Mulder. "Sir, please. I would prefer not to take a leave of absence. Please sir." He felt his heart thudding in his chest. Cigarette smoke curled around aging, yellowing fingers. He killed your father, Mulder. He knew. He knew all along. Sent your father pictures of you with Tanny. <> Want to know how his son turned out. Sink his father deeper into guilt. Into pain and denial. Mulder was desperate, watching Skinner open Mulder's personnel jacket. Watching fingers curl around a pen and consider the documents lying on top. "Sir, please. I'm sorry." He could hear the panic in his voice. Skinner stopped, stared at Mulder. His face held some surprise. "Please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean. . ." Oh God, he sounded so pitiful, like a dog whipped too many times. "Agent Mulder, this isn't punishment." Skinner's voice was soft. Oh yes it was. And they were taking everything away from him. Leaving him to the rapes and the fondling and. . . Skinner was staring at him. Looking at Mulder as though he were genuinely concerned. The cigarette smoker took another puff on his cancer stick. He looked calm. Leaving Mulder to rot in this pain. "I went to you and I told you how to solve your problem." Mulder heard his voice, knew he was crashing, knew he was losing his control. Skinner was about to sign temporary disability papers saying that Mulder was going fucking crazy. "I told you how to get rid of the predator who was preying on his own. And you fucked the job. You fucked up the job completely and utterly and now you're letting ME pay for it. You SONS-OF-BITCHES." He was up, wildly gesticulating with his uninjured arm. "You FUCKING ASSHOLES. DO YOU KNOW HOW IT FEELS? DO YOU? I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING TO SOLVE THE CASE." The cigarette was burning, coal travelling to the filter. Skinner was tense, uncertain, wary. "Go ahead. Sign the fucking order. I don't care." His voice was desperate and unhappy. "Do whatever you're told." Take your pills when you get in. He hadn't said night. He had known it wouldn't be night. Skinner was trying to find words. "Agent Mulder." His voice was calming. His body language was tense, but his words were calm. He still exuded the aura of control. "Are you all right?" Mulder swallowed. Felt the anger drain out of his body. He closed his eyes and slumped into his chair. From math.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!news.sprintlink.net!news-stk-200.sprintlink.net!news-res.gsl.ne t!news.gsl.net!nntp04.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!uunet!in2.uu.net!newsxfer2.itd.umich.edu !portc01.blue.aol.com!newstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news. Tue Aug 20 09:58:18 1996 Article: 23145 of alt.tv.x-files.creative Path: math.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!news.sprintlink.net!news-stk-200.sprintlink.net!news-res.gsl.ne t!news.gsl.net!nntp04.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!uunet!in2.uu.net!newsxfer2.itd.umich.edu !portc01.blue.aol.com!newstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: amperage@aol.com (Amperage) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: Mistress 19/20 NC-17 Date: 20 Aug 1996 06:20:25 -0400 Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) Lines: 532 Sender: root@newsbf02.news.aol.com Message-ID: <4vc3h9$qik@newsbf02.news.aol.com> Reply-To: amperage@aol.com (Amperage) NNTP-Posting-Host: newsbf02.mail.aol.com Status: RO Highly NC-17. Do NOT read if you are underage. Usual Disclaimers Mistress 19/20 by Amperage Scully let him toss her a copy of the disability papers. "Did you know?" "No." Scully could answer honestly. She should have guessed. "How long is it for?" "Indefinite. Full disability. That's 60 percent and my insurance will cover another 10." "Starting now? He nodded. Closed his eyes. "Do you want me to drive you home?" "I have to go see Crane and Pandya before I go. I don't know. Maybe I'll just go home. What can they do that they haven't already done?" "Pandya can have you thrown into a hospital." It was an unkind cut. Mulder just shrugged. "He won't." "How do you know that?" Scully said softly. The way Mulder looked, if she were in Pandya's shoes and Mulder said just the wrong thing, gave any rope, she'd have him someplace safer. Mulder looked at her curiously. Didn't say anything. But he went and sat down at his desk. Called EAP. "Crane's still snowed in. Pandya's here, but he's already got a backlog. He wants me to take a blood test on my way home and he'll give me a call." Mulder's voice contained a hesitation, a catch. "Oh God. I can't believe I'm on disability." "Come on. I'll drive you home." Scully said, emotionlessly. "Come on." He was silent, riding in her car, face pressed against the glass. "Why don't you stay with me?" She asked. Mulder started, turned to face her. "I can't." "You can." "No. I can't. I'm sorry." He swallowed. "I just. . .I can't. I have to be alone." Scully stared at her partner's flushed face and felt an epiphany rush