From: sonny <sonny@webspin.org>
Date: Sun, 26 Sep 99 17:40:14 +1000
Subject: xfc: NEW Mind Games 1; The Profiler 1 of 9
Source: xfc

From: sonny <sonny@webspin.org>

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 1:The Profiler 1 of 9

Author/Feedback: YES please! Feedback is what feeds
writers, without it, we shrivel and die. spider@webspin.org.
This is a completed work. All parts can be found at 
www.webspin.org/xfic.htm
 
Category:S, X, MSR,  M/angst, S/angst. Skinner...not
telling <g> 

Archiving:Just let me know!

Spoilers: General knowledge up to Unnatural, concept rooted in
Grotesque but also using something revealed in Biogenesis.

Disclaimers: All the bits that they want belong to CC,
Fox, DD, GA, MP, et al. All that they don't are mine <g>

Rating: WARNING: NC17 for sexual situations, language and
VERY disturbing, graphic pedophile violence (taken from
real cases, see references at the end). It is not gratuitous, 
it is contextual, but nevertheless you will find it disturbing; 
as well you should. I cannot stress this too much. A character 
takes apparently very dark twists, but hang in there....all 
will be revealed.
 
Synopsis: A horrific series of child molestations and
murders has escalated. The director himself, under
political pressure from the Justice Department has no
choice but to assign the FBI's best profiler to the case,
despite a promise he made ten years previously...But this
series of killings has no resemblance to anything anyone in
the FBI, including the X-files' Fox Mulder, has ever
encountered before.
 
Author's notes: See the end.
 
Thanks: Laurie (Shannara), Daniel, Judie, Meghan and
Sandra, for beta reading, and forcing me to re-think 
again and again and again...
Any shortcomings are mine alone.
 
 
One day David Duchovny, supposedly indifferent to M&S
romance, gave us a believable combination of motive and
opportunity for the furtherance of the M&S relationship
with the final scene in The Unnatural...This world kicks
off a couple of hours after that...
 
*********************
This section rated R for disturbing graphic concept
*********************

 
PROLOGUE
Day 1 - Saturday  
Central Hotel - Seattle
7:30 pm
 
>From the journal of Crystal Palmer.
 
It's been so long now that I've almost forgotten what it
was like before they came. I hate it more with each passing
day. I used to think they were cold, emotionless, but now I
know it covers a bleakness of spirit. They walk in here,
tall and black. They must all shop at the same store, even
the women generally wear black. So formal, like a barricade
against the rest of the world. Like undertakers.
 
Before the others came there were only those from the
Seattle office who came in for a drink or a meal. They
seemed okay, except Forenzzi. None of them ever seriously
propositioned me up or talk down to me except for him. A
couple of the new ones have asked me out for a drink, but
they're never pushy, I'll give them that. And never ever
sexist remarks or a slap on the butt, except of course for
Forenzzi. In some ways, they remind me of Mormons, too.
Always with the short hair, black pants and white shirt,
neat tie, polite and softly spoken. It took me a long time
to notice the bulge under their arms, or on their hips.
We've had cops in here, too, so that didn't bother me. But I
never really saw these local agents like cops. The most
they ever seemed to talk about was fraud and white collar
crime, nothing like this.
 
After the kids were killed and the local P.D. couldn't get
any leads, they called in some sort of FBI expert. Then
others trickled in, but a trickle turned to a flood when
out of state kids were found dead in Seattle. And it made
me sick, for they brought with them a darkness. It's awful
about the kids, but I think you can - and need to - put it 
out of your mind. You can't dwell on it all the time, walking
around, thinking about the horror. But these people here
mean you can't turn it off. There's so much other ugliness
on the television, on the news, it angers me, but you
can choose to turn it off, or not watch and go back to just
living. But with these people, they're here every day and
it keeps reminding you. Every minute of every day it hits
you fair square in the face.
 
There are monsters out there, living amongst us. Monsters
that tear children apart and hang them up on people's
clothes and power lines in little pieces, like bloodied 
sheets out to dry.
 
And it just never goes away.
 
I hate it.
 
I hate that they remind me we are powerless to prevent the
monsters. Just look at them, they're no closer to finding
out who's doing this than they were a year ago.
 
Dad lives in fear. It's silly, really. No one's going to
hurt Jace when the place is crammed full of these guys,
these black carrion birds hovering over their awful photos
and bits of bloodied clothing.
 
Oh yeah, I know all right.
 
I was cleaning one of the rooms when the new ones arrived,
about eight months back. The place smelled of sweat and
something else, something I couldn't understand until
later. And then I saw the photos on the wall. I couldn't
fathom them out at first, so I took a closer look. At first
they looked like mannequin parts hanging on a line, like
all the arms and legs had been pulled out of a doll. Then
it hit me.
 
It was a child.
 
I threw up in the damned toilet. Had a few nightmares over
that one, but I would have gotten over it except for them.
They kept reminding me.
 
I told them I wouldn't clean the rooms with that stuff
hanging around, so they ended up taking over most of the
ground floor. Brought their own cleaners in, but after a
while the cleaners refused to go in there. I had to start
cleaning before the roaches took over. At first it was like
I'd hold my breath, but now I'm okay. Then I worried that
I'd become accustomed to it. Couldn't win on that one. I
talked to one of the agents and he was the one who came up
with the breath-holding analogy. Not really, of course,
figuratively, just building a wall between it and your
emotions. It seems to have worked.
 
I've come to accept it since then, just avoid looking at
the pictures and evidence bags. And over the last six
months or so I've been helping out, here and there. They're
all supposed to be top notch, these feds, but sometimes
they can be pretty dumb. Hate to think how many times I've
gotten them out of a jam with their software, or jiggled
the plugs on their computers, or God save 'em, downloaded
stuff. Oh sure, they have technicians across the road, but
sometimes it'll take them a day or longer just to come
across and tell them all they had to do was check their
plugs and re-boot. Crazy. I can't sit back and say nothing.
Now, they tend to come and ask me first. I don't mind,
especially if it gets them out of here faster.
 
I realize this sounds pretty mixed up, that I could hate
them and want to help them. It's just that I want them
gone, I want my life back on an even keel...okay, so it
wasn't so even to start with but, shit, I hate how I feel 
at the moment.
 
***************
End prologue

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 1:The Profiler 2 of 9
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please!  spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated PG
*********************


CHAPTER 1
Day 1 - Saturday
Washington D.C.
11:15 pm
 
Mulder sat back into the folds of the sofa and lifted his
bare feet onto the scattered files across the coffee table.
He mindlessly rubbed his stomach in satisfaction.
 
"What was the name of that place?"
 
"Rube's," replied Scully. "It's just around the corner."
 
"S'good...wonder if they'd deliver to Alexandria?"
 
Scully grinned as she handed him his coffee. "Sure, Mulder,
for an extra twenty bucks."
 
"Mm, in that case I think I'll just come here more often."
 
Scully raised her eyebrow and in a voice tinged with
sarcasm replied "Make yourself at home."
 
"Don't I always?"
 
He sat forward and accepted the cup with a quirky grin. It
was too hot to drink, so he placed it on the table beside
his feet, pushing a file to one side to make room. He
closed his eyes and stretched his arms out and above his
head before leaning back contentedly in the sofa.
 
Scully sat beside him. Her hands, cold from rinsing their
plates, wrapped themselves around the mug. She copied her
partner's languorous position and lifted her feet to rest
beside his on the table.
 
"So, Mulder, you're trying to tell me that all the great
baseball players were aliens. That's an interesting
variation on the Bewitched theory."
 
Mulder half lifted one eyelid, dropped and turned his head
in mute query.
 
"You never saw the TV program, Bewitched, where all the
great ballplayers turned out to be warlocks?"
 
"Scully, you amaze me, you actually watched that show?"
 
"Well, no, but Melissa watched the re-runs. What else did
Arthur Dales' brother have to say?...No, no, no...I take
that back."
 
Scully shook her head and closed her eyes wondering why on
earth she was encouraging him. "Mulder, I don't want to
know. Really. I just...don't you ever, just once, just for
the hell of it, want to live a normal life?"
 
He rolled his head back and closing his eye replied "We
tried that, Scully. It was normal, all right -- my lovely wife
Laura came out of the bathroom looking like the Creature
from the Black Lagoon and made me sleep on the goddamned
couch."
 
Scully suppressed a smile at the memory. "Normal life,
Mulder, not suburbia."
 
"I'm sitting in my partner's apartment with my feet up,
coffee in hand, good meal, warm fire, pleasant company, all
of which followed a coupla hours hitting a baseball. What's
abnormal about that?"
 
He heard her quiet sigh and grinned in victory, a little
surprised, but more than gratified to feel her warm
presence. Scully normally sat in the armchair, or on the
floor while they worked, ate, or discussed the finer
details of some case. Tonight, however was different.
Tonight he had unabashedly romanced her. Oh, it was not
overt, nothing they couldn't walk away from with just a
smile, a pleasant memory and an affirmation of friendship.
That she invited him for a takeout dinner was a natural
extension of the evening. The partnership had been more
than a little strained since the Consortium members were 
killed. He'd worked hard, in his own peculiar way, to restore 
the easy camaraderie they once held. Tonight had been the
culmination of that.
 
And instinct told him, perhaps something more.
 
He swallowed a little nervously, feeling somewhat like a
kid on his first date. Did he want to do this, to risk so
much? But where was the risk, really? Just an overture that
could easily be interpreted as a tender moment between
friends, nothing more.
 
Nothing more.
 
Shit, who was he fooling? They'd played around this for
months, ever since that fucking little bee. The horrific
consequences brought home what a mistake that might have
been. Like so many nights since, it would have been for the
wrong reasons.
 
But it would have been just a kiss.
 
Yeah, right. Would six years in the making have allowed
him to leave it at that? Who the hell was he kidding?
 
Since then, the moments that might have presented
themselves were somehow wrong, off kilter for one or both
of them. At least he could no longer castigate himself for
cowardliness, he *had* told her he loved her. He could
remain comfortable in this warm, deep and loving friendship
forever. Why risk all for mere lust?
 
Scully said "You're right, Mulder. It was a good night, I
enjoyed it and I'm going to say thank you, now, because
tomorrow my arms will curse you."
 
"You just need more practice, Scully."
 
"What are you suggesting, Mulder? That we make it a
regular...event?" She'd almost said date, but caught
herself in time.
 
"Can't afford it, Scully, not at ten bucks an hour to shag
balls!"
 
"Cheapskate, it was only two hours."
 
"Yeah but if we make it weekly, that's twenty bucks a
week, eighty a month, over a thousand a..."
 
"Okay, okay, okay... I could solo next time. You pitch and
give the kid, and your wallet, a break."
 
Mulder opened his eyes and reached for his coffee. "I'm not
sure you're ready for that, Scully."
 
"Oh?" Her eyebrow arched again.
 
"Nope," Mulder sipped from his mug then put it back on the
table. He leaned back and placing one arm across the couch
behind her, turned slightly to face his partner.
 
 
 
Scully felt a sudden rush of nervousness. His warmth and
closeness were considerably less noticeable than the hours
spent batting. But that situation had been entirely
different. His proximity then was in the guise of coaching.
Now however, it was in the privacy of her apartment,
accompanied by a warm fire and delicious meal.
 
Not a drop of alcohol had been consumed, but Scully felt
heady from the evening's sensory experiences. Having a man
hold her so closely, in an intimate embrace far more
deliberate and provocative than any dance, was unsettling,
despite its supposed platonic nature. After Jack, Scully
had imposed on herself an unshakeable rule about
interoffice relationships. And she'd wrapped that rule
around her heart and hormones like a defensive wall after
she'd taken one look at her new partner all those years ago.
 
Her mind flicked back to that fateful meeting in Blevins'
office. She'd immediately sought out the basement to meet the
famous Spooky Mulder. Years of sublimating her emotions, of
working twice as hard as her male counterparts to cut
through the inherent chauvinism of her chosen profession,
had finally paid off. She descended the stairs with ego
riding high. Her superiors recognized her professionalism
and meticulous skills. She, Dana Scully, had been assigned
to pull the FBI's legendary black sheep back into the fold.
It would be a pushover. Spooky might have a doctorate in
psychology from one of the finest institutions in the
world, but he now practiced pseudoscience at best. Her
*real* science would walk all over him.
 
Error number one.
 
Dazzled by self congratulations, Scully hadn't thought to
check Mulder's file before meeting him. From all she'd
heard at Quantico and from reading his Monty Props
monograph, Scully expected a nerdy, self-centered, pasty-
faced slob. Not that FBI agents were slobs -- quite the
contrary. But the profilers she'd seen emerging from the
bomb shelter at Quantico were so invested in their work,
personal appearances fell by the wayside. And Mulder,
ranked the penultimate profiler, must surely be the worst.
Scully envisaged a cheap crumpled suit, with dandruff,
bad posture, possibly a slight paunch from inactivity, and
bad breath.
 
Error number two.
 
Big time.
 
She clearly recalled her first thought as he turned his
youthful face up and held out his hand.
 
It went something like, *Oh shit, he's drop dead
gorgeous.*
 
The only sign of nerdishness were the glasses, but the
lucky bastard was one of those exceptional people whose
spectacles somehow conspired with an overly large nose to
make him even sexier. It didn't help that expensive clothes
hung off his sleek, graceful body as if they'd been tailor-
made. Nor did it help that he carried the subtle smell of
an equally expensive, very masculine cologne.
 
Scully retained a fixed smile on her face, all the while
cursing herself for not being prepared. Attack, of course,
was the best defense. When it was clear he'd made the
effort to research her background, she immediately fell
back on her intellectual achievements, figuring he would
not have the scientific background to understand her
dissertation.
 
Error number fucking three.
 
She'd ridden through that first meeting the same way she'd
ridden through most of her career, by slamming walls around
her heart and emotions and super-gluing the surface with a
professional facade. Oh, it slipped a bit during their first case...
well, slipped a hell of a lot with her dropping her robe in his
darkened room. But she recovered it and kept a damned tight
hold of it ever since.
 
Mostly.
 
The passing years failed to immunize her against his
physical beauty or quirky charm, so the walls had to be
regularly replastered with unique Scully tools -- raised
eyebrows, pursed lips and, *You don't seriously expect me to
believes*. Yet through it all, she found herself adopting
his habits of invading personal space, of taking comfort in
his familiar, masculine smell, the feel of his hand on her
back and regular, small doses of touching. Whenever it
looked like getting too close, she double checked the
defensive walls, bolted the door and withdrew with crossed
arms.
 
Seven years later on a baseball field, as Mulder enveloped 
her small body with his beautiful, strong maleness and made
whimsical observations an inch from her ear, Scully found
herself as entranced as that first day in the basement. 
And cushioning that powerful attraction lay seven extraordinary
years of life, of respect and yes, love. Each pull back of
the bat and sweeping, powerful stroke forward reminded her
of the grace and strength in his streamlined body, of his
familiar, slightly-sweaty masculine smell, of his rich
voice, of how easily he could control her. Of how easy it
had been for her to give up control.
 
Of how much she enjoyed giving up control.
 
To him.
 
The walls were looking decidedly battered, the locks and
hinges disappearing with a hundred baseballs amongst the
stars.
 
"No, Scully, I'm not so sure you should go solo just yet."
He leaned back and closed his eyes again.
 
"Scared I might hit you in the head with a ball?"
 
"No...no, it's just that you need to flow into it a bit
more. You're still a little stiff, you need to feel what my
body does, then go with it."
 
Scully almost choked on her coffee. Oh she'd felt what his
body did all right. No doubt he was peripherally aware of
it too, so he'd kept his hips back, but occasional contact
was unavoidable. She'd dismissed it as a natural,
biological afterthought due to their proximity. It
certainly wasn't the first time she'd noticed one of his
erections. The way they lived, it was unavoidable. He was a
healthy male, after all, and gentleman that he was, took
pains to hide them. Tonight was different only in that he
had been holding her.
 
Still, for all the potential suggestiveness, it was vague,
a shadow feeling only, exactly like his verbal double
entendres.
 
Tired of being alone -- and drunk on the emotional warmth of
the night -- her subconscious flirted, "Oh it felt pretty
stiff to me."
 
Mulder's eyes shot open and his jaw slackened.
 
"The bat Mulder, talkin' about the bat." Scully hid her
grin in her mug, shocked at her own riposte. But she also
delighted in his bland, panicked look. For years she'd ignored
his insinuations; it felt damned good getting in one herself.
 
Flabbergasted was not a word Mulder previously considered
attributable to him. Still, he prided himself on a quick
recovery. Turning to watch her face he asked "So...you
don't think you need coaching, like that, anymore?"
 
"I wouldn't say that."
 
The familiar rules had been bent. How far could he go
before Dana backed away and Scully came out to pitch,
sending him home before he'd reached first base?
 
"I suppose it depends on whether you liked it or not." He
replied, waiting for the retreat.
 
Scully turned her face to his and replied in low pitch, "I
liked it."
 
Could she really be flirting as dangerously with the subtext
as him? But Scully didn't flirt, that was the rule. His
partner never allowed the conversation to continue with
implied double meanings...
 
Mulder found himself unable to resist reaching across and
tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. Nothing
unplatonic about that, he'd done it before.
 
It crossed his mind that he might soon be wearing the
contents of the mug she held in her lap and suddenly, the
easy way out seemed preferable. Sexual rejection he could
handle, but not a personal rebuff. Go home, he thought,
pull out a video and relax.
 
Desire warred with the fear of losing her. This could be
no one night stand, nor a short fling. This was far more
complicated.
 
His hand strayed from her hair and cupped her cheek. He'd
done that before, too. That was okay...No, no it wasn't.
His nostrils dilated and breathing quickened while his eyes
darkened to an emerald green, leaving hers only long enough
to watch her lips part in silent acceptance of the
anticipated kiss.
 
Scully felt her heartbeat race as she watched his face
descend. She had not planned this, had not really believed
it would happen after almost seven years of determined
masonry around her heart. As his lips grazed hers in chaste
overture, she felt every one of those years as arousal
suddenly explode through her body, knocking the last
vestiges of the walls asunder. He pulled back waiting for
her to turn her head away and ascribe the kiss to a gesture
of friendship, of, 'Goodnight Mulder it's time you left.' But
where his fingers cupped the edge of her jaw, he felt her
racing pulse. Her breath was already coming in short pants
and her cheeks began to flush. Her eyes remained fixed on
his lips and her tongue flickered out to taste where he had
been.
 
Good God, she wanted this as much as he did! Delighted and
instantly aroused, he lowered his lips to fulfill a promise
made in his hallway months before.

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

Chapter 1 continued in part 3

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 1:The Profiler 3 of 9
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please!  spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated PG
*********************

CHAPTER 1 (con't)
Day 1 - Saturday
Washington D.C.
11:40 pm

 
A loud knocking on the apartment door startled them both.
Adrenaline rushed through Scully. She felt suddenly
embarrassed, as if her father had caught her necking on the
couch. Throwing her head back she closed her eyes for a
moment to recover. Mulder pulled away and rolled his eyes
in frustration.
 
Shit!
 
"Expecting someone?" He asked as Scully sat forward and
stood.
 
His partner shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. She
deposited her cup on the table and moved to the door.
Mulder's incipient erection vanished in anticipation of
trouble. He fervently wished he'd brought his weapon.
Eyeing Scully's gun on the dining table, he strode across
and snatched it up, grumbling about bees and fucking
persons from Porlock.
 
Scully peered through the peephole in her door.
 
"It's Skinner!" Surprise mixed with confusion in the lilt
of her voice.
 
Mulder nodded but with gun in hand moved to the shadows by
the wall. Maybe it was Skinner, but then again... Anyone
coming into the room would not immediately notice him.
 
Scully opened the door, "Good evening, sir."
 
"Agent Scully, my apologies for coming by unannounced."
 
"Come in." Scully motioned for Skinner to enter.
 
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything..." A.D. Skinner's
eyes automatically cornered the apartment until they
arrested on Mulder.
 
"No sir," replied Scully "Agent Mulder and I were just
going over a few files."
 
Scully gestured for their boss to sit. Mulder replaced the
gun in its holster on the table and returned to the living
room.
 
"Agent Mulder." Skinner nodded in recognition of the
younger man's precaution. It paid for these two to be
careful.
 
"Would you like some coffee, sir? It's just brewed."
 
Skinner's detective eyes took in the scene, automatically
cataloguing the visible evidence of half filled coffee mugs
and scattered files. How many of his other agents spent
Saturday nights going over case files? He sighed,
contemplating their almost pathological work ethic and
wishing that just once, they'd take time out to go see a
game, or a movie or something.
 
He subconsciously took for granted that whatever they did,
it would be together.
 
Skinner shook his head and sighed heavily, not wanting to
do this, but having no choice. "No thanks, I won't stay
long. I'll get right to the point. No doubt you are aware
of the Seattle Line killings?"
 
Scully froze and out of the corner of his eye, Skinner saw
Mulder's eyes close in resignation. Even buried in the
basement, in their own unique world of horrors, they could
not have missed what had become the FBI's worst nightmare.
 
Skinner clenched his fists, hating himself, his job and
the fucking animal that created this situation. The only
saving grace was that he was able do this person and not by
phone, as urgency had dictated.
 
He continued, "I've just come from dinner at Rube's with the
director and attorney general."
 
That explained why Skinner dropped by instead of calling,
Scully thought.
 
"I tried calling you," Skinner glanced at Mulder "But
there was no answer."
 
Mulder shrugged, he was not obliged to carry his cell
phone when off duty, that's what voice mail was for.
Knowing what was next though, he started to feel nauseous.
Ten years. Ten fucking years...and it had finally caught 
up with him. Jesus he'd been a fool to think they would
have left it alone. "I left it at home."
 
"No need to apologize Agent, the bureau does not expect
you to be on twenty-four hour call...until now."
 
Scully raised her eyebrow, not seriously believing what
instinct told her was coming. Her eyes glanced down to a
thick, clear plastic case Skinner held in one hand.
 
"Two more... bodies were found yesterday."
 
"Shit, he's escalating fast now," Mulder interrupted.
 
"Not necessarily. One of them was about a month old.
Street kid found behind a deserted farm house." Skinner
nodded. "But the press is having a field day over the lack
of progress on this one. We've assigned more than a dozen
agents from Washington, as well as the Seattle office and
outlying field offices, making up a team that now exceeds
twenty agents. That includes a full time profiler."
 
Mulder looked up. FBI profilers rarely worked a single
case. They were generally loaded with dozens of unsolved or
difficult cases and backlogged for months, even years. Once
a profile was written, it became part of a vast range of
tools used to identify and capture a suspect. For a
profiler to be assigned an ongoing single case was unusual.
Except, of course, when it was him. But then that wasn't
profiling it was...
 
"...Who's now been returned to Quantico. The attorney
general made it very clear to the director..."
 
Mulder nodded stiffly and held up his hand. No need to
make Skinner connect the dots. The services of Spooky
Mulder had been demanded, regardless of the psychiatric
notation in his jacket, the 'official' cover, regardless 
of the promise the director himself made a decade ago. 
It didn't matter what effect it had on him or God help
them, anyone around him. He was one man, and it was one 
case, not a shit load. His sanity could be easily 
sacrificed to save who knew how many children?
 
What did it matter? He had nothing else to lose... From
what he understood, they had it all backwards anyway, which
explained why they were no closer to finding the UNSUB --
unknown subject -- than when this particularly grisly campaign
of terror began eighteen months previously.
 
Fox Mulder's sanity was more than a fair trade.
 
Pity, he'd gotten kinda fond of the woman that provided it.
 
Mulder rolled his head back and breathed deeply. In the
background he could hear Scully come to the same conclusion,
although she had no idea of what that conclusion *really*
involved, and tersely voice her arguments to Skinner. 
Snatches of conversation entered his peripheral hearing. As 
her arguments evolved into a tirade he wanted to hug her for
her loyalty. She knew virtually nothing about his profiling
years. He'd made damned certain that aspect of his life had
been kept well and truly sealed. No doubt Skinner had been
privy to parts of it, and a few in the BSU knew, but the
others were dead.
 
Or insane.
 
Scully had seen a glimpse, enough to put the fear of God
in her.
 
As well it should.
 
"Dammit sir, you know what this does to him. You *know*
what the evaluation was after the Mostow case. Neither the
FBI nor the Justice Department have the right to destroy a
man in the pursuit of justice, no matter how righteous the
cause!"
 
"I'm sorry, Agent Scully, Mulder still works for the FBI
and his expertise..."
 
"Fuck expertise!" Scully spat out.
 
Skinner almost gaped at her expletive. Scully defending
Mulder was normal. Although it was unusual for her to argue
to this length, Skinner realized he was the one on foreign
ground. They were not in his office like wayward school
children, he had come to them, their territory in their
time. But that aside, for Scully to swear like that
meant...Then it hit Skinner and he almost blinked in
surprise. Had he interrupted something other than case
files and coffee?
 
Scully in pit bull mode was a force to be reckoned with,
but Skinner had no choice. God, if this little firebrand
in front of him had any real idea of what Fox Mulder might
become, he wouldn't put it past her to go down to Rube's
right then and shove a gun at the attorney general's head.
 
"Agent Scully, " he snapped back, jamming his fists in his
pocket in anger at the devil's advocate role thrust upon
him, "You are way out of line. I'll take that statement as
being off the record. You are in no position..."
 
Scully opened her mouth to interrupt, but Skinner used the
full force of his marine corps background to glare at his
subordinate. Hardening his voice he continued, "You are in
no position to pass comment, *Agent* Scully. Your expertise
would be appreciated and you are requested to accompany
Agent Mulder to Seattle..."
 
"No," Mulder spoke for the first time.
 
Both Scully and Skinner stared at him.
 
"Scully, you don't need to be part of this." He dreaded
going into the fray alone, but terror overwhelmed dread.
Terror for what it would do to their partnership, their
friendship and whatever small spark of something that might
have been ignited that night. It would all be snuffed out
if she tried to accompany him into the festering pit of
madness he must become in order to find this killer.
 
He almost laughed in self derision. Who the hell did he
think he'd been fooling? He knew what he was, what evil
waited to take over his body, and he had been fool enough to
think he could maintain something resembling a normal
relationship with a woman. With Scully. Christ how many
times did he have to make *that* mistake before he got it
through his stupid skull?
 
Fuck, that had been close.
 
He looked up at Skinner, wanting to thank the man for his
timing. Ten seconds later...He turned to Scully, vestigially
hoping she could be kept free of this.
 
"You shouldn't be part of it. You can't be part of it."
His voice dropped and cracked in desperation as he spoke to
her. Please, God, he prayed to a deity he could never
believe in, just let her be my partner, nothing more now,
it could never be and he *knew* that and...oh fuck I will
never again succumb to that hubris but please, dear God, let
me come back to her just as a partner, nothing more, I
promise, but please don't take that from me.
 
The look in her eyes made him cringe. He could see the
words as plainly as if they had been spoken, "Ditching me
again, huh Mulder?"
 
Ignoring Skinner, he reached for Scully and took her hand
in his.
 
"What you saw happen to me in the Mostow case was nothing,
*nothing* compared to what this case might do. I have to
draw the line again, Scully. You have *no* idea what I
become during a case like this. And there is *nothing* you
can do to stop or help me. You'll only get in the way and
get yourself hurt, or inadvertently hurt me. I don't want
you part of that, I don't want you to be subjected..."
 
Scully ripped her hand from his, anger shredding the
intimacy that had so recently filled the room. She lifted
her eyebrow in controlled fury "Mulder, I am an FBI agent,
not a child to be coddled. You are my partner, I am your
partner. We look out for each other, for better or worse."
 
Skinner almost looked away. Until tonight he occasionally
wondered if these two young agents took the understandable
solace of each other's beds. But for all their extraordinary...
no, downright uncanny connection, he did not believe they
were sexually involved. Theirs was an intimacy of spirit that
surmounted any physical coupling. That they loved each
other was beyond question. He ground his teeth in the bitter
realization that might have changed if he had not come here
tonight.
 
Fuck, of all the lousy timing.
 
Then again, knowing the contents of Mulder's sealed file,
maybe it *was* for the best.
 
He looked at the two younger agents in sympathy. Christ,
they had taken on so much in their young lives. Taken on
more than he'd ever dared and now he was about to
ruthlessly employ their unique bond. The director had been
clear. They no longer had Patterson to monitor Mulder. This
way was better -- use Scully to ground him instead. Long
enough, the director said, to solve this case. Just keep
the boy from falling too deeply into his unique brand of
insanity long enough to catch this killer. Mulder could be
pensioned off, if necessary. The look on the director's
face added the unspoken alternative...or, if he never
returned from his unique hell, have him committed
to a psychiatric hospital like Patterson.
 
"Agent Scully," Skinner said, wanting to get this over
with as fast as possible, "has been assigned to this case by
the director himself. There's a flight out at midnight,
Agents. Please be on it. There are zip disks in here,
everything we have to date."
 
He handed the heavy case to Mulder while Scully scowled,
her arms crossed in frustrated anger. The only saving
grace, as far as she was concerned, was that she would
accompany Mulder.
 
Of all the betrayals within the FBI, of all the times she
had felt victimized by such men who walked those so called
hallowed halls with impunity, this, she thought was the
most devious and inhumane betrayal of all. They would use
Mulder, squeezing every drop of sanity from him, then
discard him when it was over. Her gut roiled and she was
suddenly hit with a wave of nausea. This was how they would
destroy him and the X-files, by righteously packaging it in
the advancement of law and order. In the end, they would
take the accolades of an adoring press and grateful public
while Mulder was tossed aside as carelessly as one of his
sunflower seed husks.
 
Skinner was right. If she knew what really happened to
Mulder on these cases, she might just have taken a gun to
the attorney general's head.
 
But recalling the sight of anguished parents on television
and the gruesome crime scene photos, her anger deflated.
 
One mother had suicided.
 
She glanced up at Mulder. He was watching her with
profound sadness and regret for what might have been, and
she understood. He could no more turn his back on this than
abandon his search for Samantha. This was what they did.
This was why they joined the FBI -- to make a difference, to
put animals like this down.
 
Scully nodded almost imperceptibly to Skinner, accepting
their fate. And it was *their* fate. She'd make damned
certain Mulder came out of this intact, even if it meant
following him to hell and dragging him back, kicking and
screaming and cussing her as she spat in the eye of the
devil himself. No, they would not get Mulder, she'd make
that her personal campaign.
 
Skinner nodded and left abruptly, suddenly in great need
of a drink to wash the bitter taste of betrayal from his
mouth. He wondered if the director felt the same need.
Maybe they could get plastered together.
 
Mulder bit his lower lip and sighed. Looking down, he
scratched his head absently and said, "I better get going.
I've got a feeling this is not going to go down fast.
There's a lot about this case that doesn't add up."
 
"You mean you've been following it?" Scully replied with a
frown.
 
"Sorta...There's a lot more in this than what I've seen."
He gestured to the plastic folder. "By the time I get
through it, something may come to light."
 
He moved to go, collecting his jacket and keys from the
table. Scully followed, standing close to him as he opened
the door a few inches. He looked down at her scowling face
and grinned.
 
"Hey," he pulled her chin up to look at him.
"Scully...look," she saw pain and regret cross his face.
"What you saw in the Mostow case was, *nothing* like
this...I...I *become* the killer...You can't, under any
circumstances, interfere with that process or you destroy
it. I must become that evil and no partnership will survive
the things I...*appear* to do and say to you once I'm gone
..."
 
Scully cut him off with her fingers to his lips, "You
think that after all this time I'm going to leave you now?
Mulder, I'm your *partner*."
 
Mulder let out an anguished sigh. His eyes told her what
his lips struggled to say.
 
Scully's own mouth curled fractionally and the scowl left
her face, marveling at how so much affection and love could
be conveyed in his hazel eyes.
 
Mulder leaned down, hesitant at first, then with more
confidence to complete their aborted kiss. Things would go
to hell in a handbasket over the next few days. He wanted
to say goodbye -- and yes, it would be goodbye, to her with
just one kiss. It would be their first, and last, but at
least he would have that to carry into the long dark, as
he stood by and watched the evil take his body and....
His lips touched hers, they shared a second of an intimacy
long desired but never dared. But even that was not to be.
The door moved slightly with the impact of a soft knock.
 
Mulder instantly reached for his gun with his right hand
as he jerked the door open with his left. He again cursed
his absent weapon, but the thought ended abruptly when he
realized Skinner had returned.
 
The A.D. sighed deeply and pocketed his cell phone. "The
director. He's decided to fly the latest victims to Quantico
on a charter flight. Remains should be here by morning.
Agent Scully, I want you to do the autopsies before flying to
Seattle on Monday. Mulder, you better get moving, your
flight's still on for tonight."
 
"But, sir," Scully objected, seeing this as an all too
convenient excuse for separating them.
 
"No buts, Agent Scully, there's no question of you joining
Mulder in the next day or two, but I want you to do these
autopsies at Quantico. There are some issues regarding the
Seattle morgue, and the lab work can be done here faster. I
trust you might, just might, pick up something the Seattle
M.E. overlooked. And flying the bodies to D.C. gives a
certain impression to the media. The political pressure
surrounding this case has reached boiling point."
 
"So you need a PR exercise." Mulder was too emotionally
exhausted to offer more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
 
"Yes Agent Mulder, but you of all people realize how we
can also use the media to benefit this case when we get
something more to go on."
 
Mulder's posture conceded the point, pleased that Scully
was forced to remain behind. With any luck, circumstances
would conspire to keep her in D.C. He glanced at his
partner, a regretful look in his eyes as he nodded goodnight.
 
"I'll e-mail you the report." Scully said.
 
Mulder nodded and turned to leave with Skinner. He wished
he'd been able to get a good night's sleep before entering
this case because sure as hell there would be little of
that in the following weeks. He mentally sighed. It had
crossed his mind not half hour before that he might not be
getting much sleep that night anyway. Still, better that it
had never happened. Despite wishful thinking that Scully
would get stuck in D.C., he knew damned well they'd exploit
her ability to ground him. That it would destroy their
relationship was of no consequence in the face of the
waiting evil.
 
"Agent Mulder," Skinner spoke softly as they exited the
building. Mulder stopped and turned to face his superior.
Skinner was moving his jaw back and forth, clearly incensed
with the unfolding events that had brought him there.
 
"It's all right, sir, something like this was bound to
happen one day. I'm honestly not concerned about coming out
of it," he lied easily "That's never been an issue with me,
although it seems to bother everyone else. But if you have
any sway whatsoever, keep Scully in Washington. Use the PR
angle to have future victims flown back here, continue to
assign her the autopsies and lab work."
 
Skinner shook his head abruptly. "The director himself
ordered Agent Scully to accompany you. Mulder, I know, I
*know* what your sealed file contains. I know the real
reason they called you Spooky was not because of this
ability to crawl through the minds of these animals...
of non sequiturs, but because of... this..." Skinner rolled 
his eyes, unwilling to use the word but knowing there was 
no other "This damned... psychic ability of yours to link
directly to the killer's actions, to mirror what he does.
And that's why the director wants Scully there. To try and 
keep you sane long enough...fuck it!" Skinner turned abruptly 
from the younger agent. Mulder could actually hear the man 
gnashing his teeth and for a moment, sympathized with 
Skinner's position.
 
"Sir, do you understand, really understand what the
contents of that file on me means?"
 
Skinner nodded glumly.
 
"Then you know why Agent Scully should not be exposed to
this. Look sir, she's going to hinder me at every turn.
It's possible, just possible I can run a normal profile on
this bastard without having to let it take control. But if 
that doesn't work...I have not...I'm not *there* anymore.
I have *no* control over things once it begins and no one, 
absolutely no one can get in its way. Scully will never 
accept the truth. Even if...when I come back, when I come 
out of it, she'll be incapable of believing it, of 
resolving it in her mind. And you know, you damned well 
*know* what that will do to ourpartnership!" Mulder kept 
his voice low, but the bitternesson his face could not be 
denied. "Dammit, I'm tempted to tell you all to go shove it, 
make my cooperation on this conditional that Scully stays 
in D.C. Fuck it, why not? What choices do you have...my job? 
Okay you can shove your job and my damned badge up your..." 
But he stopped himself and wrapping his arms around his body, 
lowered his head and shook it from side to side, bitter tears 
lying unshed behind closed eyes.
 
Skinner stood stony-faced. A part of him wanted to reach
out and comfort the man before him in his arms, to hold him
like a lost and frightened child. Instead he swallowed and
said, "Y'know I'm surprised at you Mulder. I thought you
trusted and respected your partner more than that. Of all
the people I've ever known, she's probably the best
equipped to handle this, both professionally and
personally. She's tough, Mulder and she has more loyalty to
you that your sorry ass deserves. Don't underestimate her."
 
Mulder shook his head. Skinner didn't understand, how
could he? How could he know what it was like to see the
face of a woman after...He opened his eyes to blind himself
to the memory. He had no choice, he could no more turn his
back on this than if Samantha had called his name. And the
director knew that, damn the man to hell. Shit, what did
it matter, it was just his body after all. Just let it use
him and he could reclaim it afterwards. 
Yeah, right.
 
"Then sir, if you can't keep Scully away, at least arm her
with what she needs, to protect herself." He didn't need to
complete the sentence, "from me."
 
Skinner stared at his subordinate "There was never any
mention that you -- it -- might endanger those nearby. 
Are you concerned that might happen?"
 
Mulder closed his eyes and sighed. Skinner couldn't 
understand, no-one could, not until they'd seen it for 
themselves. Shit *he* didn't undertand except that he had 
to watch the whole fucking process like some sick movie 
while *he* sat on the side lines and waited for it to be 
over. "If she doesn't know, she may try to intervene. If 
she does that, she may inadvertently get in the way and 
be hurt by it. Or it may incorporate her into what's 
happening." His face paled at the thought.
 
Skinner stared at the younger man for a moment,
realizing the implications. But there could be no
ambiguity in this. Not this, not the seals on those
files. "Agent Mulder, are you requesting your sealed 
files be made available to Agent Scully?"
 
"If you don't, she'll have no idea how to deal with this.
Jesus, sir, she's a doctor and the first thing she's gonna
try is medication and I can't have that! It will just make
things worse. She needs to know before it takes over, 
not after. She still won't believe it, of course, but, it
should at least make her back off and keep out of the
way."
 
Skinner closed his eyes and nodded. "All right, Agent
Mulder. I'll have the files available and at the first
sign, I'll make sure Agent Scully sees them."
 
No matter what he'd said, Skinner also feared this would
destroy their partnership. And no small part of him loathed
himself with what this might subject Scully to. Jesus
Christ, she deserved better! 
 
Skinner had been frankly stunned when he learned the truth
about Mulder. But he believed it, to the core of his soul
he knew it was true. Christ it explained so much. And
the director believed it too, for he had suffered a near 
death experience and recognised the nature of the 
unquantifiable. To cap it off, they had actual physical
proof...although Scully would question proof of *what*?
 
Like Skinner, the director would never look beyond his
own brief paranormal experience, but Mulder... It was 
not Skinner alone who made decisions about the X-
files. The director himself pulled many strings to have
them opened, and reopened simply because of that file.
General policy might treat the Spooky Division with
contempt, and Mulder had deservedly been thrown into
purgatory on occasion. But despite the roller coaster ride,
the X-files were still operational and Mulder remained at
the helm. Because the director himself believed. Because
that smoking bastard knew. In fact it was why Mulder had
never been terminated a dozen times by the old consortium.
Because of this...psychic talent that tore him apart.
Fucking cancer man had said it more than once. One day
they would need this talent, need it badly. So they allowed
him to live, allowed his indulgence. But none of them were 
as skeptical as Scully. Fuck, she would never believe.
Skinner wondered if there would be anyone left on board 
when all this was over.
 
Still, there was one chance. Mulder was also a paramount
profiler. Maybe that would be sufficient, maybe he would
not have to give up his soul, and body to the devil.
Maybe.
 
Mulder changed tacks, interrupting Skinner's thoughts
"Sir, how will the current team feel about being me being
assigned to the case at this late date?"
 
"The director has spoken to ASAC Busche in Seattle. To be
frank, right now the stagnation is so bad it stinks. There
are going to be quite a few shakeups over the next week.
I'm heading up the case myself once I clear things here,
probably Tuesday. Make no mistake, Agent Mulder, the
political pressure on this one is...extreme. The director
has made it clear to Busche that you and your directives
are to be acted upon. They're so desperate they'll listen
to any theory, no matter how..."
 
"Spooky?" Mulder smiled in self deprecation.
 
Skinner looked at the younger man knowingly and added,
"With little forensic evidence and the...obscene M.O. to go
on, the profiles have been their only real tool. That gives
your role absolute priority. You're being assigned two
field agents to do the dog work, including day to day BS
like expense accounts and formatting presentations and
reports. If you have trouble, and I mean any trouble
whatsoever with any agent respecting your authority on this
matter, you are to report it to me immediately. If I am
unavailable for any reason, you are to report to the
director himself. I'm not having interoffice politics and
petty rivalries running this show. At the same time,
Mulder, that's not a carte blanche to tick off everyone.
We've only got so many agents in the FBI... Now get moving,
time's awasting."
 
***************************

End Chapter 1

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 1:The Profiler 4 of 9
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please! spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated PG few bad words, possibly R
*********************

CHAPTER 2
Sunday - Day 2
Situation Room
Central Hotel, Seattle
6:50 a.m.
 
"You're putting me on! Spooky fucking Mulder, that
sanctimonious son of a bitch? Your putting him in
*control*??!! What have they got in D.C., shit for brains?"
 
