From: sonny <sonny@webspin.org>
Date: Tue, 28 Sep 99 06:20:15 +1000
Subject: xfc: NEW Mind Games 4; The Engineer 1 of 7
Source: xfc

From: sonny <sonny@webspin.org>

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 4:The Engineer 1 of 7
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 12 - Wednesday
Seattle
7:50 a.m.
 

"...just like that old movie," West continued, "Remember
the look on Charlton Heston's face when he came down from
Mount Sinai? Enrapturement is the best way I can describe
it. Although Mulder had a tan and he didn't say anything
about burning bushes," she added dryly.

Smith shook his head and glanced sideways at his agnostic
partner as she ate. "You're kidding, right?"

West spread her toast.

"You're not kidding..."

West just shook her head. "Wait till you see him for
yourself. I tell you, I always shook off those spooky
stories. Even after the other night on the roof, I could
come to grips with it, but this morning?"

She shook her head again.

"So did he say what had happened to him?"

"Nope, just sat there with the biggest shit-eating grin
you can imagine and told Scully he'd tell her later."

"And she just accepted that?"

"When I picked her up from the airport the other day, she
said he had a whole repertoire of ditches. I think that one
is a heretofore unknown species."

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

He placed his hands on her shoulder, grinned beatifically
in her face and replied, "Look Scully...I promise, I'll talk
about it later, right now, I've got an idea about their
location."

"Mulder, you just disappeared for fifteen hours...we've
got Seattle P.D. out looking for you, we've got agents..."

"All right, well pull them in! Scully, we don't have time
for this! They're going to take another kid today or
tomorrow. Have they come up with a name yet?"

Scully sucked in a deep breath, tucked her chin in and
glared at her ridiculously healthy-looking partner. While
she looked disheveled and baggy-eyed from lack of sleep and
worry, he looked like he'd just stepped out of an
advertisement for a two week cruise to the Caribbean. And
for crying out loud, he looked...happy! How in hell did he
do it? But Mulder at his most obtuse was a lost cause.
Scully knew there were certain times in her partnership
when she had to concede defeat to him. And this was one of
them. But she *was* going to get some answers out of him.
Eventually.

"Okay, Mulder, let's go across to the operations room.
They've covered a lot of territory and we've an 8 a.m. with 
the team leaders."

Scully pulled her lips to one side in annoyance as he gave
her one last million dollar smile and strode jauntily...yep, 
that was definitely the word, she thought, out the door.

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


Day 13 - Thursday
Central Hotel, Seattle

 
>From the journal of Crystal Palmer

 

Dad's on top of the moon, but he's also feeling somewhat
guilty. I keep telling him its not blood money, but he's a
bit manic-depressive over it. The mortgage was paid off
last week and the hotel and, well, everything, right down
to the plate warmers, is finally his and his alone. It's
due mostly to having the FBI here for so long. As Dad said,
even if they solved the crime and all checked out tomorrow,
the contract states two months notice. Being a
businessman's hotel, we'll be up to our usual seventy to
eighty percent capacity within two weeks, despite being off
line for so long. 

Anyway, Dad has always kept the hotel in top condition,
that's why it's run so well for so long. But now he can
afford to get in another manager and additional staff.
He'll do it once the FBI leave. We could do it now, of
course, but they'd have to run background checks and, well,
with just the nine of us it's okay. And I really think
Dulcie should be put out to pasture. She won't know what to
do with herself so she'll want to work, but Dad agrees with
me, she deserves a rest.

Dad's talking about taking time off himself, too. I'd like
that. I'd like him to meet a nice woman and have a fling. I
know that sounds odd coming from a daughter, but he is only
fifty four and he looks a lot younger. Of course he laughs
when I tell him that, and I see the pain in his eyes
because he sure as hell misses Mom, even after seven years. 

I'm still not certain which way I want to jump on this. I
had numerous companies ready to take me on, but didn't
feel willing to make a hard commitment until my doctorate
was official. I'd pretty well decided pure research is not
my forte, at least for the moment, nor is academia, so that
cuts out the various teaching, post doctoral and research
positions. That narrowed the field by about sixty percent.
Big multinational corporations don't really grab me either.

Dad is keen to have me stay close, of course. At the same
time he pointed out that I was about to begin my life
again, after having it derailed seven years ago, well,
twelve years ago if you count one failed marriage. But I
don't really think that way. They were periods in my life
and I enjoyed them even if they ended badly. After seeing
some of the victims' families here, and seeing the
harshness of lives and learning about the marriage break-ups
of these guys, my life hasn't been bad, just interesting.

Dad told me I should seriously consider moving to a
different part of the country and start fresh, really
fresh. Make new friends, start a new career, take up a
safer sport than cycling -- as if! And find a man to keep my
bed warm. That's my Dad, he might be Greek, but he's a
pragmatist.

So I made the appointments in Chicago, D.C. and New York.
They looked the best, by far. They're crammed into less
than a week but that suits my budget fine. I'd like the
chance to look around and see if I'd like living east, but
I don't think I'll have that luxury. I was reluctant to
leave until the FBI finished here. I suppose it's because
I've come this far with them, it's like going to a ball
game and leaving ten minutes before the final. And because
it leaves Dad short staffed by one. But he was keen to see
me get moving on the offers, so I'm off tomorrow. I don't
owe anything to the finance companies anymore, but I also
own little except a few leftover mementos from our
marriage, a couple of good bikes and some average clothes.
It will be nice to start afresh, with money of my own. And
the offers on the table are financially attractive, to say
the least. 

Mulder and Scully came in for lunch on Tuesday, but she
didn't stay. She was on her mobile phone just as I came
down to take over from Gemma. The place was pretty well
deserted, and Gemma told me most of them had asked for
lunch to be delivered to their work stations. Something big
was obviously afoot. 

Mulder came over to the bar and had his lunch there. He
actually ate a decent meal for once. In fact he looked
better than I'd seen him in days. That...thing...that
happened to him the previous night seemed to have left him
for now. We talked for a bit, then he mentioned that idiot
newspaper headline. I was surprised, but by the way he
talked, got the feeling he wanted to hear my take on it. I
couldn't say, of course, that I was the last person to ask
because I'd been made privy to what really happened to him,
so I told him the other truth.

"I read Skinner's press release and I think it effectively
squashes anyone stupid enough to lend weight to it. Right
about now I think Freddie Baxter will be on paper clip duty."

He looked at me blankly.

"Fred Baxter is the idiot that wrote that byline. How he
convinced even his boss to a front page headline as asinine
and ignorant as that I can only speculate, but the
afternoon papers will be so full of that stuff you've given
them, this," I gestured to a copy of the paper under the
bar, "Will be relegated to page 183 of the National
Enquirer."

"The National Enquirer is not that thick."

"Exactly."

He grinned at me. Boy, I would do a lot to see that grin
more often. 

We talked for a bit and he asked me the weirdest
questions. Did I know anything about mythological creatures
like, for example, flying horses and where could he buy a
map of the eastern parts of Seattle? I wasn't going to even
try and speculate how those two items fitted in that
convoluted mind of his, so I rummaged around and gave him a
couple of online addresses. They've got big printers
across the road so he could print out reasonable scale maps
there. 

About 4 p.m. I heard he'd gone missing. There was something 
close to panic around here. I think after the press leaked his name, 
there was a feeling that the suspects might have killed him. Skinner 
spent a good part of the night in and out of here. I can't honestly
remember what we talked about, but it covered a lot of ground. I 
think he just needed to get his mind off Mulder's disappearance. 