through her system. An epiphany she couldn't mention. "I'll be by around 6:30." She told him. "Okay?" Mulder bit his lip. Nodded. Her heart skudded against her chest and she felt the metal tang of fear. Oh God. Oh God. Mulder. His arm stung from the blood the lab had taken. He was lucky Scully hadn't wanted to go up with him. She had. But he'd talked her out of it. 6:30. She could be here to help with the clean up. He got a glass of water from the tap. Went to his table. There were four little capsules on the table. They weren't name brand. No neat minuscule printing so he could see what would be sending him off to La-la land. Some little cocktail to sedate him. He couldn't palm them. He could, but he thought there might be trouble later. He could only take the pills. He took the pills and took off his clothes, went into his bedroom and lay down. This was not what he wanted to do. He wanted. Oh God. He wanted to do anything but this. He wanted to. . .He rolled his head down onto the pillows, covered his face with his arms in desperation. Spit out the pills onto the bottom sheet. When he rolled away, still in agitation, the pills were covered by a pillow. Mulder woke with a start but did not open his eyes. He'd tossed a while, then fallen into sleep unintentionally. He was just supposed to be playing possum. He did not open his eyes, he did not hear his visitor. But he felt the presence in a tangible way. Then a creak. Sudden hands forced a blindfold onto his face. Mulder made a moan as though he were waking. A moan crossed with a scream. "Nuuuuughhhhh." A hand struck him across the face. "Shut up, faggot." Hands threw back the sheets. "Secret. You are sooo pretty, Secret." Hands, plastic gloved hands felt his scrotum. Mulder whimpered. "You can move today. I bet you don't feel like it. But you can. You won't do anything I don't tell you to. I have a gun and I can destroy Dana. Tell me what you're going to do." Mulder licked his lips. "I. . .be good." He didn't know how much disorientation the drugs would be causing. "Very good, Secret." Movement. Brush of naked hip against him. "Put your knees up. Heels against your bottom." Mulder obeyed as tears began rolling down his cheeks. The killer was hesitant, as though he'd planned this out, but was unsure of himself in the execution. Gloved fingers touched his rectum, massaged the bones of his buttocks. Mulder tried not to stiffen, did not succeed. The hand went away. "I didn't think those pills would be enough. You're still fighting too much. Roll onto your side." It was clear why Mulder was to roll onto his side. He obeyed wordlessly. Felt the killer get off his bed. The sobs shook him. He could not stop and his nose was running and he couldn't breathe and The needle stung. Oh God, it hurt. Mulder felt his breath whoosh out of him. He was not given further instructions. After a moment he felt something cold. KY jelly or vaseline. "Tanny never made you take enemas." Mulder did not answer. "I like enemas. Men are all nasty up inside them, so you clean them out. Then it's nice and clean and it doesn't smell and you don't get stuff on you." A gloved finger, then two. It pushed and it probed. "Yeah. Let's go into the bathroom." He heard the bed creak, felt weight displace. Mulder did not move. "Let's go, Secret." He'd be damned if he went into the bathroom for an enema. He didn't expect the first whack. It was a leather belt and it knocked the very breath out of Mulder. "I said let's go." Mulder brought his knees to his chest. The second lick curled around his chest. "I said LET'S GO." The voice was so fucking loud. It was so sharp and loud and it echoed in his head. Mulder brought his chin down to his chest. A third lick, back again on his buttocks. A fourth. Hands suddenly pried at him. Rough, fingernails digging into the skin. Whatever it was was coursing through his veins and making him lethargic, making him feel like he was a thousand miles away. Hands, two hands were prying at him. Mulder lunged blindly for the midsection and hit it with his best, hardest punch. Again. Again. Again. He couldn't see the face or the soft stomach or even his own bed. He could see, between the folds on his nose, flesh and the white of sheets. He could only hit and hit and hit. Even with only one arm in service, he was still doing damage. The knife gleamed in his line of vision and Mulder rolled from it, finally taking time to pull off the mask as he fell between the bed and the wall. His killer was narrow of body. Dark eyes, dark hair. He was vaguely cute, but not like Mulder. He also held a knife. There was a gun on the dresser. Mulder only had his father's gun. Skinner had his other guns. His father's gun was between mattress and box springs on the bed. On the other side of the bed. "Bastard." A scream. A knife. Psychotropic drugs. Submission. However he killed people, if Mulder hadn't worked out as good as the dreams, Mulder would be dead. Mulder was too hard for the killer to handle. The knife came down in a girlish, amateurish swipe. Mulder put up his injured arm, feeling it scream with pain even before the knife cut through dermis. Mulder's good hand grabbed the killer's wrist and wrenched the knife away with a twist. God bless Quantico, he thought inanely as the knife fell onto his pretzled body, bit into the flesh of his legs then stomach. The killer's other hand swooped down for the knife and Mulder used his bad arm to block it. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. He was going to need some serious Tylenol3. He still didn't have the knife, but neither did the killer. Not for a second. Mulder let go of the killer's wrist, barely beating him to the knife. He was in a bad position, scrunched up here. Not much room. The killer was in a good position. Lotsa' room. And a gun on the dresser. Mulder threw the knife under the bed. The killer rolled away. He was up, following as the killer went for the dresser. Mulder was drugged, and injured. "Freeze." It was a strong, alto voice. Freeze? did people actually *say* freeze? Did he ever say freeze? Yeah. He said freeze. Mulder sagged across the bed panting. Scully had a gun. The killer didn't. He was staring at Scully, eyes glittering. "Are you all right?" Scully didn't even glance at Mulder. Watching the naked man. Watching the dangerous thing. "Yes." It came out with the sobs. Mulder grabbed the sheet and pulled it around him, pushed forward. "Step away from the dresser." The man began to comply. Stopped. "Or what? You'll shoot me? You won't shoot me." Scully pursed her lips and smiled. "And why not?" "The noise." "I break into my partner's apartment to find someone raping him and I'm worried about noise?" "The truth would come out." At this Mulder had to smile. "What truth? I was sent home. I came in, took a nap. The killer broke in to rape me and then to kill me just like all the rest. Scully happened by because she's been worried about me. I'm going crazy, you know? She found the scene, had to kill you. By the time the police get here, we'll have anything incriminating hidden away. We'll be the heros of the hour." Mulder felt nothing but relief. All over. It was all fucking over. All over. No more of this. No more. He could not even find room for his anger. Just bone shaking relief. The easy, superior smile faltered. "How do you know I don't have something stored away. If I die it all comes out." Mulder shrugged. "I don't much fucking care. I might have. A long time ago." It was a lie. He still did care. "Besides. You're not the type of person to do that. You didn't even consider the idea that you would fail." "What are we going to do with him?" Scully's voice was sharp. Mulder swallowed. "Kill him. Just shoot him." Scully stared hard at her partner. In cold blood? You want me to shoot him in cold blood?" Mulder sighed and reached in between his bed for his father's gun. "I'll do it if it bothers you." They stared at each other a long time. Mulder didn't care. Honestly didn't care. He could feel rage and anger later. He could grieve for things lost later. Right now he just wanted it to be over. For the killer to be dead. He just wanted to sleep a good night's sleep without worrying about rape. He just wanted to be alone. "Get down on the floor on your stomach." Scully ordered, voice trembling. When he was down she cuffed him. "Don't move." She ordered, almost needlessly, came and sat beside her partner. "Do you really want to just shoot him?" Mulder shrugged. "I don't know. He's right. The noise would be a factor." "And you'd have to go through a rape kit." Scully swallowed, stared directly into his eyes. "Can you handle that?" They had already decided that the intruder should die. Their killer apparently had figured this out as well. He started screaming. Scully took Mulder's shirt and went over to the prisoner. Started shoving shirt into his mouth, holding his head up by the hair on his head. Then she put a pillow down and dropped his face into it. "Don't cause trouble." She ordered in a voice full of malice. Mulder closed his eyes. "There is one thing we can do." He said softly. "Give him back to his own?" Scully's reply was soft. Mulder nodded. "They can't let him go. He's a serial killer. They'll have to take care of him." Their killer was still making a helacious fuss. Scully stood again and went to her partner's bureau, looked through the drugs. A used needle and one unmarked vial. She loaded the syringe, pressured everything into their captive's right hip. Dispassionate, vindictive. Mulder made the call, not sure who to call, not sure of anything. Godwin still didn't answer his phone. He rubbed his shoulders and thought about calling Skinner while Scully left the room. When she came back she had his masking tape in her hands. Mulder knew there'd be an X in the window. The car ride was hell, and he wanted to sleep. Scully's voice kept sliding and sliding and sliding over him as he slid his head against the webbing of seat belt. Sliding and sliding and after a while he did not answer her. Her