"Forenzzi, sit down before you have an aneurysm." Busche
barely raised his voice to the agents around him, but this
time he had to raise his voice to get the much bigger man's
attention.
 
"But you don't understand, that cowardly little faggot..."
 
"Forenzzi, shut the fuck up! That's an order!" Busche
finally shouted.
 
Forenzzi's eye twitched uncontrollably. The tendons on his
neck stood out and his hands clenched. Busche glared at him
until he sat, then staring out at the other twenty or so
agents in the room continued. "The director himself has
come in on this one. As you are aware, the bottom-feeding
press has gone to town over this, forcing the attorney
general's hand. The long and short of it means an entire re-
vamping of teams and procedures. An assistant director is
coming in to take over, freeing me up to return to normal
duties."
 
The protests and sounds of shock from around the room
pacified Busche's sorely bruised ego. He let the men and
women under him continue for a few moments before resuming.
 
"To be frank, I'm not sorry. This case is a bitch and the 
only way I can see any progress being made at this stage 
is to take a step back. That is *not* a reflection on the 
time and effort you people have put in. But political
pressure requires something, anything to shake things up.
For many of you, it means going home to families you haven't
seen in weeks, sometimes months.
 
"Look, I know how this makes you feel, it's the worst kind
of crap for an agent to be ordered away from an ongoing
case, but I want you all to know I've never worked with a
finer bunch of people. You've put your hearts and souls
into this and the director assured me no one in this room
is being demoted in any way. Some of you will be
effectively promoted while others, mainly in technical
areas, will stay on. A.D. Skinner coming in frees me to get
back to my job and means you can now report to someone who
can concentrate on this case to the exclusion of everything
else. All in all, I think it's a good thing."
 
There was silence for a few minutes while the agents
digested this. Few of them had been blind to its
inevitability, but it still tasted like shit, no matter how
it was fed to them.
 
"So where does this guy Mulder fit in?" Wilson, a recently
arrived agent asked.
 
"Agent Fox Mulder was a top notch profiler in the BSU
about ten years back. He left to work with the VCU then
transferred to a specialty unit called the X-Files eight
years ago. He still does consultant profiling and the
director himself appointed Mulder to come in on this one."
Busche glared at Forenzzi, defying him to interrupt. "I
know a lot of you have heard he has a reputation
for...unusual techniques, but the fact is, he gets results,
fast."
 
Forenzzi's face darkened as he held his temper in check.
 
"I've never met the man personally but I believe he's a
little...anti-social." Busche watched Forenzzi's mouth open
and he added quickly "However, I don't give a fuck if the
guy picks his nose at the dinner table or scratches his ass
in front of the director, he's probably no worse than any
other profiler once they get into a swing. Let's face it,
all those Behavioral guys are a bit off, anyway, no offense,
West."
 
A female agent in the back continued to clean her nails
without bothering to look up. She was accustomed to much
worse.
 
Busche continued, "For those of you staying, I suggest you
keep out of his way and let him get on with it."
 
Forenzzi clenched his jaw and said in controlled fury,
"Sir, with all due respect I think it is unwise to allow
Mulder on this case without forewarning the people who stay
on."
 
Busche sighed, "Agent Forenzzi, I will not have innuendo
and gossip coloring anyone's attitude to an incoming agent."
 
"With all due respect, sir, this is neither innuendo or
gossip. It's a little known fact that Mulder has been
allowed to remain in the FBI solely because of
his...talents." Forenzzi all but spat the word out. "I'm not
denying he gets results, sir. However, I've seen Mulder in
the field and it would be criminally... irresponsible not
to warn those around him of his...predilections."
 
Busche wavered. He could not prevent the inevitable
gossip. Despite it flying in the face of accepted protocol
he tiredly resigned himself to allowing Forenzzi his piece.
At least by giving him leave to speak now, in front of
Busche, it might temper the man's statements. Busche
himself had heard outrageous flights of fancy surrounding
so called Spooky Mulder. He had only checked the rogue
agent's file briefly and it seemed some of those fanciful
stories were grounded in fact. Maybe Forenzzi had a point.
Forewarning some of these greener agents might not be a bad
thing.
 
"All right, Forenzzi, spit it out, but stick to facts, not 
opinions."
 
Forenzzi was no fool, he'd spent too many days in court
not to have honed his testimony to a fine degree. Yes, sir
just stick to the facts, totally unlike the psychobabble
garbage that came out of the BSU.
 
Before he could speak, West piped up, "With all due
respect, sir, this is ethically questionable." But then
kicked herself at the look on Forenzzi's face. He was a
local agent and longstanding friend of Busche. Both of them
were straight down the line thinkers who secretly believed
women should remain barefoot and pregnant.
 
Forenzzi replied "Well maybe you think so, Agent West, but I
think him coming on this case is highly questionable and if
you let me speak, you'll understand why. If that's
acceptable to you *Agent* West?"
 
Sally West returned to cleaning her nails. What the hell,
let the moron say his piece.
 
Forenzzi took a few deep breaths to relax and began,
"Agent Fox Mulder has a degree in forensic psychology from
Oxford. He's considered a genius, with scores right off some
scales, I.Q. Sanford-Binnet, the whole lot. He graduated
top of his class at Quantico and started off straight under
Patterson in BSU, no time out in field offices, which is
pretty damned weird in itself."
 
The mention of Patterson raised a few eyebrows around the
room. Most of them had heard of Spooky Mulder and some
pretty wild, off the planet -- literally -- tales. Patterson,
however, was a legend who'd ended up locked away with the
criminally insane after murdering his own partner.
 
Not a good thing.
 
"He stayed with Patterson three years. I can't vouch for
everything the old man did to him, but I saw enough.
Patterson had him on a short leash, like a trained dog.
 
"Now, we all know how profilers work. But Mulder was
different. Patterson had him on the worst cases, but only
the current ones, never old ones. He'd let him loose down the 
hole like a ferret. And Mulder came up with the rat, every 
single fucking time. The moment he poked his head out, 
they had him on drugs to chill him out and shoved him on 
a plane to the next ugly fuck. It wasn't pretty and I'm not 
denying Patterson used him, nor am I denying he was good. 
But it was weird, too fucking weird. Sent shivers down the 
spine of even hardened case workers.
 
"Then one day I saw why. Patterson wasn't around and
Mulder lost the plot entirely. Hared out and went completely
psycho, acting out what the killer did right down to the 
finest detail, and I do mean finest detail. Patterson 
showed up and went apeshit at us and hussled us outa there
till it was over. But we all knew, Mulder should have been 
retired on medical disability and locked away permanently, 
but we were told to shut up and say nothing. Next thing he's 
back on the job and leash in hand, Patterson personally 
starts dragging his ass to the next shit fight, with a
psychiatrist in tow to keep Mulder in line. His own personal 
fucking shrink! And they still let him carry a gun!
 
"Three years of this then one day, the psychiatrist gets 
killed and right out of the blue, Mulder tells Patterson 
to shove it and moves over to VCU. Without Patterson or his 
shrink, Mulder was just some creeped-out kid that shoulda 
been locked up. I felt kinda sorry for him at first but 
then he blew it and an agent ended up dead. The dead man 
was my brother in law, so I took more than a passing 
interest.
 
"Okay, he was cleared of that but the guy's record since
then speaks for itself. His current partner disappeared for
three months after a hostage situation Mulder fucked up.
According to him she was abducted by aliens. And that more
or less set the stage thereafter that everything is a
fucking alien conspiracy, that we're secretly being invaded
by little green men and that the government is in on it.
 
"He's had a gun at his partner's head at least three
times, in fact she had to shoot him once when he lost it
entirely. He's been committed at least once and spent more
time in hospital than most of the guys in VCU put together,
except maybe his partner. Okay, we all know the risks, but
this is one boy it ain't healthy being around. He leaves a
fucking comet-sized trail of dead or missing in his wake.
He had a child killer removed from prison on his authority,
*lost* him, then shot the bastard in the head while he held
a kid at gunpoint. Mulder himself stabbed a kid through the
heart with a fucking stake would you believe because, get
this, he said the kid was a vampire. The family had the
Agency up for over 400 million dollars. Somehow it
was all hushed up and forgotten about.
 
"He's been busted a dozen times for illegal entry to
government agencies and...aw, shit, the list goes on. And
let's not forget he worked on the case where Patterson
tipped the scales and now spends his days making daisy
chains.
 
"Look, any one of these things could have got his ass
busted, but he's protected, like a fucking rare species or
something. That's all well and good, he's a commodity that
might just be useful on this case, but he builds his
profile on the dog work of others and creams the credit at
the end. He puts the lives of those around him in danger
and he's a faggot, possibly a p..."
 
West's eyes narrowed further and she snapped "That's
enough! Sir, this is completely out of line. If you guys had
any idea of the shit-filled minds we have to crawl through,
you might understand how discussing motivations makes us
sound as sick as these fucks."
 
"West, you're way wrong there. I know what you're talking
about and I've seen what he does when he hares out, he gets
off on..."
 
"Agent," Busche warned, "West is right, we've got enough
crap on our plates without the media going to town about
that, too. I can live with the FBI's turning a blind eye. And
until Congress pushes the issue as it has in the military, 
let's just shut the fuck up."
 
West just gaped at Busche's ploy. She was so incensed she
was literally struck dumb. Christ, she wondered, how many
times has a judge had to direct a jury to disregard one of
Busche's implied statements?
 
"Sir, the bottom line is, this guy's a sicko fruitcake. He's
protected because he's useful, but he's damned dangerous to
be around. All I'm saying is that everyone here should be
warned that he ignores procedure and protocol and no one
right up to the director, does more than slap his wrist, no
matter who ends up dead or in the psycho ward. I'm just
saying, steer clear of him...and watch your backs."
 
A couple of the agents snickered at the double meaning of
Forenzzi's parting shot.
 
Busche stared long and hard at Forenzzi then said, "So I
take it you wish to be transferred off this case? Until
now, you were to remain, but if you can't work with Mulder
then let's get it clear now."
 
Forenzzi clamped his jaw tight and realized he'd been
suckered by Busche. What the hell was Busche's game?
 
Shit.
 
Fuck Mulder! Forenzzi figured for sure he'd be kept on to
advise Skinner. Now he either had to suck it and wear it or
ask for a transfer. And he knew what that meant on his
jacket.
 
Shit. No way was pretty boy going to do that to him.
 
"No, sir, I can work with him. I have the advantage of
knowing what he's like and when he's likely to go fruit
loop. In fact I think someone should be assigned to keep an
eye on him."
 
"I agree."
 
Forenzzi paled. Surely to God Busche wouldn't put *him* on
fucking *babysitting* duty?!
 
"Agent West will be staying on to assist Agent Mulder.
Agent Smith has also been reassigned to...eh, act as a
liaison. Between the two of you I'm sure you can keep his
nose clean and his ass wiped. His flight's due to arrive
in," Busche glanced at his watch, "an hour and a half.
Better get a move on before morning rush hour traffic."
 
West raised her eyebrows, pleasantly surprised, but Smith
groaned. As they left the predawn meeting someone warned
him to watch his butt. Agent Rob Smith groaned and rolled
his eyes at West, wondering who they had ticked off to get
this assignment.
 

*******************
End Chapter 2

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 1:The Profiler 5 of 9
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please! spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated PG 
*********************

CHAPTER 3
DAY 2 - Sunday
Central Hotel, Seattle

>From the journal of Crystal Palmer
 
Something happened tonight. A new one walked in. Didn't
notice him at first because his coat was beige. The place
was crowded because it was Sunday night buffet special.
Folks come from all over. Dad thinks it's because of the
cheap, good food but I think a lot of them are law
enforcement groupies. Sick bastards.
 
I was fixing up some network problems this morning. God, I
hate Microsoft, give me an Apple-based system any day.
Anyway, I overheard them talking about a big shakeup. The
press has been giving them plenty of lip and it seems D.C.
is sending a crack profiler out. One of them was saying
this new guy was some sort of FBI legend, but I also heard
a lot of cussing that he had been in and out of the psycho
ward a few times. I found that hard to believe. They
wouldn't have someone with a history of mental illness
packing heat. I'm not prejudiced about that sort of thing.
People get sick in their minds and they get cured and
that's no worse than being sick in your body. But the FBI,
well they're not so politically correct. So I ignored it,
but the other stuff sounded a little weird. I mean the only
FBI legend I ever heard of was Hoover and look at him, a
cross-dressing little Hitler. So no, I wasn't too keen on
legends.
 
I was on the cash register at dinner and didn't notice him
at first because of the coat. Then I caught a glimpse of
him negotiating his way through the crowd of regulars, cold-
faced FBI and fat locals gawking or stuffing their faces
with the eat all you can buffet. I hadn't realized it until
then but most of the agents looked...jaded. Even the way
they walked, their posture, or perhaps it was this crappy 
case, whatever, but they seemed dull. 
 
There were new arrivals today and they were like a breath of 
fresh air. Straight from D.C. Sharper dressers, just overall 
smoother. Then this new one... He moved with a predatory 
grace, like a sleek cat maneuvering through lesser mortals. 
He turned my way and I nearly dropped Sally West's account. 
Sally's an agent, too and she was nodding back in his 
direction, indicating his meal was on the running FBI tab. 
I caught that much, but I couldn't keep my eyes off him. 
When I finally looked away, I realized most of the women in 
the room had also noticed. To be honest, you'd have to be 
blind or lesbian not to.
 
I figured him for an investigative reporter. I mean none
of the agents are ugly but this guy walked straight out of
Esquire, but I asked Sally and she nodded, he was an agent 
too. At first, I thought new agents coming in would be a good 
thing, but I don't know...there's something about this guy.
 
I better clean out the upstairs rooms for these others. They'll
be trickling in over the next few days.
 
I hope this legend turns up and puts an end to this crap.
 
********************
 
Day 2 - Sunday
Central Hotel - Seattle
8:53 p.m.
 
To: D_Scully@fbi.gov
From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov Sent: 2054 hrs local time
 
So whatcha got for me G-woman? I called, but you weren't
there and your cell phone is blitzy, probably this shitty
weather. Jesus, it's cold here. Can you grab a couple of
more sweaters and my black woollen overcoats for me? Bring
your mittens and foot warmers.
 
M.
 
 
To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov
From: D_Scully@fbi.gov Sent 2358 hrs local time
 
I've attached a copy of the autopsy report. Mulder, I have
not drawn this conclusion in my official summary, although
the evidence is there. I realize this questions current
thinking that only one killer is involved. But the angle
of penetration varies in the entry wound of the thoracic
cavity. I've examined these angles in half a dozen prior
autopsy results and am working on the remainder, given the
variation of height of the victims. I think you should also
consider that the left hand was used in one case. There are
also some other points not covered in prior autopsies that
leave certain questions begging.
 
Weather has closed off Dulles for the next twenty-four
hours. I should have covered most of the other reports by
the time I get a flight out of here, probably on the same
plane as Skinner. I'm going to get some sleep.
 
S.
 

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


DAY 3 - Monday 
Central Hotel, Seattle
>From the journal of Crystal Palmer
 
Well, that settles it, he's the spooky legendary genius
from D.C. Now I think about it, it's obvious. There's
something hooded about him, dark, brooding. I don't know,
almost haunted looking in eyes that bore right into your
soul. Too old for a face like that. Far too old. I'd only
seen him from a distance and he looked mid-twenties, but
when he came over to check the breakfast buffet I realized
he was older, thirty something.
 
I was in all morning helping with their new equipment and
one of them was talking about him. Stories that would make
your hair stand on end. Seriously. It all started thirteen
years or more back so he's at least mid-thirties, probably
closer to forty. Many of the older guys here think he's
full of it. Well, they said a great deal more and it was a
lot less pleasant, but I think they kept their language
down because of me. I'll give them that, they're always
careful around me, when they notice me that is.
 
Despite that look in his eyes, he smiles a lot more than
the others, at least to me. More life, and he'd charm the
spots off a leopard. He has old Dulcie around his finger. I
saw her brushing off his beige coat this morning, trying to
get it clean and I spotted her taking some jeans and black
boxers out of the wash today. She's never done that for
anyone else, generally leaves the laundry to Greco.
 
I watched him today. His beauty is almost surrealistic.
It's at complete odds with what he is and what he does. One
of them explained to me that profilers get inside the heads
of killers and predict what they do. They actually try to
think like the killer, feel the hype and sexual lust that
drives them, so they can predict what they might do next,
what sort of car they might drive, even if they'd wet the
bed as a kid. What kind of sick person would chose to do
that? How can he smile at all? As I said, surreal.
 
Then someone else told me he was gay. I was stunned, what
a waste of something as beautiful as that. It hurt me,
hearing that and looking at him. It just didn't seem fair
and I found myself resenting him. I know why. I should be
over it by now, but it just grabbed at me.
 
***************************************************
 
DAY 4 - Tuesday
 
He spoke to me this morning at breakfast. That's a
relative term, of course. It's always breakfast around
here. He'd been out running. It was 5:00 am in the goddammed
morning and he had been running in the snow since
3:30 am. It wasn't the run, I ride most days even in this
weather, but the early hour. Definitely one weird puppy.
 
Why would God put such an odd person inside such an
inhumanly beautiful face?
 
But then he spoke. His voice was soft, like all of them,
not too bass, lighter, like his body, a runner, a deer. Fox
they called him. Mmm, he looked like a fox. I could see how
he got that name, beautiful, sleek, agile. Even in sweats
with mussed hair he looked like a model so I can see why
they think he's gay. I have my own problems with that
aspect. As politically incorrect as they may be, under the
circumstances I think I'm entitled to my prejudices. But
I'm aware of them, so I took pains to hide them.
 
He told me to call him Mulder. Most of the others want you
to call them Agent or Doctor but not this one, just plain
Mulder. He was friendy enough, but then I realized the whole 
time he was looking at me and making polite chitchat, he was
analyzing me, asking me questions like I was some sort of
witness. Like I was a bug under a microscope. I could see
him categorizing me and filing away the answers in his
brain and I remembered he was supposed to get inside the
heads of killers. Could he read minds? Could he read my mind?
 
To think I've actually become accustomed to those photos
and evidence bags. I really hate them being here. Now, with
this guy I feel like a specimen that can be picked and
prodded at, like my life is something this man might want
to use to find something he needs. And damn him that he's
gay and it brings all my own nightmares back to me.
 
Carrion eaters.
 
Shit.
 
He shouldn't be allowed to look like that, it's ridiculous.
 
********************************************************
 
To: D_Scully@fbi.gov
From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov sent 1330
 
Not a happy bunch of campers here Scully. They've given me
a couple of keepers. You'd be proud of me, I waited 24 hours
before ditching them. Interesting stuff on those autopsy results.
I'm considering pornography connections since I had already
come to the conclusion we're looking at multiple killers.
 
I've felt evil before, Scully, but this is pervasive.
 
Did you get my stuff? If not, I'll buy some, there's still a
blizzard going on and I've already saturated two coats. God
knows when you'll get a flight in. At least it seems to have
slowed the killers.
 
Scully, I think you should consider staying in Washington.
Future victims can be flown out there, it makes for necessary
PR and your reports have, as usual, been far more detailed
than those to date.
 
Future victims, Scully. I don't think I can get around that
as much as it sickens me. It's been three days and I can't
get a fix on this yet and it bothers me. I've run up stat
profiles, but normally, I can start to feel something by now.
 
Something's missing.
 
M.
 
 
To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov
From: D_Scully@fbi.gov sent 1633
 
I'm right here, Mulder, don't disconnect. How can you
expect to get around something when no one else has
unearthed anything viable in over a year?
 
And staying in Washington?
 
Fat chance Mulder, once this crappy weather clears, I'm
coming. I found some interesting underwear in one of your
drawers. Mulder, you never cease to amaze me.
 
S.
 
 
To: D_Scully@fbi.gov
From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov sent 1338
 
That underwear is Frohike's. I'm just keeping it safe for
him. I asked for sweaters, what are you doing poking around
in those drawers way back there?
 
Damned babysitters are taking it in turns. I'm hiding out
in the fucking kitchen with a laptop and phone cord. If
you're determined to come, hurry up and get them off my
ass. If I'm going to have a keeper, I'd prefer it to be you.
 
Think I'll spend some time exploring the sites again.
 
M.
 
 
To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov
From: D_Scully@fbi.gov sent 1645
 
Are you still online? The airport's just reopened so
I'll catch the first flight. It's bound to go via the
scenic route so I'll meet you at the hotel for breakfast.
Better send someone to pick me up, your damned overcoats
weigh a ton. Why do you have to be so big?
 
S.
 
****************************
End Chapter 3


From: sonny <sonny@webspin.org>
Date: Mon, 27 Sep 99 06:44:06 +1000
Subject: xfc: NEW Mind Games 1; The Profiler 6 of 9
Source: xfc

From: sonny <sonny@webspin.org>

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 1:The Profiler 6 of 9
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please! spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated PG odd bad word
*********************


CHAPTER 4
DAY 5 - Wednesday
Seattle airport
5:50 a.m.
 
Scully hardly hard time to feel the impact of the cold
before stepping into the ubiquitous Crown Victoria,
but those few seconds were distinctly chillier than D.C.
 
After the initial introductions, Scully rode in silence,
sparing only occasional glances at her chauffeur.
 
"So," Agent West began with the predictable overture,
"Been to Seattle before?"
 
"No," Scully replied "Are you stationed here permanently,
or part of the new team coming in?"
 
"It's my first assignment out of Quantico, BSU. I've been
here a few months with Morgenstein and Bruce, following the
case."
 
Oh great, Scully thought. Mulder would have just loved
that, a psychologist and rookie profiler.
 
"You been with Agent Mulder long, Agent Scully?"
 
"Yes, almost seven years."
 
West chewed on that for a few seconds. She would never
have thought she'd do this, but it irked her no end and
she'd had precious little sleep after hunting the bastard
around town and finding him asleep on the goddamned
evidence room couch.
 
"Does he ditch you all the time, too?"
 
Scully stifled a chuckle. "Agent Mulder has an entire
repertoire of ditches, I wouldn't take it personally."
 
West looked across and decided the petite redhead was
about 10,000 percent more socially adept than her
brooding partner. West considered herself a good agent.
She'd started at the bottom, done her years in the field
and, armed with her own Ph.D. in Psychology, had been proud
of the invitation to join the BSU. Once again, it meant
starting at the bottom and she was more than willing to be
dealt the shit work, especially on a case like this. She
figured early on it was a golden opportunity to learn from
the best, maybe catching a few kudos along the way. When
Busche announced she'd be staying on to work under Spooky
Mulder instead of going back to Quantico, her initial
reaction was a case of teenage butterflies. She'd heard
about the infamous Fox Mulder and his little green men long
before Forenzzi had mouthed off. But no one, absolutely no
one in the history of the FBI had his profiling abilities,
or his solve rate. Making cups of coffee and organizing his
laundry seemed the perfect inside to Mulder.
 
What she hadn't banked on was his ability to make a brick
wall seem downright conversational.
 
"Well," West replied, "I wouldn't have, 'cept I was told
you would personally rip my lungs out if anything happened
to him before you got here."
 
Scully's eyebrow raised a notch. Shit. The last thing
Mulder needed were babysitters. Assistants, yes, but not
this crap.
 
"Agent West, I believe your brief was perhaps, somewhat
overstated. I'll rectify that this morning."
 
"Look, Agent Scully, I don't mind. Really. In fact it's an
honor to observe someone like Agent Mulder at work."
 
Scully's eyebrows raised another notch.
 
West noticed, even in the darkness of the predawn light,
"Okay, sure, some of the older agents are pissed with
Mulder, big time. But no matter which way you cut it, it's
envy, plain and simple. Mulder ran rings around everyone in
the VCU years ago, and even now, when they're desperate,
they come crawling, tail between their legs. Then he writes
these eerily accurate profiles, and despite refusing the
credit much of the time, still manages to have the highest
solve rate ever. And not by a small margin, but by orders of
magnitude. To top it off, he gets to run his own division
away from all the general interoffice crap, has a qualified
pathologist as a partner *and* gets to pursue his own
interests.
 
"C'mon, Agent Scully, let's face it, they wouldn't be human
if they *weren't* envious."
 
Scully allowed her other eyebrow to join the first,
contemplating the perspective of that statement. It dawned
on her that West was completely right. She and Mulder had
long labored under the assumption they were locked away in
the dungeon like embarrassing and none-too-sane relatives.
Despite the perennial battle with internal conspiracies and
a mercurial Skinner, they took for granted liberties and
amenities other agents only dreamed of.
 
Scully decided she liked Agent West and rewarded her with
an explanation.
 
"Agent West, Mulder is extremely...focused. Once he gets
fixated on an idea, everything around him becomes
extraneous, including common courtesies."
 
"Like telling people where he's going."
 
Scully nodded. "Or when he feels he's about to undertake
something the bureau might not approve, he'll ditch you
rather than have you endangered or implicated by
association."
 
"Very courteous," West replied dryly, "But total
bullshit... Agent I am a psychologist, I know a ditch when
I see one." She sighed and continued in a hurry, "I'm
sorry, that was uncalled for. It's just that I looked
forward to this...I mean these last six months have been
hell and I was hoping that Agent Mulder's arrival
would..."
 
"Shake a few cobwebs loose?"
 
West smiled. "Yeah, I guess. Instead, I found myself being
shaken lose and the shit storm of all time going down."
 
Scully frowned "I take it that this *envy* has caused
some... problems."
 
West rolled her eyes. "You have *no* idea, but it's not
just Mulder, it's the press and the inability to make
anything of this case and...just the pressure and no
headway."
 
"Well, I'll make sure Busche knows you are not accountable
for Mulder's actions, or responsible for his stubbed toes."
 
Sally West allowed herself a smile. All the good things
she'd heard about Agent Scully had so far proved true.
Scully definitely humanized her taciturn partner. West had
in her short time with the BSU, heard a great deal more
than the crap Forenzzi flouted regarding Mulder -- most 
of it as admiration tainted with the feeling that he had 
not been able to cut it. Working in the BSU had its own unique
problems and burnout was high. But there seemed to be far
more to it than that with Mulder, especially since West had
seen his name attached to recent profiles, especially the
tough nut cases. He was definitely his own man, that one.
 
According to the scuttlebutt after Busche and Forenzzi
left the Sunday morning meeting, Scully was either warming
her partner's bed, frigid, or, given the nature of the
bed-warmer, both. Mulder was either gay or, according to
someone else who knew his former agent girlfriend, impotent
due to the high stress factor. Since West herself had been
the subject of similar conflicting rumors, and understood
all too well the motivations for such speculation, she
discounted them as driven by the same animosity that fueled
the current bitter resentment. But she had yet to pinpoint
Mulder. She watched him treat strangers, hotel staff and
FBI technicians with the courtesy and respect of a true
gentleman. He was extraordinary with the three victims'
families he'd spoken to. Both gentle and charming, putting
them at ease when the dour black-coated agents generally
froze everyone up. But when it came to his peers, including
herself, his face, in fact his whole body closed up and
shut them out.
 
And then it hit her. God, what an idiot she'd been! He shut
them out to protect himself. He was just so sure of
himself, so at ease in his own role, it came across as
arrogance to his peers. No doubt he had not been deaf all
these years to the ridicule, the petty snipes and childish
sniggers. West herself had witnessed a taste of this soon
after his arrival. No matter how you cut it, it was
distracting, annoying, and Mulder had no interest in
anything but the job. So he cut them all out, communicating
with them only as need be, never giving them enough of
himself to use against him. West sighed, no wonder he'd
been so uncommunicative with her.
 
Okay, she was a psychologist. Now she could see the lay of
the land, she could pick a path across it.
 
Scully interrupted her reverie. Hoping they didn't have to
travel halfway across town to get Mulder to sleep in a
proper bed at nights she asked, "How far is the hotel from
the field office?"
 
"Right across the road. But the FBI has pretty much taken
it over as an extension to the Seattle office. There's a lot more
room to set up workshops and secure evidence rooms
pertaining to the case. It's only a thirty room establishment
and we've got about twenty-five occupied at the moment, with
the changeover of agents and evidence and converted
conference rooms. The office is finally moving into larger
premises next month, but they're going to keep the hotel as an
extension until this case is finished.
 
"It's not bad, central businessmen type and the
proprietor has opened up the restaurant on a twenty-four
hour basis. Been really good about helping out and
providing things."
 
Scully replied dryly "I suppose he would, having his hotel
booked out by a government agency."
 
West chuckled. "True, but it's more than that, they're good
people. He's Greek and his extended family runs the
restaurant and manages all the cleaning and laundry. The
family's been checked out, of course. Once we decided to
set up shop, we had to, especially with the cleaning. What I
mean is, the press are not exactly treating us with kid
gloves and the Popopoulas' have been exceptionally discreet
when they could have made a small fortune selling tips.
 
"Anyhow, he's given a couple of masters keys out so we can
access spare rooms in case of unexpected arrivals. He makes
*the* best coffee and Greek pastries in Seattle and keeps
it all on tap around the clock. Better than being at home.
 
"I've got you and Mulder on the fourth floor, in adjoining
rooms, is that okay? The plumbing is kind of old and it's
not so noticeable on the top floor."
 
Scully smiled her thanks and added "I guess it would be
too much to hope that the coroner's office is nearby."
 
West grinned. "Not too bad, fifteen minutes in rush hour,
five otherwise."
 
Scully didn't mind. Given a choice, the fact that Mulder
only had to be convinced to climb a few stairs to sleep or
shower made the short drive a small price to pay.
 
The Ford turned into a parking lot at the rear of the hotel and
Agent West helped Scully with her luggage. West would never
have commented about the number of bags, it was none of her
business, but Scully, proud of her ability to pack minimally,
was vaguely annoyed at having to lug half her partner's
wardrobe across the continent.
 
After checking in, West took Scully to her room. Scully
invited her in to bring her up to speed while she unpacked.
Just as they were getting down to finer details, the
connecting door to Mulder's room burst in without warning
and the sweatsuit-clothed agent strode in.
 
"Scully! Didja bring spare running shoes? Jesus this place is
worse than D.C. for deicing running tracks. In fact most
of my fucking shoes are soaked. What about boots?"
 
West, who had seated herself on the lounge, lifted her
eyebrows in surprise. No knock, no, "Hello, Agent Scully, did
you get any sleep on the flight?" Not one hint of polite
small talk. Mulder sounded like a husband. No, nope,
scratch that. He sounded like one of West's teenage boys --
not that there was much difference between them and husbands.
 
Mulder's face was red from the cold and ice particles
attached themselves to his hair. It was so cold outside his
sweat had frozen in his hair. West glanced at Scully,
curious to see her reaction.
 
"In there, Mulder," Scully pointed to two mismatched
pieces of luggage "Coats, sweaters, shoes, boots -- and
Frohike's underwear."
 
"I never took you for kinky, Scully."
 
"Aren't you the one who insists it's only kinky the first
time? Knowing you'd be deprived of your video collection
Mulder, I figured they'd be the next best thing."
 
Mulder grimaced, he couldn't win that one. He'd stuff
those damned boxers down the little toad's throat next time
he saw him. Still, he had only himself to blame for not
trashing them along with the waterbed that appeared
around the same time.
 
"Still don't know why you were rummaging through *those*
drawers, Scully." His eidetic memory failed at the worst
possible moments and he shuddered at what else Scully might 
have come across.
 
"Now I can blackmail at least three dinners out of you,
Mulder." She grinned at him cheerfully then added, "But I
also found this,"
 
Scully held up a long red and white striped head warmer
she'd seen him running in during the dead of winter. Mulder
smiled and bowed his head in gratitude. As he looked up, he
noticed West sitting in the lounge chair.
 
"Morning." Mulder was polite but distant, totally
unselfconscious about the conversation with his partner.
 
"Agent Mulder."
 
West took her leave soon after, handing Scully the car
keys as she left. She absently considered why they needed
to say each other's names so much, then regarded it as a
form of bonding, an intimacy of words. West's bond with her
first partner had been necessarily strong, but this was of
a different nature. She and her partner had socialized
together, partly because they were both married and had
kids of a similar age. Their spouses got along with each
other and suffered none of the jealousy that might be
expected. But they also gave each other room. The intensity
of the relationship she'd just been privy to allowed no
room for outsiders, none at all. It was not surprising, but
she was not sure if it was healthy, either.
 
Mulder took the bags into his room while maintaining a
running dialogue. They had been apart only a few days, but
he missed sorting his constant stream of ideas through the
sieve of Scully's scientific reasoning.
 
"How did your profiles go?" Scully ventured. She noticed
Mulder's face had started to take on that hooded, slightly
preoccupied look.
 
"That's the problem," he said, coming back into her room.
"By now, I should be getting a feel for it, but a lot of
things simply don't add up. I am leaning in the third party
pornography direction more and more and definitely agree
with you that there's at least two involved. Did you finish
reviewing all the previous autopsy reports?"
 
Scully knew Mulder would know them letter perfect by now.
"Yeah, and I'm not happy over certain omissions, especially
the missed angles of penetration. Okay, they were subtle,
but significant. Admittedly I had an easier take of it
having two bodies together."
 
"It fits. Shit, the M.E. should have picked that up before."
 
"One is left handed, the other right. Sexually, one UNSUB
object penetrates, the other, apparently uses penile. If they're
working together, the evidence is hidden, except for the
fact that the knives used are the same type, if not
identical implements."
 
"It supports the evidence, and what I'm thinking. I ran it
by Forenzzi, but he's stuck to the current thinking with
fucking super glue."
 
"Joe Forenzzi?" Scully turned to look at Mulder.
 
"Yeah, you know him?" Mulder knew the big man hated him,
specifically because he blamed Mulder for the death of
Steve Wallenberg, but Mulder had hoped that stonewalling on
a case like this was beneath the man. Apparently not.
 
Mulder expected the snide remarks and innuendos from the
moment he steeped foot in the hotel. As he remarked to
Scully soon after they began working together, sometimes
the need to mess with their heads outweighed the millstone
of humiliation. The passing years only served to emphasize
his reputation as a cracked genius. The upside was he was
generally left alone, even avoided, during profiling
consultations. The downside, as in this case, was the
inherent prejudice against his theories.
 
On a case like this he needed people to follow through
without stopping to question him on every little detail. He
didn't have time to justify his reasoning, it was just too
complex. That's where Scully came in. They'd listen to her.
He needed her to ensure streamlined teamwork, not petty
machinations.
 
Scully debated whether she should be completely
forthcoming. But it was only fair Mulder knew.
 
"We dated for a couple of months when he was a detective
at the 12th Precinct and I was interning in ER. He joined
the F.B.I. about a year before I did."
 
Mulder knew from experience that an intern's idea of a
date was not hand-holding by the reflecting pool. He stared
at his very professional partner and wondered, not for the
first time, what Scully had been like before joining the
bureau.
 
"Didn't work out, huh?"
 
Scully grinned, "Mulder, if that's the same Forenzzi, he's
six foot eight inches and two and a half times my
weight...it was kinda ridiculous."
 
Mulder immediately squashed the image that came to mind.
One more reason to dislike the narrow minded son of a bitch.
 
Scully closed her closet door and turning to her partner,
said, "Mulder, a lot of these guys have been on this case
since the start. You can't blame them for feeling upset
over their pet theories being flushed down the sewer."
 
Mulder shot her a look. What in hell had she seen in
Forenzzi? The guy was a narrow-minded prick. A bleak part
of his mind knew the answer. Forenzzi was a straight arrow,
by-the-book formal thinker. A good little scientist type.
 
The total antithesis to Mulder.
 
His voice tightened as he began the process of locking the
professional doors against Dana Scully. He needed his
partner now, Agent Scully, M.D. "Especially when it's Spooky
doing the flushing. Look, Scully, their shit-eating theories
are letting kids, little children, suffer a goddamned
nightmarish death. I don't, and these kids sure as hell
don't, have the luxury of dealing with egos." Mulder
stopped his restless pacing across the floor and shook his
head. Changing the subject he asked, "When's Skinner flying
in?"
 
"He was booked on the same flight as me, but Kimberly
called him in at the last minute. He should be in by 6
tonight.
 
Scully already noticed the slight shifting in their roles
and regretted mentioning Forenzzi.
 
Mulder nodded and considered the situation. "Scully, the
shakeups going down here have everyone on edge, especially
with these two latest bodies. Forenzzi's an okay agent, but
he resents Skinner coming in to take over. And he hates my
guts. Maybe you could have a word..."
 
"Mulder it's been ten years and I really never knew the
man that well. I was a little surprised he passed the FBI
screening because he has, or at least had, a short temper.
But he's older now, maybe the fuse burns more slowly.
 
"Mulder, I know you can't cut them any slack, but you're a
psychologist. The media have just about chewed their testes
off and Forenzzi's naturally going to take it personally since
he was the team leader. Then we come in cold and tell them
they've been going about it all wrong. I don't doubt there
will be feelings of resentment over this, just give it a few days
for the teams to reform and new blood to come it. It'll settle
down soon enough."
 
"Soon enough to save the next kid?" Mulder barked a
humorless laugh, feeling the weight of frustration and
ultimate responsibility. He was not about to drag up his
and Forenzzi's ancient history. It had no place on this
case and Forenzzi knew it.
 
Scully watched him resume his pacing for a moment then
said quietly, "How about you take me down, feed me breakfast
and show me the setup. Then I can go check out the facilities at
the morgue while you finish ticking off everyone else before
Skinner gets here."
 
Mulder threw her a lopsided grin. "At least the food's pretty 
good. Scully, you'll like it here, you can even get rabbit 
food. Let me get showered and changed, first."

***********************
End Chapter 4

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 1:The Profiler 7 of 9
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please! spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated R; graphic descriptive violence 
********************* 

CHAPTER 5 
Day 5 - Wednesday
Central Hotel, Seattle
7:30 a.m.
>From the journal of Crystal Palmer
 
He's been here a couple of days now. He's sort of regular
about this running business, but today he didn't show until
6:30 am. Then he walked in with the rest of himself. I know
that sounds ridiculous but that was how it felt -- like a part
of him that had been missing. Now, he seemed whole again.
It didn't take much, just this tiny little red head, about five
foot two. She was so different from the other female agents,
I figured she must have been a consultant or something.
Turns out she's a doctor, a forensic pathologist, cuts up
dead bodies for a living. What can you say to that, huh?
 
What really upsets me is that even when they catch this
monster, these sort of people just move on to the next
horror story and pick up where they left off. It's like
living in a permanent Stephen King novel. Well, maybe not
that bad, maybe more like Silence of the Lambs.
 
Shit, I think that's probably worse.
 
Anyway, my point is the very fact that these people exist,
that there are so many of them, that they make a full-time
living doing this, appalls me. It means there's not just
one monster out there, not just one sick aberration.
 
It means it never ends.
 
So they pull up stakes and leave here when it's over, but
then how can I forget that? These people still exist. It's
not like they're locked away in a closet and just dusted
off every few years when some lunatic hares out and starts
slaughtering people. They do it all the goddamned time. I
thought I could put it all aside when they left, but I can't,
not anymore, it's indelibly etched on me now.
 
But that's not why I'm writing. It's about her. She's
tiny, but she carries an aura that makes up for it, big
time. And she's pretty...no, that's not the right word,
more than pretty, but not, you know, not blatant. She's a
head-turner in a totally sophisticated, intelligent way.
She's got the sort of looks men never see in pinup
calendars, but secretly lust after. She invites not passes
and leers, but respect and admiration, as well as desire.
 
She walks like him, gracefully, but still like a woman.
The other female agents walk like agents. Not that they
plod, but it's a comparative thing. Despite her scowls, she
just doesn't seem as jaded or hard as the others. I caught
her smiling a couple of times and she's gorgeous when she
does that. I've never been attracted to women, despite the
come-ons at school, especially after Paul left, but you
can't help but look at her and wish you could carry
yourself like that. First time in my life I ever wished I
was short and had, of all the ridiculous things, red hair.
 
I served them breakfast, such as it was, at their table.
Silly, I know. I'm getting as bad as Dulcie. But there was
no one else around, so I thought, what the hell. But as I
watched them I felt like some sort of voyeur. He touched
her face briefly and it struck me as something more
intimate than a lover's embrace. Like everything about
them, it was surreal. These were not real people, not like
us. They were something from another world, their designer
suits and good looks belying the evil they lived to expose.
 
I cannot reconcile it that they bring such beauty to sully
our world of innocence. At least the other agents look the
part. The women look clunky and hard and stern and the men,
though better-groomed than detectives, plain and normal.
But these two were a serious aberration and it kept jolting
me. It was all wrong.
 
*******************************************************
 
Day 5 - Wednesday
Situation Room
Central Hotel, Seattle
0900
 
"Okay, let's just run through it from the start. I
appreciate that many of you have been through this a
dozen...a thousand times before, but for those newly-
arrived like myself, it's a chance to review what we know
and introduce you to some new evidence based on the latest
autopsies."
 
A rumble made its way across the room in response to the
magical words, *new evidence*. Around fifteen of the thirty
odd men and women who sat in the conference room were due
to fly out the following morning. They had stayed on only
long enough to compile their notes and make written
reports. Most of them attended that morning's meeting to
find out why in hell they were being replaced. No matter
how many times they were assured that it was simply to
"inject fresh approaches," it left an ugly taste in their
mouths.
 
And many of them just wanted to get a look at the
legendary Spooky.
 
Mulder had buried himself in the files and evidence
following his arrival, emerging only long enough to meet a
few of the victims' families, run, eat and shower. This was
his first group meeting now that the majority of incoming
agents had arrived.
 