I had a lot of trouble figuring out what I should call him. A.D. 
didn't quite cut it and sir might have worked if I'd remained just a 
hotel staff member. But we'd developed something a little beyond 
that. Walt reminded me of Disney and Walter, or heaven forbid, 
Wally?...No, no way. Mr. Skinner? Nobody called him that and 
it seemed as formal as sir. In the end I settled on Skinner. He 
looked like a Skinner. Well, more than he looked like a Wally. 
What the hell, most of the agents around here call each other by
their last names, it didn't seem out of place.

Next morning, Mulder shows up looking like he'd been on
vacation in Bermuda for about two weeks. Goddamned spooky,
really! He looked fit and healthy and sported a tan! But
the weirdest of all was that he just appeared. I mean, just
seemed to appear out of thin air. Scully and West were
parked at a gas station out east. They'd found his car
abandoned the night before in the same area. Scully had
this idea he had gone off searching for particular kind of
barn. This was after I'd told them what he'd asked me.
Anyway, next thing, poof, Mulder's in the back seat, a bit
dazed and no memory of how he'd gotten there.

Their first thought was that he had hared out again and
just lost track of time, saw the car and wandered across
and got in. But West insists nobody got in the car. She had
not had her back turned as she pumped gas. Scully had gone
to the ladies' room, so Scully's convinced West she must 
have missed it when she was paying the bill. 

But I don't buy it. I can't see West making a mistake like
that. Besides, he looked far too healthy. 

I was cleaning the rooms opposite Skinner's that morning.
I hate being privy to someone's private conversation, but
Skinner just about tore strips off Mulder for his Houdini
act. He demanded a full explanation of where in hell Mulder
had been. I didn't catch much of Mulder's reply because he
was a lot calmer than Skinner, but he said something about
being unable to fully recall. Skinner answered that Mulder
had gotten away with far too many unexplained disappearing
acts and breaches of protocol in the past, taking up FBI
and SPD manpower that were desperately overworked as it
was, and so on. I wanted to leave the room and come back
later, but I'm ashamed to admit, I was just as curious as
everyone else over Mulder's disappearance. 

After a few minutes of this tirade, I could tell Skinner
wasn't so much angry as frustrated...and relieved and the
conversation, by necessity, turned to the profiling aspects
of the case. 

The whole thing sure as hell enhanced Mulder's Spooky
reputation. I'm pretty certain the matter would have been
examined more thoroughly, but the fact was, it blew over
fast because by then, they had a very, very short list of
suspects and had started pulling in the net. And that's
when things really began to heat up.

Later that morning I helped the technicians flown in from
D.C. to work through some of the bugs in their antiquated
systems. They complained that this was nothing like the
stuff they had to work with at home, then spent most of the
time sending stuff back to D.C. That made sense, sheesh. I
spent most of mine making sure no glitches held up the
transfer of data. It was scud work, I know 12-year-olds
who could do it, but the point was, I had the time now, and
these guys had more important things to do. The tension had
gone through the roof, although everyone was happier now
Mulder was back. I'm not so sure if it was because they
were glad to see him, or thankful they could walk anywhere
within fifty feet of Scully without having their balls
retreat into their throats.

They continued to talk freely around me. I know they
weren't supposed to, but I would never betray their trust.
They were narrowing the field down and it all seemed to be
coming to a head, so I didn't feel so bad when I told them
I was off the next day. I think it suddenly hit a few of
the techs who'd been there a while that I was an unpaid
volunteer, so they bought me a farewell bottle of champagne
and all signed a card. They made me promise I'd visit them
if I was still in the D.C. area when they got home. It was
nice, really nice of them and for the first time, I thought
I'd miss them. 

Skinner came down about midnight. I had only started my
shift a few minutes before and it crossed my mind that his
arrival might have been planned. It always seemed to work
that way. But I shook that off as plain silly. None of them
have time to scratch themselves at the moment, certainly
not the A.D. 

I'd come to enjoy these late night sessions with him. By
then, we were like old friends. He asked me if he could get
something to eat, so I handed him the menu and told him he
could have anything he wanted. He ordered a steak with heaps of
mushrooms and onions and black pepper and garlic sauce and a
big salad. He followed me to the kitchen and we talked all
over the place while I made him dinner. Very casual, very
domestic. It was easy to forget for a while why he was there.

I broke my own rules and agreed to share a half bottle of
red wine with him while he ate. The restaurant was
surprisingly empty and he said it was because things were
getting very close and everyone had been told to get a good
night's sleep. I asked what about him and he replied he
never followed his own rules. Besides, he'd manage to get
five straight hours that afternoon. 

A few nights back I found myself talking about career
options. I hadn't meant to, but he's a good cop. He asked a
few questions and next thing you know, I'm spilling it all.
I said detectives probably made the best lovers because
they knew how to listen. He laughed then. Honestly laughed.
I'd never seen him do that before and he looked fantastic.
His whole face just came alive and his cheeks actually
reddened. It was just wonderful. Best of all, the laughter
stayed in his eyes for a long time.

I suppose I'd taken for granted he knew I was leaving for
D.C. in a few hours. But of course he didn't. Stupid
assumption on my behalf. It's not like he discusses such
things with the technicians and other agents. But I was a
bit taken back by the look on his face when I said
something about catching up with sleep on the plane.

"You're flying somewhere?"

"D.C., job interviews."

He actually stopped chewing and blinked at me. "I didn't
realize." 

I chuckled, hiding my own surprise. "Why would you?" I went
on to tell him how the guys across the road had given me
the champagne and how sweet I thought they were. He had
pretty well finished by then and pushed his plate aside.

"How long are you going down for?"

"A week. I'm stopping in Chicago on the way, I have five
interviews there late today and Friday, then on to D.C. I'd
like to stay two or three weeks, to get a feel for the
area, but I can't afford to live in hotels, even at
industry rates, until I'm a wage earner again." I grinned.

He asked me where I was staying and I replied. He sort of
grimaced and I said, well, that was my budget. Then he
looked thoughtful for a moment and promptly floored me.

"You can stay in my apartment if you like. I won't be
getting back to D.C. until this is over and as much as I'd
like to think that will be within a week, I doubt it. Even
if I do, it's a big place and I'm rarely there."

I must have looked as shocked as I felt so he added
"Frankly, you'd be doing me a favor. It's a secure building
but I don't like leaving the place empty for long and after
ten days, the plants start dying."

I really didn't know what to say. I was a perfect stranger
and here he was offering me his apartment. Okay, sure, he
knew my background and that I was circumspect, but still,
it was his home and he was an assistant director with the
FBI. Oh, boy, how do I say no?

Then I thought, why should I say no? He was just a man,
someone I might have called a friend if the circumstances
had differed. Then it struck me that for someone like this,
when would the circumstances be different? When he was out
dinner partying and playing politics? Were those people
friends or necessary professional acquaintances?

I had, over the course of a short, intense and painful
week, developed a friendship with this man. And to be
honest, felt more than a little attracted to him.

The silence stretched a bit but before it became
embarrassing I replied "That's very generous of you, but
you really don't know me that well and I..."

"I know you."

That's it. That's all he said, but I could see it in his
eyes. He trusted me. And for the second time that week I
felt both humbled and honored. By saying no I would be
throwing something far more than just the offer of a clean
bed back in his face, I would be repudiating his trust.

I smiled and said "I'd be very grateful...but you may have
to kick me out because if I decide anything while I'm
there, negotiations may drag out."

He grinned. It was almost as good as his laugh. I'm sure
few if any of the agents had ever seen that grin and I
found myself with one more reason to hope this case
finished soon.