voice echoed like tinny bells in his head. They stumbled into her house, Mulder just wanting to collapse somewhere, anywhere. Scully took his good arm. He did not like it, her fingers clutching him. But it was too much too bear. And she kept asking him questions. He put his head against the pillow and her fingers were on his sweatshirt. Please. He waved them away. "Don't touch. Please." He muttered. "Please." She smoothed his brow. Said something. He was in sweats anyway. Her hands on his feet and the shoes fell off. She kept talking. Asking questions. About cuts and things and her eyes were dark blue. He didn't know. Didn't want to answer. Because it hurt and he couldn't think. Go'way. Her voice was loud and echoing and it came from the end of a canyon. And finally, when he was between cold folds of sheet, she went away. There was a dream. He could not remember where the dream came from. Laurel. He wore a laurel in his hair. He was stoned. Looking down on torches and basket and the whirring of men and women. Until he was led down to the center and all the sounds, the drums and the pipes stopped and he was laid upon the stone, stripped naked. If he was the chosen the lady would come. He knew he was the chosen, could feel it in the roundness of his mouth. He turned his face towards the fire, and his hand rolled against the aging stone. The lady had not come for a hundred years. For a hundred years they had killed the harvest king upon the stone. He knew he would die. The lady would take him. But these people, these face he had once known, they would not be the ones to cut his body. He smelled her musk. And he saw her face and watched her perfect body stride to him. He smiled. Arched his back to greet her. Mulder shook himself away from another dream. Tried to remember where he was. The light from the window was very bright. He could see the goblins outside, dancing in the moonlight. He was in Scully's bed. Tanny was not here. Oh God. He wanted Tanny to be here. Why was he in Scully's bed? He should be on her couch. He got up unsteadily. The shadows and the light edged themselves in solid forms. When he moved from blue to black he wondered if he would fall into another world. He was going to be the harvest king. Tanny was going to come for him. Arch your back. He did not turn a kitchen light on. Scully was asleep on her couch, covered in blankets. He wanted water. Then he wanted milk. When he got down a glass it slipped in his fingers. The sound of the crashing was very loud. The glass did not break on the counter, but waited until it had spun down onto the floor to shatter. Pieces of glass glittered in uncertain light and he stared at them entranced by the jewel glints. Crystalline shards. He was staring at the slivers gleaming on the kitchen floor when he heard her feet padding on the floor. "Hey." her voice was drowsy. "Why didn't you wake me?" Mulder shrugged. "I wanted something to drink." Her breaths were even and deep. "Okay." She stared at the glass. "Can you stay right there?" "I guess so." He did not understand. But she went away. She had his shoes when she came back. Her old sneakers on. She helped him put his feet into them. "What do you want to drink?" It did not sound like Scully. He thought about this. Could not find an answer. "Water." Finally. An answer from a far off place. "You go back to bed, I'll sweep." She was tired, rubbing dreams from her eyes. "Then I'll get you some water." "I can get it." He hunkered over the glass, heels on his bottom. "I can see that. You're not real steady on your feet though, are you?" He knew he was not. "I dreamed that I was the harvest king." He muttered. She nodded and he knew she did not understand. It didn't matter. He allowed himself to rock back from his squat into a sit. He was sleepy. The refrigerator's thrum echoed on and on in his ears. Scully reached out a hand. "Come on." He took it. Scully finished sweeping, finished putting a damp rag to the floor to get rid of any slivers. She hoped he was asleep, but lethargically filled a waterglass just in case. He was lying there, staring, and he sat up when she came in. He drank the water, holding the glass with both hands, slopping water onto her sheets. Scully wondered what she would do in the morning. She hadn't discussed much with him. He'd been pretty lucid when she arrived at his apartment, but the lucidity had made a rapid decline. He handed the glass back. "You want anymore?" She asked. He shook his head. "Okay. Go back to sleep." Mulder did not want to comply. But he slid back against the sheets as ordered. "Do you want me to stay a couple of minutes? You'll go back to sleep really fast." Her voice was of a parent's with a child and she hated it. He shook his head. Scully was glad and wandered out of the room. The kitchen was still lit and bright and insane against all the gentle colors of the night. She had seen cuts along his thighs. Cuts over cuts over cuts. He had been cutting himself. Mulder hadn't been terribly lucid then. Scully