He walked around the long trestle table at front, his
fingers touching pieces of paper, photos and reports as he
went, as if tactile contact with them helped him absorb
their contents. Scully stood about halfway down the room to
one side. She recognized a spattering of faces throughout
the group, but the vast majority were unknowns. Forenzzi's
exceptionally tall frame stood out, as did Davidson. Scully
herself was all but visually lost among the much larger
bodies around her.
 
She glanced up at the presentation board with their odd
notations and diagrams. None of the writing was Mulder's.
She knew from experience he tended to use legal pads and
pens to take notes, then transcribed to computer once he'd
formulated his thinking. Most of the notes were definitely
aspects of a profile, but she doubted it was Mulder's. The
harsh light in the room emphasized her partner's appearance.
He'd gotten little sleep and no doubt little food since she'd
seen him on Saturday night. He'd immersed himself in
profiling, only coming up for air when his body screamed
loudly enough. She had managed to get breakfast in him a
little while before, but was sure she heard him throwing up
afterward. A few moments later she heard the toilet flush.
She'd knocked on his door and he'd called out he'd just be
a minute. Then the smell of mouthwash.
 
Shit.
 
"The first incident was eighteen months ago," Mulder
continued as he moved around the table, reciting the facts
from his eidetic memory. "The remains of an Hispanic 12-
year-old homeless male, later identified as one Miguel
Penzos, were found hanging on a suburban clothes line,
hence the name Line Killings. The local P.D. was called in
but no leads found. No apparent connection to the owners of
the household. The path to the clothesline was paved.
Evidence indicates the victim was raped while still alive.
Oral penetration was not ascertained due to facial
mutilation possibly caused by the instrument used to sever
the head from the torso post mortem. In other words,
whoever was wielding the axe had poor aim.
 
"The victim was stabbed once in the heart although this 
occured post mortem."
 
More rumbles greeted that revelation.
 
Mulder continued, "The other limbs were removed post
mortem and hacked into pieces by what appears to be
the same or similar instrument that removed the head.
The torso was left relatively intact.
 
"The victim was small for his age, could have been
mistaken for a boy as young as eight. No semen, no blood,
hair or skin other than that belonging to the victim. No
other trace evidence that might lead to the whereabouts of
the actual kill site. Trace of detergent on the skin,
common brand type, indicating the remains were transported
in a recently washed container and that the body was washed
after dismemberment.
 
"The body parts were attached to the clothes line by way
of a commonly available nylon cord piercing a hole in each
portion of the victim's remains.
 
"Okay, the local cops were stumped and with the boy's mother
recently OD'd and there being no other known relatives, the
police understandably didn't bust a gut following zero leads."
 
Mulder paused, then picked up a bundle of crime scene photos
from another stack.
 
"Two and a half months later victim number two, an 11-year-
old Caucasian male, also a street kid and a known prostitute,
was found strung up on a clothesline in a historical district
backyard. Once again, no witnesses to his abduction, no
suspicious vehicles where the remains were left, no
apparent connection from anything, to anything except they
were both street kids, homeless."
 
Over the next hour and a half Mulder recited the history
of the grotesque slayings, recounting a total of fifteen
homicides during the first twelve months. His approach was
simple, factual and created in the minds of everyone
present a respect that the new guy had memorized all of
this in just three days. Even Forenzzi grudgingly admired
Mulder's retention of details.
 
Because of the horrific nature of the crimes, the
inability to find any leads and the reduced time between
each incident, the FBI profiling unit was called in after
the fifth victim, a female. Until then, their own analysts
presumed the UNSUB was only into boys.
 
"All the usual steps had already been taken," Mulder
continued. "Including bringing in and questioning known
pedophiles, dozens of street kids, the victim's pimps,
parents if they existed, appeals to the public, rewards and
so on. All their old schools, playgrounds, local parks were
checked. Being street kids meant the task of follow-up was
a bitch, but it looks like all bases were covered. The kids
were from a variety of racial groups, both genders taken in
no particular order, no distinguishing features like a
common tattoo, body jewelry, birth date, star sign, blood
group and so on...Three were infected with HIV, and five,
fully half, showed evidence of hard drug abuse. However
given their life situations, nothing unusual there. The
Seattle P.D. had, in fact, done a pretty thorough job.
 
"There seemed to be nothing to link these kids except them
being prostitutes. A profile was built on that basis. Then
victim number eleven, a 7-year-old female, tossed that
theory."
 
This victim appeared to have been picked up in San Francisco 
and transported to Seattle. That made it a federal case. 
The SPD was more than happy to get it off their plates.
 
"Jessica Somners wasn't a street kid, had only been missing a
week from her San Francisco home when she turned up dead.
It is entirely possible that she did, in fact, run away and
was not abducted as first supposed. Since then, it has come
to light that Daddy had been fucking her and came home one
night with a couple of friends to share her around.
 
"The profiling assumption that all the kids were the
victims of sexual abuse then went out the window with
victims twelve and thirteen. They were a sister and
brother, aged ten and four respectively, who disappeared
sometime between walking from home to the school bus stop
four blocks away. Their mother insisted that they knew
better than to get in a car with strangers. Their remains
were found thirty miles apart. One was strung on a wire
fence line and the other, an external power line to an 
outside building.
 
"Their mother committed suicide two weeks later."
 
Mulder took a deep breath and paused. It had not been
necessary to include that final statement, but after
presenting the horrific case files, most normal people
emotionally closed down in order to concentrate on the
facts. Mulder deemed it necessary to remind everyone that
as devastating as the crime to the children, the circle of
victims spread much wider than the victims themselves. This
was a crime against society, made more heinous because it
was against children. This crime was beyond horrible, it
was evil, pure and simple. And their job was to find and
stop that evil.
 
Mulder took a proffered bottle of water from West, drank
almost half, then continued. "Close investigation shows no
evidence, forensic or social, of past child abuse or sexual
maltreatment prior to the abduction and murder of the
Bartlett children. They were both killed between seventy
and eighty hours after they were last seen alive.
 
"From that point on the source of the victims becomes
random, spreading across three states. They range in age
from four to twelve although the oldest generally appear young
for their age, no more than ten. The frequency of the attacks
has escalated so that we are now on victim number forty-two
after eighteen months. This leads me to believe the acquisition
of victims remains essentially random, opportunistic rather
than planned. The underlying causal factor is not retribution
or punishment, it is opportunistic pedophilia and sexual
satisfaction derived not just from sexual penetration, but from
killing and butchering these children. There is a definite
connection to pedophile pornography. The current profile is
therefore completely wrong."
 
The room immediately erupted with objections. Scully
noticed Forenzzi smirked and looked at Mulder with
satisfied animosity.
 
Mulder raised his hand and eventually had to raise his
voice to be heard. "Some of you insisted on seeing my
initial profile outline, however these were very rough
briefs, hardly more than off the shelf models. I had
formulated a more radical concept that, in the light of the
two most recent killings and their autopsy results, will be
expanded upon over the next twelve hours. I believe this
will give you something more concrete to work with." Mulder
pointedly ignored the continued ground rumble of objections
throughout the room.
 
Profiling was not an exact science by any stretch of the
imagination. It was a tool in a vast repertoire of tools
but until now, the profile for this case was the only
substantial tool they really had to work with. Changing
profiles was paramount to saying they had been wasting
their time, so he added, "This does not in any way undermine
the very solid work that has been put into this case to
date. From what I can see, every law enforcement officer
and technician involved has crossed every T and dotted
every I. The groundwork you have put in has created a
foundation and I can assure you, will save a great deal of
time and the lives of future victims, children, when new
evidence is incorporated into the equation."
 
What he didn't say was that the case had faltered in part
because the local M.E. had failed to pick up evidence
Scully had unearthed. Evidence that added credence to his own
ideas about what was really going on. He also failed to say
what he really thought when it came to lack of imagination
used to piece evidence together. He had railed against
Busche and Forenzzi for that. Oh, he'd been right about the
T's and I's. Everything was nice and neat and orderly and
pigeonholed and yes, they needed that. But no one, including
the profilers, had begun to connect the dots, simply because
the dots were absent. And that in itself was a clue.
 
Age, and a seven year association with Scully had, if not
mellowed Mulder, taught him to temper what others perceived
as arrogance, but was in fact incredible frustration that
they could not see as clearly as he. He'd done his piece,
given his prep talk like a good little incoming profiler,
now he could cut and go do what he had been avoiding since
Sunday. Time now, to sell his soul to the devil and pray he
could steal it back when it was done with him.
 
"A.D. Skinner will be arriving on this evening's flight.
As you are no doubt aware, he will be running the teams
from this point on. As the profiler, I will continue to
revise and narrow the parameters of this case until it is
solved. To do this I need to be kept informed of new
evidence, no matter how trivial. As usual, each team has
been assigned a leader, each leader will meet here every
day at 6.30 a.m., or as otherwise advised, to collate
information. I will attend those meetings. If we're lucky,
something big breaks a case like this, but as you all know,
it is just as often a small or series of small, apparently
unrelated events. You are here to unearth those events. I
am here to piece them together and tell you who your
killers are."
 
Surprisingly, no one picked up on his use of the plural.
 
"Also, if any one of you have any way-out ideas, no matter
how odd or unrelated they may seem, I'm listening. Bouncing
around concepts may not be very scientific or ordered, but
it can lead to that one thing we need to crack this case.
Although I am fairly sure we can discount gray Reticulans,
I'm open to suggestions from anyone, right down to the
paper clerks and cleaners." Mulder delivered this last in
his usual deadpan manner.
 
Scully lowered her face and put her hand to her forehead
to hide the smile that escaped her lips.
 
A couple of nervous chuckles started around the room and a
some of the younger agents flushed with embarrassment as
they realized they had actually started to write gray
Reticulans on their note pads.
 
Mulder's comment did, however, break the ice somewhat and
as he sipped more water, someone asked, "What's this
evidence that's come to light?"
 
Mulder caught his partner's eye across the room. Forenzzi's
face animated as Scully passed him, but he was too close, with
their almost eighteen-inch height difference, to catch her eye.
He noticed that maturity had turned Dana Scully from a merely
pretty woman, into an exceptionally poised beauty. But he found
it hard, in fact impossible, to fathom why she'd remained
partnered to Mulder. No matter what stories circulated, he knew
damned well Mulder wasn't fucking her, simply because he
couldn't. He figured the relationship between them was probably
similar to other female/gay male ones. They were best buddies
and if her sojourns in hospital were anything to go by, so fucking
loyal it bordered on stupidity. But that was it, nothing else.
 
A sudden desire echoed through his body. Little Dana, he
recalled fondly, was pretty hot between the sheets. She'd
remained unmarried and by all accounts not even seeing
anyone. This case had become his waking bitch nightmare and
he sure wouldn't mind a little tension-relieving. He knew from
West that Scully was planning to go down to the morgue
after this meeting. He'd make a point of dropping by, maybe
taking her for coffee, catch up on old times and, over the
next few days, slowly charm her as he had years before.
 
Forenzzi was not idiot enough to believe she'd jump in the
sack with him for old time's sake. But he had really liked
her then and felt that handled carefully, they might find
time for a little mutual release over the next few weeks.
He'd enjoy charming her and if the payoff coincidentally
slapped Mulder in the face, well that was an added bonus.
 
As Scully walked to the front, whispered comments flowed
around the room. Yes, that's old Spooky's partner, the
forensic pathologist who actually works as a field agent.
Mulder did not move from where he'd positioned himself
leaning with his back to the trestle table. Scully took up
position beside him, so close they touched. It was
recognized by many in the room as a natural solidarity
between partners. The psychologists amongst them also saw
it as a defensive posture. The atmosphere was charged with
a potent mixture of admiration and aggravation, bitterness,
resentment and respect bordering on awe. Scully stood by
her partner in more ways than one. Forenzzi couldn't help
but notice how their hands brushed unselfconsciously as she
reached behind her partner to grab a file.
 
Scully turned to face the front and began. "Most of you
are familiar with the methodology used to deduce findings,
therefore I'm not going to go over them now. If you require
more detailed understanding, please refer to appendices C
to H on my report, a copy of which is attached to your
dailies. Additionally, you are well acquainted with the
previous autopsy results, so I will not be going over
those, just the new points ascertained from the latest
victims. For anyone interested, I will be giving a full
lecture with slide presentation on these autopsies at
5:30 p.m. in room #3." With that, she effectively
undermined anyone questioning the veracity of what
was bound to be a confrontational conclusion.
 
Forenzzi frowned. He had not had time to go over the
latest autopsies, taking for granted anything Scully said
would be accurate. He knew she was the one who made up for
Mulder's sloppy investigative procedures. From his oblique
perspective, it seemed Mulder and Scully were well and truly
in each other's personal space. So much so that they
appeared to share only one. Forenzzi's scowl deepened.
 
Scully continued. "I performed autopsies on the two
recently-discovered victims. Both were females, aged nine
and seven years respectively. Although one victim disappeared
approximately one month before the remains were
discovered, the torso was surprisingly free of predation
and in relatively good condition. This was due no doubt to
the almost constant sub-zero temperature conditions of the
site and the manner in which the remains were hung.
 
"As with prior victims, both were raped anally and
vaginally, however, by what appears to be two separate
UNSUB's."
 
With that little bombshell dropped, Scully paused. Mulder
laid his hand on his partner's arm and spoke a few quiet
words while the room virtually erupted around them. Scully
nodded, ignoring the outburst. Although Mulder removed his
hand, he rested it on the table in such a way that if Scully 
had leaned back, his arm would be around her. Most of those
present were distracted by this totally unexpected
announcement and took no notice of the body language.
However a handful, particularly those inclined to gossip or
with some grudge against Spooky Mulder, took it as further
evidence the relationship between the two was something
other than professional. Forenzzi knew better. If they were
fucking they would not flaunt it like that. No, he knew
what Spooky was like. It was something perverted.
 
Shit. Poor Dana.
 
"The reasons for my conclusion..." Scully had to raise her
voice to continue, but it took a few moments for the voices
to fade completely. "As I was saying, the reasons for my
conclusion is twofold. The entry points and angles of
penetration into the thoracic cavity differ only slightly,
but sufficiently to indicate one was from a right-handed
person, the other, left handed. This in itself is not
conclusive to two individuals however the evidence is
backed up by the degree and type of sexual penetration. One
victim was apparently penetrated with a penis while the
other appears to have been object-raped, with considerably,
and I must add unusually, surprisingly little force. Death
was caused by..." Again, the rumbling voices circulated
around the room but Scully continued unabated. "Death was
caused by a gash across the carotid artery, not the stab
to the heart. Two distinct blades were used on the neck,
one for killing, the other for decapitation."
 
Forenzzi was livid. The damned autopsy results verified
the bullshit Mulder had tried to spout the moment he'd
arrived. He didn't even have the satisfaction of believing
Mulder had come to his conclusion after Scully had
completed the autopsies. The fact that the smart-assed
little turd had come up with this by himself was irksome
beyond words.
 
Before anyone could comment Mulder added. "This fits in
with the conflicting aspects of prior profiles. We are now
looking for numerous, I would go so far as to suggest at
least four UNSUBs operating as couples. Either male/male
or male/female, or both. This is most definitely not the
operation of a lone serial killer nor is there evidence of
the more common, ritualistic, satanic overtones. We are
looking for some very sexually fucked-up people who, as I
said previously, get their jollies not simply from the sexual
act, but the act of murdering and then dismembering the
bodies. I am almost certain there are either links to or
origins to snuff pornography and that aspect is being
investigated by the San Diego office because, as you are
aware, most snuff porn is made using illegal immigrants."
 
At that point, a dozen questions were fired at both Mulder
and Scully and although each were answered fully, Scully
could detect in Mulder a growing impatience. The questions
became repetitive and Mulder felt his partner touch his hip
in order to forestall what would have been a sarcastic
reply. Mulder pulled his hand from the table to touch his
partner's back, reassuring her. He did however break up the
meeting by stating he would have preliminary profiles by
six that evening.
 
With that his hand pushed a little against Scully,
encouraging her to precede him from the room.

***************************************************
End Chapter 5

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 1:The Profiler 8 of 9
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please! spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

***PLEASE READ*** : It starts to get deep dark and nasty 
from this point on. If you are going to continue, 
*please* read all sections as I *will* lead you out of it.

*********************
All sections rated NC17 from now onwards,mostly for violence and disturbing con
cepts.
*********************

CHAPTER 6
Day 5 - Wednesday
Room #3
Central Hotel, Seattle
7 p.m.
 
Mulder quietly entered the room after making sure his last
profile was being judiciously photocopied and distributed.
He was exhausted, hungry and tired and almost willing to
believe he might eat and sleep that night. But he also knew
the profiles would not be enough. At some point he must
abandon this reticence and let go. If he didn't set 
himself up for it soon, the next victim would be wasted.
Fuck it. 
The next vicitm. 
The next one would likely be his...
Sleep and food depravation would hasten the process. He
had to prepare himself for this, whenever the killers 
struck again he had to be ready to let go, to let it
take control of him. To use him, to show him...
No, no, tonight he could not sleep.
 
Scully had almost wrapped up her presentation to the
twelve people who sat quietly in the darkened room. Mulder
was mollified to see Forenzzi was one of them. The man's
reluctance to accept Mulder's proposition seemed to have
done an about face in the light of Scully's scientific 
reasoning. Mulder just wanted them to believe the truth and 
use it. That Scully provided that truth was of great comfort 
to him. So often skeptical of his conclusions, this was one
occasion where they could agree. Now, he needed an hour or
so with her to run some of his more unlikely theories past
her analytical mind.
 
Christ if he could dig deep enough he might yet find these
bastards before...ah fuck it! Who was he trying to fool?
Ten years. Ten goddamned years he'd stayed free of this 
but he *had* to let go. One more child would die while he
stood by and did *nothing*.
 
Oh God that was the worst of all. That he allowed it
to happen and did *nothing* to take control! If he had
just been able to control *himself*...
He blinked back the images. There was no other way. He
would profile these bastards to the bitter end, then
give in to their sick madness and become them. It was
what he was and running away from it would just mean
another child would die. And another. Patterson was
right. This is what he was. That he alone could find
them, to sacrifice one to save who knew how many more,
was the way it had to be.
 
He pulled his eyes up to Scully. But oh Jesus why did she
have to witness this? He could do it alone. He could
hide it from her. Please dear God let it happen when
she's not around. Give me some warning, let me feel
their hunger and blood lust and arousal and give me 
time to escape her eyes. 
Please.
 
The presentation came to an end, people filed out of the
room. Forenzzi made his way to the front and perched on the
table while Scully collected her material. He had missed
her that afternoon at the morgue, having spent almost the
entire day with Skinner and the newly-formed team leaders.
Entirely new lines of investigation had opened up with this
pornography take. That more than one UNSUB was involved
both increased the workload, but as Forenzzi well knew,
quadrupled their chances of a break. Yet, as the agents
around him kept on about how brilliant fucking *our man*
Spooky was to have come in and figured it all out in a few
days, Forenzzi became more and more ticked off. *Our man*.
Shit, as the first of the profiles were distributed, the FBI's
former pariah had taken on the mythic proportions of a hero.
 
As the day progressed, Forenzzi decided the next asshole
that patted him on the back and congratulated him would get
a fistful. Christ, he knew what they meant when they talked
about all the fine work he'd put in to date. What they really
meant was, step aside now, buddy, you fucked up and the D.C.
boys are here to yank your jewels out of the fire. Jesus, he
was a D.C. man himself before being sent to this fucking hick
town.
 
Mulder the hero, Mulder, the little ass-jabbing cock-
sucking faggot. Shit, if the press only knew they were
using a fucking pedophile to catch a pedophile. Oh, he knew
all about Mulder's dirty little secrets. He'd been there in
Michigan. He'd had to get Mulder down to a meeting and 
when the profiler never answered his door, Forenzzi heard
the gutteral screams and broke it down. And there was
Mulder, surrounded in photos of the dead boys, coming all 
over himself in his trousers, screaming about fucking them
and slicing them. 
 
That had almost made Forenzzi ill.
 
Patterson and the psychiatrist had come flying up the stairs
and shunted him out of there, but not before Forenzzi had 
seen plenty. Jesus, he wasn't averse to good skin flicks 
himself, and he'd thanked God for adult pay TV in some of 
the places he'd been assigned. But kids, little boys...
getting into the minds of killers was one thing but that
...what Mulder was doing....nah, that was sick, way too sick. 
 
Shit. They'd caught the goddammed killer only a few days
later, as a direct result of Mulder's fucking sick little
self indulgence so Patterson said. Okay, so maybe he 
wasn't a pedophile, maybe he only got off on photos, 
but Jesus they were *dead* kids, dead boys. And the guy 
wasn't even touching himself, just jerking back and forth 
and coming in his goddamned *pants*, he was so fruit looped!
 
But what bothered him now was that Scully must have had 
some idea. After seven years, she must have seen it. 
Had she elected to turn a blind eye? No, no she surely 
wouldn't have changed that much. But the way the FBI 
protected Mulder...very likely she'd been ordered
to shut up. God, he felt sorry for her, she was just a slip
of a thing, really. She used to laugh, really laugh and he
could see on her face that laughter, even smiles, had long
since gone.
 
After Michigan, Forenzzi had learned a great deal more than
he'd wanted. He learned the FBI kept some very weird people
in its employ, people who would never have passed a psych
exam. People like alien-chasing Mulder, who the FBI let
keep his little men from Mars indulgence so long as he
could be used to flush out society's even dirtier crap. But
Forenzzi had a thing about pedophiles, that's why he'd
obsessed over this case for months. And now a fucking
pedophile comes in to take it over. Yeah, maybe Mulder 
never did it for real, but as far as Forezzi was concerned, 
photos or for real, made no matter. You were still a 
pedophile in his books. He could not reconcile that, no 
matter how you cut it, it was wrong, plain wrong and no 
amount of moral juggling could set it right.
 
Like a tongue worrying a cavity, he needed to find out
more about Mulder. He needed to know what Scully knew and
he needed to find a way to get Mulder off the case. He
didn't want him publicly exposed, that would embarrass the
Bureau, but if he could somehow let it slip to Fred
Baxter...and also let it slip that they were reduced to using 
a flying saucer watcher fruitcake. That was right up
Baxter's alley...embarrassing, but not fatal. Yeah, if he 
could play it just right...And for that he really needed 
to get in with Dana again.
 
Mulder elected to remain in the shadows. He knew Scully,
knew he was there. Although he could not hear the exchange,
Mulder noticed Forenzzi didn't move out of Scully's way as
she reached for her overhead projection diagrams. Scully
was obliged to either reach past him, brushing against his
thigh, or go right around the table.
 
After a few moments, without looking up, she spoke a little
louder, "I'll be right with you Mulder. Could you get those
slides out of the projector for me please?" Forenzzi's eyes
snapped up and narrowed as he saw movement near the wall-
mounted projector. How in hell did she know he was there?
But he remained leaning against the table. He had no reason
to leave, in fact every reason to stay.
 
"How about joining us for dinner, then Dana?" He asked.
 
Scully smiled politely and was about to reply when the
room illuminated. Mulder had flicked the lights on in order
to remove the slides. Scully's eyes automatically searched
her partner out. The sight of him brought a frown to her
face. Now, oblivious to Forenzzi, she dropped the folder in
her hand to the table and strode to the back of the room.
 
"Mulder?" Scully put her hand to his face in concern. He
looked gray and drawn, far more so than after the morning's
meeting. Scully had left him to finish his profiles while
she went to the Medical Examiner's office and had the
dubious pleasure of meeting Silas Harqua.
 
"Have you eaten anything since breakfast?"
 
He smiled at her fondly and replied "No, I'm not hungry."
 
Scully placed one hand along his forehead to determine if
he had a temperature, he certainly looked ill enough. She
took his other hand in hers, checking his pulse.
 
He smiled indulgently and said "I'm fine, Doc, just a
little tired, that's all. Listen I need to run a few things
by you."
 
"All right, let me finish up here and we can go get
something to eat."
 
Mulder scrunched up his nose but Scully stopped him
"Dinner, Mulder, or you don't get to pick my brains. The
hotel restaurant is only a few steps away, I won't even
make you change your shirt."
 
Forenzzi strained to hear the exchange, but to his
annoyance, all he could pick up was something about dinner.
Still, that bothered him far less than the way Mulder stood
so close to his partner. Forenzzi had conveniently forgotten
Scully had gone to Mulder, all he could see was them
touching at the hips and Scully stroking his face and
holding his hand. The look of unabashed fondness in
Mulder's eyes made him ill. God, if only Dana knew what a
sick puppy Mulder really was.
 
Forenzzi shuddered. What if he was wrong, what if Mulder
had somehow done something to her, involved her somehow in
his sick, perverted sex life?
 
Shit.
 
Forenzzi stood when he realized they were ignoring him.
Mulder's eyes left his partner's face and looked at the
bigger man indifferently as he walked towards them.
 
"I'll catch up with you later, Dana," Forenzzi said
neutrally as he walked by. He only nodded at Mulder,
determined to be professional despite the almost
overwhelming urge to smash the sick bastard's face in.
Mulder let a smile tug the corner of his eyes and he turned
his head slightly in what Forenzzi interpreted as an
insolent gesture. Forenzzi managed to leave the room
without saying anything, then headed straight for the bar.
If he could not do it with his fists, at least he could
eradicate pretty boy's face with a few well placed Scotches.
 
***************************************
 
Day 5 - Wednesday
Central Hotel, Seattle
11:00 p.m.
   
>From the journal of Crystal Palmer.
 
Dad's taking me out tomorrow night to celebrate. I should
be pleased. I should be emotionally celebrating that my re-
written thesis has finally been accepted. And I am, of
course. It's just that this case is getting to me.
 
No, that's not true. This had gotten to me before. It's
these two getting to me.
 
They came down to dinner tonight, around 7:15 pm. Then,
about a half hour later, most of the old crowd came
together with Busche and Forenzzi. Not being Sunday, the
place only had a handful of regulars as well as these guys.
There were about twenty in the group, local agents and a
bunch of the ones who'd been here since it started. Oh
yeah, and a new guy. The big new guy nodded at these two,
who smiled back in recognition. The others all but ignored
them and the room temperature dropped so much I went and
stoked the damned fire.
 
Mulder and the redhead didn't seem to need anyone else.
They were connected, you could see it from clear across the
room. After they'd finished dinner the new guy signaled
them. Mulder seemed uncomfortable and I realized he looked
pretty tired and not too well. He hardly touched his
dinner, either. Mind you, when I thought about it, for a
guy his size, a runner, he hardly seemed to eat much of
anything. But Red kind of dragged him across. He had his
hand in the center of her back and she walked in front of
him but, yeah, she was definitely pulling him.
 
They sat down, Mulder near Busche, Forenzzi, and the new
guy. Red sat a few chairs away talking to someone else.
Every minute or so one of them would glance at the other.
And it wasn't just a glance. It was a look, an affirmation.
I've never seen anything like it before and believe me,
I've seen my fair share of lovers in this place. Nope, this
was something else again, something on an entirely different
plane. If men are from Mars and women, Venus, these two were
from Alpha Centauri.
 
Oh, I forgot! How could I forget that? They call him
Spooky, Spooky Mulder. And Red's name is Scully. They call
him that because he really does chase aliens, that's part
of the legend.
 
But it gets weirder. The FBI has a whole section dedicated
to chasing this alien stuff and it's run by Spooky. I was
wrong. They do lock him in the basement and only drag him
out and brush him off when they need him.
 
But it sent shivers down my spine. Think about it, if the
FBI actually keeps an entire department to chase down
aliens, there must be something in it, right?
 
So, they'd finished dinner. A couple of the other agents,
including Forenzzi, had been drinking heavy at the bar. I
noticed Spooky sat on a beer and iced tea for the night,
while most of them downed far too many hard drinks.
Fortunately, all the other customers had left when it
happened.
 
Mulder was sitting closest to the counter near me. Scully
was at the other end of the table, talking to West. Now, I
have to put this in perspective. I've never, ever seen
these guys lose their cool with one another. Raised voices,
a punch through the wall a couple of times and some pretty
foul language, but that's it. The press had given them a
particularly hard time that week, calling for resignations.
Since Mulder was flown out from D.C. and the agents had
already started to reshuffle their job assignments and team
leaders, the press appeared somewhat mollified. I got the
feeling this was a farewell dinner of sorts for those who'd
be leaving.
 
Anyway, I looked up when I heard the language. The big
guy, the new one, had gone to the men's room with Busche.
Forenzzi and Mulder were slightly apart from the others.
Forenzzi wore that well-developed smirk of his, then very
pointedly leered at Scully. You didn't need to read lips to
figure what he was saying. Mulder didn't move and I didn't
catch his answer but it was brief and the next thing
Forenzzi says, very quietly but distinctly, 'You fucking
self-righteous perverted little faggot!' The punctuation
was not verbal, but a cracking sound.
 
It was nothing like those TV punches. And it was sure as
hell bloodier than most. I thought Mulder's nose must have
been broken. I'm not sure how, but I managed to get to him
before anyone else. Maybe it was because Forenzzi was about
six inches taller and at least fifty pounds heavier. It sent Mulder
across the floor towards me, a trail of blood flying around in a
loop, splattering across the wall. I know it sounds weird, but
my first though was, I hope to God he doesn't have AIDS
because it's going to have to be me that cleans all that blood
and mucus off the walls.
 
Anyway, I reached Mulder with a dishcloth in hand. I'd just
picked it up and rinsed it off, it was brand new. The water
was icy cold and when he turned his face to look at me I
planted it across his cheek. It wasn't his nose after all,
but his jaw. Hell, I thought, I wonder if it's broken.
 
He grimaced, but I'm surprised he felt the cloth. God, that
must be so damned painful I thought. You see all these bar
room TV brawls and the hero just gets up and keeps on
swinging. Maybe a bloody nose, but not gore. Not torn lips
and mucus and stuff from his nose and blood and saliva.
God, I was so angry. He was beautiful and that big bastard
had broken him, just smashed him. And calling him a faggot?
Okay, I'd heard the rumors and I'd been a bit put out and
of course I'm the last one to judge, but after seeing Scully...
Shee-it! Forenzzi was supposed to be an FBI agent and he
never saw how Mulder is with his partner? Some detective,
no wonder they're not winning on this case.
 
The damage wasn't that bad I suppose, nothing that
wouldn't heal. It was just a kind of reaction to seeing it.
So I held the cloth to his face and ignored the legs and
scuffles around me. I suppose about ten, fifteen seconds
passed while Mulder's eyes fluttered and he blinked to
clear them. Jesus, he was in pain, that was obvious, but he
took a couple of deep breaths and moved to stand. He didn't
try to pull the cloth from my hand and he stared at me.
 
Eyes are expressive, but his, well, you could write a book
from all the words I saw in those eyes. But the uppermost
one was gratitude. Half his mouth, the undamaged side,
smiled regretfully and he whispered, "Sorry."
 
And for the first time ever, I saw him smile with his
eyes. Here's the guy lying prone, his jaw probably broken
and he's apologizing for messing up the dining room! I
wanted to hold him and comfort him and try and put it all
back together and make him beautiful again. I couldn't help
but think about the last time something like this had
happened to me. Good thing there wasn't a gun nearby,
that's all I can say.
 
"Mulder, are you okay?"
 
I heard her before I saw her drop beside me. What an
idiotic question! What do you think? Is he okay! Shit. And
she's a doctor, can't she see? What is wrong with these
people?
 
Mulder lifted himself onto his feet and put his hand over
mine to hold the dishcloth in place. I let it go as he
grabbed the side of a table to balance. Then I distinctly
heard him say, "Yeah, I'm okay, just a love tap."
 
Just a fucking love tap! I looked up at the wall. It was
cream. Now it's cream with splattered red strings and polka
dots.
 
Scully took his hand and reached up to take the dish cloth
from him. "Mulder, you really must work on your people
skills."
 
I leaned across and pulled out a chair then stuck it
behind his legs. I knew he had to sit before he fell
because he'd gone white and shaky with shock. But he
grinned at Scully's remark and replied "I have been, Scully,
it's over seventy-two hours, a record."
 
It hit me then, they really were a world unto themselves,
even within the FBI. Her eyebrow lifted and I think she
smirked.
 
Surreal. Really.
 
There was still some scuffling behind me and shouting and
jack off shit spooky bastards and bum fucking little faggots
being thrown around, but I ignored it to watch these two. I
wanted to help.
 
"Think my orthodontist is going to be pissed at me Scully."
 
Then he spat blood and crap and something white onto the
dish cloth. It was a tooth fragment, then another. Well
jeez, why was I not surprised, but at least his jaw didn't
seem to be broken.
 
I swung back into the kitchen and scooped a shovel of ice
into a fresh terry cloth dishtowel. We bleach our stuff so
I knew it would be pretty sterile. Then I raced back
outside. By that time four or five people stood around
Mulder. About fifteen feet away, Forenzzi and some of the
others were still arguing and throwing their arms around.
The guy closest to me was the new one, he must have heard
the commotion and come out of the john fast. He was built
like a tank and even in profile, I could see he was a bit
like these two. He carried no extra weight but the closer I
got, the more massive he seemed. He was bald, and wore
glasses and his nose looked like it might have been broken
once, but it had set cute rather than ugly. Not that you
could say anything about this guy was cute, he looked big
and dangerous and you could see his temper was just being
held in check. I caught the trail end of his sentence just
as I started to push my way through them.
 
"...warned you to not tick off the locals."
 
I finally spat the dummy, swung on the big guy and said
"Cut the guy a break will you?" Then I pushed the bag of
ice past him and handed it to Scully. What I'd meant to do
was push the big bastard aside and give Mulder the ice
personally, but when I shoved my hand at him, it was like
pushing an oak tree. My arm slid by, but that was as far as
I was getting. I glared up at him, expecting...well I
wasn't sure what I was expecting, but resigned amusement
was way down on the bottom of the list. Surprisingly he
stepped aside, letting me get closer. I heard him tell
everyone to break it up and go back to bed, or work or
whatever they were supposed to be doing. He ordered
Forenzzi to go home and report to him in the morning.
 
Scully had put the ice in Mulder's hands and she was
peering inside his mouth. He obviously had a lot of trouble
keeping his jaw open wide enough for her to see.
 
She pulled back and his words garbled a bit as he said
"'Nuthin to see, Scully. Need a coupla crowns maybe, just
bruising."
 
"I'm not so sure Mulder, that cut is deep enough for
stitches, especially if you need dental work, your 
bottom lip will stretch and scar."
 
"No big deal, it's not like my love life is going to be
affected."
 
"Mulder, I think your lip is big enough as it is without
stretching it further."
 
"You can say that again." The big guy next to me mumbled.
 
The double meaning was not lost on anyone but Mulder
shrugged and stood, holding the ice bag to his face and
flashing me a half grin. Then a cell phone rang and
another. Next thing about five of the things are going off.
I didn't hear much, mostly yeahs, grunts, oh motherfuckers
and son's of bitches. Didn't have to be a mind reader to
know something big was up. Then I saw Mulder push Scully's
hand away as his whole body sort of froze up. You could
feel the walls going up around him and he kept saying "fuck
it, fuck it" over and over. Then they all left without
another word to me. I could pretty much guess what had
happened. I felt like letting a few choice words out myself
as my stomach fell. But there was nothing I could do or
say. They were lost in their own world now, leaving me to
clean off the wall and straighten the mess.
 
I didn't mind, something to take my mind off it. I sure as
hell wasn't going to get any sleep.
 
One good thing, it's semi-gloss paint, not wall paper,
like the other side, so it should clean off okay.

*****************************************
End Chapter 6

MIND GAMES: Book 1: The Profiler 9 of 9
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please! spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated NC17
*********************

CHAPTER 7
Day 6 - Thursday
Central Hotel, Seattle
5:30 a.m.
>From the journal of Crystal Palmer
 
The big guy came back about 4:30 am. I was supposed to be
on midday shift but now I'm no longer at school, I've taken
a lot more of the workload. Dulcie's getting too old for
these cold mornings. I'm used to pulling all nighters and
sleeping in the afternoons during tutorials. That was the
great thing about being a tutor, the undergrads asking for
help and you telling them, work it our for yourselves. For
forty dollars an hour I generally managed at least three,
sometimes four, hours sleep during the afternoon lab
sessions. That's finished now. I mean, I'm sooo glad I've
got my Ph.D., but it's all been headed for this, years and
years of it. And now I'm thirty-four years old, widowed and
can finally start again.
 
But getting back to the big guy. He came in and seemed
surprised to see me. I suppose it was because I was alone,
sitting at a table and reading Katlin's journal on Fluid
Dynamics. It deformalized the situation. He introduced
himself as A.D. Skinner. I asked him what A.D. stood for,
thinking it might be Andrew and hoping Abernathy didn't
come into the picture. Turns out it's "assistant," as in
"assistant director."
 
Oh! Isn't that pretty high up? One down from Hoover's old
position? I learned later there were many A.D.'s, but it was
still impressive. Anyway, he thanked me. I blinked and
asked what for.
 
"For assisting Special Agent Mulder. That was very kind of
you."
 
I blinked again. "Well, what else would I have done?
Forenzzi just about took his head off. Took me an half an
hour to clean the blood off the walls."
 
Skinner's eyebrows lifted. Not much, mind you, but his eyes
changed and it struck me he'd never had to clean up after a
fight. Or no, not that. Not that at all. Maybe he'd just
seen so much blood he, well, he didn't see it anymore
unless it was part of a crime scene. I looked in his eyes
again and if you ignored the harshness around them, they
were rich and deep and brown and you could quietly drown in
them. He really was cute behind that steely exterior.
 
"Have you been up all night?" he asked politely.
 
"Yeah, didn't feel much like sleep knowing you'd found
another one."
 
He looked at me quizzically. "How did you know?"
 
I gave him a look. "With every cell phone in the place
going off and no one sounding too happy with the news?
C'mon."
 
But he didn't confirm anything, just asked, "So when do you
sleep?"
 
"I don't need much, four, five hours generally. I can
sleep later on today."
 
"Insomnia?"
 
I smiled and shook my head. "Dissertation."
 
"Oh, what in?"
 
He glanced at the journal I was reading and I thought,
that's odd, first time anyone's asked. But then I finally
twigged. He was checking me out. Typical cop. Trust no one.
 
"I have a masters in physics but wanted to branch out into
engineering." I put the journal to one side.
 
Now his right eyebrow really did lift and he looked at me
in a totally different way. 
 
"Nearly finished?"
 
"Have finished," I smiled this time "My supervisor called
yesterday and it's official."
 
"So we should address you as Dr. Popopoulas?"
 
I chuckled this time. "Bit pompous for a waitress, don't
you think? My last name's Palmer, now, not Popopoulas, but
please call me Crystal. Another degree doesn't change that."
 
"Well, on behalf of Agent Mulder and myself, I would like
to thank you and apologize for the disturbance."
 
"How is he? Anything broken?"
 
Skinner shook his head no. "Mulder's used to being knocked
around, comes with the territory. Just a couple of stitches
and caps on his teeth."
 
Just stitches and caps...and that was friendly fire...brother. 
I just shook my head.
 
He ordered breakfast and read the paper while I cooked. He
sat at the breakfast bar instead of a table, so I sat down 
opposite him with my own coffee and asked "You here to take 
over the case?"
 
He put his paper to one side and rolled his head in 
affirmation. I could see he was wrestling with something and, 
I don't know, it bothered me. There was a great deal about 
him that had the same tired, wound-up tightness as Mulder, 
but where Mulder was springy, Skinner looked like he carried 
it all inside and maybe took it out on a punching bag every 
now and then.
He looked a bit like he might have been a boxer...but
harder somehow. Old boxers often go soft, not this guy. And
the way he carried himself, ramrod straight...military.
Yep, I wouldn't mind betting military.
 
"That explains last night. Not that it was your fault,
just that I can understand how frustrating it's been for
everyone and now...well, the press and all. I guess
Forenzzi's out. Truth to tell, I won't miss him."
 
I didn't expect an answer, and it surprised me when he
replied.
 
"He's not a bad agent. Mulder just has a way of getting
under everyone's skin."
 
"Mulder's that good, huh?"
 
Skinner stared at me.
 
"Well, it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Prodigies
never have an easy time and are not generally known for
their social skills. I should know, I studied under enough of
them. Forenzzi's by the book, and according to everyone
here, hates Mulder's guts going way, way back. As for
Mulder, well...his eyes...something there makes you want
to run screaming for the nearest exit, or take him in your
arms and tell him it'll be all right. Definitely not Forenzzi's
type, in fact not most FBI types from what I've seen. To
cap it off, it started over something Forenzzi said about
Agent Scully."
 
Skinner's expression hardly altered, but he somehow
managed to look stunned "You're very observant. What did he
say in reference to Agent Scully?"
 
"Being seen as simply a waitress has its advantages.
Forenzzi's a leerer...is there such a word? He's from the
old school that thinks a pass is his prerogative and a slap
on the butt is not sexual harassment. No big deal, but he
was smirking at Agent Mulder while he threw one of his less
polite leers at Agent Scully. I didn't hear what he said,
but you don't have to be a psychologist to pick up it was
something below the belt. I didn't hear Mulder's reply,
either, but there was hardly time for him to form a
complete sentence when Forenzzi let fly.
 
"I don't suppose it helped that since Sunday, Forenzzi's
more than hinted that Mulder is not only gay, but has a few
additional kinks thrown in for good measure. You want
another cup?"
 
He looked down at this cup absently and realized it was
empty. I could see the wheels turning behind those glasses.
 