"I'll call my building manager and get him to let you in.
There are spare keys and security codes with him. What time
does your flight get in?"

"Five thirty tomorrow evening."

"Fine, I'll have a car pick you up and..."

"Whoa!" I put my hand up and laughed, "You don't have to
do that! I can catch a cab."

He looked at me with a peculiar expression then said in an
uncompromising voice "I believe the FBI owes you
considerably more than a cab fare for the assistance you
have given us."

I think my face must have dropped a little because
suddenly his offer seemed less personal. And I don't know
why it should have but it saddened me. Before I could
comment, he put his hand on mine and added gently, "But the
apartment is mine, not the FBI's."

And so help me I actually blushed. When I thought about it
later, my reaction had been pretty stupid because Skinner
*was* the FBI. Everything he did and said and touched and
breathed was as much FBI as Skinner. There was no
distinction and if I was to respect that friendship, I had
to reconcile that right now.

Fortunately, he didn't see the blush because Mulder
interrupted us. Skinner nodded a good night and left with
him. Mulder smiled at me in recognition, said good morning
and wished me luck in D.C.

That floored me. Floored Skinner, too.

"Thanks," I replied. "And good luck to you guys...Not that
you'll need it. The way you're going you'll have them
nailed before I get back."

Mulder smiled. "I wish!" 

I often think about Mulder when I make a wish now.

******************************
End Chapter 1 The Engineer

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 4:The Engineer 2 of 7
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

Day 14 - Friday
FBI Headquarters - Seattle
11:50 p.m.


Mulder bit a sunflower seed between his teeth as he half-
listened to the briefing. Scully stood close to him, her
hip touching his upper thigh. She leaned more heavily into
him as two additional men entered, crowing a room already
overflowing with bodies, tension and excitement. None of
them had expected the situation to develop this rapidly,
but now, with a child's life at stake, they had no choice. 

Mulder normally took his partner's proximity for granted,
but as his senses were heightened for the coming raid, so
he became acutely aware of the press of her body, her
unique scent, the texture of her soft hair. The new kevlar
jacket bulked her out disproportionately. Although they
came in various sizes, the manufacturers had not considered
frames as small as Scully's. 

He glanced down at her affectionately as she nudged him in
the ribs for his constant, irritable cracking. He found one
of her hands with his and tried to pour some of the seeds
in, but she rolled her eyes in displeasure. God, he loved
teasing her, she was so easily baited in a nice, Scully way. 

Skinner finished up quickly and agents and SWAT team
members exited the room. 

Six hours previously they had names, a possible location
and what they'd hoped would be at least three or four days
to verify and cross check everything. They wanted the
entire team caught up in one net. By then, Mulder was
certain of five perpetrators. They had the names of two --
Sarah Jefferson and Steve Baxter. Their known associates --
Adam James and Jacob Milner -- were also high on the list of 
suspects,. James was a definite hit. He was known as
dickless by those who'd known him in San Diego, because he
lacked certain physical attributes. He also fitted Mulder's
profile like a glove. These then, were their four primary
suspects involved in the abduction, rape, murder and
dismemberment of dozens of children. Mulder had written an
in-depth profile on what he said was the fifth man, the
wealthy client who liked to watch. At this stage, Mulder's
biggest fear was that the net would close too soon to
capture this fifth man.

"Mulder..." Skinner made the younger agent wait up. "You 
know we can't risk leaving it any longer. Another day, another few
hours..."

Skinner did not have to elaborate. The child, a 10-year-old 
boy name Geoff Murphy, had not arrived home from school
that afternoon. In what amounted to a real break, one of
his friends told them that about a week before he'd seen
Geoff talking to a woman with some fingers missing from one
of her hands. When shown a picture of Sarah, the witness'
eyes had lit up. Yep, that was the woman.

It was not definite that their suspects had abducted
Geoff, but the coincidence was too chilling to ignore.

Mulder had flown across the farm in a helicopter just
after dark. Night vision goggles limited his perception,
but he knew. Christ, he knew. The minute the chopper flew
across the trees he'd ordered the pilot to veer away.
Although the chopper, at 3,000 feet at 8:30 p.m., was unlikely
to alert the suspects, Mulder was taking no chances. That
was the farm. There was the barn he had almost leaped from
in his empathic mirroring with Rod Fowler, whose
dismembered body had been discovered that morning. 

It was tearing at Mulder, and Skinner knew it. Mulder
wanted then to wait. He was convinced the fifth man, the
client, would arrive before...shit... Mulder also knew that
if Adam James was at the farm, once the boy arrived, he
wouldn't wait. It was possible, no, more than possible --
likely -- that James had already sexually assaulted the boy.
Only Sarah could control James and there was no guarantees
she was at the farm, either.

"Sir, this is a wild pig shoot. We're going in blind. All
we know is that the farm is occupied by an unknown number
of suspects who may be armed to the teeth. For all we know
the entire place is booby trapped. We don't even know for
sure they have the boy there!"

Scully touched her partner's arm, sympathizing with his
plight.

Skinner nodded his agreement. "Yet, we can't wait."

Mulder sighed and nodded. Shit.

They approached in teams of four. Three teams had been
designated around the perimeter, searching for possible
entrances to underground bunkers. There had been momentary
panic when a dog began barking. A silenced bullet ceased
the animal's alarm and Mulder cursed. Fuck it! They had
needed time to find all this shit out! Dogs! How many?
Goddamn the unanswered questions starting to pile up in his
brain as he approached the barn with his team. 

He knew this building. He'd been inside before. Would they
keep young Geoff in here half frozen to death as they had
Rod Fowler? Had Geoff already been sodomized by that
bastard and now lay huddling in a corner, terrified as well
as freezing? Or would he take Rod's way out and try to kill
himself after the first assault, knowing the second would
be more brutal, wondering if he, too, would be cut into
small pieces?

Scully motioned her side was clear. He waved for Murdoch
to go ahead. In moments they were hidden among the
shadows along the side of the barn. But if someone in the
house threw on an outdoor light, their footprints would be
clearly visible in the fresh snow.

Fuck it, they had to get in fast. He could just make out a
dark shape, then another near the back door of the large
farmhouse.

Scully motioned again; they'd gained entrance to the barn.

Circle, cover, watch your back. Yeah, he knew this place.
He could recall the smell now. Acidic, caustic like
industrial strength detergents. Bleach. He blinked,
clearing away the memories. Stop, listen.

A whimper?

Motion to Murdoch, yeah, he heard it too. Where was
Scully? Okay, yep, up the ladder but it exposes her to
strong moonlight. Of all the fucking times for the weather
to be clear, and an almost full moon hanging two thirds the
way up the sky.

Yeah, yeah, that was definitely a whimper.

Gunshots echoed from a hundred meters away. He caught
Henderson's eye in the dark. No. Stay. We find the boy first.

A scream "No..! Please, I promise...I'll do whatever you
want, just don't...don't cut me."

"Team leader, this is Mulder," he whispered quietly, "We
have at least one, repeat one, suspect holding the boy inside
the barn."

"Copy, Mulder."

Some miles away, an intrepid police groupie had been
listening avidly to what the Seattle P.D. jokingly thought
was a secure radio channel. He picked up his telephone and
dialed the local news service. The 200-buck finder
fee would be a nice little bonus for the weekend's fun.

Scully froze on the ladder, then dropped quietly back down
and moved into the shadows as a second voice echoed through
the barn.

"Shut the fuck up! Something's wrong and we're gonna see
what it is." 

But Jacob Milner had caught sight of movement on the
ladder. And it sure weren't no rat, it was too big for that.

"Who's there? Is that you, Steve? What's going on?"