had bandaged the arm. It wasn't as bad as it might have been. He needed stitches, but she didn't want a doctor to see him. Not this stoned. She'd taped butterflies to the arm, holding it together. Not the best substitute and the in the morning, they'd go to Foster for a more permanent solution. Where had she been? The cuts on his groin. Scully didn't know much about self-mutilation. She knew that Mulder had been hurting himself pretty badly. She knew that it was not a automatic thing, but a learned response. That it was addictive. She knew that it wasn't a desire for suicide and that it wasn't any worse than alcoholism or drug addiction. But her mind still recoiled from the edgy, crusted cuts in a way that it didn't from the thought of other behaviors. She didn't know very much about it at all. After he had gone to sleep, she'd pulled down the books from her psych rotation. >From years and years ago. And the writers didn't know very much at all. She'd researched on Medline. Cross referenced long enough her eyes hurt. It didn't know very much at all. Just that it wasn't suicidal. Just that it was addictive. Just that it gave the user a craved for release. Everyone had a theory. Endorphins mostly. A head rush. Scully considered that it was probably true, but not entirely. Mulder got plenty of endorphins after a long hard jog. She sat alone, staring at an empty water glass. Trying to understand. There had been two rapes. The second rape. She didn't know how far it had gone and Mulder was in no way ready to tell her. In her mind she labelled it the second rape. Two fondlings and two rapes. He was still in her bedroom, still Mulder. Still hanging on. He was Tanny's beautiful slave. Her favorite. She found she could think those thoughts without revulsion. It frightened her. It attracted her. Someday this whole thing would be over. Someday it would not matter. Someday it would not be important. Lying in bed, staring at nothing, Mulder wished feverently for that someday. Right now he was just staring at the ceiling and trying to decide how bad today would be. He shouldn't be here. This was not his place. It was only women who curled up under friend's quilts after they had been raped. It was only women who fought off attackers who were naked, and who waved their blood hardened penises like spears. Only women got to cry and to mourn. The jealousy he felt towards those women was sour in his mouth. Get over it. He did not want to get out of bed. His body still felt hands sliding across smooth skin. His butt still throbbed with welts where a belt had bit into skin. He could still feel the latex of gloves coated with lubricant. The fingers as they slid into his rectum. He could still feel it all. Mulder shuddered, revulsed. He needed a shower. He simply did not think. Shut something off like shutting off a switch. Could not understand what, but he knew he had to do it. He showered until there was no more hot water, until he was shivering from the cold spray hitting his chest. Shaved, cut himself, tasted blood. Dressed and sat on the bed. He knew dread when he sat on the bed, staring at the door where Scully waited with her words. Scully waited and he did not want to face it at all. So he sat on the bed and mistrustfully watched the door. Scully hung up the phone. He probably hadn't even heard it ring. The shower and he'd bathed on and on and on. A voice, whispering in her ear like an unwanted date's tongue. Scully would take as long off as she wanted, at full pay, to take care of her partner. The apartment. They were still cleaning it. The extermination was done, but they had to clean it because of all the bugs. They would probably destroy his electronics. They would buy Mulder new ones. She had listened and had listened. And now she hung up the phone. He had to be ready. He had to be ready. It had been too long. Scully swallowed. Oh God, she hated this role. She hated this. She'd never been good with this. Like she or Mulder either one was good at this. She remembered how awkward he'd been when she'd cried on his shoulder. She remembered how awkward when Melissa died and she'd finally got to the hospital, only to sit in an empty room and he'd come in and knelt beside her. How awkward they'd been since. She'd never been good at any of it. That's why she was a pathologist. That's probably why she was unmarried and she would rather write reports than date the nice young men her friends wanted to set her up with. She took a deep breath. Mulder thought she was good at it. The door knob turned just before she was about to touch it. They stared at each other a moment. Questioning each other. Scully swallowed. The urge to say something, to explain herself was strong. She just swallowed. "My neighbor brought me fresh baked cinnamon rolls." "Because you were with a man?" His voice was dead. Scully said nothing. She had not made coffee. She always made a pot of coffee first thing. But she had not made coffee. She just hadn't. There were diet drinks and grape juice. Scully got