"Mulder gay," he muttered absently. But the look in his
eyes, the slightly raised eyebrow and infinitesimal smile
said it all. Mulder might be many things, it said, but gay
was sure as hell not on the notice board, let alone the
same list. I was glad I was right. Given my track record, I
knew I could have been way off base. But Skinner's face now
confirmed it. Well at least I didn't have to think about
that aspect anymore.
 
"No, thanks anyway, I better get going."
 
I nodded and began cleaning up. I had a lot to do and wanted
to free my mind before going out with Dad. We rarely just
get to talk, the two of us, without half the family having their
say, particularly about my future. Despite the lack of sleep, I
felt better than I had in weeks, maybe months. I suppose I
was really feeling the pressure over my thesis, as well as
having all this going down. Now, one pressure is gone, I can
cope with the FBI better.
 
I still don't like, them, of course. Nothing will ever change
that. But I don't hate them anymore.
 
*******************************************

CHAPTER 8
Day 6 - Thursday
City Morgue, Seattle
5:30 am
 
Her fingers finally began to shake as she stripped the
latex from them.
 
"Okay Dani, you can put her away now." Scully spoke
quietly to the assisting diener. She noted absently that
Webster was also looking grimmer than when they'd started.
Scully reached up to click off the tape machine and sighed
softly.
 
"You think you get used to it," Dani Webser said, "but
sometimes, it hits you right in the solar plexus."
 
Scully turned to face the diener and replied, "Kids are
always the worst, but when they're dismembered like this
it's...it's a desecration, the perfidy of evil." Scully
looked up and asked "Do you have children?"
 
Webster expertly arranged the remains into a configuration
that approximated a complete human. But the gross parody
of normalcy was not lost on her.
 
"Yeah, but I've always handled it okay, even when they
bring in kids that look a bit like mine, like this one. But
you're right, this feels...different." Suddenly her eyes
caught the FBI agent's and she chuckled, "Please don't ever
tell..."
 
Scully smiled and pushed a stray hair from her face, then
leaned back against the bench. "Never. Right now, I'm just
furious that it wasn't picked up before. This is absolutely
critical to the profile."
 
"You found the same thing on the two shipped to D.C.?"
 
"Right. At first, I thought it was secondary damage due to
the manner in which the body parts were hung, but this
pretty well concludes it. I'll need to talk to the victim's
mother." Scully couldn't quite bring herself to give the
pitiful remains currently being bagged a name. "The missing
right toenail appears to be from a prior accident, possibly
a bruise or previous infection."
 
Scully shook her head. She did not normally discuss
results with the dieners. The morgue assistants picked up
most of what was going on anyway, just by the verbal nature
of note-taking. But both women had been affected by this
autopsy. Finding new evidence justified their belief in
themselves that their jobs were not only important, but
critical in pinpointing and capturing those who perpetrate
such evil. Both now took comfort in that justification.
 
Scully went into the showers and stripped her scrubs,
vaguely annoyed that the room was small and open,
instead of featuring private cubicles. She turned on the
hot water and began to soap up, trying to remove the
pervasive stench of death. Her olfactory nerves had become
somewhat immunized over the years, then the cancer stripped
away those senses even further. However, she was sensitive
to the reactions of others, particularly Mulder. She'd once
forgone a shower because he was in a hurry. Two miles
driving in desert heat and no air conditioning and she'd
shrugged, telling him he only had himself to blame. He
never hurried her after that.
 
The diener walked in. Catching Scully's eye, she quipped
"Don'cha just love our equal opportunity showers?"
 
Scully snorted "I've been in worse. Most places don't
even consider female amenities. Women don't do autopsies
and don't work in law enforcement."
 
Webster pulled off her own scrubs and said "You gotta be
kidding me?"
 
Scully smiled as she turned her face up to the showerhead.
"Oh, no, and it's not always in the little hick towns, either.
You've never come across it?"
 
"I'm too low down the totem pole to be considered that way.
I don't inspire jealousy and let's face it, that's what's
generally behind attitudes like that."
 
Scully turned her head to one side and considered how
similar Webster's observation paralleled Agent West's. She
idly wondered what the M.E.'s reaction would be when she
wrote up her autopsy report. Pissed, big time, no doubt.
Scully would normally go out of her way to avoid overt, or
even implied criticism of another pathologist, but under
the circumstances and the intense efforts behind these
murders, his failures were at best, sloppy.
 
Webster decided to phrase the question as a comment,
telling herself it was to prepare for the coming storm.
 
"You know of course that most of the early autopsies were
performed by different pathologists. But what you probably
don't know is sometimes, well, it gets pretty hectic around
here and..."
 
Scully turned off the faucet and reached for a towel,
resisting the temptation to reply that it did not excuse
sloppy procedures or in this case, assumptions.
 
Webster continued. "Anyway, the M.E. has been known to sign
off on work he hasn't done. If the press gets a hold of
this..."
 
Scully actually glared at the diener. Could she be
implying..?
 
Webster had turned off the shower and reaching for a towel
herself, did not see the warning look on Scully's face. "I
mean this whole damned situation has been plagued from the
beginning. The press has gotten hold of stuff that could
only have been leaked from this office. If this gets out,
now..."
 
The diener finally saw Scully's eyes and it chilled her.
 
"Hey, I'm sorry. It's not my place to speak. All I'm
saying is, when Harqua learns of this, he'll bury himself
deeper into the bottle than he already is, and somehow, the
press may just learn about it, not just what you've found,
but that it should've been discovered before now.
 
"Everyone's denying the leak is from here, they're blaming
you guys, the feds, but that's crap, because the leaks have
been going on from the start. I want this evil son of a bitch, or
sons of bitches put down just as much, if not more than you
do. I got kids. Right now, we're the only two people aware
of these new findings and the more who are, the more shit
will go down because of it. All I'm doing is pointing out
those facts. What you do with it is up to you."
 
Scully said nothing while she finished dressing. Goddammit!
She hated coming into these places and finding petty
machinations stewing. As if the fucking cases weren't
complicated enough as it were. And of course, most everyone
scrambled to protect their own butts. Fucking departmental
politics -- Forenzzi and his cronies and now this crap.
 
She sighed. Same old, same old. But the diener had
volunteered to come down and assist, speeding the entire
process by at least two hours.
 
Smiling slightly at Webster, Scully replied "Thanks for
letting me know, and for coming down to help at this
god-awful time in the morning. I know it could have been
left till later, but my partner and I feel every hour is
critical. We've vindicated that by establishing they take
trophies. As to the politics...I'll leave that up to my
boss and the PR guys. I can't and won't protect this office
from criticism, and now it looks like we're going to need
those disinterment orders..."
 
"Hey, Scully, you in there?" Mulder's voice interrupted
through the door.
 
"Hang on, Mulder, I'll be right out."
 
Scully did not bother to apply makeup as she was going to
get Mulder, make him go back to the hotel and consume
about five milkshakes, then get to bed.
 
She found him sitting slumped on a stool, head resting in
his arms. He looked up and Scully sucked in her breath. His
face was clouded and one side was swollen and blue,
matching the blue circles under his eyes. His nose was
puffy and a blue shadow spread underneath one eye. His five
o'clock shadow had grown into a two and a half day beard.
There were tiny, neat cross hatched stitches on his blue
and swollen lower lip. He looked about as bad as she'd ever
seen him outside of a hospital bed.
 
The look on her face must have given it away and he said
"I'm not as bad as I look, really," but it came out garbled.
 
Scully had forced the issue and stitched his lip right there
on the premises of the latest gruesome site. The victim had
been found in yet another historical district backyard. 
This time, however, a neighbor's dog alerted the owners to the
horrific thing hanging on the line. They had been out for the 
evening and only just returned and entered their home by the 
front door when the constant barking provoked Sam Curtis 
into flooding the back porch with lights. He was met with a 
sight he'd hoped never to witness after his days in Vietnam.
 
Within minutes, the street was overflowing with police and
unmarked cars erupting grim faced people. Somehow, Mulder,
Scully and Skinner managed to access the backyard first.
Such a break was a welcome relief to Scully...but then she
was not so sure after seeing the almost manic look on
Mulder's face. He refused to allow anyone near the remains
for at least an hour, begrudgingly letting the forensics
team in only because the temperature dropped and clouds
blocked the stars. It would likely snow soon.
 
Scully could not believe their further good luck when it
turned out the owner of the house was a dental surgeon with
offices in the adjoining building. Scully managed to stitch
Mulder's lip while the remains were being bagged for the
trip to the morgue. She'd convinced Mulder there was
nothing to do but wait until she'd finished the autopsy and
that he had time to have his teeth attended to. They were
small victories but when it came to Mulder in profiler
mode, she considered them significant.
 
"So whatcha got for me, G-woman?"
 
"You first, Mulder, how are your teeth?"
 
"Two temporary caps. Should last a week or so. What did
you find?"
 
Their footsteps echoed through the empty rooms as she
replied, "Okay, this one was the left-hander, small object
penetration. More damage done to sever the head than the
right-hander, two distinct blades again. According to the
other CS photos each foot has been strung on the lines with
a neat hole drilled through the large toe. Doesn't make a
lot of sense when they could have simply pierced the flesh.
But it conceals the fact that they are excising the large
toenails. In the first autopsies I did, the evidence was
only partially conclusive due to damage to the toes. In
this last case, the right toenail was naturally missing.
Probably a bruise or local infection, nothing unusual
though I need to check with the parents -- except that as
you pointed out, this right foot was hung through a hole
drilled between the first and second metacarpal just below
the big toe, and the second toe tip is missing. When I
examined the left foot, the drill hole all but covers up
the fact that the left big toenail was excised, but there
is no mistake."
 
"They're taking trophies, Scully."
 
"Looks that way."
 
****************************************
 
Day 6 - Thursday
Central Hotel, Seattle
5:50 am
 
"Take it, Mulder, it's just a mix of vitamins. If you won't
eat, you should at least drink this."
 
Mulder ignored her as he pulled off his bloodstained tie
and shirt. Between her stitches and the dentist, his jaw
felt like shit. He couldn't talk without dribbling like a
fucking baby and had a feeling it would get worse.
 
He knew she'd be on his back all morning, so he shrugged
and took the glass. He frowned and screwed up his nose when
he saw the bright red color. Turning to her, his eyes asked
what the fuck was this shit?
 
Not for the first time, Scully wondered if she should seek
an iridologist's advice about Mulder's eye language. She
had never met another human being who could swear so
profusely with an iris.
 
"It's just vitamins, Mulder. Shut up and drink it."
 
His eyes gave her back equal lip, but he downed the
contents of the glass in a few gulps, then spat a few more
expletives at her with his lashes.
 
He sat down and pulled off his shoes and socks while
Scully rummaged around in her bag and found a bottle of
pills. She poured three into her hand and said "Take these,
too."
 
He was beginning to get seriously pissed with her
mothering. Now, she was trying to numb his brain when he
needed to concentrate. The pain helped, the last thing he
wanted was painkillers.
 
"Scully, look, just leave me alone will you? I need to get
these profiles revised. I need to concentrate."
 
"Mulder, they're just aspirin," Scully persisted, holding
them out for him to see.
 
His eyes blazed and he turned on her, accidentally knocking 
the pills from her hand. But the expected apology was not
forthcoming. Instead he said "You're not my fucking wife, 
Scully, so cut the nagging!"
 
She pulled back, stunned at his outburst. His absolute
refusal to eat bothered her. He'd eaten sparingly the night
before and the smell of his breath in the morgue told her
he'd probably lost that sometime during the night, possibly
as a result of the local anesthesia she'd administered for
the stitches. He'd reacted similarly in the past.
 
As he pulled off his undershirt, her eyes narrowed. It was
not really that noticeable, but he had definitely lost
weight. Could it have all been in the last few days? Was he
keeping anything down at all?
 
Scully started to speak, but he had undone his belt and
pulled his trousers, shorts and all, down to his ankles.
Scully barely turned away in time, but he was heedless of
her presence as he went to the bathroom and turned on the
shower, not bothering to close the bathroom door. Scully
frowned, in all the years they had traveled together, he
had never, ever, casually stripped naked in front of her.
Sure they'd walked in on each other occasionally. But they'd
averted their eyes, mumbled an apology and never been
embarrassed. It was an unavoidable fact of being on top of
each other all the time. No big deal. But the way in which
he had done it just then was as if he'd erected a huge wall
between them. He was absolutely, totally indifferent to her
presence. She simply did not matter.
 
Somehow, that bothered her more than his outburst of temper.
 
Scully spent a few minutes tidying his room and collecting
his soiled laundry. She opened his room door and hung a 'do
not disturb' sign on it, then returned to her own room,
pulling the adjoining door closed, but not latching it. She
needed to change clothes and eat something before starting
on her own report. All she could safely do now was just be
there for him, keep an eye and ear out, ignore his
outbursts and try and keep the fluids up.
 
But first, she also allowed herself a moment to lay on the
end of her bed and soundly curse the bastards who demanded
this of him.
 
**********************
End Chapter 8



End Mind Games I
From: sonny <sonny@webspin.org>
Date: Mon, 27 Sep 99 08:30:43 +1000
Subject: xfc: NEW Mind Games 2; Mirror Mirror 1 of 5
Source: xfc

From: sonny <sonny@webspin.org>

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 2:Mirror Mirror 1 of 5
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please! spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated R for disturbing pedophile concepts
********************* 


CHAPTER 1

Day 10 - Monday
Paco's Coffee Shop - Seattle
8:15 a.m.
 
Despite the hotel coffee being immeasurably superior,
after the short, but bitter, confrontation with Mulder, Scully
had opted for a cafe a few doors down from the hotel. Not,
she thought, that what they'd had was an argument exactly.
It does, after all, take two people to do that. In this
case, she'd talked and he'd ignored her. And right now, she
wanted to avoid all company as she tried to figure out how
best to help her partner.
 
It had been four days since the last victim had been
recovered. Scully had cornered Mulder long enough to insist
his stitches be removed and she took the opportunity to
berate him about his eating, or lack of it. She'd finally
revealed the fact that she'd heard him throwing up at all 
hours of the nights and wanted to give him something to 
settle his stomach and a multi-vitamin shot.
 
"Dam it Mulder, you can't run on empty. You are not going
to do yourself or these kids any good if you get sick and
collapse from exhaustion. And you are sure as hell headed
in that direction. If you're suffering some sort of
bulimia..."
 
He'd rolled his eyes at her. 
 
"All right, well, there must be a reason you're not keeping 
anything down. If it's a stomach bug..."
 
He blinked in frustration as she snipped the tiny stitches
across his lip. The swelling had almost gone but the
bruising was still evident around his jaw and nose.
Forenzzi's giant sized hand had torn the edge of Mulder's
left nostril, too, but it appeared to be healing nicely.
She would have liked to have examined the inside of his
mouth, but the way he held himself told her to forget it.
She kept up a running dialogue and finished with the
announcement that she was going to give him a vitamin shot
whether he liked it or not. The moment the last stitch was
out, he'd shot up from the chair and grabbing his car keys
and coat, walked out the door without a word. Scully just
stood there with the scissors in hand, knowing it was
useless to follow.
 
And so she'd gone to the coffee shop, only to be found by
the one person she really did not wish to see, Forenzzi.
 
"This seat taken?" he asked as he slid into the bench seat
opposite.
 
Scully froze in mid-sip and glared at him stonily.
 
He actually pulled back for a moment, surprised at the
intensity of her look. Good God, little Dana was rather
formidable. He'd have to watch himself. He held up his
hands and rolled his head to one side in an apologetic
gesture. "Hey, you have every reason to tell me to get my
butt outta here. I made a complete ass out of myself the
other night and you deserve an explanation, and an apology."
 
Scully continued to glare at him "It's Mulder you should
be apologizing to."
 
Forenzzi glanced away, unable to concede that point,
"Dana, look, I know he's your partner..." Forenzzi stopped
and rubbed his hands over his face trying to figure out how
best to tackle this.
 
Scully's face had taken on a more neutral pose. Forenzzi
foolishly did not recognize it as her about-to-kick-butt-
big-time face. She was incredulous at this man's actions
against Mulder and fairly sure he was the source of some
rather unpleasant rumors. She was accustomed to little
green men ridicule and snide, beam me up Scotties when it
came to Mulder, but this new take on things was worse
because any denial she might make was a two-edged sword.
 
Forenzzi looked up and began "Look, Dana, I know it's been
twelve years, but we were close once and I thought
I...well, I thought I knew you well enough to believe you 
were a pretty straight arrow. And that's why this is 
bothering me so much."
 
He scratched his head in a nervous gesture. Nothing about
Scully's face or posture gave anything away to him. Mulder,
however, would have recognized all the warning signals and
headed for the nearest bomb shelter.
 
"I know you've worked with the guy for years and I know
you're an extraordinarily loyal person. And I can
understand how that loyalty is extended to the FBI as a
whole. I respect and admire that, I really do. But I knew
Mulder before you and I've seen things he'd naturally hide
from a woman. Look, I'm not questioning your relationship
with him, that's between the two of you, but just for a
moment, I'd ask you try and see it from my perspective."
 
Scully tucked her chin in and pursed her lips. "It was not
Mulder's decision to be sent here. I fully appreciate how
difficult it must be for you to stand aside while Skinner,
not Mulder, takes control of this case..."
 
Forenzzi waved it aside. "No, Dana, you have it all wrong.
Look, I'll be the first to admit that Spook...Mulder's
profiles have generated new avenues of approach. I'm not
criticizing his talents. It's just that...surely you can
see the hypocrisy in using someone like Mulder to run a 
case like this?"
 
"No, Joe, I don't. Would you care to enlighten me how
hypocrisy comes into it?"
 
"You mean you really don't know?" He looked at her
incredulously.
 
Scully was fast losing whatever patience she might have
had. "I doubt that you could enlighten me about anything,
Joe. I had thought your temper might have cooled a little
in the years since we first met. Clearly, that is not the
case. Now if you'll excuse me..." She stood to leave.
 
Forenzzi placed a hand gently on Scully's sleeve. "Please,
Dana, just...please give me the courtesy of your time. Just
a few minutes. I know I don't deserve it, but...please?"
 
Scully sighed and against her better judgement, sat down
again. "Okay Joe, but make it fast, I have to get back down
to the morgue."
 
He nodded once. "Look, I honestly thought you knew about
Mulder. In fact when I first heard they'd partnered you
with him, I figured they'd done so because you were a
doctor. When he was in the BSU, they kept a psychiatrist
with him a lot of the time, not a partner, another one of
the profilers, but he could prescribe drugs to keep Mulder
in line."
 
Scully frowned. What in hell was Forenzzi talking about?
 
"Dana, we all know the FBI keeps a few kooks lying around.
And we both know that genius borders on madness and Mulder
fits in that category. But I could never reconcile his
tastes in...porn...with what he did."
 
Scully began to frown. What the hell did Mulder's porn
tastes have to do with...oh, oh come on! He had to be
kidding? Right? Scully had no desire to see anything of
Mulder's video or magazine collection, but she had
inadvertently been exposed to it over the years. Some of it
was pretty rabid stuff, but still mainstream. The only
homosexuality in any of them leaned heavily towards all
girl romps, not exactly unusual fare for a very
heterosexual male like Mulder. But Forenzzi was
implying...What exactly was Forenzzi implying?
 
"Forenzzi, spreading rumors about a fellow agents sexual
predilections..."
 
Forenzzi realized he wasn't going to be able to pussyfoot
around this one so he simply blurted it out, "Dana, these
are not rumors. I've personally seen what he does. Look,
I'm trying to give you a heads up here. I've got to face an
OPR review tomorrow evening in D.C. and I have every
intention of telling them what I think of them for
protecting a guy who gets his jollies over pictures of 
dead boys then puts him in charge of a fucking pedophile
investigation!"
 
His voice had risen noticeably, attracting the sharp ears
of the tabloid reporter seated in the next booth. The
reporter nearly gagged on his eggs when he heard the
outburst. He knew Forenzzi. Knew he was a asshole, too,
but straight as an arrow. So what was this shit?
 
Scully's anger overwhelmed her, but she kept her voice so
low, the reporter could hardly hear her. "You bastard. Where
the hell do you get off making unfounded accusations like
that? It's a good thing you've been pulled from this
because you have clearly lost all perspective. Spreading 
a rumor that Mulder is gay was bad enough, petty minded
rubbish, but this..."
 
"Yeah? Well we'll see about that when I tell the OPR what
happened ten years ago in Michigan. I saw it, Dana, with my
own eyes, and what I find incredulous is that your loyalty
to the FBI would allow you to...shit...I've watched you
with him. I've seen the way you two look at each
other...and it sickens the hell out of me to think you're 
actually part of his fucked up little world. Jesus, Dana, 
what ever happened to you? I knew you liked it a little 
kinky sometimes but this? What do you two do together, 
get your jollies in front of his videos..."
 
The words were hardly out of his mouth when Scully finally
lost her temper. The last time she could ever recall doing
that was when she was twelve years old and had walloped
Bill. It had hurt her fist something fierce but the
satisfaction of Bill's bloody nose had been more than worth 
it.
 
This time, she remembered to curl her fingers in her hand
before straight arming Forenzzi in the nose. Her fist still
hurt, but again, the blood and reddened eyes had been well
worth the effort.
 
"Please feel free to report my actions to the OPR, *Agent*
Forenzzi, I would be more than happy to explain to them the
reasons for my unprofessional conduct. I would also be more
than happy to explain that, in my professional opinion,
your righteous indignation leads me to suspect a transferal
of motivations."
 
"You little bitch!" Forenzzi had finally recovered from
the shock and pain of the unexpected blow "Are you trying
to imply that you think *I*...!"
 
"If the shoe fits, Forenzzi. I'm recommending a psychiatric
evaluation of..."
 
But he grabbed Scully by the coat and began to pull her
across the table, pain and mindless rage obliterating
whatever sense he had left.
 
The reporter in the next booth stood to watch the foray,
but even he was stunned at the scene playing out before
him. Unbeknownst to either Scully or Forenzzi, Skinner and
Busche had chosen the coffee shop for the same reasons as
Scully, to get away from the crowds of agents in the hotel
restaurant. At least that was what Skinner told himself.
The truth was, he noticed that one of the owner's sons was
looking after the restaurant that morning and somehow, it
hadn't held quite the same appeal.
 
Forenzzi suddenly found himself deadlocked by a furious
A.D. Skinner. "What the hell are you doing, Forenzzi?"
The A.D. spat out through clenched teeth.
 
Forenzzi had a good seven inches on Skinner's height, but
he was not nearly as heavily built and therefore found it
impossible to break the A.D.'s vice grip.
 
Skinner was surprised at the blood on the bigger man's
face. He glanced swiftly at Scully and noticed her nursing
her left fist while she straightened her coat. His eyebrow
rose in surprise and his nostrils dilated in annoyance
"Would someone like to enlighten me here?"
 
Scully sucked in her cheeks and remained stonily silent.
Skinner expected no less.
 
"Scully?" he tried again "Agent Scully, I want you in
my..." he suddenly remembered he had set up his hotel 
room as an office "...room in ten minutes. At that time 
I will expect a full explanation of events. I thought 
I'd made it very clear that neither I, not the director 
will tolerate personal agendas on this case. Do you 
understand?"
 
Scully's eyes narrowed. "Yes sir."
 
Meanwhile, Busche had positioned himself to effectively
block anyone in the coffee shop from coming closer.
Fortunately, patronage was limited to a one couple and a
single male...oh shit. Busche recognized the reporter. He
turned to Skinner and motioned with his eyes to the
journalist. Skinner recognized the warning look and
immediately dropped Forenzzi's arms. The big agent scowled
and reached across to the napkin tray. Grabbing a fistful,
he brought then to his nose and glared insolently at the
A.D. and ASAC. "You two part of the cover-up as well?
Jesus, Busche, I warned you about Mulder."
 
Busche shook his head. "Joe, I know how you feel about this
whole thing, but your judgement is clouded on this. My
advice to you is step back before you get yourself in any
deeper."
 
Forenzzi sneered. "I'm not standing by and letting this
slide. Not for you, not for the FBI and not for that little
ass fuck..."
 
"Forenzzi!" Busche glared at him. "One more crack out of
you and I'll have you arrested. Is that what you want?"
 
The big man finally realized he had no choice but to back
off. For now. His time would come tomorrow at the OPR. And
if they tried to shut him up...no, not this time. This
time he'd make sure someone knew about Mulder and did 
something. He pulled his coat around him and glaring one 
last time at Scully, threw the bloodied napkins on the 
table and stormed out.
 
Scully breathed deeply and with a last look at Skinner and
Busche, left the restaurant.
 
Busche turned to the reporter, but clenched his teeth when
he realized the man had already left. Shit.
 
***********************************************
 
"All right, Agent Scully, would you care to enlighten me
on what just transpired between two federal agents in a
public restaurant?"
 
Scully sat stone faced in front of Skinner. The A.D. had,
within a few days, turned his hotel room into an office,
complete with a large desk and laptop pushed to one side
and a lounge suite for more informal discussions. Right
now, Scully found herself in a hard backed chair facing her
boss across the table. The only incongruity was an unmade
bed in the corner.
 
"Agent Scully, don't mistake that as a request, I expect
an answer. A complete answer."
 
Scully collected her thoughts, trying to find some way of
explaining her loss of temper.
 
Skinner looked at her closely. "Scully, I'm going to take a
wild stab at this and suggest it stems from Forenzzi's
attack on Agent Mulder the other evening."
 
Scully continued to stare at Skinner in silence. But she
was no poker player and she knew Skinner would see the
truth on her face, especially in light of his sarcasm.
 
"I'm going to further suggest Forenzzi inferred something 
regarding your relationship with Mulder and the fact that 
he's been circulating some crap about Agent Mulder's 
sexual orientation."
 
Scully's eyebrows rose a notch. "Sir, since Congress made
its decision regarding homosexuality in the military, the
FBI uses the military's jurisdiction over Quantico to
comply with that mandate. That may not affect current
agents, but it does have an impact on current attitudes.
Unfounded as the accusations may be, it's another way to
undermine Agent Mulder's credibility in the eyes of his
peers. Vicious, long-clawed alien comments I can accept,
because there is some foundation in the remarks.
However..." Scully petered off, her righteous ire blocking
her ability to continue.
 
Having already learned of the rumors from Crystal Palmer,
Skinner waited, sure there was more behind it than that.
 
"However," Scully continued in a frigid voice, "accusations
of the FBI hiding Agent Mulder's predilection to pedophilia
are beyond..."
 
"What!" Skinner sat forward, his eyes narrowing in cold
fury. He had *not* heard that. Shit...had Mulder been on a
case with Patterson where Forenzzi had been stationed? 
Could he have possibly seen...? Fuck it! His eyes stopped 
Scully cold and he grabbed for the phone.
 
"Busche, I want Forenzzi placed into custody immediately.
Warn him to keep his mouth shut, not one word about
*anything* and I want him accompanied back to D.C. on the
next available flight. He'll be met at the airport and
transferral of custody...No, no I'll be speaking to the
director myself...Yes, that's right." Skinner rang off then
punched a longer series of buttons.
 
"Sir, it appears Forenzzi who was heading up the local
team here is partially aware of the contents of that
file..."
 
Scully felt her stomach give out from under her. Until
that moment she had been absolutely certain Forenzzi's
accusations were the delusions of an overstressed mind. Now
the facts began clicking into place. The FBI was covering
up something, something about Mulder, about pedophilia. Oh
God in heaven, anything but that. Not Mulder...surely? She
would have known she *must* have known. There had to be
another explanation, but as Skinner kept talking Scully
felt her whole world topple.
 
"Yes sir, I'm afraid that's right. It was probably only a
matter of time before Agent Scully had to be informed..."
 
Scully sat frozen in sick horror.
 
"...have it couriered here by this afternoon for her to
examine. Yes sir I believe that's the wisest course of
action...No, no sign of it yet but then I have not seen
Agent Mulder in this situation before so there is no way of
predicting when or if he'll...Yes sir. Thank you."
 
Scully tried to get a grip on herself, but her breathing
came in short gasps.
 
Oh, God, anything but that...Please God, let him be gay,
let him be impotent...*anything* but a pedophile! And if
the FBI were protecting him, protecting some crime that he
had committed...In Michigan? Is that what Forenzzi had
said? Ten years ago? If they were protecting him in order
to use him...What was it that Skinner had said in her
apartment? That the director had been extremely reluctant
to bring Mulder in on the case...something about a promise
ten years before...Oh, Jesus, no please, please, no! And now
they expected...they would use, attempt to use her loyalty
to Mulder to protect the FBI and him from...from what?
Revealing what she knew? Revealing that he had hurt...Oh
dear God, *no*!
 
Skinner was talking to her, but the words were not getting
through.
 
"Agent Scully?" Skinner frowned. Scully's face had drained
of all color and...oh shit. He suddenly realized the effect
this was having on her. He stood up from his desk and
walked around to where she sat, he eyes wide and jaw
twitching.
 
Skinner crouched in front of Scully and took her hands to
capture her attention.
 
"Dana, listen to me,"
 
Scully finally looked up at the unfamiliar use of her
first name.
 
"This is not what you are thinking. Forenzzi has..."
Skinner closed his eyes and shook his head "Look, I can't
really explain. The director has a sealed file in his
office, a file on Mulder that only three people within
the Bureau are privy to. He's having it security 
couriered here today. It should arrive sometime tonight. 
Once you read that file you'll understand."
 
Scully finally found her voice. "Understand what, Sir?"
 
Skinner knew he could not explain the contents of that
file properly, so he stood and walked back around to the
other side of his desk. "Scully, it's not what you
think...it's an aspect of Mulder that...look, just wait
until the file gets here and read it for yourself. And 
stop worrying, Mulder is *not* a pedophile for Christ's 
sake. And he's done nothing illegal. It's just that the 
contents are...unusual and kept under wraps for reasons 
that will become evident when you read it."
 
Skinner sighed, took off his glasses and pinched the
bridge of his nose. "Agent Scully, this is one of the
few times I completely concur with cancerman."
 
"He...he knows about this?"
 
Skinner looked at her closely. "Why do you think Mulder's
been kept alive all these years?"
 
He shook his head at her stunned stare. She couldn't
possibly have any idea. Not until she read that file.
and maybe, probably, not even then. She simply would
not believe it.
 
Scully quickly moved to recover her normal poise, but
it was only a facade. No matter what Skinner said, there 
was something about Mulder that had been hidden, hidden 
at the highest level. Something Forenzzi had witnessed...
no matter how Skinner phrased it, she felt like something 
vital had been ripped from her heart. It was as if her 
spirit had been torn out and stomped on.
 
Scully pulled her professional walls about her as
Skinner's phone rang. He answered it and looked up at
Scully, clearly needing privacy. She stood, gratified her
legs continued to support her.
 
"I'll call you when the file arrives," Skinner cupped the
mouthpiece and whispered.
 
Scully nodded and left.
 
She immediately went into her room and for the first time
since her cancer treatment, threw up until her head ached.
 
**************************
End Chapter 1 : Mirror Mirror

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 2:Mirror Mirror 2 of 5
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please! spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated NC17 for disturbing pedophile concepts. If you've come this far, please keep going after this chapter - I promise to pull you out of the cess pit.
********************* 

CHAPTER 2

Day 10 - Monday
Coroner's Office, Seattle
5:30 p.m.
 
The previous days had already been a nightmare blur of
court orders and ugly arguments, even uglier press and a
partner who distanced himself from her with cutting remarks
and rude dismissals. Scully felt like she was locked in a
miasmic haze between showdowns and decomposing remains. But
none of it had impacted on her like the morning's
revelations - or lack of them.
 
Scully had tried to push all thoughts of it aside as she
concentrated on the work at hand. They had agreed to
disinter only those victims unclaimed by friends or
relatives. Street kids. Although decomposition had made it
difficult and in some cases impossible to ascertain if the
murderer was left or right handed, enough torsos were
examined to lend credibility to her theory, despite the
M.E.'s vehement insistence that such evidence did not exist.
She had more luck with the toenail trophies. Minute
examination of the victims large toes indicated the nail
had been excised post mortem.
 
Following Mulder's revised profiles, the FBI was burrowing
through, among other things, a convoluted and ugly trail
of porn movie makers. Specifically snuff movies. There were
aspects of that no-one could see related to the way the
bodies were dumped. Traditionally, snuff movies used
imports, frequently Mexican girls and boys, then carefully
disposed of the bodies. But Mulder was sure it would lead
somewhere.
 
Someone, somehow leaked the trophy aspect to the press.
Friday's papers were filled with criticisms and calls for
resignations from the coroner's office. After a round of
snide comments and less than helpful attitudes at the
morgue on Saturday, Scully had gratefully worked alone over
the weekend. No dieners were available to assist but the
small bodies were not difficult to lift and carry.
 
That Monday morning she had been asked to sign the release
papers for the bodies she'd examined in D.C. to be returned
to Seattle. Scully agreed to have them returned, but
refused to release them on the basis that something more 
might yet be learned. In a fit of unprofessional pique the 
M.E., Harqua, told the parents he saw no reason for Scully's 
action. That resulted in a call to the papers and more
hounding press as she'd tried to grab lunch.
 
To cap off one of the shittiest days in her life, she'd
spent twenty minutes trying to find written notes that had
apparently gone *missing* while she showered and changed.
She found them dropped in a bag of biological refuse. The
incident had not set her back. The notes were only copies
from prior work and she had already finished for the day,
but such open hostility might retard, possibly endanger the
investigation. She wordlessly pulled the notes from the
bag, dropped them in a plastic folder and proceeded to dump
them on the M.E.'s desk, sans folder. The resultant
argument had left her depleted and vulnerable and totally
unable to cope with the flashes from newspaper camera's and
bright videocam lights that greeted her exit from the
coroner's office.
 
She'd wanted to park in the underground parking to avoid
just this sort of thing, but there had been no available
spaces when she'd arrived mid-morning. If it were not for
the lights, she might have seen the slick patches of ice on
the edges of the steps. But then again, she thought later,
maybe not.
 
Scully rarely gave much thought to her diminutive size,
but as she jostled her way through the press, he eyebrows
grew together. She'd reached a point where she was just
about to flash her badge and threaten to arrest the next
pencil wielding asshole for obstruction of justice when her
heel slipped on the ice and she fell. No one bothered to
try and help her up, in fact more flash lights went off and
she could just visualize what the press would do with that
*FBI agents falling down on the job*. Oh joy.
 
Suddenly a large black-clad body appeared amongst the
throng. She looked up into Skinner's threatening eyes and 
sighed. Great, just great.
 
Leading Scully to his car, he divested her of her keys and
tossed them to agent Smith. With the door finally sealing
out the shouted questions, Scully closed her eyes and took
a few deep breaths.
 
"Thank you, sir."
 
"No problem, Agent Scully."
 
"How did you know?"
 
"The director."
 
Scully grimaced. Oh fucking joyous day. Maybe she could
get together with Mulder and sing an out of tune duet of
zippity-doo-dah. But the insidious half-revelations of the
morning came to the fore and she closed her eyes. Her
partner...
 
Skinner's words pulled her back to the present. "Seems the
M.E. is unhappy."
 
Scully felt herself bristle, God what else could go wrong
today? "Sir, if you are questioning my..."
 
Skinner shook his head vehemently. "On the contrary, he
and three of the pathologists are about to find themselves
among the ranks of the unemployed. There is no room in
this investigation for petty interagency rivalries. We've
also discovered the press leaks have originated from here.
You have been on this case less than a week and have made
more progress than anyone in the past eighteen months."
 
"It's not just me, sir. Agent Mulder..."
 
"Scully, just for once, take credit where credit is due.
Nobody, at least nobody who matters, underestimates
Mulder's role in this. His latest profiles are sheer
brilliance. Despite his misgivings and the skepticism of
his detractors, it gives us a hell of a lot to work with.
There are some very positive leads out of all of this. An
investigation that could, to date, only be described as
uninspired, now has a new lease. But much of that has been
in no small part due to your findings."
 
Scully finally allowed herself to relax. Now all she had
to do was find Mulder and run a few ideas past him,
hopefully without getting her head snapped off. But could
she face him, knowing that he harbored some dark, ugly
secret about...what? Skinner made no mention of the file.
She hadn't really expected it until later tonight.
Meanwhile, she had to push those thoughts aside. She had 
to force herself to deal with the Mulder she thought she 
knew. What else would be revealed in the near future must 
wait until then.
 
******************************************************

CHAPTER 3

Day 10 - Monday
Seattle
8 p.m.
 
He felt the rhythmic thumping of his heart as his feet 
pounded the pavement. Thump, thump thump. He wished he 
could close his eyes and let the pounding permeate his 
soul. Blood filling his veins, his arteries.
 
Blood. 
 
He would see blood tonight. A lot of blood as it filled 
and overflowed the rhythmic pounding as he fucked him.
 
Mulder almost tripped as the imagery slammed into him. 
Shit. 
It was happening. 
How long did he have before it pushed him aside and took 
control?
 
His momentary panic drove it away and he slowed his 
pace and glanced around, trying to forget that somewhere 
in the city a young boy was cowering in terror.
 
Blood.
 
He would see blood tonight and his body would thrum.
 
No!
 
Mulder clutched at his head. Oh Lord do I have to let 
this happen? Step aside and let it take complete and 
utter control? 
 
Goddammit! It wouldn't be so bad if it simply threw 
him to one side, used his body then let him back in when 
it was finished. Oh no, that would be too easy. He had 
to remain and witness it. He *had* to witness it, 
otherwise what was the point? That *was* the point. 
No Patterson, no poor damned Grahams, no long
dead Webster to serve as its witness. Not this time.
 
Thank Christ he was alone. He just had to find
somewhere safe.
 
Pound, pound, thump, thump, let the heart push the 
blood through his veins. Look around, how to maximize 
the effect? If this was going to happen to him, he had 
to get the most out of it, no pussyfooting around.
Pound, pound as you fuck him and the blood flows.
 
Nausea welled up in him. A child would die soon and he 
could do nothing to prevent it. God help me one more must 
die. God help him, one more must be sacrificed that he
might save them all.
 
It was the only way...
 
Pound pound thump thump, I'm coming to get you little 
one.
 
Where? There! Perfect! Had he subconsciously run here?
He reached into his pocket. Jesus he had had the good 
sense to put one in? So far, so good, you were doing 
something right tonight Mulder.
 
Be prepared.
 
Good little Boy Scout.
 
He was a Boy Scout too.
 
Pound pound thump thump smell the fear.
 
Oh Christ he was not prepared for this, not again!
Ten years, Jesus wept he had gone without this for ten 
years.
 
Ten years.
 
Ten years the boy was, just ten years old.
 
Pound him, thump into him, see the blood, let it flow 
as you get ready to fuck him.
 
Get ready to kill.
 
***************************************************
 
Scully's high heels echoed through the cold, deserted
rooms as she returned to the autopsy bay. She couldn't
understand why Mulder would be there, unless it was to look
for her. They had not made a specific meeting place for
dinner, she had just assumed it would be in the restaurant.
When he hadn't answered her knock at seven, she'd checked
his room. Soiled clothes lay scattered about the floor, but
no sign the bathroom had been used. His cell phone was not
answering, no surprise if he'd gone for a run. As
ridiculous as it seemed in that weather she knew it cleared 
his mind.
 
Half an hour searching the hotel brought her up empty
handed. At first, Scully was inclined to dismiss it, after
all it wouldn't be the first time he'd gone off without
telling anyone. But his car was in the parking lot. Hell,
she thought, maybe he's taken a fall on the ice. Her own
ankle still hurt from tripping earlier in the evening. A
flush of fear arced through her body and the words kept
coming back to her...pedophilia. God where was he? Could
he have become another Patterson? Was he right now, on
the prowl for some young...? Oh, Jesus, no! Skinner had
said he was not *that*...but what?
 
Her cell phone rang. "Scully."
 
"Agent Scully, this is West. Look, I know it sounds kinda
odd, but I thought I just saw Agent Mulder going into the
morgue."
 
Scully frowned, trying to keep her voice steady. "Why do
you think it sounds odd?"
 
"Because he was wearing a track suit. I was driving by and
called out. I'm sure he heard me but he looked sort of...
distracted."
 
"Okay West, thanks for letting me know. I better get down
there, he's probably thought of something."
 
"Want me to turn around and meet you there?"
 
"No, that's fine, he probably just wants to clarify
something in one of my reports."
 
West hung up, but not before Skinner dialed and found
Scully's cell phone number engaged. Damn! He had the file
in hand and it was important she see it as soon as possible.
 
Scully hung up her cell phone and put on her overcoat.
Just as she was about to leave, she realized the back of it
was sopping wet with dirty ice. She hung it in her bathroom
and pulled another one from the closet. She forgot, however
to retrieve her cell phone.
 
********************************************************
 
Feel him, bring him closer to you, hear the screams of terror.
Shut up!
Just shut the fuck up!
I hate it when they squeal like that.
 
Nausea hit him again. He was still in control, long enough
to get himself here...but not for much longer. He could feel 
the window open, feel the conduit between him and himself.
 
One and the same.
 
Become one with him so he is you and you are he.
 
I am not what I am.
 
I am become.
 
He felt himself pushed aside, away and out. And he looked
around at the world below him. Oh God no! Scully no! 
Get back! Get outa here!
 
*********************************************************
 
The lights flickered slowly, revealing nothing in the main
rooms of the morgue. But Scully recalled Mulder's
propensity to sit alone in the dark surrounded by pieces of
the victim's remains, be they articles of clothing or
bodies, in order to saturate himself within the atrocity of
the crime. As if by doing so he could more easily slip into
the persona, the very skin of the creatures he hunted.
 