No answer, although Scully roundly cursed herself for
being seen. 

Mulder pointed to Henderson to cover the main doors. He
remembered the barn had a second entrance on the far side
and he motioned for Murdoch to cover the back part of the
huge barn, indicating with his hands a second door.

The two men separated and became invisible in the dark as
a passing cloud briefly covered the moon. More gunshots
sounded from the house, now followed by shouts and screams.

Scully stood in shadow beneath the ladder.

"What the fuck is going on?" Milner cried, "Who's there?"

Silence. Mulder glanced at his watch, it was almost dawn.

"Fuck it! Answer me or I'll slit the kids throat!"

"Noooo...please mista!"

Sounds of squirming and crying and grunting, a heavy slap
"No shut up, ya little shit, before I use this to shut ya
up!"

Wracking sobs, slowing.

"Now answer me! I know ya down there! I want to know what
the fuck's going on or I'll pig stick him!"

Mulder motioned for Scully to answer. Then he took off
into the shadows. She looked at him mutely, but there was
no time for an explanation now. 

"This is the FBI, sir, please leave the boy and come on
down."

"Fuck! Fucking cunt! What do you mean, what the fuck do
you want?"

"We'd just like you to come down so we can talk to you!"

"Yeah? So you and your buddies can shoot me? Fuck, what's
going on over in the house, what's all the shooting?"

Mulder heard his partner's gentle voice try to pacify the
man he was sure was Milner, but he knew he had only
minutes, perhaps less, before Milner panicked and killed
Geoff. Jacob Milner was weak, like Adam James. He would
need Steve Baxter to guide him. As if to emphasize Mulder's
thought, Milner asked where Steve was. Scully tried to tell
him if he's just come down, she'd take him to Steve. 

By now, Scully would have heard through her ear implant, as
Mulder had, that Sarah Jefferson, Adam James and Steve
Baxter were dead. Two agents were down, Jawolski and Myers
and an unnamed SPD officer. And the barn was being
surrounded by dozens of law enforcement officers.

Mulder moved out the door and caught Skinner's bulky shape
in the pre-dawn light.

"Sir!"

"Talk to me."

"He's in the loft, holding the boy. Scully's trying to
talk him down but she won't do any good. Delay at best...I
have to get up there."

"We'll send a couple of the SWAT guys,"

"Sir, I know the layout, I'm the only one who knows
exactly how to get in and stay hidden."

Skinner glared at him. He might be FBI, but in unarmed
combat, the SWAT team members were better. 

"Sir there is no more *time*!"

Skinner nodded and explained the situation in his mike. It
would be relayed to the backup teams and EMT's on standby.
Mulder glanced up at the window. All he needed was a boost
up.

"Sir?"

Skinner cupped his hands and hoisted the much lighter man.
Mulder stepped on his shoulder while four or five agents
and SWAT team members came around, keeping to the shadows.
Skinner cursed lightly and Mulder apologized, thinking he
might have kicked his A.D. in the head, but as he looked
down, he heard in his earpiece.

"Media's here." 

Shit! How did they find out?

Mulder ignored it and reaching up with both hands, grasped
the window frame and pulled himself up until he could look
inside. No sign of Milner. Okay. He lowered himself down
for a moment then used momentum to pull himself all the way
up onto the ledge. Fragments of glass stick stuck out from
the long broken window, but Mulder eased quietly over them
and inside.

Scully was telling Milner she would go outside and find
Steve and bring him back.

"Don't you trick me you cunt! I'm giving you two minutes
and that's it! I wanna know what all the shooting was
about!" He all but screamed the last words.

Good. It gave Mulder a location. Around there in the next
corner. Excellent. Milner had his back to Mulder, but he
held the boy in front of him. Not good. If Mulder shot him
without warning, the bullet would likely go through him and
into the boy. He had to get them separated.

Mulder kept to the wall and approached closer, but his
foot caught on a piece of machinery buried amongst the
accumulated filth.

Milner turned, "What the fuck! Who are you?"

In his stupid fear he had let the boy go, swung on Mulder
and dived at the agent. Mulder still could not fire his
weapon because the boy, tall for his age remained directly
behind the Milner, now only a few feet away. A bullet to
the torso would go right through them both. A bullet to the
head then, but Mulder couldn't see in the dark shadows. He
simply could not risk the shot.

Mulder blocked the tackle, but it was too late. Jacob
Milner was a big man, bigger than Skinner and just as
muscular. He knew he was dead and he lashed out at Mulder,
a blood lust overtaking him, determined to kill. Determined
to see and touch and taste blood one last time. He lunged
past Mulder's defenses, slamming the blade into the agent's
throat.

Mulder thought he'd been punched and fell back with it, to
lessen the blow. If he hadn't, the knife would have plunged
through into his spinal column. As it was he simply
staggered backwards then countered with a violet twisting
kick that should have felled the bigger man. In his
peripheral vision Mulder could see shapes swarming up the
ladder, but he was too busy trying to avoid the flashing
blade of the knife. He was also slightly annoyed that he
couldn't seem to breathe properly and his throat seemed
oddly congested. The pain of the punch had not yet
registered but a small part of his brain wondered if his
throat had been damaged from the blow. 

"Freeze!" The oddly powerful voice of his partner
penetrated the loud scuffles and shouts from down below.

But Milner was incapable of anything but completing the
kill. He lashed out at Mulder, who, stepping back, tripped
on a bundled rope. As he fell, he saw the blade slash at
him and this time he felt the sharp sting and well of
blood. But the fall, moving him out of effective range,
saved his life. Scully fired an instant later, splattering
Mulder with blood and bone and gray matter as Miller's body
hit the floor with a resounding thunk.

Mulder went to curse in pain, but his mouth filled with
blood. Panic clawed at him as he found he could not draw
air. Scully was by his side in an instant, telling him to
lie still while the EMT's came.

"They're just outside, they'll be here in a sec, Mulder
are you injured anywhere else?"

As compared to what? He thought. My fucking throat's cut
and I can't breathe, isn't that enough?

Scully's eyes widened at his frantic motion to stand. He
pushed her out of the way and staggered into the dawn light
now shining through the window. A small part of his mind
thought well, at least if you're gonna die, it's a pretty
nice sunrise to take with you.

Scully immediately grasped what the problem was, "Mulder
sit down! Your trachea's probably damaged, we need to get
your airway open!"

No shit, Dr. Watson.

He put his hands to his throat as he staggered and sat,
trying to find what he knew must be happening, life blood
pumping out through his carotid.

Scully brushed his hands aside. "It's not that bad Mulder,
stop fighting me! You're not going to bleed to death but
you may pass out from lack of oxygen before we can clear
the passageway. Now just lay down and let me have a look!"

Easy for you to say. His body was panicking now. 

What drives us to breathe is not, as most people assume,
the need for oxygen, it is the need to clear our bodies of
poisonous carbon dioxide. Additionally, lack of breathing
will eventually lead to oxygen starvation, causing the
victim to pass out. However in the time frame between CO2
buildup ordering the body to breathe and oxygen-deprived
fainting, the human body will flail about desperately, seeking
a way to breathe. Mulder knew that he had to lie still in
order for Scully to save him, but it fought against every
human instinct in him to...to what? His logical brain asked
him.

The EMTs arrived in seconds. He heard Scully telling them
what to do, but his brain screamed at him so loudly he
could hardly hear. Then intense pain as someone pulled the
grotesque lips of his wounded neck and trachea apart and
plunged a tube down his throat.