the grape juice from her refrigerator and poured up two tall glasses, set them on the table. Hoped his first question was not the one she knew it would be. "How did you manage to stay at home?" She swallowed. "Umm. . .our. . .our personal cigarette lobbyist. . ." the joke fell flat. " . . .I got a call. I can stay home." She looked down at her loose warmups and thick flannel shirt. The canvas shoes she wore only indoors. He nodded. She got the distinct impression he wished she'd gone to work. Scully got down saucers and got a knife. Mulder sat at the table, staring at the large round tray and the white icing like cum. Scully stopped her movements. White icing like cum? She sat at the table, cut up the rolls, put one on each small plate. There was silence. Silence so thick it could be cut into small blocks and used as insulation. Scully found her fingers trembling. The words spilled out of her. All the nervous words and thoughts. Except she cloaked them in medicine and authority and a doctor's degree. Words. Cuts and self-inflicted wounds and time off and what he needed to do and it was the wrong thing to do and she knew that but she didn't know what to do instead. And the words kept pouring out of her mouth. She saw him tense, saw his shoulders bunch, saw his brow furrow. And when the explosion came, she was completely unsurprised. "Fuck you. Fuck you. With your hospitals and your bullshit." He wasn't talking well. He wasn't talking well at all. "Fuck you, Dana Scully. What do you know about this?" He was yelling and yelling and yelling and she didn't know what to say or think and he was spitting in her face the fact that she had never been raped. That she had never been stalked and terrorized. That there were cameras in his bedroom and listening devices sewn into his clothes. He was spilling venom, like a snake that's been cold and suddenly wakes in a foul temper. Informing her that her cunt was cold and that Tanny's had been warm. He was standing and hitting the counter and she knew he had wanted to hit her. For the smug words she had said. For the words that said that she knew everything and that he was weak and needed taking care of. Because everything in his life was coming apart. His lover had been killed. Killed and he couldn't show grief. Killed and the killer had stalked him. And he had been raped. And fondled. And every word listened in on. And every thing he cared about in this world threatened. And even his job was gone. And he hit the counter over and over and over again with his fist, face contorting with rage. Scully just sat at the table, staring at her cinnamon roll. Listening. It was all she really needed to do. It was all she knew how to do. When he said the words he had not meant to say, she heard and she was there, to hang onto them. The words. "And she's dead and it's my fault. He raped me and I don't know why, but it's my fault." And she stared at him. Turned her head to stare at him. And he stared at her, and the words rolled around the kitchen and they echoed off the cabinets and they echoed off the counters and they echoed off the sink. She watched him close his eyes. Watched his face go white and his shoulders tremble. And she said it very quietly and very carefully, to let him know she had heard. "Tell me what you just said?" And he stared at her. His breath was deep and shuddering. And he repeated what he had said. From math.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!news.sprintlink.net!news-stk-200.sprintlink.net!news-res.gsl.ne t!news.gsl.net!nntp04.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newspump.sol.net!spool.mu.edu!agate!ne wsxfer2.itd.umich.edu!portc01.blue.aol.com!newstf01.news.aol Tue Aug 20 09:58:17 1996 Article: 23143 of alt.tv.x-files.creative Path: math.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!news.sprintlink.net!news-stk-200.sprintlink.net!news-res.gsl.ne t!news.gsl.net!nntp04.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!newspump.sol.net!spool.mu.edu!agate!ne wsxfer2.itd.umich.edu!portc01.blue.aol.com!newstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.com!not- for-mail From: amperage@aol.com (Amperage) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: Mistress 20/20 Date: 20 Aug 1996 06:24:20 -0400 Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) Lines: 234 Sender: root@newsbf02.news.aol.com Message-ID: <4vc3ok$qj9@newsbf02.news.aol.com> Reply-To: amperage@aol.com (Amperage) NNTP-Posting-Host: newsbf02.mail.aol.com Status: RO I need to offer more of an apology. Forgive me for posting and then stopping w/out warning. Mea Culpa. Mea Culpa. Mea Maxima Culpa as Jimmy Buffet chants so well in "Fruitcakes". I didn't know that my time would be so limited recently and that I would be so tired. When I'm home alone, I mostly just wanna' get in some quality time with my pillow right now. Sleep Deprivation is an interesting thing to study about, not to live. NC-17 Material. If you are under 18, GO AWAY. Usual disclaimers Mistress 20/20 by Amperage The