Scully hesitated briefly, an unfamiliar and unwelcome
shudder of fear arcing up her spine. She'd never been
creeped out by morgues before and the sensation annoyed
her. The dead held no malice for her. It was only the
manner of their deaths that she sometimes, so very often,
abhorred. And it was her job, in no small way, to help them
rest in peace, to give some closure to them and their
families for the injustices perpetrated against them. No,
she held no fear of them...so where did this feeling come
from?
 
Scully's eyes flickered across the room, penetrating the
harsh shadows. Something, someone was here.
 
She resisted the urge to call out. If Mulder was here, he
would be in the back where cold steel refrigerated
compartments separated each unique death into defined
compartments. Gunshot wound, knife, heart attack, drug
overdoes, torn to shreds by insane killer, drowning...all
neatly stacked and categorized.
 
*******************************************************
 
Skinner called again and was frustrated by the continuous
ringing. He punched in West's number instead.
 
"West."
 
"Agent West this is A.D. Skinner, do you happen to know
the whereabouts of Agents Scully or Mulder?"
 
"Um, yes sir, I just got off the phone to Scully. I
thought I saw Agent Mulder entering the morgue. I'm not 
sure why,but the fact that he was in track pants bothered 
me...heseemed...more than usually distracted. So I called 
Scully. She's driving down there now."
 
Shit, was he too late? "All right, West. Where are you now?"
 
"About two-thirds of the way to the hotel, sir. Traffic's
a bit thick in this direction, pretty clear from the hotel
coming into town. Do you want me to turn around and head
back there?"
 
"No...yes...No, go pick up Smith first then get back to
the morgue."
 
"Yes, sir."
 
Skinner frowned and grabbed his coat. Goddamn it to hell.
If he was right, he'd be too late. He could only pray
Mulder was simply distracted. Five minutes, if he ran a 
few lights he could be there in three.
 
********************************************************
 
Scully's stride was less confident now. She would need to
approach Mulder from the front, so he saw her coming. He
had been slipping more and more into the first person the
last twenty-four hours. Slipping deeper into the...thing
that did this to a child. But he seemed more like his old
self only a few hours before. She shivered and clenched her
jaw, steeling herself, then looked hesitantly into the
darkened room. The only light was residual, reflecting here
and there off the polished surfaces of steel. She could see
an autopsy table at the far end, with the tell tale shape
of something on it.
 
Scully knew instinctually Mulder was here. Instinct -- or
was it the unique sense that connected them? Should she
risk turning on the light? No, and calling his name would
be equally distracting. She just needed to find him and
make eye contact, try to draw him back out of the world he
chose to drown in. Or perhaps not. Perhaps it was
sufficient to just be there for him, to be what they wanted
from her, a grounding force that stopped a one-way descent
into hell.
 
But her mind warred...better to let him sink into madness
than let him become...something clicked in here, some
realization. Is this what happened? Did he lose it,
becoming so melded with the mind of the killer that he
played out what the killer was? Was the pedophilia driven
only by insanity?
 
Scully walked slowly towards the occupied table. She
smelled something...something foul and rotten. Not
like and old corpse but something more...maligant.
It wasn't just unwashed Mulder, although that was
present too. No, this was something...worse. She 
shuddered, trying to ward off the feeling of despair 
as the blinding overhead light suddenly snapped on, 
disorienting her. Although she had expected to see him, 
his sudden appearance came as something of a shock.
 
"Mulder, what are you doing?" Scully asked in a gentle voice.
 
"C'mon, bitch, he's ready." It said. But was it a reply?
 
Oh God no! Why did she have to come? Scully! Get away! Go 
back! His mind screamed -- but it was too late. He was now 
apart from his body. Fox Mulder had been pushed away, into 
the farthest corners of the room, and his body was now in 
the control of the killer, mirroring the killers actions 
completely. 
 
Mulder could not stop it, could not control it and God how 
he had tried in the past. He wanted nothing more than to 
close his metaphorical eyes and shut it all out. Let the 
beast do what it will and he would come to claim his body 
back when it finally released him. He had seen Skinner 
arrive and begin to make his way there. Skinner could 
witness this in lieu of him. Skinner...and Scully. 
 
Scully swallowed as the primal part of her brain created
the expected hormonal feedback. Mulder's hardly
recognizable face moved to within inches of hers. His hot 
breath came in ragged gasps. And the stench of decay and rot
filled her nostrils. And yet...it did not seem real. It
seemed as forced as the insane look in her partner's eyes.
 
Oh, fuck. He's lost it entirely.
 
Her stomach turned at this, the most feared loss of all. A 
gunshot wound she could attend to but this...this? What to 
say, what to do to bring him back? Scully opened her mouth 
to speak but he pushed past her with a sickening leer 
directed at the far wall.
 
"He looks good, Sarah, shit he looks good. Why didja have 
to go and take a piss for, eh? You could have waited, you 
could have waited to do it on me afterwards...selfish 
bitch." His voice took on whining edge.
 
Scully's face drained of blood as his grotesque words
smacked her far more powerfully than any fist.
 
"Mulder, it's me, Scully."
 
It seemed unaware of her as it roughly groped at the air. 
"Are you wet yet, huh?" It's hand bumped her hip as it pulled 
back, but before she could react defensively Scully realized 
the contact was accidental.
 
"Yeah, you're wet, you fucking little cunt! You want it
bad, don't you! He's ready too...all soft and little and
sweet and white. Oh, Jesus, am I gonna give it to you. Look
at that little cock, so fucking perfect. Sarah! Hold him!"
 
Scully frowned in confusion as it strode around the
autopsy table like a big cat prowling its cage. Still
uncertain how to react, she stood quietly, waiting for the 
next cue before deciding. Is this what Forenzzi had
witnessed? This madness?
 
"Shut the fuck up!" It stopped and stared at the far
wall. But Scully could see its eyes focusing closer, just
inches in front of him. "Stop fucking sniveling or I'll cut
your fucking little throat! I can't stand it when they
whimper, at least not till I'm inside them, then they can
cry all they fucking like."
 
Scully had been unintentionally holding her breath and the
carbon dioxide built up finally kicked at her conscious and
told her to get on with it. She let it out in a long, 
soundless sigh, praying it would not distract him.
 
It moved, jerkily, like it was not completely in control
"That's it, that's it, get the trousers off...oh Jesus I can 
hardly wait, I'm so fucking hard I'm busting. Oh, God, it's 
gonna be good, sooo tight, so small and tight and good.
"Open his mouth, goddammit, I want his mouth first!"
 
Scully's eyes widened, the investigator's part of her mind
filing away this fact for later. The victim's mouths had
often been so badly mutilated, it had been impossible to
establish if...Suddenly, it lunged at the air in her
direction, its hips bucking. It pushed itself up against 
her, pushing the left side of her body back against the wall. 
It made no attempt to touch or restrain her but the 
uncontrolled power of its bucking movements momentarilly 
held her against the wall.
 
"Yes...I, God, I'm gonna...goddamned little cocksucker
...he bit me! He fucking bit me! Fuck it, I was starting 
to come...Jesus, I'm gonna make you pay for that."
 
Scully had always been acutely aware of her diminutive
size compared to the burly male agents she worked with. 
But Mulder, for all his height, was a fairly lithe build. 
The gentle power with which he had held her playing 
baseball a week before was a distant memory to the feeling 
of brute power pushing her into the wall. 
 
But so far, it made no move to deliberately touch or
restrain her, almost as if her presence was 
coincidental, accidental. How could she get through 
to stop this? Would he attack her if she tried? She 
diagnosed had become savagely psychotic, unable to 
recognize her or his surroundings, lost in the ravaged 
mind of the madman who had killed this child.
 
To her disgust, as he pulled away she saw an erection
straining its now stained trousers. This manifestation
drove home to her how utterly real it had become for him.
She stared in horrified fascination as it stroked itself
through Mulder's pants. Yet it all made a sick kind of 
sense. This then was what Forenzzi had seen, but he had 
not recognized it as madness. A part of her was relieved
beyond measure. This was not Mulder, this was not a
voluntary part of his nature, this was a madness that
took over his soul. God, was it possible to bring him 
back?
 
"Hold him, Sarah, I want the little fucker, *now*!
 
It fumbled for a moment, trying to release its
straining erection. It finally jerked the elastic of 
Mulder's pants and shorts down to its hips. Scully 
wondered if it might yet attack her. Mulder was gone and 
in its place a creature now lurked that might easily kill 
her. She slowly eased her right hand back to her weapon,
but its mad eyes focussed on her and she stopped moving.
But as she looked, she saw something.
They weren't Mulder's eyes...
 
"Stop fucking moving! Stop it, or I'll slit your throat
now!"
 
Scully stopped, unsure if its words were directed to her, 
unsure if Mulder, or the thing that controlled him, even 
recognized she existed or if her presence and movements 
were entirely coincidental. It lunged to stand over her 
once more, but although it came within inches, it still 
didn't touch her. 
 
"You little cunt, open you legs and let me slide in."
 
Scully grimaced at the filth it continued to spit in her
face. And by now, it was spitting, drooling and jerking. 
Mulder's exposed penis occasionally jabbed her stomach in 
a disgusting parody of intercourse. Suddenly it pulled 
back, the lunacy in its eyes turned to cunning.
 
"Okay, yeah, you're right...condom, gotta get the condom
otherwise *they* might find out. Okay, Sarah, yeah, get 
me the fucking rubber. Now, put it on for me while I hold 
him."
 
If he had a body he would have cried. Why? Why Scully? 
Fuck it why even Skinner, although he at least had some 
inkling of the truth. Jesus he could have done this alone!
He could have stood witness...Mulder pulled himself up 
short. He had no right for such self indulgent angst. 
He was in a far better position to witness this crime 
than either Scully or Skinner. And their eyes would be 
invaluable to extract every nuance from the killers' 
actions.
 
He ruthlessly pushed aside his emotions and watched the 
insanity of lust, felt its craving for sex, for blood, 
pushed the emotions aside and concentrated on what little 
he could see through the killer's eyes. He had picked up 
this particular skill quickly. At first his entire being 
had been stomped on, shoved to one corner of the room and 
left to watch in disgusted horror as this thing controlled 
his body. But he had quickly learned to follow its black 
path, to follow into the mind of the killer and see, at 
least partly, with his eyes. 
 
But it had been ten long years and the skills were rusty. 
 
Scully continued to slowly reach for her gun as she watched 
it grab something from Mulder's pocket. Its hand thrust out 
blindly, knocking her right hand away from the holster before 
she could unbutton it. There was a look of expectation in 
its eyes. Should she take it? Should she become involved 
in this madness or ignore it? Could she slip to one side 
and move away? Was she even visible to it? 
 
In hostage situations they were taught not to start
relating to the perpetrators or else they would lose
control. But this was not a hostage situation.
Or was it? Mulder was not there...so who or what now
possessed his body? How could she reach inside and
find Mulder?
 
Its eyes were focussed to one side of her and she decided 
she really had no part of his madness. But to pull him out, 
she had to reach in and get hold of Mulder. Shit. To do that 
meant drawing attention to herself and making her a part 
of his world.
 
<Scully! Jesus Scully! If you're gonna be part of this, 
*help me*! Help me see what *he* sees!> He looked down
on her, down on Skinner hidden in the shadows. He could
not stop this now, he was not longer part of it. But 
if she was going to be there to see...she might even
be able to assist.
He would have gagged at the thought if he had a throat.
But this was his gift. His curse. And now she knew...
<Scully, Christ I'm sorry, but I need you to make this 
end of the link as real as possible so I can *see*
more. Sarah's about to put it on him, *you* have 
to do the same to my body...> 
 
Until then, Scully had avoided looking at his exposed 
penis, trying in some measure to save his dignity when 
he came out of it.
 
Shit. If he came out of it.
 
She pulled her lip into her mouth and bit down, willing
herself to remain calm, willing the horrified revulsion
that was close to sending her stomach contents all over
him, from taking over. It was not the horrific nature of the 
display she was witness to, but that the perpetrator was 
Mulder...
 
But she knew. Even as skeptical as she was. She knew this
was not Mulder.
 
A shapeshifter perhaps? An evil Eddie Van Blundht?
Whatever it was, this was *not* Mulder. No way, no
way in hell.
 
Its hand waved around and bumped hers again as it thrust the 
small foil package out "Do it! Put it on!"
 
<God I'm so sorry Scully,> if he had the power, if he had a 
body he would have cried at the grief of loss.
 
Scully finally looked down and, if was at all possible, felt her
heart break even more. Logic overtook her instinct and she
shook her head. What if this *was* Mulder? It fitted. 
What Forenzzi said fitted. And he had planned this. He had 
gone out and deliberately bought condoms. Unshed tears 
glistened in her eyes. She had to partake in this if she 
had any hope of reaching in and helping him out. 
 
"Put the fucking thing on *now,* Sarah! Don't gimme that
crap about your goddamned hand, you got enough fingers
left to do this!"
 
That it was neither touching nor restraining her gave her 
some measure of courage, so she stepped closer and gently 
took hold of Mulder's penis. Somewhat shocked at the warm, 
pulsing velvet hardness, and his size and girth, a part 
of her wondered if it had been so long since she'd touched 
an aroused man she'd forgotten what it was like, how damned 
big they were when they were angry. Disgusted by the 
insidious thought, she began rolling the condom along his 
length.
 
The situation has not simply repugnant, or even horrific.
It was a surrealistic nightmare. Although her eyes told her 
this man was Mulder, touching him like this, under these 
circumstances made an abomination of what they were to one 
other. This was not Mulder. This was not his penis in her 
hands. This bore absolutely no relationship to any normal 
sexuality, that she could not even think of it as sexual. 
It was raw, violent evil.
 
Although she did not feel physically threatened in any way, 
for the first time in her life, Scully realized that the
act of rape or sexual assault in any form should never be
described as an act of sex. A different term, an ugly
vicious term should be used, a term that described betrayal
and violence and degradation and humiliation beyond belief,
of savage filth perpetuated on both mind and body. How
could the term sex be used in that context with what was
normal and beautiful? The fact that they employed the same
body parts? It made no sense.
 
Hands could be used to caress, to build a city and paint a
work of art, to carry a child and play music to move one's
soul, to literally hold a human heart and give life. But
hands could equally be used to kill and maim, to torture
and brutalize. Yet victims of brutality wielded by hands
did not fear hands that belonged to a loved one, they did
not fear the hands of healers and creators. And thus Scully
managed to separate this act from Mulder. An evil degraded
Mulder's body, using it to commit a travesty of sex.
 
Mulder's body jerked back from her after she'd covered only 
the first couple of inches of his penis, then it spun around 
to face the table. Although she still did not feel personally 
threatened, she reasoned that her interaction might yet 
draw attention to her. And if that happened, its violence might 
be directed at her. She reached for and cocked her weapon, 
then held it in surprisingly steady hands. She carefully aimed 
it at the soft spot in Mulder's shoulder where she knew from bitter 
experience, a penetrating bullet would do the least damage.
 
This was not deja vu, this was an entirely different
madness.
 
In a quiet, reasoning voice she asked "Mulder, it's me, 
Scully. What are you doing?" 
 
<Back off now Scully, I can see...leave it now, let me witness 
this horror alone...>
 
But the killer ignored her, unmindfull of her existance 
because he was a dozen miles away, unknowingly marionetting 
Mulder's body. Instead it swung back and in a move that 
shocked her already overloaded revulsion, reached out with 
its right hand to touch the long black hair of the girls' 
remains as it rested on the autopsy table. No other action 
he had taken so far had caused her such revulsion. 
This was an even more horrific situation than Donnie Phaster. 
 
"Oh, God, Sarah, this is good, soooo good. He's got such
pretty hair, just like yours, Sarah, honey colored. Yours is
short like this too, just like a boy's and you look so good
with your fingers up your cunt. You love this part, don't
you? Don't you?"
 
And then it hit her. The child on the table was a female 
with long black hair. Mulder knew that. Yet he had 
described a boy with short honey colored hair. What was 
this other thing in Mulder's body seeing? How was it 
related to this corpse, or was the presence of the corpse 
just a trigger? A trigger to see...what?
 
"Come over here and let me lick your cunt while I do
this. Oh Sarah it's so good..."
 
The killer rolled his eyes and here, twelve miles from the 
crime, it rolled Mulder's in tandem. The lids closed as
Mulder's body moved roughly, jerking spasmodically, without 
proper rhythm. It showed no awareness of Scully or her gun 
and she realized now that nothing she said or did would get 
through to Mulder. Her actions with the condom had been 
superfluous. Her presence was as a coincidental witness, 
no more, no less. She must allow this sick parody to play 
itself out till the finish, yet she could not bring 
herself to relinquish her weapon and walk away. 
 
Suddenly its left hand grabbed at the table. Picking
up a scalpel it swung the blade wildly in front of Mulder. 
It grasped at the air with its right hand, but jerked back
only once as it cried in Mulder's voice, "Keep your 
fingers working Sarah, your cunt tastes good, sooo 
good. Oh, God I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come it's so 
tight and sweet and...but you can't come yet, can you? 
You need the blood, you need me to do it to him dontcha, 
Sarah! Oh, yes!"
 
Its hand lowered the scalpel and Scully added pressure 
to the trigger, a part of her still fearful that it might yet 
leap at her. The slack nipple at the tip of the condom 
suddenly fill with semen as it slashed Mulder's hand down 
and across once.
 
"Oh God Sarah, yes! Come baby, come, see the blood...Oh
I'm coming baby...it's sooo good!"
 
Without warning, the killer dropped the scalpel and Mulder 
fell to the floor, seemingly unconscious.
 
He was slung back into his body. In control at last he
collapsed on the floor in mental agony. God it hurt, it 
always hurt so much, but only for seconds. Yet as with the 
last time, a decade before, he must now face a greater 
horror. 
 
Scully. 

**********************
End Chapter 3 Mirror Mirror

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 2:Mirror Mirror 3 of 5
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please! spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated R for graphic descriptions 
********************* 
CHAPTER 4

Day 10 - Monday
Coroner's Office, Seattle
8:20 p.m.
 
Scully's hands started to shake and she felt her face begin 
to collapse as shock finally overtook her. It took every 
ounce of willpower not to empty the contents of her 
stomach all over the floor.
 
She carefully removed her finger from the trigger, not yet
prepared to put away her weapon, but fearful of her
nervous hands. After a few deep breaths she relaxed her
hold but kept it aimed at Mulder. Only then did she see
Skinner standing in the shadows, his own gun aimed at her
partner. The shock of seeing him was like a physical blow
to Scully and her gun hand fell to her side. She clutched 
her stomach and leaning over quickly to grab at a large 
specimen bowl, heaved her heart out.
 
Skinner strode across the room and Scully collapsed onto
her knees. He took her hair and held it back from her face
as she emptied her stomach for the second time that day. A
small part of her wondered if this was why Mulder couldn't
keep anything down, because he felt this horrific monster
trying to dominate his mind. When the heaving finally
stopped, Skinner lifted her slowly and pulled her into an
embrace, handing her a surprisingly soft handkerchief. The
sight of it touched something in her, some memory of Mulder
silently holding out handkerchiefs to her during unexpected
nose bleeds. First one, then another deeper sob erupted 
from her tiny frame. But she quelled them, fast. 
 
Skinner held her rigid body tightly, cursing every one of
the bastards that had driven Mulder and this fine woman to
this perverted insanity. He held her until he felt her
relax a little, then pulled her back and demanded her eyes 
look at his.
 
"Scully, that...thing, that was *not* Fox Mulder."
 
Scully nodded and said, "I...I know."
 
"No, that's the problem, you don't. Dammit!" Skinner
dropped his hold on her and turned to look at the man now
sobbing quietly on the floor. He looked back at Scully to
see if she had heard her partner's cries. Scully wiped the
tears from her eyes with the handkerchief while she
holstered her weapon. She frowned in concern at her prone
partner.
 
"Scully, I came to give you that file. You should know
that Mulder had already agreed for you see it, before our
meeting this morning. But he asked me to hold off in the
hope it would not be necessary. I honestly did not think it
would happen this fast."
 
Scully's gaze was torn between her partner and Skinner.
But she wanted to get to Mulder. Only half-paying attention
to Skinner's words, she pulled off her black leather gloves
and steered around the A.D.
 
Skinner did not try to stop her when she crouched at
Mulder's side and felt his pulse. It was racing. The color
of his skin and clammy feel told her he was going into
shock. His sobs were almost unearthly and they tore at her
heart, despite the filth this man had just dragged her
through.
 
"We've got to get him to the hospital, he's going into
shock."
 
"No." Skinner put a hand on her shoulder.
 
Scully frowned up at him and pulling her professional mask
on. "Sir, I am a doctor and I'm telling you this man is
sick. He's going into shock. He has just suffered a severe
psychotic episode. He needs immediate incarceration and
medication if we are to be of any..."
 
"Scully, no..!" A cracked whisper reached her from the
floor.
 
Scully looked down at her partner's drawn face, "Mulder,
Mulder?" Her hands reached for his pulse again while
Skinner spoke.
 
"Agent Scully, it is not a psychotic episode. At least not
of any type you'll see in any psychiatric textbook. What
you were just witness to was literally a form of possession.
If they drug him up now, it will damage him, sending him
into a genuine psychotic state...that's why he...why you
need to read the file."
 
Skinner bent and touched the younger man's shoulder as he
spoke "Agent Mulder, I am very, very sorry I did not ensure
Agent Scully received it in time."
 
"S'all right...skeleton's finally out of the closet, huh?"
He smiled bitterly as his body was overcome with
involuntary shudders. "And now we have another 
victim...fuck."
 
Scully was confused. Everything she had ever been taught,
everything she held to be true flew in the face of this.
And what did he mean, another victim? How could he know 
that?
 
"Sir, this man *is* suffering from shock and we *have* to
get him to a hospital, *now*!"
 
"No!" Skinner and Mulder spoke in unison.
 
"Scully, no drugs, told you before...no drugs...just kill
me."
 
Skinner stood and reached across for one of the autopsy
blankets and wrapped it around Mulder's shoulders while he
angled the younger man up against the table's legs. In a
deft move Skinner reached down and pulled the condom from
Mulder's flaccid penis. He stood quickly and, grabbing
Scully's impromptu sick bowl on the way, strode to the
washroom.
 
Scully crouched in dazed confusion until she heard the
toilet flush and sounds of running feet. In seconds, others
would be here and for the moment, she wanted no one except
the three people in that room to know what had happened.
 
Swallowing the raw pain of bile and revulsion in her
throat, she quickly wiped the residue from Mulder's penis
with the edge of the autopsy blanket and pulled his track
suit pants up, with no regard for fine adjustment in his
shorts. She tried to look into his eyes to tell him it was
okay, but his face scrunched up in mortal agony. Tears
coursed down his cheeks and he began to rock back and
forth.
 
That's it, Scully thought. That. Is. It. He's going to
hospital. He was completely disassociative.
 
Skinner came back with a wet towel and glancing at
Mulder's trousers, nodded briefly to Scully as Agent's West
and Smith came barreling into the room.
 
"Call the paramedics." Scully snapped at West, who
abruptly halted at the sight of Mulder on the floor.
 
"No!" Skinner's voice arrested West's movement to reach
his cell phone.
 
"Sir, look at him! He is completely..."
 
"Agent Scully."
 
Scully had been on the receiving end of Skinner's wrath
before and it left her quaking. But the tone of his voice
this time was almost unearthly in its implied threat.
 
"Agent Scully, you will not disobey a direct order
especially given your ignorance of this situation." Scully
felt as if she were being slapped in the face. And for
Skinner to be doing it in front of two other agents,
especially after what she, what both of them had just
witnessed...Scully's eyes narrowed in righteous ire...
until she recognized the pleading look in Skinner's eyes.
 
Trust me, for once, if never again, just this once, trust
me. Trust Mulder, they said.
 
The room seemed to hold its collective breath until
Mulder's singular sob cut through the tension.
 
Skinner was the first to recover. He bent down and lifted
Mulder in his arms. To Scully's professional horror Skinner
slung her partner over his shoulder in a fireman's lift,
ordering West and Smith to clear a path through the morgue
and into the basement car park.
 
The two agents had the good sense to say absolutely
nothing until Skinner gently laid Mulder in the back of his
car.
 
Smith tentatively asked, of no one in particular, "What
now?"
 
Skinner replied, "Agent Scully will accompany Agent Mulder
and myself to the hotel. I'd like you two to go back inside
and clean up anything that looks out of place. Put the body
back, turn out the lights. Then go back to the hotel and
get some sleep. If anyone asks, tell them the truth, that
Agent Mulder was profiling and collapsed from exhaustion.
He'll be fine once he gets a good night's sleep and a hot
meal in his belly."
 
West and Smith glanced at each other. Sure. Fine. Whatever
the A.D. says.
 
Skinner motioned for Scully to give him her car keys.
Fumbling around, she pulled them out and handed them to 
her boss. He in turn tossed them to West. "One of you 
bring this back to the hotel, it's parked out front."
 
They turned and left without a word.
 
"Scully, get in the car." Skinner ordered.
 
Scully began to shake, seriously shake. She dug her
fingernails into her palms so hard they became slippery
with blood. It took some moments to get the buckle done.
 
"Agent Scully," Skinner spoke softly as he turned the
vehicle out of the morgue's basement car park. Scully's
face was turned outwards, watching the shards of light
through the raindrops on the window. They broke up,
fractionalized. She turned her face forward and watched the
windshield wiper drag pieces of light across her eyes.
Blood red, white, amber. Pieces of her soul and heart
fragmented and laying shattered and splotched across the
window.
 
Skinner called her two or three times, getting her
attention finally by shouting, "Dana!"
 
Scully blinked and stared at him, round eyed. That was the
second time today she'd faded out on him.
 
Skinner sucked his breath in at the look on her face. He
had to get this across, he had to get it across now! She
*had* to understand what had happened in there.
 
"Scully, listen to me. Mulder is *not* psychotic and he
did *not* do what you just witnessed. Just...just listen to 
me a minute. This is *nothing* to do with normal profiling. 
He can and regularly does them with one arm tied behind 
his back. Okay, he gets lost in them, forgets to eat and 
sleep and bathe, but that's the nature of profilers. 
And he's brilliant. You know as well as I that most people 
with eidetic memories haveaverage to low levels of
intelligence. Mulder's goes off the scale and he combines
that processing ability with the ability to recall and 
cross-reference everything he sees and reads. That in 
itself leads to extraordinary, uncanny predictions resulting 
in a solve rate that no one, past or present, has ever 
emulated.
 
"For the first year after the X-files was opened, Mulder's
solve rate declined as his theories got wilder. Then you
came on board and it shot through the roof again."
 
Skinner held up his hand to halt her expected protest
"Yes, I'm fully aware that black-lunged son of a bitch
brought you in to debunk Agent Mulder's work. They wanted
him back in the mainstream so they could keep him off
their backs and keep their fucking secrets. But they 
wanted him alive. They *needed* this talent. And they 
misjudged you. They thought they could use you and they
shot themselves in the foot. That's all beside the point,"
Skinner shook his head to get back on track.
 
"This...thing...this is something else entirely. You saw a
glimpse of it, just the edges, on the Mostow case. But 
somehow Mulder wasn't completely...receptive. He couldn't 
let go. Or maybe the thing couldn't take over Mulder's 
body for some reason and went for Patterson's instead. 
I don't know, it was as if, instead of just the mind of a 
killer, it really was a...a demon." Skinner's face 
scrunched up as he tried to explain a concept he hardly 
grasped himself.
 
Scully looked at her boss as if he'd grown another head. 
Skinner talking about demons as if they existed? What
was he trying to say, that Mulder was...possessed?
 
Skinner continued "Immediately after that I was called in 
by the director and made privy to a little known file, 
Mulder's file. It explained a hell of a lot to me, as it 
will to you, as to how the bureau continues to tolerate 
the X-files division, despite the pit stops along the way.
 
"Mulder's abilities have been a closely kept secret. It's
the real reason they called him Spooky...because it spooked
the bejesus out of those who witnessed it. It sure as hell
creeped me out, and I was half-expecting it. Not now, but
soon."
 
"How long were you standing there?" Scully's voice took on
a deadly tone.
 
"I know what you're thinking Agent Scully, but you can't
stop it. You can't stop him once it takes him over or you 
risk losing him...not into madness but into...losing
him from...his body. He has to get back in when its over.
And medication stops that, or slingshots him back out 
again and makes his body catatonic. Eventually, his body
would die and he would be left...adrift." 
Skinner grimmaced, trying to find the right words. 
"You have to ride it out. That's what Forenzzi never 
understood. He inadvertently saw an episode like this 
and had no comprehension that *it wasn't Mulder*! 
 
"Profilers try to get into the minds of killers. But this 
is not profiling. At first they thought it was the killer 
getting into *Mulder's* mind, a sympathetic form of madness.  
But that's not it, it's *not* a form of possession or 
psychic channelling nor astral travel. 
It's something else entirely. 


"When Mulder goes into deep profile mode, sometimes his
mind becomes so receptive to the killer's emotional intensity
that a sensory real-time link is forged. Once the connection 
is made, Mulder is forced from his body and becomes a passive 
observer. Meanwhile, his body is connected to the killer and 
mirrors the exact actions *as they occur*.  Patterson called 
it just that, mirroring. And that fucking son of a bitch did 
not see fit to debrief Forenzzi, so Forenzzi was left with the 
impression that Mulder was getting off surrounded by the photos 
of kids, dead kids, when it was the killer as reflected by
Mulder's body. 
 
"Agent Scully, what you need to understand is that we just 
witnessed the rape and murder of a child as it actually took 
place, through Mulder's body becoming a...a doppelganger, 
mirroring the exact actions of the killer. 
 
The horror of that reality hit her unexpectedly. She 
gagged and grabbed the sodden handkerchief, laid he 
head between her legs and sucked in deep, even breaths.
"How...how long has he been doing...this?"
 
Skinner negotiated a path through the traffic before he
continued, "It started about six months after he entered 
the BSU. The first time, Patterson was present. It was a 
horrific child mutilation case -- not as bad as this one, 
but bad. They understandably thought Mulder had lost it, 
gone completely round the bend. Called in the men in white 
coats and drug him up on Haldol and Thorazine, enough to 
knock an elephant out. But the more they gave him, the worse 
he became. In twelve hours all his vitals began to slide... 
he was literally dying. They tried every damned medication 
under the sun and with every new drug, he faded even more. 
Finally, the attending psychiatrist, Andrew Webster, 
realized they were getting nowhere fast. He made a decision 
that could have cost him his career, at the very least, but 
it paid off. Mulder owes him his life. Webster decided the 
only way to understand what was happening to Mulder was to 
dry him out, clean all the drugs from his system and start 
from scratch. Let him revert back to his natural psychotic 
state, whatever in hell that was, and rethink the treatment.
 
"Within forty-eight hours Mulder was back to normal. I
mean completely and utterly normal. One hundred percent fit
and mentally sound. No one, least of all Mulder, knew what
the hell had happened, although he swore that the entire
time he was *outside* his body. And he relayed complete
conversations between doctors *two rooms away*! He
couldn't get back *in* until the drugs cleared his system.
and without being inside himself, his body was *dying*.
 
"Naturally, he was immediately suspended on full pay pending 
an investigation of his psychiatric fitness. 
 
"On a desperate hunch, Patterson acted on the information
Mulder revealed during this...mirroring. It was so damned 
good they tagged and arrested the killer within twelve hours, 
saving two kids held prisoner in the process. But the real
shock came when Patterson discovered the timing of Mulders'
attack coincided exactly with the murder of the last victim.
And according to the other kids who witnessed it, the 
details were not simply similar, but frighteningly,
uncannily identical."
 
"Patterson nearly pissed himself when he figured out 
that under the right circumstances, Mulder's body
could become a conduit, a real time window to a crime
as it occurred, while his personality was pushed...
outside somehow. He convinced the powers that be that 
Mulder was an extremely valuable commodity that could be 
kept under wraps and used when necessary.
 
"Mulder was, as far as Patterson was concerned, more 
valuable than gold. You see, Patterson taught the men 
under him that to find a monster..."
 
"To find a monster, you have to become one yourself."
Scully replied softly. In this case, Mulder's body
could become the monster while his mind remained
lucid and free to observe.

Mulder's calm acceptance of Donnie Phaster now explained 
itself to her. Donnie had nothing, absolutely nothing on 
what an outside person would think of Mulder after seeing 
him in the same situation as what they had just witnessed.
 
Then Sully recalled the Roche case...Oh my God, she 
thought. As much as her science could not accept it, 
this...mirror, this marionetting of the killer's actions 
explained Mulder's receptiveness to the dreams. 
 
No.
 
No! She could not deal with this, it didn't make any sense!
 
But what was the alternative? What she had been witness to
was *not* Mulder. No way in hell would *Mulder* have ever 
done those things. Skinner's explanation was the only one 
that made *did* make sense.
 
Skinner glanced across at the small women tucked sadly
into the passenger seat of the car. He had been fearful
that Scully was far too absorbed in her own personal hell
to have been listening. He swallowed heavily and continued.
He should have known better.
 
"Patterson drove Mulder, drove him far beyond acceptable
limits. He treated him like shit, like some fucking
personal divining rod. Oh, he was good, damned good at 
pressing all of Mulder's buttons. He kept him on Valium 
between cross-country flights, herding him from one sick 
case to the next with hardly enough time to shower and 
shave between them. Patterson convinced Mulder that every 
new child or woman who died at the hands of a serial killer 
was one that might have been saved if Mulder had just 
allowed himself to be sublimated, to be *used* sooner. 
And the bureau turned a blind eye, too damned pleased 
to take the credit for quick resolution on the worst of 
these cases."
 
Scully closed her eyes and groaned, sickness of spirit
vying with outright nausea at the way these men had used,
abused him. The cancer they had given her seemed nothing
compared to this. Christ, he was just a wet-behind-the-ears
boy...Silent unshed tears scratched at the back of her eyes.
 
Skinner turned into the main part of town, cursing the
traffic snarled behind an accident. The best he could
figure was half an hour before Mulder woke up. How long
since it had happened, twenty minutes? Would they make the
hotel in ten? He shook his head and continued.
 
"Not only was their wonder boy the best profiler, he had
this...this ability to let them see the monster in action.

"It took five or six episodes before Webster, who'd been
assigned as Mulder's personal watchdog, came up with the
idea of monitoring brain wave activity. And that's when 
they figured it out. It's all in the file, Scully. They 
mapped  Mulder's normal brainwave activity. During one of 
these episodes it *shifts* into something, someone else 
entirely.
 
"I don't know much about it, but a person's brainwave 
pattern is as unique as a fingerprint, or their DNA. 
Webster later mapped comparative brainwave patterns of
the killers Mulder profiled, of the monsters we saw 
through him and he found the identical patterns in Mulder's
brain activity during these episodes.
 
"Scully this is not some weird schizophrenia, not by a 
long shot. This was direct, unequivocal scientific 
proof that Mulder has the capacity to mirror the killer 
*at the very moment the killer is murdering the victim*.  
How and where Mulder is *removed*. we don't know. All 
Mulder can say is that he's above his body, above the 
entire scene as it takes place. Mulder's the psychologist 
but even he can't explain the fact that he remains a 
passive observer the entire time. Although under the 
right circumstances, he can follow something of link and 
observe what the killer sees."
 
"I think this goes a long way in explaining how 
quickly he understood Robert Modell and his sister. It's
because, although he had not control, he had some
experience in what it felt like to have his personality
removed from the actions of his body.
 
"Scully, this is where it's important you understand what
I think is happening. You see, when he ceases mirroring, 
when he is given back control of his body, he remembers 
*everything*. And right now, that knowledge, that
awareness of you being there of seeing...being subject
to..." Skinner's lips curled in disgust "That's what
terrified Mulder the most. That's why he wanted you to
remain in D.C., why he disappeared on you, on all of us, in
the Mostow case.
 
"Scully, I understand how you were affected by Donnie 
Phaster, even before that son of a bitch abducted you. Do 
you understand now why Mulder feared you seeing him like 
this? He saw it as all your nightmares, every
conceivable horror all rolled into one -- and you would
naturally mistake him for being the source."
 
Scully swiveled her head and glared at Skinner. "And you
*knew.* You let him go on this case and you damned well
*knew,* you bastard."
 
Although her voice had been soft, quiet, it skewered
Skinner's heart.
 
"Yes, Agent Scully, I knew. And I didn't have any choice.
And neither does he, because too many lives have been lost
and we were not much closer to resolving this thing than at
the beginning -- until tonight." Skinner jerked his head at
the prone form of Mulder in the back seat, determined to
finish the story.
 
"Mulder managed to pull himself out from under Patterson's
thumb. I don't know that he would ever have gone along 
with it in the first place, except for his own personal 
guilt trip."
 
"Samantha."
 
Skinner nodded "We both know Mulder takes it personally
when he can't solve something. He takes every one of life's
fucked-up miseries under wing and tries to save them in
lieu of Samantha. It's very, very personal with him...but 
he's no fool. He put up with Patterson's shit for three 
years, obsessing, mirroring, on these sick fucks more and 
more. He'd seen two of his friends eat their own guns just 
doing *normal* profiles and watched Webster die in his arms 
in a fatal shootout early in 1989. Then Patterson demanded, 
in fact ordered, Mulder to skip Webster's funeral and catch 
the next flight to some other abominable mess halfway across 
the country.
 
"Mulder hadn't had a day off in almost three years. I
still don't know how he pulled it off, and I'm not sure 
what in hell happened to set Mulder off, but he went on 
the case and halfway through it, beat the crap out of 
Patterson, told him to shove it, then took four months off. 
When he came back, he went straight into the VCU. He agreed 
to take on *normal* profiles on a case by case basis, but 
refused to allow himself to mirror as he had before.
 
"How...how...if he has no control over it, how does he 
bring it on...or prevent it from happening?"
 
Skinner grimaced in uncertainty "I think his body needs to 
be run down. Lack of food and sleep deprivation seems to 
open him up to it, but he has no control over the timing 
because it depends on the killer. I understand he may have 
some warning, as the killer prepares his victim. Mulder 
apparently feels it coming on and tries to lock himself away 
from everyone, but sometimes it comes on too fast. And it 
works best if he has some contact with evidence of prior 
kills, like the corpse tonight, or photos or clothing. 
 
"We've backtracked Forenzzi's record. He was a case worker
in Michigan helping track another child killer. Apparantly
Mulder felt it coming on so fast he had no time to warn
Patterson or Webster, so he locked himself in his hotel room.
I called up the guy who was ASAC at the time and he
remembered Forenzzi said something about hearing some
cries from Mulder's rooms and breaking in the hotel door.
Patterson and Webster reached him about the same time,
but Forenzzi must have seen him handling the photos."
 
"That would explain his description of a blonde haired 
male, even though he was touching..." Scully mumbled, 
her analyst mind already fitting the pieces together 
before her logical faade convinced her this was crazy.
 
"Patterson met with him once and only once after that, in
the director's office no less, immediately after Mulder's
partner had been killed in a fatal shootout in September of
that year."
 
"Steve Wallenberg." Scully spoke softly.
 
"Yeah, of course, Mulder took it personally, blamed himself
even though he'd done everything by the book. Patterson 
swooped in for the kill and during the meeting he
threw a fistful of photos at Mulder and virtually accused
him of being responsible for the deaths of dozens of
children on cases Mulder wouldn't touch during his time in
the VCU.
 
"With the director himself making the request, Mulder
agreed to transfer back to BSU, conditional on Patterson
not watchdogging him. At first, Mulder stuck to normal
profiling. He had good reason not to mirror, but Patterson 
hung this guilt trip on him so often that four months 
later Mulder agreed to take on a case that had them in 
knots for almost three years. There was already a 
permanent rift between Patterson and Mulder, so another 
watchdog was put on him. The director blames himself at 
least in part, for what followed. Mulder immersed himself 
and mirrored this guy...but the timing sucked. Something 
went very badly wrong.
 
Skinner turned his indicator on and eased into a parking
space directly behind the hotel. He switched off the engine
and glanced over his shoulder at Mulder, still hunched on
the back seat, eyes close and face pinched. He was still in
the unconscious state brought on by the strange ability 
they'd come to know as mirroring. Skinner turned to 
Scully and took her hand in his before he spoke.
 
"This guy had been killing about every four months. Over 
three years he'd taken down eleven young men. The next 
one was due in a week. Everyone knew that and Mulder
prepared himself to be locked up and videotaped. But
it happened three days too soon and instead of a padded
cell, it happened while Mulder was in his apartment...
and it involved his wife."
 
Scully's jaw literally dropped open in surprise. But 
Skinner had already released her hand and was stepping 
out of the car.
 
"Scully, go around the front and get the fire escape door
opened."
 
Scully unbuckled her belt and moved like an automaton. Too
much. Too much crowded in her mind and her heart to be
dealt with. She blocked them off, building walls as fast as
she could, savagely pushing aside the grotesque image of
Mulder handling himself, of the slashing scalpel, as she
ran along the alleyway to the front of the hotel.
 
His wife...she hadn't even known he'd been married.
 
Fortunately, most everyone was in the dining room and she
avoided questioning looks about her disheveled appearance
and mascara stained face. Following the fire exit signs she
came to the barred door at the rear. Pressing down on it,
she was grateful that the owner complied with the building
code and kept it unlocked. She pushed it open and was
almost stepped on by Skinner as he maneuvered Mulder's 
body through. He glanced around, unfamiliar with the layout 
of the hotel, trusting Scully would have cased the entire
building soon after arrival. He was not disappointed.
 