Oh God! Blessed air! They connected him to on oxygen unit
immediately. He really didn't need it, just the mere fact
of being able to breathe again was the most phenomenal
sensation he could imagine. He closed his eyes a moment,
then opened them as Scully asked if he was hurt anywhere
else. He blinked as he realized the back of his head
actually hurt more than his throat. So he tried a small
grin and winked at his partner.

Scully allowed herself to calm down. He would be all
right. This time. But, Jesus, how many lives did he have left?

****************************************
End Chapter 2 The Engineer

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 4:The Engineer 3 of 7
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 15 - Saturday
Crystal City, Virginia

>From the journal of Crystal Palmer


I really had no idea what to expect in a successful
professional Washington bachelor's apartment.

Being chauffeured from the airport by a FBI driver was one
thing, then the building manager's polite, downright
gracious treatment was something else again. But when I
stepped foot into Skinner's apartment I was not pleasantly
surprised. I was delighted.

I suppose one's expectations are bound to be clichd, even
if I hadn't decided what a cliche would look like.
Certainly neat and modern, but light, airy and casually
comfortable was not it. No dark walnut roll top desks, no
black leather lounges. Nope, Skinner had elegant and
practical taste. And not a bargain basement piece in sight. 

The building manager had been in earlier and made sure the
heat was on, so I stripped off my overcoat and explored.
After a quick once over I went upstairs. Two bedrooms, one
clearly his and the other clearly unprepared for guests.
That made me feel better. Everything about him was just a
little too neat and tidy for a bachelor. The guest room was
not exactly a mess, but would need twenty minutes work to
make tidy and make livable.

I had to go through his bedroom closet to find spare
sheets, although there were plenty of pillows and blankets
in the guest room. I have absolutely no inclination to
rummage through people's closets. It's one thing I really
hated about cleaning in the hotel. You're invading the
personal space of strangers and it makes you feel
unpleasantly voyeuristic. But I couldn't stop peeking a bit
at Skinner's things. I told myself if he had anything
serious to hide, he would never have invited me to stay.
Anyway, it was just a quick look, just to see the man
beneath the suit.

Yep, there was. Casual jeans, some pretty old and worn.
Pure wool sweaters and expensive, casual shirts. He had
simple, good taste. I closed the door quickly, already
feeling a little guilty for lingering.

Chicago had been a nightmare. No way could I live there or
work with those people. But timing my arrival in D.C. on a
Friday night, at the same time as every other damned
inbound and outbound commuter flight, was a major blunder.
Baggage collection had been the usual interminable
nightmare and I reminded myself to thank Skinner big time,
for having a car waiting. Cabs were like hens teeth.

My prospective employees worked seven day weeks, so I'd
organized interviews over the weekend. I had a few more on
Monday in D.C., then the remainder in N.Y. on Tuesday and
Wednesday. It was a tight schedule but I'd planned it that
way to get my head inside the whole thing and make a
decision without vacillating. If all went well, I'd be down
to two or three choices and could go home, let them rummage
around in my mind and one would pop out the clear winner. 

I hadn't had much sleep the previous night. Lumpy
mattress, neon lights outside the window and disappointment
that once promising jobs turned out to be flops. By the
time I'd stacked a few files and cases out of the way and
made the bed in Skinner's spare room, all I wanted was to
shower and sleep. 

There was only one bathroom and it was fairly neat and
tidy. Not so clean as to inspire paranoia, but a hell of a
lot better than most bachelor bathrooms I'd been in. For
starters, apart from one sorry looking fern, there were no
undiscovered life forms peeking through insalubrious
cracks. I cheered up the plant by producing lots of nice
steam, then hit the bed for an amazing, at least for me,
ten hours straight sleep.

The following two days were a blur of hand shakes and
artificial smiles, endless cups of coffee and getting to
know you interviews. I got lost. Twice. And splurged huge
amounts of money on cabs to the far reaches of rural
Columbia. Staying at Skinner's meant the budget was well
under track, so I stopped berating myself and took in some
of the scenery. One good thing, D.C. seems to understand
cyclists' needs better than Seattle. Not exactly the number
one reason for living somewhere, but high on my priority
list.

By Saturday night, I had smiled myself out and sat tiredly
curled up on Skinner's cream-colored couch with a thick
company prospectus in hand. I'd managed to find a gym on
the way home, having carried some stuff with me, just in
case. I'm the sort of person that gets very antsy after a
few days, especially days like the last three, unless I can
work it out. A lot of the agents back in Seattle couldn't
figure out why Mulder needed to run in all weather. Despite
the odd hours, I knew, I get the same way unless I can
ride. And no bike means running -- not an attractive
prospect in a strange city at night, so I'd settled on a gym.

So there I was post shower, wrapped in Skinner's
unbelievably comfortable bathrobe, turbaned hair and not a
scrap of makeup, when I heard the front door open. I just
about jumped out of my skin as two big burly black clad
figures came in.

I'm not a small person. I stand five ten in bare feet and
weigh one hundred and thirty. I'm no Barbie doll, that's
for sure. Well, yeah, my legs are long, but I'm essentially
an athlete. That's how I put myself through college as an
undergraduate. I just missed out on the Olympic cycling
team way back when, and have never given it up. But these
guys were big, muscle and bone big, not overweight big and
I felt very vulnerable and small in my undressed state
until I saw who it was. Then I just felt like an idiot.

The only saving grace was the priceless look on the other
agent's face. If I hadn't been so embarrassed myself, I
would have laughed. As it was, all I wanted to do was
explain why in hell I was wearing Skinner's bathrobe. Not
much you can really say in a situation like that, but I
managed to compound my idiocy with an utterly brilliant
observation.

"You're back!"

Skinner offered me a quick smile and hello, turned to the
other agent and thanked him for helping with his bags. He
introduced us but offered no explanation, then simply said
to the other man, "I'll see you in the morning."

"Yes, sir, good night sir, good night Dr. Palmer, nice to
meet you." Make no mistake, those "sirs" were quite
emphatic.

"Good night, Agent Rostler." 

Then he was gone.

Meanwhile, Skinner had pulled off his coat and loosened
his tie. He looked like a man who desperately needed a drink.

"Scotch or tequila?" was all I could think to say as I
stood up and headed for the kitchen.

He snorted a dry laugh and looked up at me. "That obvious,
huh?"

"I bought some Cointreau and limes. I might be of Greek
descent but I make a mean margarita."

"As long as it comes in an 8-ounce glass."

"That bad, huh?"

He shrugged, sat down heavily and laid his head back.

A few minutes later I handed him a large, salt-rimmed
brandy glass. I made a much smaller one for myself. He must
have heard me coming because he sat up, opened his eyes and
took the drink from me. I wasn't sure what to say, so
started by apologizing for pilfering his bath robe.

"It's just so much thicker and warmer than mine. See what
you let yourself in for when you have house guests like me?"

His face screwed up as he took a long sip of his drink
and he replied. "Keep making margaritas like than and you
can be my house guest anytime." 

He twisted the rim slightly to lick the salt, took another
drink, closed his eyes and let it slide down his throat. I
make a mean belly-warming brain-numbing drink and if he
hadn't eaten on the plane, I knew it would already be
having an effect.

He opened his eyes, looked at me then said, "It's over."

"What?" I was stunned. I mean I'd been on the hop for
three days and hadn't heard a scrap of news or seen a
headline. I glanced at my watch, looked across at the
television and flicked my eyes to him. His eyebrows
indicated yes, so I turned it on, channel-surfed until I
found a news cast and lo and behold, there was Skinner
giving a press briefing. Before I had a chance to adjust
the volume, the image changed to a scene outside a
farmhouse with a barn in the background. There were
flashing lights and paramedic vehicles and police cars and
SWAT teams and FBI jackets crawling all over the place.