restaurant was packed even at 3. It was always packed, though, Dana knew. The open garden room full of exotic plants, the fountains strung with white lights under the round liquid of water. Jess sat at a small round table for two, leaning back in a wrought iron chair that rocked. The waiter was so young. Strange that Jess and Dana had once been that young, that earnest. He flirted unmercifully with both of them, seating Scully with a shy smile. "You look like you've been through hell." Jess said, putting the huge, laminated menu down, leering over it. "Actually, I thought I looked quite good." Scully said, glancing at the choices, though she knew quite well what she wanted. "How are you?" More serious now. The waiter brought Scully her marguarita. "I'm. . ." Scully thought about this one. "I'm better." "How's Mulder?" "He's at this retreat center. Supposedly they only do week long retreats for catholics--it's a monastary--but he. . ." Scully opened her hands. "he knows someone." Albert. Mulder knew Albert and Albert knew about this real newagey retreat center up at Pecos, New Mexico, which wasn't, Mulder had reported, at all like Farmington. It was inside the mountains, and it was incredibly green. Lush. Franscican Monks and Nuns running a retreat center for catholics with heavy duty mental problems. "It's good for him." Scully smiled. He wasn't actively unhappy with it. He went exploring in the mountains. He had long discussions with one of the monks, a man with a PhD in psych from Oxford. They made him, he had reported with a self-depractory laugh, take naps. Jess nodded. "I'm sorry I managed to alienate him." Scully shrugged. "He wasn't ready," she sighed. "How've you been doing?" "I'm okay." They sat in the companionable warmth of the restaurant until the waiter came back to take their orders and left chips and con queso sauce. "Is there anything you want to talk about?" Jess asked, sipping her tea. Scully shrugged. "I. . .yeah." She let the breath whoosh out of her. "Okay. What?" Scully swallowed, sipped her frozen drink. "I think I should have ordered Irish Cream Coffee." She shivered. Jess smiled. "About Mulder's rape?" "I guess." Scully sighed. "Mulder's rapist. . .was. . .the killer in the Dom murders. And he raped Mulder because he had. . .fantasies about Mulder." She could feel Jess's eyes boring into her. "It was more than one incident?" A question, not a leading question, get Scully to spill her guts, but a question. "Yes." "Why in God's name didn't you report it?" "Because Tanneka Bonet was Mulder's lover." A hissing of breath. "Oh fuck, Dana." Scully swallowed. Closed her eyes. "Oh God, he must have been. . ." Jess put her face in her hands, elbows on the table. "It must have been such emotional hell for the both of you." Nothing for Scully to say to that. She sat, crumbling the edges of chip with her fingers. Jess remembered herself. "Dana, you did good. You know that, right?" "Yeah. I know." Scully nodded, gave a fake half-smile. "He's doing better." "And you?" Scully stared at the cheese sauce on the table in front of her. "I'm. . ." Her facade finally crumbled and the tears, oh God, embarrasing tears spilled out of her. Jess let her get herself under control, let her finish crying. Got her some coffee. Their dinners came. Scully barely touched her eyes, playing with the enchiladas. "Does it feel like he betrayed you, having a dominatrix?" Jess asked. "I. . .No. . .yes." Scully swallowed her ice water. Was immiently glad no one would hear them. "Yes." "Are you in an intimate relationship with him?" "Mulder?" The tone must have told Jess all she needed to know. "It's not fair." The words burst out of her and Scully had no idea where they came from. "What's not?" Jess stared at Scully, "that he gets to have fun and you don't?" "No." She wanted to start crying. Now was not the time or the place. Jess waved the waiter down for their bill. Let him go back for it. "What's not fair?" She asked. "She got the best of him." Scully said it, actually said it. "She got a Mulder who was. . .he was. .. he was sweet and gentle and. . ."and she really couldn't believe she was saying this. Really, really couldn't. The bill came and Jess paid it with cash. They got the hell out. Scully had planned to get roaringly drunk and take a taxi home, but instead found herself beside Jess in an old Jeep Ranger. "What Mulder do you get?" Jess asked. "I get the Mulder who. . .ditches me. And makes fun of me. I get the Mulder who. . .who. . .who. . .he'll do something and it'll make me so fucking mad. So mad I can't see straight. And then he'll get hurt or apologize soooo well. And he'll do things for me. When I was in the hospital. He was there everyday. With flowers or puzzles. He just. . .and then after he ditched me and nearly got himself killed in the artic, he was soooo nice. But he keeps doing it. He wouldn't. . .It's not fair." She blew her nose on tissue Jess had found. "I'm not an abuse counselor." Jess commented softly. "Who said anything about abuse?" Scully