Scully walked swiftly in front of the A.D., then turned to
ascend a flight of stairs. She wondered how her boss would
be able to carry Mulder up three flights, but he seemed to
have no difficulty.
 
They made it to Mulder's room just as he started to come
around.
 
Skinner lowered the younger man to the bed and began
stripping him. He told Scully to get a trash bucket and
make sure it was lined with plastic because any minute
Mulder would wake and the first thing he would do was
puke.
 
"How do you know all this?" Scully asked, then silently
cursed both her partner and Skinner for not giving her
access to this damned file one hell of a lot sooner. "And
why the hell did he keep it from me?"
 
Skinner turned to look at Scully over his shoulder as he
worked in Mulder's buttons.
 
"If the situation were reversed, Agent Scully, would you
tell Mulder?" he asked softly.
 
Scully was about to bite back a reply when Skinner added,
"Especially if you knew he wouldn't believe you?"
 
Scully's jaw worked to snap back a denial. But then she
froze.
 
Oh, God, of course.
 
Scully the skeptic. If it can't be proved, it's not real.
 
But all she had seen, all Mulder had opened her eyes to,
had at least taught her that there was much she could not
explain, at least not quite in her terms. She'd seen a
woman held in thrall against the ceiling of a house by a
maniacal boy, while that same boy lay in a hospital bed on
the other side of town. She'd seen a dozen, a hundred
things that made her realize her science had a few glaring
holes in it. Only a few weeks before, she herself had
suffered at the hands of some sort of psychic surgeon. But
had she ever admitted as much to Mulder? Had she ever once 
really conceded that he was right? Ever?
 
Had she?
 
But Skinner said the brain scans showed unequivicol 
evidence, substantiated proof! And yet, such evidence 
proved nothing other than that a different brainwave pattern
existed. It did not *prove* Mulder was not responsible 
for his body's actions.
 
Scully stood there agonizing over what would happen when
Mulder woke. He would remember, he would remember... 
Oh, God, the entire thing -- what he'd said and oh, fuck, 
what he'd done in front of her. What he'd said and what 
she'd done, rolling the condom...
 
Scully swayed as a different kind of fear now hit her.
Mulder, knowing her for the skeptic she was, knowing the
effect the Donnie Phaster had on her, would refuse to
believe she understood, that she knew the thing that
occurred that night had nothing to do with him, or her.
Nothing to do with them...
 
It would destroy him, thinking, knowing, he disgusted her
as much as the sick evil fucks who killed with such
perverted pleasure. Worse, that she had worked and trusted 
him all these years and he had turned out to be hiding the 
heart of a monster.
 
Oh, God, how can I convince him otherwise? Please, dear 
Lord help me, help me find a way to convince him I know, I
really know it was not him but a conduit that uses his 
body. How can you give this man this...talent...to fight 
your monsters, but deny him the ability to be loved 
because of that?
 
Mulder's groans snapped her back to reality. Scully
blinked and saw Skinner pulling the trash container up to 
Mulder's bare chest just in time. Scully mentally slapped 
herself and, kicking off her shoes and dropping her coat, 
strode into the bathroom and turned on the hot shower. 
Skinner had stripped the younger man down to his shorts 
and socks. Scully realized such an experience would be 
akin to rape and that Mulder would need to cleanse
himself. She looked across at the vanity and snatched up
the toothbrush and paste.
 
Outside, Skinner held the younger man steady as he heaved
bile into the container. It shocked Skinner that Mulder
brought up little but fluids. When the hell was the last
time Mulder ate? And yet, this starvation would have been
necessary to make him recepetive.
 
Finally, Mulder stopped retching and began to shiver. 
Skinner put his arms under Mulder's shoulders and walked 
him into the bathroom. Mulder opened his eyes enough to
get a glimpse of Scully. His face pulled in on itself in 
agony.
 
"Get her the fuck outta here!"
 
"Mulder, it's all right!" Scully touched his arm but he
flinched from her as if from a firebrand.
 
"No!" His voice fractured, acid bile having burned his
throat. "Jesus, Skinner, what sort of sick fuck are you, get
her out! Get her as far the hell away from me as possible!"
 
"Mulder, listen to me. I know what happened, I know it
wasn't you!" Scully cried.
 
Mulder turned to Skinner, pulling his arm away and swaying
"Get out! Both of you, just get...out!"
 
Skinner looked troubled, he had absolutely no idea what to
do in this situation. The one and only psychiatrist who'd
treated Mulder was dead these ten years. Patterson might
have been able to help, but he was locked away in genuine
insanity. The files said only that Mulder completely
recovered within an hour or so of each incident...except
for the last one and even Skinner could find out no more
about it other than a dropped assault charge and the terse
notation of marriage annulment.
 
He didn't need to connect the dots on that one.
 
In a burst of anger and frustration Skinner turned and
slammed his fist into the bathroom door, splintering the
timber work.
 
Ignoring both of them, Mulder stripped his socks and
boxers then stepped into the cubicle and thrust his head
under the healing spray of the shower. He was way past
modesty now. Scully had more than a fucking eyeful that
night.
 
Shit. Here we fucking go again.
 
The pain of loss grabbed at him so strongly he staggered
and thrust his arms out to gain balance. He leaned against
them and allowed the quiet sobs to wrack his body as he
slowly slid to the bottom of the shower. Nothing would wash
the pain away, nothing could make him clean, ever again. He
was filth in her eyes. Beyond filth, beyond anything even
vaguely human.
 
Scully quickly looked at Skinner's knuckles then glaring
at him, ordered him to find some ice and fix it himself.
She had more important things to attend to than his guilty
conscience.
 
She stripped her jacket and removed her gun and holster. A
latex glove fell from nowhere and she realized she must
have grabbed it with her impromptu sick bowl, then
inadvertently tucked it under her holster. She picked it up
and was suddenly revolted by the dried blood and gore, and
evidence of her being ill. But the sight of the ugly,
crumpled, disgusting thing suddenly inspired her. She
glanced across at Mulder crouched in the corner of the
shower, silent tears cursing down his beautiful face now
made ugly by grief. Scully smelled herself and the
splattered vomit on her clothes and the glove. Tucked down
inside her skirt, the glove had left a wet patch of
something indescribable against her blouse. Lovely. She was
suddenly desperate to be in that shower, to be under that
hot, cleansing water with her partner. She stripped
everything but bra and panties and, carrying the glove with
her, stepped into the relatively large cubicle and crouched
down before Mulder.
 
"Mulder, Mulder look at me."
 
He shook his head, too pained to yell at her,
"Scully, go away."
 
"Damn you. Mulder, don't you go haring off into that self-
pitying black hole again! I know what happened *and
it wasn't you*!"
 
"Yeah, right Scully. And you believe in all that paranormal
shit all of a sudden, right? How fucking convenient."
 
"Look at me Mulder...look at this!"
 
He sat shaking his head back and forth, wishing she would
just go away. He could not open his eyes and see the
loathing hidden in those beautiful eyes. He could never
face that. Knowing was bad enough but having to see it...
 
Scully knew it would be almost impossible to get through
to him. But she had managed it before, in goddamned worse
situations than this.
 
"Jesus, Mulder, you think I'm gonna run out on you for
this? What about that time you had a hole drilled in your
stupid head and pointed a gun at me? I didn't leave then
Mulder and I'm sure as hell not going to leave now. You're
my goddamned partner, for better or worse."
 
He needed her. Christ, he needed her. But she would never
trust him again. He had to know, he had to know before his
guts turned inside out. If he gave her time to recover she
might be able to hide it. But if he caught her unaware...He
snapped his eyes open and stared at Scully long and hard.
 
The look of sheer relief and genuine pleasure in her eyes
was made almost ethereal by a subtle smile on her lips. A
smile that reached her eyes.
 
He frowned in confusion until he felt her hands take his.
He looked down as she made him take a slippery, odious
latex glove in one hand. It stunk of vomit and his first
reaction was to drop it but something told him it was
important. His eyes questioned her.
 
"It's like that glove, Mulder," Scully intoned quietly.
She held up her hand, soft and unblemished and put it in
his other hand. "From a distance, to the untrained eye, it
looks like it's part of me, it's almost transparent. But
it's not me. It's nothing to do with me or what I am. It's
a skin, a tool I pull over my hand when I handle something
horrible. And I've handled more horrible things than even
you can imagine, Mulder. But they don't affect *me*, they
don't ever touch *me*, because when my job is done, when my
part is done trying to piece together the horrors that are
perpetrated on people, I pull off this glove," Scully
pulled the slimy object from Mulder's grasp "And toss it
away."
 
Scully threw the offensive object into the toilet boil and
reaching up, flushed it. The hotel would have a fit if they
knew, but right now, she didn't give a flying fuck how many
toilets got backed up.
 
"And what remains is just this. Just my hand, a bit sweaty
and in need of a wash but still *just* my hand. Mulder,
does this hand repulse you?"
 
The beginnings of a smile touched the corner of his mouth
and his head shook almost imperceptibly.
 
"Your job, your talents are different than mine, Mulder. You
pull on a different skin, a different tool to help you
reach into the minds of the killers or the victims, while 
I reach into their bodies. We each approach the same job 
from different angles, with different tools. When we're 
finished, we peel off those skins and throw them away. A
nd what remains is what's always been there, untouched, 
unblemished."
 
Unbeknownst to the two agents, their boss had stood
quietly by the door and watched the entire exchange. He
feared a violent outburst from Mulder at any moment,
especially after Scully stepped in the shower with him.
Having witnessed almost the entire incident at the morgue
Skinner simply could not believe Mulder would recover so
fast. And Scully...shit. But Skinner let his head rock back
against the door frame in relief.
 
Scully.
 
Goddamned that man if he didn't appreciate the loyalty
and...love she gave to him was like nothing he'd ever
witnessed before.
 
Skinner sighed softly and returned to the main room. He
closed the door quietly to give them some privacy, then
spent a few minutes tidying up the place and bagging the
trash before he left and went next door to his own room.
 
Mulder wanted very much to take his partner in his arms
and just hold her, but he didn't have the strength, or know
quite where to start. He shook his head in amazement and
chuckled.
 
"And I'm supposed to be the psychologist. Think I'll
resign and hand the mantle over to you."
 
Scully smiled and took his hands in hers. She wanted to
hold him close, needing him close to block out the images
of that other...thing. Emboldened by her own emotional
exhaustion she reached across and pulled him to her.
Unresisting, he allowed her to fold himself in her lap. A
half dozen risque comments came to mind, but he rejected
every one. Despite Scully's ability to forgive him, what
had happened involved his body and he needed to steer well
clear of anything sexual. He wasn't sure when, or if he
could ever get that back again. Because this night had not
yet finished.
 
"So, Scully, any skeletons you'd like to share with me to
even up the ante?"
 
"I don't know, Mulder, depends on how many more you've got
left in that closet of yours."
 
"You got that many, too, huh?"
 
Scully chuckled. Maybe now was the worst time to mention
it, but if not now, when?
 
"Mulder...why didn't you ever tell me...was it because of
your wife?"
 
She felt him jerk then stiffen in her arms and she
regretted it instantly.
 
Fuck.
 
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath then pulled away
from her. He knew his timing sucked. He was not trying to
distance himself from her because of that. But holding an
almost naked Scully in a hot shower, while he was
completely naked, was going to embarrass the hell out of 
him if he didn't move soon. Fuck, not that she hadn't seen 
it every fucking inch of it in full living color only an hour 
or so before.
 
Fuck.
 
Shit, he wasn't even up to cursing with a more imaginative
dialogue.
 
He wanted to stand and wash and brush his goddamned
teeth, but not while she was here with him.
 
"Scully, look I realize it's a bit late for false modesty,
but I need to get cleaned up..." he looked at her with
pleading eyes.
 
A shadowy look of disappointment crossed her features. But
she understood that if their positions were reversed, she
would feel the same. As she stood and stepped from the
shower stall, Scully missed the expected innuendo about her
matching silk burgundy undergarments.
 
A sadness crossed her heart. As much as she had huffed and
raised eyebrows over his risque, bordering on sexist,
humor, it frightened her that he was cutting himself off from 
her.
 
She had to stop this. Now.
 
"Mulder, throw the glove away. I have. I don't want to lose
you to this."
 
He glanced up at her and grinned. "You waiting for me to
comment on your shower attire, Scully?"
 
She grinned back in relief as she handed him his toothbrush,
"That's okay, Mulder, you just have."
 
Scully grabbed a towel and opened the door to leave but
glanced back quickly and asked, "Hungry?"
 
"Enough to eat that underwear, partner."

****************************************
End Chapter 4 Mirror Mirror

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 2:Mirror Mirror 4 of 5
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please! spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated R for graphic descriptions 
********************* 

CHAPTER 5

Day 10 - Monday
Central Hotel, Seattle
9:30 p.m.
 
"This analysis," Mulder added as he pushed the remains of
the lasagna aside, "is not an attempt to profile, leave
that to me. Mirroring is a valuable reference source, in
this case, witnessed by three trained observers. None of it
is admissible evidence, however, observations will assist in
apprehending the suspects. We have three different
perspectives and I need to cross reference the events in
minute detail in order to extract the maximum benefit."

Mulder met both Skinner's and Scully's eyes firmly. He was
relieved almost to the point of tears that Skinner had been
witness to the mirroring in the morgue. What had passed
between the killer, as seen through his body and Scully
would not be retained as an ugly little secret between
them. For all Scully seemed to accept that this manifestation of
the murderer had nothing to do with the persona of Fox
Mulder, Mulder knew he had destroyed any chance of a more
intimate relationship between them. His heart clenched at
the loss, but he knew it must be. That was a door he would
never open again. 

Ever.

In truth, a large part of him was relieved. Scully now
understood that his mind was a tool that could channel a
murderer. Her wonderfully gentle analogy to a glove was not
lost on him...but he was a psychologist. He knew full well
she could never see him in as a lover without being
reminded of that night, No sane woman could. Scully
was...Scully and she would deny it to protect him. But he
knew. 

God, he loved her...and to have her friendship and
companionship... he'd been selfish to hope there might be
something more. It really was for the best, now they could
put it past them and fall back into the easy, familiar ways
of partnership...he hoped. For even that must be savagely
tested by probing the ugliness they had all been witness to
that night.

Skinner's presence would hopefully convince Scully that he
was not goading her, even though a part of him admitted to
that at the outset. This exercise would be an invaluable
profiling tool. But equally it would prove to be a
catharsis of sorts, or drive a permanent wedge between
them. 

If it 'twere done, then best it be done quickly... 

"Sir," Mulder picked up his notepad as he addressed his
boss "You have the advantage of Scully in that you have
read over the prior mirroring events." Mulder's eyes
flickered between them. Wrapping his psychology Ph.D.
around his bearing, he defied them to look away.

"Scully, as much as I'd prefer you fully briefed before we
go into this, we need to do this now. We don't have the
luxury of time. I'd suggest you follow up on that file
Skinner gave you tomorrow. Although we achieved a great
deal tonight, I am under no illusions it will suffice."

The implication was clear. Scully swallowed but refused to
take her eyes from her partner. "Mulder, just before we
start, do you have much warning prior to these incidences?
Can you control the onset?"

Mulder screwed up his face in distaste. "It varies. It's
been ten years... I came close in the Mostow case. I felt the
warning signs but it seemed to...sheer off me somehow, as
if it couldn't get a grip. There was something greater,
more...evil at work there. If I'd opened up, I had the
feeling it would kill me. 

"But to answer your question, when I was profiling full
time, I began to feel the trace edges up to hours before it
happened. It depends on how much time elapses between the
killer anticipating and actually undertaking the sexual
assault and kill. If we were pretty certain of a kill
pattern, we could anticipate a time frame, sometimes to
within hours of the event. In the last cases I'd stay in a
locked evidence room, or at the crime scene or morgue, with
a couple of trusted witnesses and the mirroring episode was
video taped. 

"Before you ask, all tapes were destroyed to protect me.
As paranoid as I am, I have no doubt of that. 

"Last night, I had ten, maybe fifteen minutes warning. If
you're asking if I can call it up, or control my behavior
in any way, the answer is no, at least not when mirroring a
killer. The only thing I know for certain is that it
generally follows a period of sleep and food deprivation.
Extreme cold or physical pain helps." He smiled self-
deprecatingly. "It's kind of like the old yogis going into
a trance state. I'm sorry, Scully, but we really don't have
time to go into details. There are extensive psychiatric
reports in my file. None of them really explain it, but
they do cover a lot of ground. Right now, I need to cover
the events of tonight. You'll have to catch up with the
files later."

Scully wanted to ask if he mirrored other people besides
killers, but shelved the question for later. She was
somewhat surprised Mulder was so politely forthcoming and
didn't want to push him. Given his mood the previous
days...but then she recognized he had encapsulated himself
in a professional facade. 

Now she must do the same.  

"Before we begin, I'm going to point out the obvious.
Please try to be very detailed. You *must* ignore that it
was my body used and concentrate on the unique
characteristics, the movements and actions of this killer.
I cannot stress the importance of this too much. Nothing,
no residual movements were mine, Fox Mulder's, so if he was
jerky or waddled because he is naturally uncoordinated or
overweight, that's what you have to see. Now, sir, you
entered the room just after it started?"

Skinner looked up in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"Even when it closes my body's eyes, I can see what's
going on around me. In fact, generally better than normal.
I could see you running down the hallway."

Skinner didn't react, recalling something about that in
Mulder's file. He glanced at Scully. They'd discussed the
obscene pathology and unbelievable depravity of crimes
before, and it never bothered him. Despite what Mulder
said, despite what he knew, this time it was different.

But he forced himself to rethink it. Scully was a
pathologist. She'd had to deal with violent sexual
offenses, fetishists, the whole damned spiel. As
humiliating for Mulder and distasteful as the night's
revelations had been, it was nothing compared to what
they'd been exposed to in the past.

Mulder added, "Okay, all three of us saw pretty much all of
it. Now, we need to replay the conversation in its
entirety. I can recall his dialogue letter perfect, but I
need your opinions regarding the nuances and of his voice.
He was aggressive and impatient, but what else?"

They spent the better part of an hour carefully
transcribing the words and discussing the personality
characteristics based on vocal tone and inflections.

Mulder took out a legal notepad and drew two columns. On
the left he had written "male" and on the right "female".

The discussion swapped between the three of them for
almost two hours, observations mixed with opinions. The
first and most relevant point to date was the confirmation
that at least two individuals were involved in the latest
murder.

 

Under "Male A" Mulder wrote:

1. No patience, not into delayed gratification. Sexual act
took place soon after victim was acquired.

2. Limited dialogue; average to below average
intelligence; unusual.

3. Fetish: golden showers, hair, nails.

4. Bisexual.

5. Needs to inflict pain, but only during intercourse,
otherwise does not physically damage the victim.

6. Short-tempered, intolerant of distractions.

7. Requires additional stimulation to reach orgasm:
visual, olfactory.

8. Once the act is complete, he would be gratified and
have no further use of the body. He is not the one
dismembering or disposing, nor is he the one to collect the
trophy.

 

Mulder stopped writing, frowned and commented, "The
requirement to give oral satisfaction to the female, Sarah,
is unusual. Normally, that sort of action is indicative of
an extremely dominant female and subservient, very
subservient male."

Skinner looked up but didn't comment. Scully, however,
raised her eyebrow and said, "Is that a general observation
Agent Mulder?"

Skinner raised his eyebrows and looked down.

Mulder glanced up, slightly glassy eyed and frowning,
trying to piece something together. He blinked when he
noticed Scully's countenance then replayed the last few
sentences in his mind. Lifting the corner of his mouth he
replied, "No, Agent Scully. As you're aware, virtually
without exception, serial killers gain some form of direct
or displaced sexual gratification from their actions.
Generally speaking, the act of oral sex is subservient,
giving gratification without any direct reward. A man
forcing fellatio on a victim humiliates them, dominates and
denigrates them. Women are generally less powerful in this
regard. Cunnilingus requires not simply an open mouth,
willing or otherwise. It requires a certain degree of
active participation by the giver, a finesse if it is to be
in any way successful. In normal relationships, oral sex is
a reward unto itself, the giver often being sexually
gratified by the control of pleasure they in fact have over
the recipient. It implies mutual trust and affection, even
if it is still illegal in some states."

Skinner looked up in surprise and Scully blinked. Mulder
just smirked. "'S true! As law enforcement officers you
should be aware of that. Never know when you might have to
police it."

Scully's eyebrow rose and she muttered, "Mulder,"
threateningly. 

"Seriously, Scully, at least half a dozen states have laws
prohibiting fellatio, and in some, cunnilingus...no, I am
not going to tell you which ones, but there's gonna be a
quiz next Friday."

Scully glared at him. "Get on with it Mulder."

Skinner couldn't help the corners of his lips twitching.
He was vastly relieved to see Mulder's perverse sense of
humor and the casual banter between his two agents. This
should be okay, he thought, it might really, really be okay.

"Serial killers are not big on affection and trust. This
guy is not big on delayed gratification, either, so he has
become subservient to the female, Sarah...I'd go so far as
to say she acts as his dominatrix. It fits, Scully. The guy
slits this kid's throat because she gets off on it,
literally. He's willing to kill for her. However she is the
one with the power, so much so that he has associated oral
gratification to her with his own gratification -- but for
entirely perverse reasons relating to his submissive
behavior. As much as Freud sucks, this guy had a
domineering mother, almost definitely one who used him
sexually. However there is another vital, in fact far more
important factor at play. I can't explain why I know,
because I couldn't actually see any cameras, but they were
filming this." His eyes suddenly unfocused as he
remembered a school play on stage. "That's it!" He sat
forward and glanced excitedly between them. "It's the lights!
My vision is always limited...but in this case I couldn't
see far because of the glare of the studio lights! This is
not a cheap video flick, this is a commercial operation!"

Skinner had sat through countless discussions of the
sexual predilections of these human monsters and he
understood the necessity for criminal profilers. Although
he had come to expect nothing less than professionalism
from his two agents, given the circumstances of the
discussion, he was once again reminded of Scully's
indefatigable resilience, especially when the discussion
turned entirely too personal.

"Scully, in the autopsy reports, it was originally
proposed that each victim was penetrated vaginally, where
applicable and universally, anally. What about orally?"

"The victims' chins and lower faces were often damaged by
the decapitation process. The evidence was inconclusive.
However the last victim's mouth was intact, although there
was no damage or bruising to the lips, tongue or palate."

Mulder nodded and made a notation. "I'll get back to that.
What made you conclude object penetration in some cases?" 

"Depth mostly. Although object penetration is normally far
more violent and damaging due to the nature of the objects
use and the force with which they are applied, often being
the cause of death. I was frankly surprised at the small
amount of damage inflicted on the victims in this area.
It's possible that a finger might have been used, but not
to great depth and no sign of scratching from nails. In
none of the three recent ones I examined were there skin
irritations due to latex reaction...but that only means
they had no allergies. It certainly doesn't preclude the
use of a condom or the inability to ejaculate. There was no
question they had been penetrated unwillingly. There's
certainly sufficient tearing to indicate that."

"Okay, my original profile worked under the assumption
that one UNSUB may be impotent, using objects to take out
ungratified sexual frustration on the victims, and that he
would continue in this vein because of his inability to
find release. Though like you, I couldn't understand the
lack of force. If he was using his penis, he did not
penetrate far and was probably unable to ejaculate. I knew
this wasn't right, but couldn't get a handle on why until
tonight."

Skinner asked "So what are you thinking now?"

"Look at your notes, Sarah holds the victim while he
penetrates. He's only talking to Sarah that way to prove to
himself he's in control, but he's not."

"Mulder, did he actually penetrate, or use external
friction?"

"He penetrated, Scully."

Scully mentally took a grip on herself. Refusing to lower
her gaze she replied, "Mulder, something of that size most
certainly did not enter those I thought were object-
penetrated."

Mulder's eyes shone in amusement. As ugly and humiliating
as it had been, he was fully aware that he was endowed
reasonably well, in fact a little better than reasonably
well. "Scully, as I said at the outset, don't mistake the
messenger for the message."

Scully instantly realized the stupidity of her error and
mentally grimaced as a flush climbed her cheeks. Skinner
glanced at the female agent and knew then, with absolute
clarity that these two had most definitely not been
involved in any sexual, Bill Clinton-defined or otherwise,
relationship.

Mulder was not going to pull any punches.

"Sir, there is a significant point here that I can't
honestly recall, but I need for you both to be very clear
on. Scully, I'm sorry, and believe me when I say I'd much
prefer not to dwell on this, but it's important."

Scully blinked only once, her face carefully composed and
neutral. "What is it, Mulder?" 

"The guy has an abnormally small penis. I don't mean just
a little under you average six inches or so, I mean
preternaturally so. I'd say no more than three inches and
small circumference, almost pre-pubescent...would that be
conducive to the depth of penetration?"

Scully nodded, "Yeah, that would be about right."

Skinner couldn't help his curiosity "What evidence do you
have about his physical size? Could you actually see him?"

"A little. It's the one small piece of control I have.
Unfortunately it's always hazy, blurry and it doesn't help
identify Sarah because she was wearing a mask, only her hair
was visible. But yeah..did at any time he touch himself?

Skinner replied, "I really couldn't see much from my angle,
but it didn't appear that way."

"Scully?" Mulder swung his eyes around and caught sight of
her closed expression.

Shit. He was pushing her on this, too hard. But he had to
know. He desperately wanted to touch her and apologize and
tell her this was nothing to do with him and what he was.
This was nothing about anything that might have once been
possible between them. 

But he could do nothing. Any such recognition would give
some sort of personal meaning to an event he wanted viewed
clinically. In her mind, it would weaken her, emphasize her
femininity. If she were a man, they could sit around and
make fun of his cock and rib him how fast the guy had shot
his wad or depending on the circumstances of the crime,
what crappy hand action he had. Hell, that's the way they'd
gotten through it a dozen times in the past. 

But he did not have that recourse now.

Scully's face smoothed immediately and she opened her eyes
and stared unflinchingly at him. It was immediately
apparent she had shut her eyes to concentrate. "No, he only
ever touched the corpse and scalpel."

Mulder sat forward, gratified Scully had reverted to the
third person to describe the acts. "What hand did he cut
with?"

"Left."

Bingo!

Mulder grimaced before he phrased his final question.
"Okay, last point, when did he ejaculate, before, during or
after the throat-cutting?"

Skinner looked at his notes and reread the transcript,
Scully closed her eyes again to relive the scene.

"During." Scully opened her eyes and glanced at Skinner 

"I couldn't see as clearly, but I'd have to concur."
Skinner added.

"It's unanimous," Mulder added.

"Is that important?" Skinner ventured.

"Oh yeah, most definitely. Although he said that Sarah
gets off on the blood. I really don't want to go into that
now." Mulder scribbled more notes on his pad. "Because it's
late and I want to cover the other points. 

"Scully, can you go back and do a swab in the latest
victim's mouth? He partially ejaculated there first."

Scully blinked, glanced down at her notes and said, "Okay,
he says he was starting to come...then the victim bit him.
But he wasn't wearing a condom yet and..." A second blush
coursed up her cheeks. 

Skinner looked very interested in his notes. 

Mulder bit his bottom lip and said softly, "Imagine what
accounting's gonna say when you have to fill out that line
'reasons for clothing reimbursement.'" 

Their ongoing nightmare with accounts for reimbursement of
thousands of dollars in clothing and shoes was a running
joke between them -- *corrosion from bile ducts, corrosion
from alien blood, immersion in sewers, abduction by unknown
perpetrators, abduction by government employees, abduction
by terrorists, abduction by aliens, gunshot wounds, buried
in mud by vindictive trees, buried in more mud by a giant
mushroom, dragged behind an R.V., blood and brain
matter stains, gouging by a wolf woman, gouging by
mothmen...* the list was endless. 

Scully couldn't help it, her face broke into a grin, then
a chuckle. 

Skinner, all too familiar with his agents' extraordinary
accounting problems allowed the corner of his lips to curl.
Before he realized he'd opened his mouth he added, "Don't
worry Agent Scully, I'll back you up on this one."

Scully's eyebrows lifted but Mulder decided he couldn't
cope with his boss's humor.

"Anyway, try a swab, might get lucky. Since he was killed
soon after, there may be some trace."

Scully nodded and Mulder glanced at his notes again.

"Okay, let's backtrack. I can't see Sarah's..."

Scully interrupted, a nagging feeling at the back of her
mind. "Mulder, the condom?"

Mulder put down his down and rubbed his hands across his
face before replying. 

"Serial killers receive sexual gratification from their
acts. The majority plan ahead, delaying gratification for
weeks, even months. This guy is different. His vocabulary
of expletives is limited to two or three words. He's not
smart -- in fact below average intelligence. He does not
plan ahead and would never consider using a condom. However, 
he is not the one in control, Sarah is. She forces him to use
it, aware that traces of semen could be used to convict,
possibly even identify him."

"No, that's not what I meant Mulder. Why did you have one
on you?"

Mulder and Skinner answered simultaneously

"C'mon Scully, what sane guy doesn't keep one in his
wallet?"

"The hotel supplies the same brand with their bathroom
kit. This incident with Agent Mulder is a typical
manifestation."

Half wishing Skinner had allowed him the illusion of a normal
sex life, Mulder added, "I realized yesterday this might
happen. Past autopsies show no trace of seminal fluids,
hence they used them, so I put one in every set of trousers
I own. 

"Scully, your...assistance...was not necessary insofar as
the killer would not have noticed there was no condom on me,
because he is unaware that my body is emulating his. But
for *me* it proved vital, because it occurred exactly as
Sarah put it on him. The closer my body emulates reality,
the better I can see what the killer is seeing, so actually
putting a condom on, instead of pantomiming it, allows me
to see more clearly. *That* gave me a clear window into
seeing this guy's penis. Without you, I might not have seen
that and when we find the latest victim, your autopsy
report would have confused the hell out of me because you
would have cited object penetration based on the minimal
depth. Now we know why, and now we know for certain there
is another couple, including a male with no genital
abnormalities, involved in the crimes.

That she had proved to be of assistance in this way was
enormously gratifying to Scully. A part of her mind was
already considering how much better she could do in the
future. From a purely clinical perspective it was far less
difficult than inserting a catheter into a man's penis.
And she'd had to do that to Mulder after shooting him and
placing him in an artificial coma to drive halfway across
the country.

"All right, I'd like to go back and further detail
physical descriptions." Mulder added "But how 'bout some
coffee, first?"

Scully picked up the house phone and rang through to the
restaurant below. Although there were facilities in the
rooms, the hotel provided the best Vienna style she could
remember. 

After the order was taken, Mulder went back to his notes
and began.

"We know her name is Sarah and she has short, dirty blonde
hair. It's either natural or the best Clairol job I've ever
seen. Now this is unusual, even true blondes tend to be pi-
bald when it comes to public hair, but this women is blonde
all over. Again, it could be a dye job, but I doubt it. And
she shaves herself, just around the vagina, not the mons.
But the best lead of all is, she has only a thumb, index
finger and half the joint of her middle finger, on her left
hand."

"Rings, tattoos, signs of age?" Skinner asked.

Mulder shook his head. "Can't see, can't even be sure of
her age, no recollection of liver spots, wrinkles or not.
But the fingers thing is pretty good."

"Especially given her name and hair color," Skinner added.
"What about him, Mulder, anything apart from his genitals?"

"No, and I can't really see us putting out an APB on guys
with little dicks. Can you imagine the line up? 'All right
everyone whip 'em out.' Shit, under those circumstances
they'd all be the size of peanuts...I suppose we could tell
'em to get 'em hard, although I think the civil liberties
folks'd choke."

Skinner chuckled while Scully glared at him deadpan. But
he could see the laughter trying to escape from his
partner's eyes and was gratified.

"Sorry, nothing on him."

The coffee arrived and they spent a further two hours
going over their notes, finely picking everything apart
until they had every thread, every nuance to paper. It was
Mulder who eventually called a halt to the session, telling
his partner and boss to get some sleep. Skinner exited by
the front door and Scully headed to the adjoining one, but
she turned before opening it.

"Mulder, you're going to get some sleep, right?"

"Sure, Scully." He replied absently as he booted his laptop.

She looked at him for a moment, knowing full well he would
lose himself in the relatively normal profiling world the
moment her back was turned. In fact by the look of him, he
was already halfway there. She turned back into the
room and walked up to him. He didn't seem to notice until
she touched him on the arm.

Flinching and pulling back he frowned, "What are you still
doing here, Scully? Get some sleep."

"Mulder, you are going to be no good to anyone unless you
rest." She wrapped her fingers around his arm again and
felt his tendons harden at her touch. 

"Scully..." He looked up with eyes that slowly spoke to her.
By brutally pulling apart the events that unfolded in the
autopsy bay, he hoped it might lay waste to any damage to
their friendship. Of that he was now gratefully certain.
But he could no longer look at her any other way. He was
bitterly sorry for that, but that's how it must be. She
must know and accept that.

Scully shook her almost imperceptibly. No. 

Their eyes always said words they could not speak. Yet she
saw his eyes now shutter as he took her hand from his arm
and pulled away.

"Go to bed, Scully."

Falling back on the partnership they still held between
them she replied "Mulder, Skinner holds me responsible for
your condition. If you stagger into that briefing..."

Mulder turned and grinned at her, a semblance of their
friendship trying to mask his now sad eyes. "I promise,
Scully, I'll get some rest before then. At least we now
have something to take into that meeting."

Scully just looked at him until he smiled softly and
nodded his head to her connecting door, telling her to
sleep. She had no tools to fight this. Her own heart was
too heavily-barricaded to know where to look for doors, let
alone open them. And instinct told her that even if she
could find one, he had now locked them too tight to enter.
Is that what had happened with his wife?

His wife...

Oh, God, she had never known.

Scully closed the connecting door then settled on the
mechanical processes of brushing her teeth and changing to
practical warm woolen p.j.'s. If tears formed in her eyes,
she most definitely did not feel them. 

Nope, not Special Agent Scully, M.D.

*************************************
End Chapter 5 Mirror Mirror

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 2:Mirror Mirror 5 of 5
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please! spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated NC17 for graphic descriptions 

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


CHAPTER 6

Day 11 - Tuesday
Central Hotel, Seattle
3:45 a.m.
 

"Where the fuck is he? Where could he have gone?" West
screamed softly to herself, but Smith heard her and
grimaced. 

What a rat fuck this was turning into. She almost skidded
on the ice as they ran out of the hotel's fire exit. West's
longer legs had already carried her a dozen feet ahead but
she stopped and stared carefully at the footprints in the
snow. Nothing.

Wonderful, just fucking wonderful. Scully would have her
splayed out on an autopsy table with the full Y section and
her large intestine being ripped, all without benefit of
shooting her first. Yep, she could see it all now, clear as
fucking day. She glared at her partner but the words were
unnecessary. How in hell could he have let this happen?
Jesus, Smith was right outside his door! All Scully had done
was ask one of them to stay outside and wake her up if he
went anywhere. Leave him alone, just let her know.

Smith glared at his partner "I'm telling you I did *not*
fall asleep! He didn't leave the room!"

"Yeah, right, so he just vanished into thin air." Sarcasm
dripped from her voice. Some gut instinct had warned her to
check on Mulder when she'd gone to take over from Smith.

Then it hit her. Smith's eyes widened at about the same
time and they looked up together.

 
"Found him," 

West grimaced as Skinner's eyes lasered her to the door.
He stood unmoving in the foyer, radiating anger in such a
huge circumference that Smith wasn't game to get within ten
feet of the man. But momentum carried her forward and she
added. "He's on the roof."

"Get Scully," he ordered as he slammed the doors aside and
went out to see for himself.

West raced up the three flights of stairs and began
pounding on Scully's door. It opened in seconds. Scully was
fully dressed now in dark jeans, sweater and overcoat, but
instead of following West out the door, she turned her back
and went through the connecting door to Mulder's room.

West began to sweat. Fear mixed with the exertion of
running up three flights of stairs in a centrally heated
building. The adrenaline high had peaked when she saw him
on the edge of the roof and she was now coming down from
it. Before she had a chance to speak, Scully snapped, "He's
on the roof."

"Yeah, I know, must have climbed up from there." Smith
motioned to the balcony. "What is he, Spiderman?"

Scully's eyes were slightly rounded as she turned back
from the balcony and grabbed her overcoat. "Find out how we
can get up there. The fire escape doesn't lead that far."

West nodded and ran back down the stairs again. *On the
bright side,* she thought, *I can forego the stair master
tonight.* 

West ran into the restaurant and was thankful the daughter
was there -- Crystal. The woman had good sense and
discretion. Crystal looked up and frowned at the sight of
West's flushed features and urgent demeanor.

"How do I get on the roof?"

Crystals eyebrow lifted in mute query but she threw down
the journal and motioned to West to follow. As they exited
into the foyer, Skinner, trailed by Smith and three or four
other agents re-entered the building, their eyes arresting
on Crystal. Scully came from the direction of the stairs. 

Although none of them were running, the air of urgency was
undeniable. 

Crystal did not bother to waste time. "Follow me." She was
about to run up the stairs, but the elevator doors were
open. The elevator could easily accommodate fifteen people,
but with Skinner and the four other burly agents, West,
Smith and Crystal crammed inside, it looked overcrowded.
Scully stood so much smaller than all of them, Crystal had
the impression they were closing ranks around her,
protecting her. And it came to Crystal in a flash. Mulder.
Something was wrong with Mulder.

"You can access it via a manhole in the ceiling on #408.
You have your master key?" Crystal addressed Skinner, who
nodded. "Okay, up the manhole and then directly behind is a
short ladder. That leads to the roof. It's not locked but
it is pretty dusty and dirty." She glanced at the expensive
range of thick woolen overcoats. No one blinked. No one was
going to their rooms to change first.

"What's up there?" Skinner asked.

Skinner's eyes bored into Crystal's, his words carried
with them a deeper question, what was there that had driven
Mulder to be there? Crystal knew she could not give him the
answer he needed, she had yet to understand the question.

"Nothing but exhaust vents and plumbing. We rarely need to
access the roof."

The elevator doors opened and a wall of black overcoats
left Crystal behind. Instinct demanded she follow but logic
told her to go downstairs and start a batch of chili and
very strong coffee. They would find the manhole without her
getting in the way.

 
Skinner slammed the door to #408 open. His eyes cornered
the ceiling and came to rest on the framed square. He
glanced down, then dragged the side table until it sat
directly below the manhole. He was already part way through
when West followed the bigger agents and Scully into the
room. Skinner's legs disappeared, then his shoulder and
head came back into view. He held his arm out to Scully
wordlessly and practically lifted her one-armed to join him
in the head high crawl space between the ceiling and the
roof. They switched on their flashlights and immediately
located the short ladder. Skinner went first, pushing the
trap door to the roof upwards as Smith began to climb into
the crawl space.

"No," Skinner ordered the others.

West was about to object when it hit her they may be
dealing with a jumper. But the thought was incongruous.
Mulder suicidal? Okay, possibly he had gone over the edge,
but would he try to kill himself jumping off a four story
building into snow drifts? 

"No, just go back downstairs."

Scully had gone ahead of Skinner and was already on the
roof. She looked around but could see nothing. Then she
glanced up at the building next door. Her heart stopped and
her stomach started doing that carousel thing she hated.
Another Mulderulcer on the way. 

Mulder sat on the near corner of the adjoining building,
facing the hotel. He was curled into a tight ball, arms
around his knees, rocking back and forth. In the darkness
Scully could barely make him out, but it looked like he was
wearing only a tee shirt and track pants. And no shoes. 

The doctor part of Scully cut in. How long had he been out
there? It was 20 degrees at the most and he wore only
minimal clothing. He was already physically depleted and
dammit, she knew he'd thrown up dinner again, right
after she'd closed their connecting door.

She wanted to go to him, but the look on his face as he
said good night closed her out. Utterly.

Leave me be, Scully, just leave me be to work through this.

And she had. Yet again. As she had left him alone for
years and years. Left him to face his demons. Alone.

She read his file and allowed the tears to finally spill,
crying herself to sleep in the privacy of her bed, hating
and despising the men that asked this of him. Despising
herself for her own weakness, for the walls she built
around herself to keep him out. And that sick son of a
bitch, Patterson. Psychiatric prison and comforting
insanity were more than he deserved. And Forenzzi. Jesus,
had he finally been debriefed? Had someone thought to tell
him the truth, that what he had stumbled on was a killer
channeling through Mulder's body?

She could feel Skinner's presence by her side.

"Scully?"

She turned to face him, bitterness in her eyes. "Satisfied?"

Skinner breathed deeply, unable to reply.

Scully shook the anger from her mind and concentrated on
what she needed to know. "Is this another episode?"

Thankful she now had as many facts as him, he replied "I
don't know. I can't see how. They've made one kill tonight
already."

Scully answered quietly, "But they *are* escalating, and
there are at least two couples working." Her eyes cast
around for some means of access to the building, but she
could see nothing. How in hell had he got up there?

Every part of her training screamed at her to get him
down, get him warmed, get a sedative into him and for
Christ's sake get him into a hospital. But sedatives -- in
fact, just about anything including pain medication -- kept
*Mulder* from coming back. Scully knew that no medical
textbook covered this situation. He had to escape from it
alone.

Always alone.

She felt tears try to well in her eyes and she blinked
angrily. Not alone, Mulder. Not this time.