"In a dawn raid on a farmhouse just outside Seattle SWAT
teams and FBI combined with local police, swooped in on..."

Swooped in on? I thought, who writes this crap?

"...the house of the primary suspects in what has become
know as the Seattle Line Killings. Following the arrival of
one of the FBI's crack profilers on the case, Special
Agent Fox Mulder," here they inserted a photo of Mulder
that would have had top modeling agencies vying for him,
"...and forensic pathologist Special Agent Dana Scully,"
another modeling agency photo "...a case that had become
all but deadlocked until two weeks ago was cracked wide
open. The dawn raid led to a shootout resulting in the
deaths of all four suspects..." 

"Oh, shit..." I muttered as I watched the controlled
pandemonium on screen.

"Yep, a real rat fuck." Skinner muttered.

"...two FBI agents and a police officer were killed and
three injured, including the FBI's profiler Fox Mulder..."

"Oh, no..." I put my hand to my mouth as FBI agents and 
paramedics carried a stretcher towards the camera. A
saline drip and a flash of Scully's distinctive red hair
came into view, then her anguished face, then Mulder's
face, neck swaddled in bandages with a tube sticking out.
They carried him past the camera and into the ambulance. 

I kept watching the unfolding scene but turned the volume
down and looked at Skinner, suddenly fearful of what he was
going to say. He saw my face and knew immediately.

"He's okay. Caught a knife in the throat. Won't be able to
talk for a couple of weeks but I don't know that's a
bad thing, keep him out of trouble."

I closed my eyes, feeling tears prick them. It wasn't like
I'd known them that well. I think part of it was me feeling
guilty at how much I'd resented their presence when they'd
been prepared to put themselves on the line to protect us
from such monsters. And now three of them were dead. Shit.
It hurt. The only saving grace was that Mulder would be all
right.

Skinner's eyes were still closed so I turned off the
television and sat quietly for a few minutes. He'd finished
the drink, so I reached for his glass to top it up. Our
hands touched and his eyes flew open and pierced me.

There are certain moments in time we are destined never to
forget. Profound moments when words are useless, but
meaning is thick and heavy in the air. At that moment I saw
in Skinner a raw need, a desire that was almost staggering
in its intensity. My own emotions were more than a little
raw and I knew, we both knew, that all it would take would
be a blink to set it off. An intense wave of desire flooded
me, a need to give and also take solace in this mans arms.

Despite every nerve in me screaming, I knew it was wrong.
Oh I'm not against a roll in the hay for fun, or in this
case because two human beings just needed a little comfort
in one another. But just because you desire someone
intensely, almost painfully, does not mean getting into bed
with them should automatically result, despite the
circumstances. People like Mulder and Scully for example.
God only knows they would have felt a much more powerful
need than what we felt that night, but professional
restraint both binds them and keeps them at arm's length.
That they can sublimate natural, raw desire for each other
and focus it into their work and dedication for one another
is a testimony to that professionalism. Even if I
personally thought their denial was folly, I knew it was
not folly denying myself. At least not for now.

I think Skinner realized it the moment I did. He suddenly
looked away. I swallowed and asked if he wanted another
drink and he nodded wordlessly.

When I returned from the kitchen, I asked him to tell me
what had happened.

"Pretty much what you saw."

I sat on the couch beside him. Given what had passed
between us a few moments before, the proximity was risky,
but I sensed him closing down behind professional walls and
wanted to get inside.

"Skinner, don't shut me out of this, I'm already part of
it. Hell, I was part of before you and I think, under the
circumstances, I deserve to know."

He breathed deeply and replied "ABC covered it pretty well."

"Hey," I risked touching his arm "I'm no psychologist, but
you refused to talk about this to your wife and family and
friends because by blocking it off, you kept them in a
safe, clean place. You wanted to come home to that safe
place and ease your soul. But that's not who you are. You
are FBI and it never leaves you. Shutting it out meant
shutting yourself out from those around you. Skinner, you
learned that mistake once. Don't shut me out, it's too late
for that because I am already a part of it. I have an
emotional investment in it and I need closure just as much
as you."

He looked at me oddly, his head turned to one side, then
he abruptly nodded and began. 


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


CHAPTER 4

Day 17 - Monday
Harborview Medical Center
 

Mulder spent the following forty eight hours in
considerable discomfort from the throat surgery. Although
Scully would have preferred to remain in Seattle, at least
until her partner was more alert, it was deemed more
important for her to return to D.C. to tidy up the loose
forensic ends. 

A small collection of videotapes, the gruesome trophies,
and the statement from the last boy, Geoff Murphy, were
sufficiently damning evidence to lay the blame for the
Seattle Line Killings on the four dead suspects. 

The mercurial press hailed the agents, particularly
Mulder, as heroes. For once Mulder was not ungrateful for
being wounded, especially in the throat. It was the perfect
foil for nosy reporters. He did, however, have another
form of communication -- his laptop computer and a phone line. 

After two days communicating with his partner by a semi-
continuous stream of e-mail, his thoughts and notes
faltered from the case and became increasingly
introspective and personal. At other times he would have
confined such thoughts to his personal journal, but his
inability to talk with her, and the revelations by the
Meta, dissolved many of the boundaries they normally kept
in place. What he had learned, what he had experienced had
changed him, in ways he would never have believed. And now
it was time to discover if his partner could face his new
truths or if this was truly to become his solitary journey
once more.

 

Seattle the To: D_Scully@fbi.gov

From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov

1:15 p.m. local time

 

I know it frustrates the hell out of you that you I have
not answered your question as to what happened to me last
Tuesday. In truth, with the events thereafter, it has taken
me some time to consider what I have learned. After our
debriefing of the morgue incident, I believed I slept, but
the incident on the rooftop overshadowed what I would
naturally have ascribed to a dream. In retrospect it
predicted my later disappearance. 

Scully, I have at times been less than empathic with your
religious convictions. I could not take faith in that which
might in any way negate my ability to control my own fate.
Perhaps my inability to trust a so called higher authority
comes in part from being manipulated so long by lesser
beings. Perverse, isn't it, considering my thoughts on fate
versus free will?

I once asked you if you could prove the existence of God,
would you not seek to do so? At that time you seemed
content to accept faith alone was sufficient but I believe
your cancer had necessarily impacted on your world view.

I know you have taken great comfort in your faith. I both
respected and in many ways envied that. Forgive me, but I
could never reconcile this with your inability to accept
the existence of extraterrestrials. The evidence for this
has been considerably more tangible than that of God,
despite that physical evidence once eluded me. 

As you have indulged and respected my journey for so long,
I too have respected your need for your faith in a God. But
what I learned during the time of my absence has led me to
believe that perhaps the two are one and the same. And
therefore I must ask you once more, now that the
circumstances of the question differ, if you could prove
the existence of God, would you not seek to do so?

M.

 

To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov

From: D_Scully@fbi.gov

9:30 p.m. local time 

You have led me on a journey that has been both
enlightening and mystifying. You have challenged my beliefs
in science and pushed the barriers of my thinking. And for
that, despite my often seeming antagonistic, I am grateful.

The tenets of faith are such that it is faith by which we
believe. You cannot prove the existence of God to me any
more or less than that which I believe now. I cannot follow
you on such a journey Mulder, for it leads nowhere.

What happened to you that day? Are you trying to tell me
that your suntan and good health was in some way and act of
God and thus offer it as proof of His existence? If so,
Mulder, then I would remind you that my proof of God lies
all around me. Our very existence is evidence of God. I
have no need for such an explanation. I would, however,
suggest this theological discussion be postponed until your
medication is terminated.