looked up, puzzled. "You have. Mulder sounds pretty damn abusive." "It's not like that." Jess tapped the steering wheel. "Tell me something, what do you know about your partner's childhood?" Scully shrugged. She knew quite a lot, actually. "Was he ever beaten or emotionally abused?" "Yes." "Was his mother ever abused by his father?" "No." Jess chewed on his lip. "We learn how to interact with our family from our family. How a child learns to interact when he's young is usually what he'll do when he's an adult. Some of it is modelled behavior and some of it is purely learned. Mulder saw a dominatrice, right?" "Right." "Was she serious or mild?" "She didn't leave scarring. She wasn't. . ." "Did she hit him?" "She spanked him, paddled him, belted him." "To show she loved him?" Scully didn't like where she was being led. "Yes." "So he's in the role he learned as a child, I would imagine. He gets beaten because she loves him. He strives and strives and strives to be perfect. He's good and sweet and wonderful." It was a simplification, but Scully understood the pattern. "What about you?" Jess mused. "You've got an idea, Jess." Scully turned to stare at other cars on the Beltway. "Spit it out. I'm not a client and I don't appreciate being led around like a cow." Jess gazed at her. "And it's not surprising you two found each other either." She said serenely. "I love you too." "What's that supposed to mean?" Scully replied, pushing up in her seat. "That you and Mulder neither one are the most comfortable people in the world to be around. Why do people go into pathology?" Jess said it as though musing. Scully felt as though an iron fist had slammed into her gut. "I went into pathology because I wanted to know the truth. I wanted to find things out. And I had a crush on Quincy when I was a kid." Jess laughed, wiping her eyes. "I shoudda' figured." She muttered. Scully smiled. "About your partner. He knows two ways to interact with a family, and in I would say that, to him at least, you're family. The first way is as the abusee. That's what he was with Tanny. The second way is as the abuser. That's what he does with you." "He doesn't abuse me." Jess shrugged. "Okay. He does something that hurts you emotionally and then spends the next month making up. How does that differ substancially from the man who hits his wife across the mouth and then spends the next month making up?" Scully sat silently. "I don't think it's intentional, and it sure as hell isn't as clear cut as I've made it. But, do you think it has some validity?" Scully swallowed. "Yes." Her voice was soft. "What do I do? Go back to Quantico." "Why?" "If he's abusing me and all, I shouldn't be in the. . ." "If it were clear cut, intentional emotional abuse, yes. I'd tell you to get the hell out. I don't think it is. I think that's the pattern he knows. But I think he really cares about you. And that you really care about him." Jess bit her lip. "I think you two feed off of each other." "What are you. . ." Scully stared at her friend, outraged. "Dana, you know quite well what I mean." Jess sighed. "You're not the best at dealing with people either. There's plenty of shit that you pull that isn't exactly nice either." Scully considered this. "So, do you justify abuse to the victim?" "No. But Mulder isn't an abuser. He's just acting out some patterns that he knows. And you act out the patterns of your family life with him." "There wasn't anything wrong with my family." "I know your mom. I knew your dad. I've met Mel and your brothers and sisters. You were always the quiet, good little girl. Never really dated, always made A's. Always took care of people. The only devation from form is the fact that you were a tomboy. Besides following through with patterns, it sounds like Mulder gets hurt a lot." "And I take care of him. Just like I used to take care of Melissa." "Mhm. And you're little miss perfect. Do you know how annoying that can be?" Jess's voice was gentle. "Someone who *always* has the answer?" Scully sat a moment, stunned at this sudden criticsm. Chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. "So we're both acting out patterns." She agreed numbly. Jess pulled off the beltway. They sat in silence as Jess drove through Scully's neighborhood. "So, what are you going to do?" "I don't know." Scully admitted. "Stay with the partnership. I don't know. But it hurts. It hurts." "Do you think he tries not to follow that pattern with you?" Scully watched as Jess pulled up next to her building. "Sometimes. Yes. When he thinks it will hurt me." "Does he forgive you for being a know it all, hardnosed skeptic?" "Yes." Jess shrugged. "No one is perfect in this world. Everyone's got flaws." Scully opened the door. "I just. . ." She sighed, not sure what she had wanted to say. "I get so tired sometimes." "Yeah." Jess's smile was soft. "I know." It was a hard and bitter truth. Scully got out of the Bronco. "I'll see you soon." She said in what might have been a whisper and went to her apartment. The End