Scully walked slowly to the back of the hotel's roof. She
was now within his direct line of sight. She gradually
walked the length of the rooftop, coming closer to him
until only the twelve foot height difference separated them.

She couldn't be sure if he'd seen her. The file stated
that when he mirrored a victim, he retained a great deal
more control, not quite leaving his body, so she asked
gently, "Mulder?"

He was silent for a moment, but the rocking ceased. Then
he muttered softly. "Cold...Scully, I'm so cold."

Scully felt a wave of relief. If this was another mirror,
it was from the perspective of the victim. Then how could
she feel relief when they were about to witness the rape
and slaughter of a child? She blinked her eyes firmly and
took a deep breath. They were too late to save this child,
but she had to save Mulder.

"I know, Mulder, you're sitting in snow and you're not
dressed for it."

"He took all my clothes, Scully. He took them all off me
except for these."

Her heart raced. Shit, this was not normal. She stifled a
manic laugh as it tried to climb from her throat. Normal!
Normal? Since when did they live in a world where normal
was part of the vocabulary?

"Mulder, who took your clothes off you?"

"He did, he said he'd warm me up with his body...soon, now.
He's bringing his friend and they're going to warm me."
Mulder stifled a bitter laugh. "But I know what they want,
they just want to fuck me again, hurt me...Cold, Scully,
he's so cold." 

Scully forced herself to control her emotions. This was
different, this was definitely another victim. A child who
was alive and about to die. A child Mulder empathized with
and could not save as he sat passively watching the horror
unfold. Good God, he had done this for *three years*?

"Mulder, you don't have to be cold. You can come down from
there and get warm."

"No!" He unwrapped his arms and stood. "No...I have to
feel what he feels! I have to know what he knows...see what
he sees. Oh, God, Scully I'm so tired of this, so tired of
fighting it. He promised!"

Scully could feel the tears in his voice now. He was right
on the edge of the building. If he fell, it would be into
thick snow and might not kill him...but there were no
guarantees.

"Okay, Mulder, okay, but sit down, okay? Just sit, sit down
and wrap your arms around yourself."

He swayed for a moment, but complied. Did that mean the
victim complied, too? Did Mulder have some control over the
victim's actions? Shit! She knew *nothing* about this!

"Okay, Mulder, where are you?"

He didn't answer for a moment, then "Uh...a shed...a barn
I think. Yeah. A big old fashioned barn, you know? I...I
think it's east, just a few miles out of town. Scully he
promised, he promised to let me go if I did it for him. And
I did, I sucked his cock and didn't scream when he fucked
me. I was good, Scully, I was a good boy. Please don't hit
me again!"

Emotions warred in Scully but the last comment jarred her.
In none of the autopsies had she seen evidence of beatings.
Rape, yes -- violent -- and some bruising around the
wrists and
ankles, although that had been hard to detect because of
the rough dismemberment. 

"Leave me alone, Bill, I promise I'll be good. I promise I
won't scream. But it hurts when you stick it in me, Bill,
oh, shit, it hurts, man."

Scully's blood froze. 

Bill.

His father's name had been Bill...but her stomach
unknotted as she realized he would never have called his
father by his first name...unless he'd made him...no. 

Fuck this! She wasn't the damned psychologist!

Then her heart flipped again. Shit if this kept up she'd
have a full blown cardiac arrest any minute.

Bill.

Bill Patterson.

Surely to God he wouldn't have...

But her mind went back to the file and something Forenzzi
had said to her in the coffee shop, about him being
Patterson's Pretty Boy. 

The Violent Crimes bullpen...Their's was a crude and
violent world. The foul language and innuendo's ran thick
and fast. It crossed Scully's mind a few times if the crude
jokes about jacking each other off in the men's room when
they
couldn't score with the secretarial pool were more than
just jokes. Sure, what she said to Skinner stood. Any hint
of homosexuality invited ridicule, but jacking each other
off seemed to rank differently, an off color boys club
thing, designed more to shock the female agents and clerks
that imply any one of them were gay. 

She had always been thankful for Mulder's grace and
gentlemanly mannerisms, and the privacy of their basement
office. Innuendo and porn predilections aside, he bore none
of the crudeness of those she'd met in VCU. But the
profilers were different. True, their world was even more
grotesque, but they were careful to mask that reality to
the outside world. But what of Patterson? He had fallen
into the madness, perhaps he had fallen a great deal sooner
than the Mostow case... 

While Mulder's body mirrored a victim, could Bill have
decided to increase Mulder's ability to observe by making
the situation more real, in the same way Scully had
increased Mulder's visual perception by applying the
condom? But to do what Mulder described, Patterson would
have to have been aroused, have wanted it. And Mulder would
have known, he was always aware of each episode. Is that
why he left Patterson so suddenly? Had Bill Patterson
finally given into the urge during one of Mulder's
mirrorings? Was their hatred for one another based not on
Mulder's leaving, but Patterson's abuse? 

*Didn't want to get my knees dirty,* were his exact words. 

Scully had thought them metaphorical. 

Perhaps not.

"Mulder, did Bill hurt you?"

His head dropped onto his knees. "He shouldn't have done
it, Scully. He should never have tried to push me that far
to see...But it wasn't what he said, he wasn't trying to
make it more real, he...he couldn't help his own lust and
tried to ram his fat cock down my throat
then...later...Mostow...it... something bad took control of
him, instead of my body. And it never let him go.

"I'm ugly, Scully, all the ugliness of their minds focused
on me and he fell in and never got out again."

That they would use him to capture this evil was bad
enough, but to have abused that, to have abused the trust
and friendship that by necessity, had developed between
the two men...Scully closed her eyes and damned Patterson
to burn in hell for his sick betrayal.

"Mulder, you're not ugly...you didn't do anything. You have
this ability...and you use it and it saves people ,Mulder.
You place the glove on and the ugliness never gets inside
of you, never touches *you*!"

"He's coming, Scully. I can hear him. They're coming and
their not going to let me go. The door...it's opening and I
can see the one behind him. He's big, got dark hair, long
and
oily like snakes, and a beard and...he's got a tattoo on his
arm...he...they call him Steve...Got a knife and...Oh, God,
he's got an axe!"

Mulder threw himself backwards and stood. He flung his
arms about himself and spun in a circle. "Oh, God, I've got
to hide, I've got to hide! They're the ones...the ones who
cut up Jonesy and Luke and all the others! I've got to run,
Scully! God help me, where do I go?" 

He was screaming now. Scully barely noticed the figures
standing in the snow at the base of the building. Nor did
she see Skinner in the shadows behind Mulder. 

Mulder took two steps towards the edge.

"No!" She screamed "No! God, no Mulder don't you do this,
don't you leave me like this! Take the damned glove off and
throw it away!"

"It's better this way, Scully, better to die like this
before they get me, before they cut me. Better to leave you
to be a doctor, to stop fucking up your life. You made me,
Scully, you kept me alive and sane and whole and all I ever
did was dirty you, ruin you...your chance for kids, your
career, your family, your whole goddamned life...They're
coming after me now Scully, they're climbing after me and I
have to get higher. I have to get away!"

Good God! This was not mirroring! Somehow the two
personalities had *mixed*. He had become the victim,
empathizing with him, but this time his own fears and self-
loathing became fodder for the thing that twisted his mind. 

Suddenly, a shadow jumped out at him and tackled him to
the ground. Scully backed away so she could see better and
caught a glimpse of glasses as they were knocked over the
edge to land in the snow at her feet. 

Skinner's glasses.

"Get away, get away from me...don't kill me!" Mulder
screamed. 

Scully heard Skinner grunt in agony as Mulder placed a
well aimed foot at the older man's groin.

She saw Mulder get up and scramble to the edge of the
building.

"No! No, Mulder you're not ugly...you're...beautiful! Don't
you see that, don't you know that? I see you Mulder, I see
your dignity and loyalty and your pure spirit and your
passion for what is right, for justice in the true sense of
the word. You are the most beautiful man I've ever known,
not just your body, but your soul. Take the glove off
Mulder, toss it aside!"

He teetered close to the edge now. Skinner could not risk
another tackle, it would likely take them both over.

"I have to jump. If I jump they can't get me. Don't you
see that Scully? I can just float down into the soft white
snow and let it clean me. I'm almost there, I can feel
it..so cold, Scully, so very cold..."

Mulder, no!" she screamed, the cold and her emotions making
her eyes water, almost blinding her. She had to stop him,
had to make him understand that she...needed him. God, the
words were almost torn from her own barricaded heart.

"Mulder don't go...dammit Mulder I *need* you! I NEED YOU!"

He pulled up short and staggered backwards. 

Scully needed him?

He had to get to her, to save her.

He fell backwards from the edge of the building and
Skinner caught him in his black overcoat.

"Have to get to Scully...'s needs me." His eyes begged
Skinner. "Gotta get to her, she...she needs me. Scully never
needs me but she does now and I have to get..."

Skinner wrapped the coat around the smaller man and
cradled him in his arms. "It's okay, Mulder, you'll get to
her, you've got time, now, Fox, plenty of time."

But Mulder had passed out.

*****************************
End Chapter 6 Mirror Mirror


From: sonny <sonny@webspin.org>
Date: Mon, 27 Sep 99 16:12:26 +1000
Subject: xfc: NEW Mind Games 3; The Meta 1 of 4
Source: xfc

From: sonny <sonny@webspin.org>

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 3:The Meta 1 of 4
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please! spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated PG  
*********************

CHAPTER 1

Central Hotel, Seattle
4:20 a.m.
 

*You will have time, Fox Mulder, plenty of time...*

He saw the green Pegasus fly down. On the back, a man
sat...no, not a man, a...he couldn't be sure until it
landed. The Pegasus was huge, half again as big as the
largest of draft horses, but built like a race horse. It
shimmered pale green in the afternoon light.

The man on its back was blue, a beautiful royal blue in
varying shades. His face, for it was most definitely a man,
was a lighter shade than his arms. The softer skin
underneath his forearm was even lighter and it struck
Mulder that this made complete sense if the blue was
natural, in the same way that the underside of his own
forearm was lighter colored. 

The creature's hair was a magnificent black mane that grew
down its back, like a lion. The tip of the curling tail was
also covered in a thick teardrop thatch of black hair. The
creature's hair shone thick and soft and silky, almost blue
black, in the light. And its eyes, God, its irises were
split vertically, catlike instead of round, in the deep
green-colored corneas. But in every other way it appeared
human, right down to the bearded face.

It...he descended from the Pegasus and Mulder looked up.
Jesus, he must have stood over eight feet tall.

*You will have time, Fox Mulder, when I come for you, time
to learn that this madness will not take you. Time to learn
the truth about the face of God, and the face of evil. You
are very close tonight, too close and thus I come to
protect you. It knows It cannot vanquish you but It would
seek to damage your spirit sufficiently to turn your gun on
yourself. This I cannot allow, for we need you to fight the
lesser fight. Trust her, Fox Mulder, for she believes you,
truly. Her heart sings pure notes unsullied by that which
you wear and have now discarded. 

Live. Sleep, now...I will come for you soon, very soon.*


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


Day 11 - Tuesday
Central Hotel ,Seattle
4:20 a.m.

>From the journal of Crystal Palmer


Until a few days ago I hadn't realized how much I've been
a bitch on wheels this last year. Dad took me out for
dinner the other night, to celebrate. I know he's happy not
just for me, but because he secretly likes telling his
friends his daughter is a doctor, an engineer. He's really
on top of the world. I suppose I am too, it's just taken me
a while to look out and recognize it. Anyway, he took me by
the hand and welcomed me back. I asked him what he meant
and he replied he hadn't seen his daughter in almost five
years. Not since Paul was killed, not since I came back to
live with him. Now, these last few days, he began to see me
again.

I remember years ago when I hurt my back, I had to go to a
chiropractor. It took a few weeks, but not only did he fix
the problem, he fixed other chronic problems that I'd been
unaware of. What it boils down to was I apparently had a
slight, peripheral headache and stiff back and pinched neck
nerves that I'd learned to live with. But when he adjusted
me, suddenly I realized I'd been living with a constant
dull pain, a burden that colored my perception and attitude
to life. When that pain was removed, the whole world seemed
a different place. Colors were brighter, smells more
intense, I walked and cycled with freer movements.
Everything was just...better. And it hit me. That's what
it's been like since Paul died, a constant weight across my
shoulders. First the pain and grief, then the worries
because he had indebted both of us to pay off his medical
schooling. So I lost the house and car and had to come home
and start again. Seven years wasted. Then my Masters and
Ph.D.

Now, the burden has been lifted and the whole world
suddenly looks better. I now have the time, the emotional
ability to look around me and observe. And this horror,
this living nightmare of FBI agents and child killers
is...well no less horrible in itself, but I find I don't
hate them anymore. I understand them because I no longer
see them through my own emotional burdens.

Something happened this morning. Something big and
nightmarish. It started off about 3 a.m. when Agent West
came
flying downstairs and asked me how to get on to the roof. I
could see in her face an urgency that forbade any
hesitation on my behalf, so I led them outside and there
was Skinner, Scully and some of the others, mostly the team
leaders, I think. Them being awake at 3 a.m. was not odd --
these guys work all hours. 

To be honest I felt a slight thrill at seeing Skinner.
He's been down quite a bit since he arrived. I learned from
Dad the other night that the FBI had run a background check 
on the entire family before the feds took over the hotel. It
narked the hell out of me that they would invade our
privacy so much. But when I thought about it, it made
sense. Especially because I spend so much time helping them
with their computer systems. The press keep hounding us for
inside information and I know there's a leak. But I'm
pretty sure it's not one of us. Dad has a pretty mean code
of conduct when it comes to that sort of thing and he's
instilled it in all of us. 

Anyway, the last few nights I learned that Skinner must
have checked up on me pretty thoroughly, mainly because of
these leaks. I was pissed and told him they could look
after their own damned systems with their less than
competent technicians, after all, no one was paying me. He
backed off, telling me the leaks were of a type that had
clearly come from sources other than our family. He said it
was against FBI policy for me to have helped in the way I
had without those checks. Thinking about it, that's fair
enough because I now know as much as anyone about the case,
and about FBI systems and procedures. He said he was very
grateful for what our family, particularly me, had done to
assist them, and that he had no hesitation whatsoever
trusting us. 

I guess I still looked pretty pissed, so in a roundabout
way he started flattering me. Not flattering so much
as...well he just let me know that he knew what I'd been
through and he thought it was neat how I'd put it all aside
and not only got on with it, but excelled. Truthfully, I'd
never thought of it like that before and when he mentioned
Paul's death, some perversity in me wanted him to know the
truth. He didn't react like most people do. He just smiled
and said I'd be surprised how many marriages broke up that
way.

Honestly, when you tell a guy you're a widow, they're
sympathetic. When you tell them it's because your husband
was drunk driving with the person he'd left you for, they
usually say you're better off without him. Or maybe that it
saved you the trouble of a divorce. But then when you
confess he'd left you for another man, their eyes glaze and
they foot shuffle and they just about fall over themselves
trying to escape. So I do it fast, now, to clear the air.
Yep, that's me, the woman who's husband left her for a guy.
The sucker who gave up college to put him through medical
school then lost everything to a finance company after he
was
killed because the s.o.b. hadn't kept up the insurance
payments. And the bitch was, if the divorce had come
through, our finances would have been separated and I
wouldn't have been liable for his student loan debt. 

Yep, saved me the trouble of a divorce. Right.

Anyway, the next night Skinner came down again and oddly
enough, started talking about himself. I thought it was odd
only because he didn't seem the type. He walks around like
some powerful, unassailable force. I know it's because of
the way everyone treats him. "Assistant Director" and all,
complete with capitals. Yet even without that, he carries
himself do erect, so...impregnable. An air of authority is
too much of a clich. It's more, much more. But there he
was, drinking coffee and just...talking to me. 

He was married once, widowed now. Apparently he was a
signature away from divorce when his wife was in a car
accident. The *accident* implicated him for murder, but
Mulder and Scully discovered the truth and no, the murderer
was never found.

That made an impact on me. 

Here he was, an FBI assistant director and his wife's
murderer had never been found. But what made it so sad, or
maybe not, depends on your perspective, was that he had
managed a reconciliation with her while she was in
hospital. He had, after all those years, managed to open up
to her when he'd kept it bottled for years. The ugliness
and horror that surrounded him he wanted kept from her. But
by closing that off, he had also closed off himself. And
then he found a way to break through...she died.

Hell. I thought I had a bad run. 

I was glad to see him again last night, but not glad about
the circumstances. I went to the kitchen and started to
heat the chili and coffee, then I put the garbage out and
saw them. They were standing back from the edge of the
building and looking up. I knew something was up, of
course. I mean West and Skinner wanted to get to the roof
in a real hurry and it had something to do with Mulder, but
I wanted to keep out of the way. I'm not stupid, if some
bad shit was going down I had no desire to play target to a
stray bullet. It always amazes me when people crowd around
active crime scenes. TV is a whole lot safer. I mean I was
in an ideal position to know.

But this wasn't like that. You could almost feel the fear
from those watching. Not fear for themselves, but for one
of their own, for there on the corner of the building next
door, was a man, curled over himself and sitting right on
the edge.

It knocks the wind out of you when you see a jumper. Not
that I've ever seen one before, but oooh boy, it claws at
your guts. Then I saw someone else on top of our roof
walking towards him. I could hear her talking, just
snatches of conversation. And I could hear him answering
back. Suddenly he jumped back and started moving around in
a circle. Everyone, myself included, moved right back into
the car park so we could see better and that's when I heard
them clearly. I mean I'd already guessed, but now I knew.
It was Spooky up there and the one on our roof was his
partner, Scully. 

God, a jumper was bad enough -- but someone you knew... 
Okay, I didn't know him well but these two had touched me
and
seeing them like that...oh, hell, it really bothered me.
Then
it hit me. This guy was not suicidal. And I said it out
loud. They all looked at me like I was nuts, except for
West, I think she'd figured it out too. I said, hell, if he
wanted to kill himself, why not use his gun? And why bother
with a lousy four story building when the snow was so thick?

Before anyone had a chance to comment, someone tackled him
from behind, but Mulder broke free and ran to the edge and
I though that's it folks, he's going over. Then I heard her
shout.

"No, Mulder you're not ugly...you're...beautiful! Don't you
see that, don't you know that? I see you, Mulder, I see your
dignity and loyalty and your pure spirit and your passion
for what is right, for justice in the true sense of the
word. You are the most beautiful man I've ever known, not
just your body, but your soul. Throw away the glove, Mulder,
throw it away!"

I didn't understand the last part, but it didn't matter.
If love 
could save a man, then those words would have saved him a 
dozen times over. I wondered what on Earth had brought this 
all on. The agents next to me sucked in their breaths and I 
could see one or two of them nodding, agreeing with what 
she was trying to do. But then he came out with something, 
in a voice not really his own.

"I have to jump. If I jump, they can't get me. Don't you
see that, Scully? I can just float down into the soft white
snow and let it clean me. I'm almost there, I can feel
it...so cold, Scully, so very cold..."

Then she screamed again "Mulder, no! Mulder, don't go...damn
it, Mulder I *need* you! I NEED YOU!" 

Let me tell you, it was like she'd torn that from her very
soul, as if verbalizing it had cost her something she'd
been incapable of giving. But it worked, because he fell
back and whoever tackled him before did it again and this
time, he stayed down.

All the agents around me cut and ran then. I went back
into the kitchen, having near frozen to death for going out
without my coat. Then I recalled Mulder was dressed only in
a tee shirt. I shook my head and stirred the chili, put out
bowls and cups and chunks of the bread I'd just baked, and
waited. 

Not for long, as it turned out. Five minutes later the
first of them came in. Then West and finally, about ten
minutes later, Skinner. His coat was covered in cobwebs and
dirty snow. I'd already learned from the others that it had
been him who'd tackled Mulder. But by mutual consent none
of them spoke further until Skinner arrived.

He shrugged off his coat and I handed him a cup of coffee.
He looked at me a second, totally expressionless. But I
could see the thank you there, hiding behind the pain. I
went to leave them, then. The coffee pot and chili were on
the table, they could help themselves. But he called me
back.

"Dr. Palmer, I'd appreciate you staying. You have
become as much a part of this team as anyone and an
explanation is both warranted and necessary."

The others looked at me like they'd been hit over the head
with a baseball bat. Then I realized. Just because some FBI
clerk had run a background check on me from D.C., didn't
mean any of them knew the first thing about me. They just
took me for granted. I'd been categorized as the owner's
daughter, a waitress who knew something about computers.
Now, they saw me in a completely different light, even if
Skinner calling me "Doctor" was technically premature.

Skinner picked it up and brushed it aside quickly,
although I think he also used it as a demonstration in not
taking anyone for granted.

"Dr. Palmer is an engineer and just happens to be the
owner's daughter."

Jaws dropped all round and they looked universally
chagrined. However, Skinner's next words recaptured their
attention.

"No doubt you realize by now that was not a suicide
attempt by Agent Mulder."

Then he went on to describe how profilers sometimes went
so deep into the psyches of killers, and sometimes victims,
they could hare out and lose it. 

"This was not a breakdown or a psychotic episode in the 
normal sense, but a window into a world I personally never 
want to see," Skinner told them. "A window into madness. 
Mulder, as we all know, has become increasingly difficult
to communicate with. He has hardly slept or eaten in days 
-- and exposing himself to the cold literally threw him 
into an almost trance-like state where he literally 
*became* the victim. But it gets worse. Mulder actually 
became a real-time link."

In other words, we'd just seen what was happening to a
boy, somewhere in Seattle. As we sat there and sipped
coffee and ate chili, a boy was being raped, killed,
dismembered.

I put my coffee cup down and swallowed hard.

You could see by the looks on their faces that if they
hadn't seen it for themselves, they wouldn't have believed
it. 

As it turned out, the reason they had been roused by
Skinner a few hours earlier was because new information had
come to light. The source was Mulder, the results of an
earlier mirroring. That Mulder had entered a similar state
only a short time later was unexpected, but eminently
fruitful, despite that it meant two children had died, were
dying, that night.

They talked about it for at least twenty minutes when
someone finally asked how Mulder was, and if he would be
okay.

"Scully's with him. He snaps out if it pretty fast, but as
you might understand, its a pretty rough ordeal to go
through. I'm going back up there in a minute."

West asked, "Is it likely to happen again sir?"

Skinner nodded. "Yes, unless we use what we have learned 
and catch these bastards -- soon. And with what Mulder's
given us, we should make headway, now, fast."

Grahams, I think it was, asked, "So he's some sort
of...psychic?"

Skinner screwed up his face. "I don't know if that's the
correct term. Mulder's profiling skills are an
extraordinary combination of eidetic memory, frightening 
intelligence and an ability to fit unrelated pieces 
together in such a way that it appears almost psychic. 
But this...this thing that happens to him is way, way 
beyond that. Whatever you want to call it, by its very 
nature it is...outside medical understanding. And it's 
been kept under very tight wraps." 

His eyes bored every man and woman in that room, including
me and he added, "And it will be kept that way." And not a
person there didn't fully understand if one word of the
events of the night leaked out, we'd all end up very
unhappy people. Big time.

Not, of course, as if anyone would believe it. Spooky.
Very spooky.

I have to give West extra points, because she said, "With
all due respect sir, everyone's witnessed him sitting out 
in the snow half-dressed, or walking in circles around that
evidence table for hours on end...not to mention the
howling nightmares when he does finally sleep."

"Eccentricities are one thing. Apparently, and I repeat
apparently, psychotic episodes that are in fact mirroring,
are not an eccentricity. Do I make myself clear?" 

I wondered why the FBI was so...insistent about keeping it
under wraps. I mean local police use psychics all the time,
so why not the FBI? But then, I suppose using a psychic was
one thing. This, however, was something waaaay beyond
peeking into the minds of killers. A few weeks ago I would
have put it down to another one of the FBI's dirty little
secrets, like their cross-dressing founder. But now...
having met Mulder and seen what happened on the roof,
I had a feeling there was more behind it than Skinner was 
telling. But I also felt a greater degree of trust had been 
placed in me than I had any right to deserve. 

I would never abuse that trust and, I guess, I found
myself respecting these people, where before I thought I
hated them. And I began to see them more as humans. And one
of them at least, was an extraordinarily gifted human. Just
as fragile, just as emotive and just as...well, human as the
rest of us. But they chose to stand between people like me
and the evil that lurked in society. Oh, there were
breaches, all the time. But these brave souls undertook
what was generally a thankless task to shore up the walls
between good and evil. Sound trite? Sure, and I was just as
sure there were some equally evil bastards among them.
But that night, at least, I saw the lengths one man was
prepared to go in order to protect the rest of us, and I
have to tell you, it humbled me. The least, the very least
I could do was respect that. And I saw in their faces the
compassion they had for one of their own who would go so
very much further. 

**********************
End Chapter 1 The Meta
 
Title: MIND GAMES: Book 3:The Meta 2 of 4
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please! spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated R  
*********************

CHAPTER 2

Central Hotel, Seattle
4:50 a.m.


A.D. Skinner opened the legal notepad, the one Mulder used
to take his notes earlier in the evening. There were pages
and pages of rough script in a familiar hand, in columns
and notations. Then on the last three pages were tightly
written script. This, Skinner recognized as the rough
outline Mulder used before typing a formalized profile.
This was the thing Mulder wanted him to use.

This was his insight into the mind of a serial killer.

Skinner had never seen one before, but he knew that was
how profilers worked. They used dozens, hundreds of
interviews in prison cells, used thousands of reports 
from previous and current profilers, used whatever 
they could in their vast knowledge of abnormal psychology, 
to build a picture. Serial killers, Skinner knew, were 
not always mad. In fact, the vast majority fully 
comprehended the difference between good and evil, but 
freely chose to follow their own perverted needs into a 
world that began with manipulation and domination. Fed 
by increasing needs for the more perverted, blood and 
eventually death were requirements to fulfill their 
sexual appetites.

This was the world Fox Mulder descended into. Sanity had no
place in that world.

As he read, Skinner realized even these notes were a highly
sanitized version combining the formalized education of
Mulder with the thought processes of the killer.

He took a quick glance across at the bed before settling
in to read, his own pad and pen ready to grab any specifics
he might use before Mulder woke and wrote a complete formal
profile. As he began to read, a shiver traveled down his
spine. It was in the first person. How easy would it be
for Mulder to slip from profiling to mirroring -- and lose
himself inside the mind of the killer while his body was
under its control? How had he managed to keep the two
aspects separated?

Skinner shook his head. With sudden clarity he realized
Fox Mulder had to be the most sane human being he knew.
Only absolute sanity would protect him.

He began to read.

"My mom used to play with me when I started hollering.
She'd do it a lot and I musta liked it because I'd stop
crying. But her boyfriends knew better what to do, so I
liked that a lot more. 

"After a while she just used to give me to them and they
weren't boyfriends, they were other men who never took her
out or nothing.

"Most of them were rough. Too rough and it hurt, but some
of them were okay.

"Then once when I came back really bad, she let me go with
them only if she could watch. She didn't want me too badly
hurt or else I was no good.

"I saw her then, she liked it a lot and she smiled at me
and loved me and it was okay.

"As I got older, she used to do it to herself in front of
us. The john would get off big time and pay her a lot more
money. I wanted to have a big dick like them so I could do
it, too, but I dunno, something was wrong with me and it
never got big.

"The johns didn't mind that, they didn't care about my
dick, just theirs. In fact, Mom always said it was better
this way 'cause I looked like a little kid. I was small
for my
age anyway.

"Then she never came home one night. 

"There was nothing to eat in the house after a coupla days,
so I spent some time with my mother's friends. They looked
after me, fed me and made sure the johns weren't too bad.

"There were a lot of other kids working, mostly older than
me, but a few younger. Some of them worked with their
mothers too.

"I got real friendly with one. Jimmy, he was. He was a black
kid, 'bout fifteen I guess and I really liked him because
he was so soft. All the johns are rough. Their skin is hard
and rough and calloused, but Jimmy had skin like a baby. He
said it was 'cause he was black. Maybe. Most of the johns I
had were white or maybe Mexican. 

"We lived close to the border.

"Jimmy asked me if I'd ever given it and I told him no,
nobody ever did nothing but give it to me. So he let me do
him. He said it was easy 'cause I was so small and he
liked it that way. I never hurt him. But I wanted to. 
I wanted him to know how good the pain could be.

"Some of the older kids started doing me too and they liked
to hurt. I liked it too, except when they teased me about
my small dick. Sometimes I used to hurt them back and it
made me feel even better.

"After a while, some of the women who had little kids asked
me to do them for their first time. They loved their kids,
really and they didn't want them hurt too much, or maybe
they just wanted them not to scream for a john and figured
I was a good start. Who knows? But it was stupid. The pain
was good, I wanted them to know how much the pain was good.
They needed to like it because the johns were going to hurt
them and they better get used it that, so I'd hurt them. I
made sure they squealed.

"Anyway I got to give it to a lot of them and I liked it, I
liked it a whole lot. Better than having to take it all the
time.

"I never got a job, not a real job. Can't read or write
nothing 'cept to sign my name. Never went to school. Then I
met Sarah. She was the first woman, not girl, I mean, who
actually let me give it to her without laughing that I was
too small. She taught me how to use my tongue instead. 

"She lived in with all of us for a while, but she started
coming home with cuts and stuff sometimes. I asked her what
it was about and she finally told me one day. Some of the
johns like cutting up on women. 

"We all knew that. There was always a risk of getting some
weirdo who cut you, maybe ended up killing you. Mostly they
did it to the Mexicans, they were always coming across the
border and never complained to the cops. If they
disappeared, nobody ever reported it.

"I guess I've known a lot of people who that must have
happened to.

"I guess that's what happened to Mom.

"I couldn't figure why Sarah did it.

"She said it made her a lot of money. She said she did it
for movies and stuff and when she'd saved enough, she could
get out of the game and do something else.

"Do what else? What else was there to do?

"She said she'd look after me because I never hurt her. She
said maybe she'd get me taught to read or something and
then I could do those something elses. 

"She likes it when I watch her. She says the johns don't do
nothing for her, so she's gotta do it herself. One time, she
saw me with one of the younger boys and she got off on it,
watching us.

"It was good, real good. I like her to watch, like Mom did.
I want her to be happy, like Mom was.

"Sarah disappeared for about four days then. When she came
back she was cut up real bad and she was glazed and sick.
She said she was fine and the cuts would heal, but I could
tell she was upset. Turns out another girl she was with got
cut too bad and died making a snuff flick.

"Shit.

"Snuff flicks. I told her it was stupid risking that shit,
but she said she was okay because she was white and blonde
and they'd never risk losing her.

"And they paid.

"A lot.

"One of the little shits bit me the other day, when I was
giving it to her. I slapped her round a bit. Her mother got
mad at me and tried to stick me. Instead, I stuck her. 

"Sarah came in and said she'd fix it with the guy she was
working with. They had to get rid of bodies a lot. 

"I wasn't scared or anything, and Sarah liked it. I could
tell she liked it a lot. I think these blood games are what
gets her off now, so I cut her a bit and we had some fun.
Yeah, I liked it too, it tastes good, feels good.

"The guy came and we dumped the kid's mother. He said he
could use the kid on a flick and Sarah talked him into
letting me come and watch.

"I had to look after the kid and she bit and scratched me a
lot. The guy, Steve, told me not to knock her around too
much because of the film. I worried a bit about it being a
snuff film but in the end I wanted to kill the little cunt
myself. I never knock them around first because of the
films. They gotta look pure, virgin, clean. I just wait
until I do it, then the blood, that's good

"I watched them make the flick and Steve said I would be
good for some stuff because I was so small. I thought that
would be all wrong because, you know, they like big, really
big dicks on that. But he said I was a novelty piece.

"But I never got to make any films because then some heavy
stuff went down. The cops got involved and everything went
bad.

"Steve got Sarah and me outta there with another boy. He had
money stashed away so we all moved to another city. He said
he wanted to make more movies because there were clients
out there who paid big money for serious shit.

"Plenty of street kids in L.A. Plenty to work with. He
stuck to Mexicans for the hard stuff. He never let me do
the kids because I was too small. I didn't like that, but
it didn't matter because Sarah used to let me do them
afterwards. I got used to it that way. They never moved
when they were dead and the blood looked good and tasted
good.

"She gets herself off on all the blood when they get hurt.
So does Steve. The boy he brought with him got killed when
Steve accidentally cut him too deep. I hated that little
shit, he used to get all the good stuff. I was glad to see
him die. I liked it, a lot. I wish it had've been me that
did it.

"I told Steve that.

"He said I could do the next one, so I did and Sarah really
dug it. 

"Steve picked up another boy for himself a while back. He
didn't get in my way and now I'm grown up and as big as
Steve, neither does he. Sarah runs things now and she said
they had a real rich client who wanted a special snuff one
made. They had to cut up the kid afterwards. I mean really
cut him up, in pieces. Jesus, I saw a chain saw used on a
girl,
once. That was cool so I figured this would be better. But I
didn't want to do it on them live, so I made sure I cut
them deep first. Steve always stuck them in the chest and
after a while, I did the same.

"I had some trouble with it at first, but the money was
something else. Then something weird happened. The client
wanted to meet us. He wanted in on it. So we moved to
Seattle.

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

Day 11 - Tuesday

Central Hotel, Seattle

5:45 a.m. 


Skinner held his hand to the phone's mouthpiece and
glanced around at the now empty room -- old coffee cups and
take-out boxes were scattered between laptops and files,
notepads and graphic photos. 

"Agent Colton..." Skinner speared the first person that
walked by the open door. 

"Sir?"

"Colton, I'm stuck on hold here." Skinner ran his hand
across his bald head then pulled his glasses off and
pinched his nose between two fingers. He had not yet slept
and he could foresee no time over the next few hours when
that might happen. God, what Mulder had given them...He'd
sat in horror reading he first profile notes, but it gave
them so much to go on, it was phenomenal. They were already
running through the databases. Teams had been out on the
streets since before dawn, rounding up the homeless...the
street kids. With Mulder's latest profiles they should be
able to pinpoint a Sarah and possibly all of them within
hours. And the links back to San Diego and the snuff flicks
were already paying off.

For the carrion-eating press to have dropped this bomb shell
in their laps was shit he did not need.

"Can you get me a folder on the side table near my bed?
It's in a courier bag."

A surge of resentment flowed through Colton. He'd only
been in town a few days and had hit the deck running. It
hadn't helped that he'd immediately been assigned to a team
chasing down crap dead end leads that fucking Spooky
decided on. He'd only had about five hours sleep and he was
hanging out for a coffee. He was no fetch and carry boy for
the A.D., but he plastered a suitable helpful look on his
face and held out his hand for the key card. 

As Colton stepped from the elevator on the fourth floor he
realized he did not know which room the A.D. had been
assigned. He looked at Skinner's key card. Shit, no number,
but then he saw it was a master key. Which room? No
problem, there were only ten rooms on each level. All he
needed was a quick glance in each one, shouldn't take more
than a few minutes.

The first two scored zero. The third revealed someone
sprawled out in bed, dead to the world. Colton was glad he
hadn't knocked. Anyone who could catch a few hours sleep
should be left in peace until the next load of crap fell on
them.

On the fourth try he eased himself into the room and
glanced around the corner to see...

Well, fuck me... 

Anger and resentment conspired with perverse delight at
the vision before him. He crept out and quietly tried the
next door, his face twisting into a bitter smirk, wondering
how he could capitalize on his little find. A courier bag
lay on the unmade bed. Colton double checked the address on
the bag to make sure it was Skinner's. It was not beyond
the realm of possibility that someone else had a similar
courier bag on their bed, although the room looked like it
had been partially converted to an office, as he would
expect of Skinner. But Colton would never make a mistake
again. Not after the first, career-damaging one 6 1/2 years 
previously.

Skinner nodded his thanks absently to Colton as he
continued to speak in the phone. 

Colton grabbed a cup of coffee and returned to his own
room for his notes. A surge of unexpected anger welled in
his gut as he recalled the haunted looks and darkened eyes
of the men gathered around the coffee urn. Men who had
worked through the night, who had kissed their loved ones
goodbye weeks, in some cases months, before, to dedicate
their lives to solving this case. 

Colton was still incredulous that Spookyfucking Mulder
had been assigned as the profiler and that his word was
gospel. Colton heard about Forenzzi's little revelation the
previous Sunday morning and it hadn't surprised him. In
fact it delighted him. And Colton couldn't help a shit-
eating grin from spreading across his face when he'd heard
about Forenzzi knocking out a few of pretty boy's teeth.
Mulder was definitely a creep in every sense of the word.
Jesus it was just such a pity he'd screwed up Dana as well.

Although Tom Colton knew the Tooms fiasco was his own
fault, he harbored a deep resentment of Mulder, and to a
lesser extent, Tooms' erstwhile victim, Dana Scully. He'd
followed their roller coaster career with the satisfaction
of one who knows his own career had stagnated. Having them
pull the strings on this case pissed him beyond words.
Eliminating possibilities was a necessary task, but a
particularly odious one when it was Spooky yanking the
leash. Colton gritted his teeth. And now this! Dedicated
men and women were pulling all nighters while Spooky...crap.

Colton grabbed his notes and returned to the restaurant.
He'd grab a second coffee and croissant before heading to
the meeting. He was far too crafty to let resentment
interfere with performance, but he had no intention of
cutting Spooky any slack, either. One crack, one chink and
Colton would pounce. Old Spooky and that little bitch
wouldn't be removed from the case, but they'd be censured
and he'd make damned certain everyone knew why.

Six a.m. came and went while his team of five working to
investigate porn connections in California waited patiently
for their team leader to appear. They'd been called out of
bed to get what was supposedly ground-breaking new
evidence. Two of his team rested their heads on arms folded
across the table. Agent Wilcox glanced at the wall clock as
it reached six ten. "I heard Mulder'd called a meeting for
team leaders at 5 a.m. Maybe Joe's still in it."

"Maybe Mulder was late...wouldn't be the first time
someone's had to drag him to a meeting." Weston said it
without resentment, knowing the profiler's obsessiveness
made him lose track of time. "Maybe the poor bastard finally
managed to get some sleep."

Agent Cummins looked up from her lap top and asked, "Has
anyone checked Joe's room?"

Wilcox replied "Yeah, he's not there, not in the
restaurant either. What about Spooky? He wasn't in the
evidence room and he normally crashes there."

"Jesus, I've never seen him out of it except when Scully
convinces him he's too ripe to stand any longer." Cummins
replied. "Maybe he finally went to bed in his room."

Colton resented the sympathy these agents were displaying.
Christ, if they only knew.

"What about Smith and West?" Agent Bligh raised his head
from his folded arms.

"Nope, they took off just as I was getting caffeined.
Never said a word."

"Well what about Scully, how about we try her? She'll know
where he is." Cummins added.

Wilcox caught Colton's sour, slightly smug look. He gave
the agent a querying look. Colton dissembled for a moment
then sighed, pretending reluctance.

"Colton, what is it?" Wilcox demanded.

Colton scrunched up his nose and rolled his eyes around,
trying to appear as uncomfortable as possible. He finally
raised his hand in defeat at Wilcox's exasperation and
explained how Skinner had sent him to fetch a courier bag
from his room. He added the problem with the key card,
deliberately building anticipation to the point where all
five team members were now awake and listening. 

When Colton trailed off, Wilcox groaned. "Get on with it, 
did you find Mulder?"

Colton muttered, "Well I don't know whether he was asleep
or not but yeah, he was in bed -- with Agent Scully." It
took every ounce of his will power not to grin in delight 
at the stunned looks on the agent's faces. 

Victory was fleeting. 

"Agent Colton."

Colton, whose back had been to the door, failed to see the
A.D.'s silent approach. He snapped his head around. Never
in his life would he have believed the sound of his own
name could curdle his guts. 

Skinner's voice almost shook with controlled fury as his
eyes pierced the younger man's heart. The other agents in
the room immediately sat up, recognizing the wrath of God
about to descend and wished very much to avoid the fallout.

Skinner ground his teeth together for a few moments. The
temptation to put a fist through Colton's face was so
evident, Wilcox and Bligh stood, wondering if they would
need to restrain the A.D. 

Skinner finally got himself under control before spitting
out "I am...appalled you have put some misguided personal
gratification ahead of this case by attempting to undermine
Agent Scully and Mulder's professionalism. You deliberately
misrepresented their current situation to the other agents
in this room. You have no idea, no *fucking idea* what's
gone down the last few hours," Skinner shouted in a low
voice, his eyes blazing.

"You will catch the next flight back to D.C. Disciplinary
action will be taken at the recommendation of the director
himself. And if I hear one word, one vague hint of this
incident outside of this room I will personally tear your
fucking balls out and ram them up your ass! And I am being
literal, *not* metaphorical!"

Colton visibly paled. He suddenly felt an overpowering
need to find a men's room, but Skinner's form filled the
door frame. The A.D.'s eyes danced across each of the four
remaining agents in the room, boring into their souls. 

"Do I make myself clear?"

There was no delay in the nods of assent and "Yes, sir's." 

"Agent Fuller has been delayed. Your team assignments have
been changed to accommodate new evidence. Pair up agents
and get cracking." 

He handed them each sheets of paper and went to leave the
room, but checked himself. As much as Skinner loathed the
necessity of further explanation, regardless of what he had
just said, Colton's words left a slimy residue of doubt. On
top of the newspaper insinuations, this was just too much.

"You are aware of Agent Mulder's eccentricities. This is
normal for him. The ability to slip into the mind of a
killer has an incalculable impact on a man."