S.

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

Day 18 - Tuesday

Harborview Medical Center
 

He smiled broadly at her e-mail. He had stopped taking
anything stronger than aspirin. The damage to his throat
was, although debilitating, not as painful as he might have
expected. Ah, how typically Scully! If he offered the
evidence of his own body as proof that extraterrestrials
existed, she would hmm and haw and demand an alternative
explanation. If he offered her this as proof of God, she
would necessarily deny that proof could be found. Another
explanation must suffice. He smiled a little sadly, knowing
that she would never truly accept his world, no matter what
proof he could give her. And now that his depth of
understanding had broadened beyond his wildest dreams, he
felt a deep melancholy that she could not share it with
him. At least while she lived. But in other ways his heart 
was lightened for he had begun to suspect a truth only hinted 
at by the Meta.

 

To: D_Scully@fbi.gov 8:15 a.m. local time

From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov

Ah, Scully! If I tell you the truth, that I was abducted by
aliens, it would in fact be a lie. For as we suspected we
are all, in part, alien. Do me a favor, would you, and do a
background check on a Navy Seal named Nicholas Page? I
can't access the database.

I've been reworking the profile of the last UNSUB, the man
I suspect was the orchestrator.

I no longer fear mirroring as I once did. In that time
away I learned the true nature of evil and feel assured
that even should it bring me death, I will never succumb to
that particular form of madness. 

Of course that does not prevent other forms from taking me
<g>.

One final indulgence if you would. Did Clyde Bruckman ever
tell you how you would die? I phrase the question lightly
because I can assure you after this wound, autoerotic
asphyxiation will most definitely not be a factor leading
to my own demise.

M.

 

 

To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov 6:15 p.m. local time

From: D_Scully@fbi.gov

 

I've attached Nicholas Page's file. The Gunmen lifted most
of it. He's listed as MIA during a raid in the Gulf War.
Top class honors, brilliant strategist. He had a nickname...
okay, I see the connection. His success rate was so high they 
called him Spooky. Who was he Mulder, a long-lost cousin? 
What does he have to do with this case?

I'm finishing up all my reports and will have them copied
to you tomorrow.

I'm not sure how to answer you about Clyde Bruckman. I
confess I did ask, but his answer made no sense. He
replied, "You don't." Why do you ask?

S.

 

Mulder read his partner's e-mail, sat back and closed his
eyes. It all fell into place now. Scully was destined for 
a very different path than his. He typed a quick reply, 
hoping she would still be online.

 

To: D_Scully@fbi.gov 3:30 p.m. local time

From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov

You still there? Can you check Page's religious
affiliations? Was he an active church or synagogue 
attendee?

M.

 

To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov 6:30 p.m. local time

From: D_Scully@fbi.gov

 

Yeah, I'm still here. There is nothing in his background
check except the annotation that he was agnostic. Mulder,
who is this guy? I'm logging off now, I need to get some
shopping done, then get back to these reports.

S.

 

It made sense, he thought. Religion did not make one
righteous, or worthy. Scully needed to believe. That she
was a doctor, that she was a practicing Catholic, did not
stop her from putting a bullet in a man. Because it was the
necessary thing to do. She did not need her religion to
tell her it was right, or wrong, although he knew certain
priests who would have said she should not have fired, but
let God play it out as He saw fit. Scully never allowed her
religious beliefs to cloud her moral convictions.

He glanced through the attached documents on Nicholas
Page. Here, to, was an honorable man. A man who had not
died, but had become...a Meta.

Now, Mulder, too, had something more to believe in. He sat
and thought for a long time, wondering at the strange fate
that had brought them together. He had made a pact with
himself that he would not love her in a more physical sense
if he could just retain her as a partner. But, now, he began
to recognize that his need for her was undeniably selfish.
He had been given something by Page, and that something was
a renewed faith in his own ability to go on, alone if necessary.

And yet, it pained him. How could he reconcile the conflict
within him? Let her go...beg her to stay. But he knew there 
was only one answer, she must accept the truth or abandon the 
journey.

 

To: D_Scully@fbi.gov 8:10 p.m. local time

From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov

Thanks for the information on Page. No, he has nothing to
do with the case. I met him while I was...away. Don't ask
me to explain that one, Scully, until you think I'm well
enough to hold a theological conversation with you.

And to answer your other question, I can only tell you that
as sure as I have been of anything in my life, I am sure
Bruckman was right.

Webster from SPD came in today. Scully, I can't get it
through to these trilobites that he's still out there. He's
not going to let this stop him. The videos will keep him
going for a while, but he'll pick up a new team to begin
again. 

I've attached my reports for your perusal. Should we give
Skinner heart failure by signing off on the same one?

M.

*****************************
End Chapter 4 The Engineer

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 4:The Engineer 4 of 7
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 5

DAY 20 - Thursday
Crystal City, Virginia

>From the journal of Crystal Palmer
 
The last few days were a blur of meetings and interviews.
I loved New York but decided I couldn't live there. Maybe I
could live further north and commute each day, nah...You'd
think all these years in Seattle I would have ridden a few
boats, but it took a trip to New York to find out I get
seasick, on a ferry no less!

He had warned me he was rarely home, so it came as no
surprise I'd hardly seen Skinner since Saturday night. He
came in late, usually after midnight and was gone before I
got up at five am. That pattern followed every day, I knew
he'd been home only because the shower had been used, the
toilet seat was invariably up and a glass might appear in
the sink.

He has a cleaning lady come twice weekly. I bumped into
her Monday and she apologized for the unprepared state of
the guest room. By the time I came back that night it had
virtually been redecorated. All the boxes and archive files
were neatly stacked in one half of the closet and a clock
radio sat on a bedside table. The bed sheets and cover
matched and cut flowers sat on the table. She'd washed and
dried my clothes and even started on the ironing. I was
beginning to feel spoiled. I should have told her not to
bother since I'd planned to leave on Friday.

Thursday night finally came. I skipped the gym and got
back to Skinner's place early, determined to leave him a
good, home cooked meal as a thank you before flying out
the next day. I really wanted to say goodbye personally but
given the little time he spent there, figured it might not
be possible. I'd decided on a large, easy to heat chicken curry, 
with all the trimmings diced and stirred in small containers. 
I was laying out the table for my own final meal there when 
Skinner came in. 

"Something smells good."

I turned in surprise. "Hey stranger! I was just about to
eat. You hungry?"

"With that aroma, who wouldn't be?" 

He went upstairs while I laid out a second setting and
placed the assorted side dishes in separate bowls. By the
time he returned, the chapattis were cooked and meal
ready. I'd taken the liberty of buying a couple of bottles
of wine to go with the curry, wondering if he would drink
them alone.

He was dressed in an old pair of jeans and casual sweater
and at my invitation, sat at the table. I made a brief but
solemn toast to Greggs, the SPD officer and Jawolski and
Myers, the agents who had died last Friday morning. He told
me the agents were to be buried in Arlington the next day.
I asked if it would be inappropriate for me to attend the
service. My flight wasn't due out until three.

"No, no it wouldn't be inappropriate. Where are you flying
to?"

"Seattle."

"You're leaving?" He looked surprised.

"I'd only budgeted to stay a week. The interviews are
finished."

"And you've made a decision?"

I finished serving and picked up a fork, not to eat, but
to give my hand something to do.

"No...no it's not that easy. I suppose I should stay on a
bit and spend time in the area, get a feel for what it
would be like to live here. Maybe that would help me make a
decision."

"Then why don't you?"