Skinner thought back to the night before. After getting
Mulder downstairs, the younger man seemed to recover his
wits long enough to begin dictating everything he could
recall. He faded in and out, desperately trying to convince
Skinner to keep him awake long enough to work up another
profile. Finally, Scully convinced him they had plenty,
more than plenty to go on. It would take hours to get
things moving on what they had and meanwhile, Mulder needed
to get warm and sleep if he was to be in any way effective. 

Mulder told Skinner to look at his notes, it wasn't a
profile, as such, just his way of getting the background in
place, but there was enough in there for Skinner to use. 

Mulder had an almost death grip on Scully's hand as he
begged them to listen to him. Eventually, Scully's
exhaustion overwhelmed her and she curled up beside him on
his bed. Skinner left them long enough to debrief the
witnesses to the rooftop incident, then he returned to the
room and stayed with them, silently supporting them,
reading the terrifying contents of Mulder's pad, while the
agents dropped off into apparent sleep. He gently placed a
large comforter over them, checking the room's heat was
sufficiently high. When he had left them a half hour
before, he noticed that Scully had rolled onto her back and
held her partner gently in her arms. Mulder had unfolded
from his fetal curl, safe in his partner's arms. Skinner
silently thanked a merciful God for giving them each other.

"It is a talent," Skinner added, "none of you want. Trust
me on this. I'm not about to explain or justify the
connection he has with Agent Scully. I'm not sure I
understand it myself. But she is his partner, not his
lover." Somehow Skinner managed to give the word partner an
inflection of reverence while lover came out with a sneer.

"It is through Agent Mulder's unique...processing
abilities, after a...difficult night that we have this new
information. I stayed with them until a few minutes ago.
Scully is a calming influence and if it helps him get a few
hours peace I wouldn't care if they fucked like bunnies.
But that is not the case.

"Now, get the hell out of my sight." Skinner spat the final
words from his mouth at Colton, then swiveled around and
left the room.

No one was prepared to meet Colton's eye as the man almost
visibly crumpled. To give him his due, he tried to leave
with a parting shot. "Methinks Skinner doth protest too
much."

Cummins, totally unsympathetic to the agent and resentful
that his tactless revelation had enmeshed them in an
unnecessary tasteless tirade from an A.D., commented,
"Better pack you wool skivvies, Colton, I believe it's cold
enough to freeze whatever balls the director leaves you
with, up in Dead Horse, Alaska."

Colton exited the room to the sound of sniggers. 

"Fucking asshole," Cummins added. She'd found herself
attracted to the saturnine Mulder with his boyish good
looks. But she was also no fool. Mulder was a basket case
in the making. Still, Cummins wouldn't have waited ten
seconds to jump into the sack with him, even if it was only
to offer the poor bastard some relief from the apparently
insurmountable tension this case was generating. Frankly,
she was almost disappointed to hear Scully was not intimate
with him. She glanced up at Wilcox for a moment. There were
eight female agents on this case and Cummins would bet good
money that each and every one of them had already spent an
hour or two wrapped in the mindless release of sex. 

"I wonder what inspires a man to commit professional
suicide like that?" The remaining agent, Ford, asked no one
in particular.

"Wilcox did ask him," Bligh added.

"Yeah, but he coulda said Mulder was asleep and left it at
that," Wilcox answered. He shuffled his papers together to
leave the room. "Colton had the hots for Scully,"

"Who doesn't?" Bligh quipped. "And look where that got
Forenzzi."

"'Bout six years back," Wilcox continued, "Colton fucked up
big time by calling off a stakeout Mulder ordered. Scully
was nearly killed as a result. Mulder only just got to her
in time. Colton's career kinda stagnated after that. Stupid
son of a bitch. Anyone assigned to this case when Spooky
finally takes down the killers will garner a lot of kudos.
Colton could have been part of that." 

"So you think Mulder's got what it takes to solve this
thing, despite all the rumors about him?" Bligh asked.

"Well, let's face it, for all the shit leads and dead ends
we've been following, this case was dead in the water until
now."

"I'm goin' to grab some breakfast while I look over this."
Cummins gestured to papers Skinner had handed them. "Anyone
care to join me?"

"Yeah," Wilcox nodded. He glanced at Cummins and saw the
fatigue and pain in her eyes. Maybe sometime in the next
few days they'd get an hour or two break. He nodded in
recognition of her needs. His were the same. And he, too,
felt a monetary pang of sadness that fucked-up Spooky
probably couldn't find release in that simple, human way.
No doubt Forenzzi was right about one thing, the poor
bastard probably couldn't get it up if his life depended on
it.

**********************
End Chapter 2 The Meta

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 3:The Meta 3 of 4
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please! spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated R  
*********************

CHAPTER 3

Day 11 - Tuesday
Central Hotel, Seattle
6 a.m.

The poor bastard meanwhile had a woody that stuck up like
the proverbial flagpole.

Shit, he thought as he glanced down at himself.

He tried to move his legs in such a way that it would be
less noticeable if Scully woke. As much as his overactive
mind demanded he get up and write the profile already
compiled in his head, he was overcome by the absolute need
to stay wrapped in his partner's arms. 

Five minutes. He could have that much, he thought. Five
minutes of fantasy.

He nuzzled her soft copper hair, smelling shampoo and eau
de Scully in a heady fragrance for which he would cheerfully
have paid a thousand dollars an ounce. But here it was,
for free. He allowed his eyes to explore the soft curve of
her cheek and delicate nose, then those sinfully rich lips
that he had come so close, God help him, so very close to
claiming so many times. His eyes followed the shape of her
shoulders, down to her breasts, rising gently now in sleep.
There really was nothing quite so exquisite as watching
Scully sleep, curled up around him, all mussed and soft
and...well...Scully. She was so small, he often saw her as
elfin and yet she carried an aura so large it seemed he
spent most of his life looking up to her. God, he loved her.
Loved her so much that if anything happened to her he knew
he would not last a month. Shit, he'd hardly lasted when
she'd been taken five years before. And he had not then
realized how much he had come to care for her. 

He knew, above all else that if he began to make love to
her now, she would not resist. She would roll sleepily into
his arms and hold his head to her breast. He would hold
each perfect orb in his hands and fold his face into them.
And they would be perfect, no matter what their size or
shape. 

Of course, he knew what they looked like, he'd seen them by
accident at different times, then full measure in the
Antarctic, and they had redefined perfection for him. If
they had been bigger or smaller, if her nipples had been
larger or less full, it would not have mattered. Whatever
Scully was, that was what defined his perfection.

He knew his time was almost up. His eyes moved to her
rounded hips. Hard to see under the cover of the blanket,
but the shape was there, reminding him how they swung just
so with those three-inch heels. God, he loved it in the
summer when she wore them.

He closed his eyes and sighed slowly as the nightmarish
reality tried to impinge into his fantasy world. 

What in hell was she doing in bed with him? As if she
didn't do enough, he took even this measure of privacy from
her. His mind replayed the events of the previous evening,
washing away the intimacy of the soft morning. He felt his
hand clenched softly in hers, possessively. 

But who possessed whom?

This was not right. Despite the dream telling him he had
not lost her, that he could trust that she truly understood,
this was not the way it should be. This was not for now. 
For now, he had to get moving because God help them
all, another boy had died last night.

The images flooded his soul and he cried out in anguish,
abruptly sitting up. 

As the blankets pulled from her body, Scully woke. She was
disoriented at first, wondering why she was uncovered in
the cold of the room. Then she felt the bed move and was
shocked to see Mulder stand, then walk into the bathroom.

And she remembered.

Oh hell, she'd fallen asleep. And Skinner had been there
with them.

She hastily brushed that aside. It wasn't the first time
she'd cradled a wounded Mulder in her arms at night. That
it was his psyche rather than his body in need of comfort
and warmth was not the issue.

Scully pulled the rest of the covers from herself. Her
black jeans were speckled with white fluff from the
blankets and he toes felt cold, despite the thick socks.
Who had pulled her shoes off? Skinner?

But exhausted, she mentally shrugged. Too bad. 

The temptation to roll over and go back to sleep was
almost overwhelming, but she needed to make sure her
partner was okay. The bathroom door was open and she could
hear the shower running. The sound lulled her and she
dropped off.

Waking with a start, with no sense of elapsed time, Scully
shot up and out of bed with a thudding heart. The shower
was still running! She ran into the bathroom and nearly
collapsed with relief at the sight of him. First the damned
man won't shower for two, three days at a time. Now he
can't get enough. 

Mulder turned his tired eyes to see his partner staring at
him. He felt no embarrassment. Not that he ever really had
in front of Scully, he was more amused at her blush than
anything. He'd lost the worst of his morning erection...not
that he'd had anything left to hide. And the strange, half-
remembered dream had restored his equilibrium.

"Hey, partner, wanna join me?"

"Jesus, Mulder, you scared me!" 

"Listen, Scully, if you're gonna make a habit of coming in
the shower with me, can you scrub my back instead of just
standing there and ogling?" 

Scully about-faced, grasping for some semblance of
dignity. She wasn't sure if it was hers, or his.

But a part of her filed away the sight of his naked body.
Too nice, too damned nice with those sleek runner's thighs,
tight little ass and smooth back muscles of a swimmer. Not
to mention the goods that hung rather snugly...shut up
Dana. She walked out of the bathroom asking, "How are you,
Mulder?"

He turned the water off and reached for a towel. Tying it
around his waist he walked out of the bathroom and went to
rummage through the bag of clean laundry. 

"I'm fine, Scully." He turned to glance over his shoulder
at her skeptical face "No, really, just damned hungry. And
I need to get those profiles written."

"Mulder...if you eat, are you going to keep any of it down?"

He pulled a pair of gray shorts from the pile. He was
about to drop his towel and put them on, but decided he had
to start redefining the lines between them again. He
grabbed an undershirt and took the clothes back with him to
the bathroom as he spoke.

"Yeah, I should be all right, now."

"I mean it, Mulder. Your system is severely depleted. Would
you let me give you a vitamin shot?"

Her voice was so hesitant he walked out of the bathroom
pulling the shirt over his head and replied "Scully...look,
all right. Shit, I hate needles, can't you give me a few
pills or something?"

She almost wilted in relief. "If you want to get your
profiles done, a shot will work faster."

He studied her a few moments. "Scully, I'm sorry I've been
such an asshole, but I warned you before we started this,
no drugs."

"Mulder, vitamins are not drugs."

"No, but this only happens to me when I'm physically run
down. It's like I told you, like the old Indian fakirs,
sleep and food deprivation, intense cold...leaves the mind
open to...whatever."

She asked in a small voice. "How...how did it happen the
first time?"

He opened the closet doors and pulled out a shirt. As he
buttoned it he said, "Look, Scully, as much as I'd love to
stay and chat, I really have to get moving on this. Where's
Skinner? Did he take my notes?"

Scully pulled her lower lip into her mouth. There was so
much she wanted...hell *needed* to know. But he was right.
It had to wait for now.

"Yeah, how about I get cleaned up and meet you down in the
restaurant? He's probably there or in one of the meeting
rooms." She glanced at her watch. "By now, he'll have
everyone out on the roads, chasing down leads."

He pulled on his pants. "I have to get out there, too.
There's a barn...I'll recognize it when I see it. Damn,
where're my shoes?"

Scully motioned towards the door. A brown paper bag
contained three pairs of dry, clean and polished shoes. 

"Ah, the lovely Dulcie!" He grinned mischievously at his
partner and sat on the edge of the bed to put a pair on.

Scully smiled and tousled his hair as she walked to the
adjoining door. She was just about to close it when he
called, "Hey Scully?"

Scully looked back over her shoulder.

"Thanks...that's about four thousand and eighty seven I
owe you."

She smiled softly and replied "Oh, I dunno, Mulder, I think
that Antarctic thing has kinda put you in the credit books
for a few years, yet."

He grinned back at her and she started to close the door,
then added, "But that doesn't mean you get out of dinners
over the contents of *those* drawers!"

His face dropped so artfully she couldn't help a grin tug
at her lips.

"Mulder, I've seen basset hounds look less woeful... Oh all
right. I'll just make it one dinner."

His face looked even more woebegone as he realized he'd
been maneuvered into a completely no-win situation.

Scully used her own bathroom to get cleaned up, then
prepared the vitamin shot. Returning to give it to him, she
found him shaved and groomed and looking like something
straight from an FBI call up poster. Except that his suits
were more expensive. How in hell did he do it?

But his eyes were still a little sunken and gray-rimmed.
She was determined he'd take the shot.

"Okay, Mulder drop them,"

"Ah Scully, you trying to come on to me?" He waggled his
eyebrows and grinned.

She waved the needle around. "Careful Mulder, I'm armed."

He lowered his trousers and winced as she jabbed his hip.

"I'll see you downstairs in half an hour, Mulder."

He mumbled, "'kay." And left without glancing back, his
mind already on the profiles that needed to be written. But
under it all was the oddly compelling memory, of all the
weird things, of a shimmering green Pegasus.



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


CHAPTER 4

Day 11 - Tuesday
Central Hotel, Seattle
7:08 a.m.
 

Mulder heard Skinner's voice coming from Room 1. He
walked past the main door and glanced inside. Damn. Press
conference. Not that many, but quantity did not matter so
much as distribution. Mulder quietly cursed, wasn't it due
at 9 a.m.? He needed to discuss with Skinner exactly what
information they would release and what should be kept in
house. 

Then he listened to Skinner's voice, "...what it means to
walk in the shoes, to know both victim and subject and how
each interacts with the other. This is achieved by hours in
prisons, sitting across the table from the killers,
listening to their stories. And only by empathizing with
them will they willingly reveal their thought processes.
John Douglas, one of the FBI's first profilers, has gone
into a prison cell and managed to get a killer of six young
girls to open up by saying, and I quote, "That's six good
pieces of ass you've taken away from the rest of us."

Skinner looked up at the men and women in front of him.
Some looked shocked, others frowned in disbelief.

Mulder walked along the hall to the rear exit of the room
and stood in the doorway. He recognized Douglas' quote and
wondered what in hell Skinner was doing. Why would he pick
now, of all times, to give the press a lesson in profiling
techniques?

"That, ladies and gentleman," Skinner continued "Is a
direct quote from John Douglas' published novel *Journey
into Darkness*. And that is exactly what a profiler must
do, journey into the minds of the animals that perpetrate
these heinous crimes on society, in order to understand
what motivates them. And by doing so, they can predict
behavior patterns that in turn may lead to the capture of
these madmen. It's not pretty, it's ugly -- as ugly as the 
crimes the animals commit. But it is necessary. 

"When a profiler immerses himself into the crime, to
establish this mental rapport with the murderer, he may
approach the situation by pantomime and by speaking in the
first person, thereby giving the appearance to those
unfamiliar with the technique, that he is in fact..."

One of the younger agents standing near Mulder recognized
him and silently handed him a folded newspaper. He opened
it and felt his stomach turn into knots as the headline
grabbed him:

"FBI PROTECTING CHILD MOLESTER AMONG ITS RANKS? 

Using the maxim of it takes a thief to catch one, the FBI
has been accused of harboring a suspected pedophile to 
out-think the Line Killer."


Mulder's fingers clenched the paper and he glanced at the
publisher. It was just a rag, a low ranked piece of tabloid
garbage. He then glanced quickly through the byline,
catching only the relevant phrases.

"Yesterday, an inside source with the FBI revealed that an
unnamed agent...questionable ethics...hypocrisy...legal
system which turns a blind eye...calling for the
resignation of...man's name to be released...FBI's stance
on homosexuality amongst its ranks...

Mulder clamped his jaw tightly and backed out of the room.

Fuck.

He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to consider the
implications. Who the hell..? Forenzzi? Could the stupid
prick hate him *that* much? He opened his eyes and glanced
back into the press conference. He could hear Skinner's
voice painting a very clear and concise picture of FBI
profiling techniques. Skinner's delivery was flat,
professional and effective in undermining the ridiculous
headline.

Long time crime reporters and more mainstream papers were
familiar with profiling techniques and would automatically
scoff at the tabloid headline. But the average Joe public
would presume that where there was smoke...

Shit. 

He stopped his mind from flying off into tangents and
decided to dismiss it out of hand. Skinner would take care
of it. He needed food and a quiet place to write his
updated profiles. But then he heard a question from someone
close to Skinner. He could barely make out the words.

"...true that a FBI agent was the source? That being the
case, surely he would have a clear understanding of the
differences between a profiler and an actual pedophile?"

"It is correct that the information came from an FBI agent
formerly working on this case. You appreciate that this is
a high stress, often dangerous job and this particular
agent is suffering from the effects of that stress. He is
currently undergoing psychiatric evaluation..." 

He had thought long and hard about Forenzzi's attitude
towards him. It did not simply extend from the death of
Steve Wallenberg. It went back further, he was sure, to the
case in Michigan. Over the prior months he had desperately
sought to control the killer during mirroring. Having
failed every time, when it hit him hard and fast in
Michigan, he lost sight of his body and its surroundings in
an attempt to get into the killer's body. He had failed,
yet again, to save the victim. When it was over, Patterson
was there and his hotel door broken in. He had not thought
to ask, but it was obvious now that Forenzzi had seen
something. And fucking Patterson had not bothered to
mention it.

Mulder shook his head and walked away. Forenzzi had just
bought himself the wrath of God. He was sorry for Forenzzi,
sorry Patterson had likely never debriefed him. Or perhaps
he had. Mulder sighed. Yeah, perhaps he had and like any
sane man, Forenzzi couldn't accept it.

He walked away, wishing he could get the image of a green
Pegasus out of his mind, it was distracting the hell out of
him.

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

End Chapter 4 The Meta

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 3:The Meta 4 of 4
Disclaimers: See Part 1
Author/Feedback: YES please! spider@webspin.org.
All parts can be found at www.webspin.org/xfic.htm

*********************
This section rated PG  
*********************

CHAPTER 5

Day 11 - Tuesday 

2:30 p.m. PST 
Lat: 16 deg. 2 min. S. Long: 121 deg. 9 min. E. 

6:30 a.m. local time 

Mulder looked up in to the eyes of the Meta. He felt
calmer that he should have. And it bothered him. Although
perhaps now, at long last, he might get some answers...or
maybe he had never come out of it last night and had
finally, completely gone away with the fairies.

Nik was gratified, *You have accepted this situation well,
Human.*

"I don't exactly accept it, but I'm willing to...listen.
You're communicating by some sort of telepathy?"

*Yes.*

"So you can read minds as well as project thoughts?"

*Yes.*

Mulder nodded. *All right...Let me get this clear. I'm
driving along and a green mythical creature swoops down out
of the sky, *pulls* me out of the car somehow and tells me
someone needs to talk to me. I black out for a moment, or
everything goes black, not sure which, then I'm on the back
of a...a Pegasus and we're coming in for landing, sans
pilot, on this beach. Then you appear. I knew to expect you
because of a dream last night. How am I doing so far?*

The Meta inclined his head.

Mulder nodded a few times as he absorbed the information.
Okay, so he was dreaming. Either that or he was lost in
some psychosis-driven waking nightmare. Had Scully
overridden Skinner and drugged him? Had he simply lost it
himself, gone too deep into the mind of a killer to ever
come out again? But no...his memories since the mirroring
were too cohesive. The events around him, the warmth of the
sun, feel of sand beneath his shoes too real to be delusions. 
Yet was not the strength of delusions a testimony to insanity? 

*Am I insane?*

The blue creature let out an amazingly deep laugh. *You are
without doubt *the* most sane man on the planet! As much as
I hate to use one of your cliches -- you've simply
been...abducted by an...alien. Come with me.*

Mulder frowned, but curiosity drove him to follow the alien
along the sandy beach to a thatch of coconut trees. Spread
out on a wooden table under the shade, was an extraordinary
array of cooked foods and a pot of rich-smelling coffee.
Mulder felt surprisingly hungry. Despite what he'd told
Scully, for the first time in days he honestly thought he
could eat without upchucking soon after. 

Mulder sat at the table, then glanced at the alien that
called itself a Meta. Okay, what next? Quantico didn't run
courses in alien protocol. 

The Meta replied *I have eaten.*

Mulder looked down at the table, his stomach rumbling.
What the hell, if I am crazy, he thought, the food in this
asylum is one hell of a lot better than most institutions.
Scully, yeah, that was it, she'd found him a real nice
nuthouse. He's have to thank her when he came out of it. If
he came out of it.

And if by some chance this *was* real, he could do with a
decent meal.

Fifteen minutes later he finished and stood to join the
Meta standing down near the water's edge. Something, some
movement prompted him to look back at the table. It had
vanished.

"Portable dishwasher, huh?"

*You were brought to this place because I felt it would be
easier on your psyche to speak in such surroundings. Your
friends are naturally concerned but you will be returned in
a few hours, healthier than when you departed.*

Mulder blinked and glanced at his hands. He breathed
deeply and suddenly realized he felt no pain. There were no
scrapes nor bruises across his knuckles from the night
before. He touched his face, no tenderness in his jaw and
the temporary crowns had vanished and his original teeth
were back in place. 

"What did you do?" 

*Fox Mulder, you are neither insane, dreaming nor
delusional, however the pain and physical degradation you
use as tools to artificially elevate yourself to an enhanced 
receptive state weaken you. This makes you vulnerable 
both to delusions and to the machinations of that which you 
seek. That is why I came last night, for such a state is 
dangerous to you physical existence. I want you well and 
healthy and sure of your sanity for that which I wish to show 
you.*

Mulder's thoughts warred, but he could do nothing for now,
except go along with it. *All right...so why is it that
we've never seen your type before?*

*Because I can do this,* the eight foot tall, royal blue
humanoid with cat like eyes and a mane of hair that would
have made a lion proud, lost its tail and quickly morphed
into a good-looking human male. He was roughly the same
height, but slightly bigger build than Mulder.

*Bounty hunter?*

*No, this was my previous form.*

Mulder blinked. *Previous form... Shit, do you mean...?*

*Here, might as well get comfortable. You'll be here most of
the day and it's going to get pretty warm. Don't worry
about sunburn, I've adjusted your melanin to deal with it.
By the way, my name is Nik.* 

He held out a pair of swimming trunks in one hand and
proffered his other hand in a human gesture of greeting.

*Nice to meet you...I think.* 

Mulder shook the Meta's hand then quickly stripped and
changed. Shit, if this was a dream...

*It's not.*

Mulder glanced at the Meta. *Okay, so why am I here?*

The Meta retained his human form as they walked along the
beach. *Let's back up a little ways so I can explain..in
fact lets back up all the way back to before.*

Mulder waited in the silence, wondering if he had missed
something. *Before what?*

Nik scrunched up his face. *Before. Remember your origins
of the universe theory? It's pretty much correct...you
know, the once upon a time there wasn't?*

Mulder looked at the Meta. Shit, physics was Scully's
field, not his. 

*Okay,* Nik replied *Before time there wasn't.*

*Wasn't what?*

*Time. Before the beginning there was no time, space or
matter. There was no matter because there was no time for
matter to exist within. There was no time because no matter
existed for time to be measured in relation to. There was
no space for space is the place between matter and as there
was no matter, there could be no space. Ergo, before the
universe, there wasn't.*

*You mean before time and space there was nothing.*

*No. 'Nothing' implies the existence of 'something' and
there was no something. It's like good and evil. They are
measurements and you must have something to measure before
you can quantify it. Everything only exists, or doesn't
exist, in relationship to something else.*

*Okay, an imponderable moment before, then there was an
after, your basic origin of the universe theory, I get
it...I guess.* 

*Let's move out of high school. In fact lets move away
from standard quantum mechanics. After the universe was, it
formed into six standard dimensions. You understand the
first four, three spacial, the fourth being time. The fifth
leads into another set dealing with they way you and I are
communicating. It is also the place where your mind goes
when you mirror.*

Mulder's head jerked around *That's quantifiable? It's a
*real* place.*

*Of course? What did you think, that you imagined it? But
put that aside for the moment, we can return to it later.
For now I want you to picture a journey leaving this
universe through the sixth dimension. As you travel, the
path divides into six. These paths lead to six other
universes. Consider this universe the baseline one, so this
plus the other six now total seven. We, however, name the
other universes one to six. From this perspective if you
stick to the far left path, the sixth one, it leads from
here to the sixth universe. You follow so far?*

Mulder nodded.

*When you arrive at this sixth universe, do not break
through the superficies. Stay in the sixth dimension and
you will see that from this sixth universe the path again
divides into six. This dividing path applies to every one
of the first six universes so that you end up with a total
of forty three. However, lets just stick on our path. Once
again, take the sixth path on the left and it will lead you
to the final, forty third universe. Now pick up the
construct in your mind and examine it. You have taken a
circular path around the universes to arrive back where you
began -- but it is the opposite side. The wrong side. The
path to this 43rd universe is described mathematically as
the sixth path to the sixth universe then the sixth path
from there...*

*You're kidding?* Mulder mentally interrupted * 666....?*

The Meta paused, not surprised this man immediately
grasped the implications *Exactly.*

Mulder felt a frissom of fear arc up his spine and he
stopped walking to stare out at the placid ocean. 

Oh, fuck.

The Meta gave the human a few minutes to grasp the
staggering philosophical implications. 

*Well done, Fox Mulder, it took me an hour to grasp it when
I first heard, but then I'd never had to fight metaphysical
evil before. You have.*

*What in hell are you?* Mulder looked at the Meta with
haunted eyes. 

*Some billions of years ago a species evolved in this
universe to become what we call Masters. They do not rule
the galaxies, but they are benevolent. In the 43rd universe
an equally powerful species, the Others, also evolved...*

Oh my god, oh my God, oh fucking hell... Mulder sat, bent
his head forward and put his hands in his head.

*Yes, you understand now.*

Mulder took a deep breath and looked out over the tranquil
ocean.

*What about the gray aliens, the black oil, where does it
all fit in?*

*Listen, and I will tell you a tale. The Masters evolved
and reached out from their home planet to explore the
stars. In time, they learned to traverse the galaxy and
eventually, to reach other galaxies beyond. To explore
these galaxies they leaned to breach the interneces of the
dimensions. And so it came about that the 43rd universe was
discovered. It was Pandora's box, accessed by a way that
some human folk law now describe as the number of the Beast
- 666. Once opened, the nature of the creatures that
existed therein entrapped those Masters who fell within.
And they were many. 

*We do not know if those Masters still exist, for their
species is all but immortal. However, soon it came to pass
that a force humans call evil became to be unleashed upon
this universe. The Masters knew its source and came to
refer to these dark minions as the Others. You recognize
the parallels in Genesis.*

Mulder swallowed hard and nodded needlessly.

Nik continued. *The Masters, realizing the Life Force of
our universe must be nurtured against the destruction of
the Others, set about creating sentinels to protect the
growing Life Forces of each planet. 

*Understand, Agent Mulder, there are not one or two or
even a dozen aliens in this universe, but millions of
different species. And yet, for all we differ, we are all
the same!*

Mulder shook his head unable to fully absorb the
implications of what this creature told him.

*Listen to me!* Nik clasped Mulder's arm gently to get his
attention. The soul weary agent looked up with hooded eyes. 

*All the universes were created from a single set of raw
materials. You, the rock you sit on...the ants that crawl
beneath, the whales in that ocean, the sea itself and yes!
The sun above are all made from the same molecules that
were Created in the beginning. Your body is made from the
stuff of stars, Fox Mulder! The molecules that once roamed
this sun fell to earth and made you, and all that exists
around you! And when your body dies, when your molecules
turn to dust they will be reborn again, as a flower or a
plant, to be eaten by one that gives birth to yet another
and another. Nothing ever truly dies, Fox Mulder.

*And consider, the stars themselves were born from a
single great mass, so all creatures in the universes are
really one, part of one great Life Force. But as there must
be a beginning, so to must there be an ending.*

Mulder lifted his eyes to the horizon *And how will this
all end? Is it really all for nothing?*

Nik sighed. *That depends on who wins. The battle will rage
a billion years or more, but eventually...* he chuckled and
shook his head *A human author perhaps described it best,
"What a caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master
calls a butterfly". The Others? They wish differently, to
pull back into the blackness of oblivion. They call it
purity...

*The aliens who visit this planet are many. Some are
benevolent collectors who wish to preserve a record of that
which is fast being lost. Others merely observer while a
few, including those you know as the gray aliens, are
acquisitive and wish to activate long dead genes in your
biology to generate their own kind.*

*Can you help us?* Mulder asked. *Is that why you're here?*

Nik pursed his lips and crossed his arms in an all too
human gesture. He looked up with sadness in his eyes *No, I
cannot help you fight these creatures in the way you wish.
It is a domestic dispute over a backwater planet. My role
is to fight that which surpasses mere greed and is evil
incarnate. My fight is with the Others.*

Mulder shot up from the ground and yelled, "Then why the
hell are you telling me all this? If you can't help, what's
the point? And if we don't have the tools to fight a...a
domestic dispute, how in hell can we fight these Others?"

Nik looked sadly at Mulder *You cannot fight the Others,
that is not within your power. But you do have the tools to
fight the gray ones. Even now the tools are being
fashioned, a vaccine...*

"Is being tested on the innocent, in a cruel and
farcical..."

*YES.*

The force of the thought slammed into Mulder's mind and he
grasped his head with his hands.

After a few moments, the Meta continued, *Yes. The reasons
for your fight, for this domestic dispute over
acquisitiveness is because the Others have long since
established a powerful foothold amongst the gray ones. It
is not complete, for many grays are benevolent, but it is
nevertheless powerful.*

*Then fighting them will...*

*Achieve only a temporary respite! You do not yet
understand, they are but vessels that can be discarded.*

*Then make me understand! Show me!*

Nik motioned for Mulder to sit again *Calm yourself now,
for I will take you on a journey to the edge of the Abyss
and you will see that which you have glimpsed before, in
the minds of those you hunt, but this time you will know
its truth.*

Mulder looked into the eyes of the Meta and felt himself
fall. At first he took it to be the mind of the Meta and it
shocked him. It was enormous, it would consume him! Trying
desperately to skirt the edges, Mulder felt himself
propelled beyond.

*Do not be afraid. They have seen your face before and
know you. But this time you remain under my protection and
thus, hidden from the Others. But look here into the mind
of one which you seek...*

Mulder almost recoiled in revulsion at the insidious black
growth that enmeshed itself with the personality
of...someone, a face he could not see...He followed the
path of this wrongness in the same way as he allowed his
body to mirror a killer. Past the mind of the person and
into the ether beyond it streamed out, joined by tens of
thousands of others like it and coalesced. Mulder rushed to
follow it to the source then froze in horror. 

Not possible!

Oh, God, it was not possible to witness such a seething mass
of raw evil and survive! Every tale he'd ever heard about
those who looked upon such horror turning to stone, or
salt, came back to plague him. Yet even at that moment he
realized he was not seeing it raw, but reflected in the
mind of the Meta...Medusa in the mirror...

He felt himself being jerked back and awoke,
uncontrollably emptying his bowels, bladder and stomach on
the beach as his mind gagged, suffocating at the grotesque
filth within. If it were possible he would ripped his brain
from his skull and scrubbed it in the cleansing oceanic
waters.

*I'm sorry,* Nik bent beside the prone man and brushed
Mulder's hair from his head, trying to ease the pain, *It
will pass in a few minutes. Do not fear that it touched
you, your mind is incorruptible, but now you see the face
of the Others. And now you know. They are not manifest in
solid form, but, like the Masters, have evolved into
thought forms and concepts. We feel the Masters in our
minds and know them to be real. Humans feel them as
something vague and you give name to that vague concept and
call it God, Jehovah, when in fact you really should give
those names to the all encompassing Life Force. And the
Others you give names like Satan and Beezlebub. They are
thought forms too, evil made manifest in the physical
beings of the universe.

*Yes, now you know. Evil is real and you have looked upon
its face.*

Nik lifted the man in his arms and bathed him clean in the
warm oceanic waters. Mulder was hardly aware, in far too
much pain to be ashamed of his body's involuntary loss of
control. The Meta knew this would be the result.

Finally, Mulder slept. For fifteen long hours he slept
peacefully, dreaming only normal dreams, of forgotten
moments, dreams of no consequence that brought with them no
pain or pleasure, just therapy.

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

Day 11 - Tuesday

Central Hotel, Seattle

2:30 p.m.

 

"When, when did he leave?" Scully's eyes pierced Skinner.

"I don't know. He gave me the profiles and walked out. I
had no idea he'd left the hotel."

Scully's face turned away. Damn the man!

"Agent Scully, are you concerned he might..."

Scully shook her head to cut him off. "No, I really don't
think so."

"Then where...?"

"He said something about a barn that he'd recognize..."

Skinner stared at Scully. Surely Mulder wouldn't be so
stupid as to go...Come to think of it, he would.

Damn the man!

 

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

Day 12 - Wednesday

5 a.m. PST

Lat: 16 beg 2 min S. Long: 121 beg 9 min E 

8:30 p.m. local time

 

When Mulder awoke the sun had long set, but the night air
was warm and the stars blazed. He sat up and found himself
dressed in his clean and dry suit. He bore no sign of his
physical collapse following the...whatever in hell it was
that the Meta had shown him.

*You are awake. Good. Come and eat. It's about time you
kept something down long enough to do you some
good. I've repaired your body, but there's still nothing
like a good solid meal in your stomach.*

Mulder's thoughts were a jumbled mixture. He remembered
what he had seen and grasped the implications, but the
thought no longer made him nauseous. He looked at the Meta
in chagrin, regretting the creature had been obliged to
clean him up.

*Apologies are unnecessary, lesser men have lost their
sanity.*

Once again Mulder found himself at a table filled with hot
spicy foods. This time the Meta joined him and Mulder
delighted at the ability to hold a conversation with his
mouth full.

*The people...I'm more than ever sure there's at least
four, the ones I'm seeking, their minds are...infected with
this...essence of the Others?*

*Many on this planet are enmeshed with the essence of what
you call evil. Some have the ability to ward it off, some
can be infected and fight free of its strictures. But many,
far too many, have had their life forces enmeshed with the
Others. Once that happens, only physical death might
release them.*

Mulder suddenly stopped chewing and narrowed his eyes.

*Where is my sister, Samantha?*

Nik looked up. *I don't know.*

*But you could find out, you could...*

*No.*

"What do you mean! You could..." He started to stand,
trying to emphasize his point but the Meta held up his hand.

*Even were I to desert my post, I cannot interfere. This
is a domestic dispute. It would draw attention to our
presence, upsetting the whole, precipitating that which you
fear the most.*

*Colonization?*

*Or worse. Colonization you could survive. Outright
dominion by the Others, you could not. Fight the fights you
can win. You have no tools to fight the Others, that is our
role. Your mind set is such that you would die before
succumbing to that evil.

*But what about the profiling and this damned ability to
go deeper, to mirror?*

Nik looked at Mulder and pursed his lips. *For a human,
your mind is extraordinary. You *chose* to push the limits
until inactive parts of your brain were temporarily...enabled. 
This is what you call mirroring.*

Mulder frowned and pulled his head back. Staring at the
Meta in disbelief he was so taken back, he verbalized his
thoughts. "I didn't *choose* to do this! Shit if I had any
control it would *never* have happened! Why do you think I
stopped in the first place?"

*Your wife, Patterson...*

"You *know about that?" Mulder's eyes narrowed.

Nik sighed *Yeah...it is very close to the surface of your
mind.* He shook his head in sympathy *But it does not take
from the fact that you pushed yourself so hard as a
profiler, you broke through into parts of your mind that
lie dormant in most humans. In fact they are still mostly
dormant even in you, that's why you have such little
control. *It* drives *you*.*

*I always feared that one day...I'd never get back, that
it would take control, completely.*

*Although your body channels humans you seek, they are
unaware of your existence. The Others that meld in their
minds feel the conduit you form in the fifth dimension. But
they cannot reach through because your mind repels them
like water from a duck's back. That is why you could not enter
Mostow. It was not his mind you sought to do battle with,
but a pure form of the Others, a demon, perhaps you might
call it. There is a risk to your body, of course, it may be
killed by the actions of the killer, but I promise you your
soul will remain untouched.*

That's comforting, thought Mulder I end up as a lost soul.
The more things change...

The Meta chuckled at Mulder's wry thoughts. *Never fear
death of a mere body.*

Mulder shook his head impatiently. *Where's this getting us?*

*You desire to control the killer's actions, yes?*

*I've tried, Christ I've tried!*

*Mm, it *is* possible, in theory. You have seen another
who could take on the victims' persona so well as to protect
the victim by default.*

*Lucy Householder,* Mulder thought sadly. Jesus, that had
torn him apart. Knowing she was akin to him, knowing she
had similar...abilities. Knowing she could take that
final step, to give up control completely and thus save the
victim at the expense of her own life. 

He buried his face in his hands, remembering her
sacrifice. A sacrifice he could not bring himself to
achieve. Scully had never understood. None of them could,
but he knew, God help him he knew...

*Lucy,* Nik touched Mulder's arm in sympathy, *was too
damaged. The essence of the Others could not touch her and
in the end it was better for her to leave. There is
another...*

*Gibson Praise?*

*He is still immature, but his potential is...enormous.
But he is not your concern, for the moment.*

Mulder pondered that. *The Consortium, do they have him?*

*Those who remain do not have him. He is too strong, too
powerful, whereas in you, the talent is wild. For all their
evils, they kept you alive in order that you might one day
be useful. You cannot yet control this talent, but your
ability to break into and travel the fifth dimension is a
tool that may yet save this planet from the gray ones. 

*Consider Lucy. Her ability was *awakened* by the agony and
horror she suffered, but her pain and immaturity broke her.
You, however, were crafted with greater finesse. *You* are a
weapon, Fox Mulder, one your father knew he could never
give away and so, he chose Samantha and allowed you to be
forged by the agony of your loss and guilt.*

Oh, Christ. He pushed the food away, stood and walked down
to face the ocean. He looked up at the stars. His father
knew. Christ, it all fell into place now. He was a weapon, a
weapon to fight the future, meticulously crafted by his
life, his pain, his driving desire to push the limits of
everything, even his own mind. It wasn't just the vaccine.

*Yes, *now* you understand. There are many weapons in
humanity's arsenal. You are one. But not until you learn to
control this power and even then...there are parts to it
even I do not understand, perhaps to be revealed in time.*

*But I've tried! I've tried to exert control, I...*

*You cannot exert control until you give up your link to
your own body.*

*I tried that once, in Michigan, but I failed to let go
completely. I was...afraid that if I let go, I might not
get back.*

*Returning is easier than reaching the killers. Your body
knows you and the link is unbreakable -- except by death. But
your mind cannot inhabit two bodies at the one time. You
*are* powerful enough to subsume the killer's mind. And the
blackness of the Others can be encompassed by you and
contained for a short period.* 

*Will that put others around my own body at risk?*

*Mm, possibly, but your body is only a puppet. The killer
pulls the strings so if you can prevent his actions, your
body will mirror this. You need exert control only long
enough to call the authorities and protect the victim. Your
own body, meanwhile, still dances to your marionette
strings. While you, inhabiting the killer, do no harm, your
body does no harm.

*And these...Others? You're sure they can't get through
to...me?*

*Even if you were to never mirror again, the blackness is
always there, always waiting at the edge of the Abyss for
those who dare look in. But you will remain forever free,
no matter what you choose to do, for your soul is pure.
Your partner is the same, incorruptible. Like Lucy, you
would both die before succumbing. Take comfort in that and
return to your work in the knowledge that you do not fight
alone.*

*Who are you, what are you?*

*A metamorphosed human.*

*I don't understand.*

*Many Metas are thousands, tens of thousands of years
old, however we are not immortal. We fall prey to the
Others, as occasionally do the Masters, as the Others and
their minions fall prey to us. But the Others grow bolder
and we are as yet too few. My name was Nicholas Page. I was
once a Navy Seal. My fight against that which is evil has
only moved to a different level.

*We fight the Others, you must fight those the Others have
corrupted, those who have become their minions and their
slaves. Whether it be gray aliens or serial killers, each
is a victim of a greater plague. And each small battle that
you win, each life saved may seem like dust in the wind to
what I have shown you. Yet each and every one of those is a
chink in the defense against the Others. Never see your
life or your work as futile, it is far more important than
you ever imagined. Do what you can Fox William Mulder.
Never give up, for your people depend on you.*

Mulder's eyes narrowed as his vision seemed to fall in at
the edges, becoming paler and paler.

*Why did you tell me this?*

*You were close to succumbing to despair last night.
Although it is true that in the past you have been nearer 
to taking your own life, you were yet too young, the
weapon not yet fully forged. Now you have...matured. 
It is time for you to learn the truths you seek. And we 
needed to give you strength, to give  you hope. You are 
needed here on Earth, for now. You must prevail. And as 
you have looked into the face of evil, so now I beckon 
you to lift up your eyes and touch the face of
the Masters...* 

The words faded in Mulder's mind and he was filled with a
sense of peace and wellbeing never before known to him. He
felt his spirit sour and for a fleeting moment *knew* the
benevolent power of the Masters. But as surely as he could
not look long into the Abyss, he could not long dwell in
what he recognized was a form of religious ecstasy. Was
this then what the prophets and wise men of the ages had
seen but never understood? Before his vision blurred into
whiteness, the Meta faded into soft light surrounded by
wings.

Mulder chuckled to himself and reached his hand out to the
fading Meta. "Well, I'll be damned...an angel."

His hand touched something soft and he blinked a few times
to clear his vision. The whiteness became the glare of the
sun.

Scully rolled her eyes as he caressed her cheek, "Jesus
Mulder, where the *fuck* have you been!"

****************************
End Chapter 5 The Meta