I looked up and smiled "I don't want to over stay my
welcome."

He looked at me, I suppose a little exasperated, and said,
"I can't say it's been a burden, I've hardly seen you, and
then only long enough to be fed deadly drinks and deadlier
curries."

"Too hot?" I frowned. He'd ordered hot curries in Seattle.

"No...I like them deadly. Seriously, you're welcome to
stay here as long as you like. I presumed you'd take a few
weeks to, as you said, look around."

I'm not one for being coy and the look on his face was
genuine, so I replied, "To be honest, I suppose I'm just not
feeling the enthusiasm I once thought I had for some of
these offers. I think I want to go back home and rethink
the entire thing." I sighed in frustration "I suppose if I
go back over their prospectuses and maybe drive around and
get a feel for living in the area, I might feel differently.
But I can't waver on this. I need to start earning a
living and if it's not going to be in D.C., I need to look
elsewhere."

"Why don't you at least stay 'til Monday. I can get away
for the weekend. How about letting me show you around?"

I grinned and replied, "Please don't tell me that includes
the Lincoln Memorial and the White House tour."

He laughed. "No, no I mean the parts of D.C. that long time
residents know about and keep very secret from the tourists
and foreign diplomats."

"Ooh, that sound more my style. Okay, I'd be crazy to pass
an offer like that up, I'd love to stay on a few days."

"So the places you're looking at, they big corporations?"

"Mostly. A couple of research institutes, but my side of
it is more practical applications. But...I don't know, none
of them are really grabbing me."

"Do you want me to run a background check run on them?"

I blinked. "You can do that?"

His eyebrow just raised and I chuckled. "Well...I've gone
into them pretty thoroughly, but if the FBI knows of any
skeletons, I'd like to know just so I can scratch them off
my list permanently."

The long and short of it was, I ended up agreeing to
accompany Skinner back to the Hoover building after the
service at Arlington. He'd get the lab boys to take me
through some of the technical areas, a prospect that rather
thrilled me given the sorts of things they'd talked about
in Seattle, and he'd have someone check out my prospective
employees.

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



CHAPTER 6

DAY 20 - Thursday

 

To: F_Mulder@fbi.gov 7:45 p.m. local time 

From: D_Scully@fbi.gov 

 

I've finished my own report and attached a copy. I'm
meeting with Skinner tomorrow afternoon with certain
recommendations. Mulder, without further evidence there can
be no justification in keeping this file open. All the
evidence points to the four deceased murderers, nothing
except the absence of film equipment indicates a fifth. I
am by no means disagreeing with you, nor do I think Skinner
disagrees, but you know as well as me, better than me, the
necessity of closure. We have nothing to go on except your
word to indicate a fifth person. That your profiles so
accurately defined these four should give weight to your
prediction, however it is no longer in the hands of the
bureau. Mulder the case is closed. We can only hope that,
as horrific as such a thought might be, videos may suffice
to keep him at bay.

The director came down to the basement this morning to
offer congratulations. He wants to see you when you get
back. He looked...he looked like he wanted to apologize. I
suppose I can best sum up my reaction to that by an old
maxim my father taught me. If you can't say something nice,
say, "Yes, sir."

Mulder, I am reluctant to tell you this by e-mail, but I
will not risk a telephone call that you will necessarily
wish to turn into a conversation. And I do not want for you
to learn of it only after your return to D.C. on Monday,
for I feel you need the weekend to consider it.

As the supervisory agent in charge of the X-files, you
will be notified officially by Skinner that the director
has offered me a new position. A newly restructured D.C.-
based forensics and pathology team is being seriously
considered in the budget. Should it come to pass, I have
been offered a supervisory role. It would elevate me to
just one step below A.D., in fact in some ways on the same
level with an A.D. It will mean a pay raise and more 
responsibility. The money, of course, is not the issue,
but the position and status would give me access to a much
broader scope that currently available in the X-files. As
you will see by the attached proposed structuring, the X-
files will be in a far more advantageous position with
instant uncluttered access to facilities it currently has
to wait in line for. 

Mulder, I know you will see this as another conspiracy to
break us up. But if you closely examine the proposal, you
will see this opens the X-files into the main stream,
giving it credibility and thus ensuring its future where
once it was considered a mere indulgence. With an
increasing number of unresolved cases, the X-files would 
be allocated the more *mainstream* unusual as well as
out and out X-files, a larger budget, a clerk/typist as
well as two agents under you. They're not attempting to
desk jockey you by any means, but it will give you certain
freedoms to pick and chose what cases you personally
handle, leaving the more mainstream ones to the agents
under you. 

My only regret, of course, is that we will no longer be
partnered, however it will still mean you can consult me
here in D.C. and I will have the discretion of giving you
priority treatment. The benefits of having a forensic
pathologist in the field as an active agent have not been
lost on the hierarchy. Part of my job will be to supervise
agents under me and let them loose with you in the field. 

With any luck, I'll be able to get away occasionally and
accompany you on some of your more interesting excursions.

Please Mulder, look this over carefully, and I believe you
will agree it will benefit you greatly. We both know there
is no such thing as maintaining the status quo in the FBI.
Better this than dissolution. 

The offer is not yet conclusive, it has yet to be budgeted
and the director has said he will personally listen to your 
opinions on the matter before a final decision is made.

S. 



Mulder read her e-mail twice, then absorbed the proposal. 

He pushed the laptop aside and got out of bed. The
various leads and machinery had long since been removed.
The four walls crowded him as a numbing pain filled his
soul. The Meta told him Scully understood and accepted him
and his abilities. He needed to get out, to run it out of
his system to run his mind into oblivion and let the pain
sooth him in mindless pounding. The decision was no longer
his. He stood and closed his eyes momentarily. Had it ever
been?

He rummaged through the closet for the sweats and running
shoes Scully had left him as casual hospital attire. 

Scully.

She was leaving him.

Donning them, he was out the door of his room and the
hospital before anyone considered stopping him.

Pound, pound, thump, thump, but this time it was his own
blood in his own ears. The Meta had shown him the truth.
Not just about the consortium, about evil and good, but
about himself. He had to find a way to control this ability.

The cold brought tears to his eyes and tried to freeze
them in place. He rubbed his hand over his face and told
himself it was only the cold. Nothing else.

Why?

It made complete sense. In fact why they hadn't thought of
it before amazed him. Entice her from him with a stunningly-
wrapped package of logic. An expanded forensics department,
assistance and expansion of the X-files division.
Everything they could ever asked for.

Except the one thing he wanted.

Scully.

He stumbled once and grabbed on to the cold metal of a
street sign. His bare fingers pulled away, leaving remnants
of skin. He glanced down at his hand as he ran. Pound,
pound see the blood flow, see the blood run.

This was who and what he was. Patterson was right, always
right. Men like Mulder didn't marry pretty women and come
home to warm smells and loving embraces. He would never
know a woman's love because...

Shit, what was he thinking? He knew at the outset this
would destroy their partnership. Why was it every time he
thought he'd escaped the frying pan and the fucking fire,
he turned around to see hell itself bearing down on him?

And life without Scully by his side would be the greatest
hell of all.

Pound, pound, feel the beat of the ground, the solid thump
as each foot contacts the earth. Solid, complete, whole, as
pure as the act of running.

Oh, God, it was so much more than he had ever imagined. He
was not a man, he was a weapon. A weapon forged to fight
the future. He had no right thinking he could drag her into
this fray.

Run, run, pound, pound.

He snorted a short laugh. Scully was right after all, he
*was* like Ahab. His disability was not a physical loss,
not a pegleg, but something metaphysical he had gained,
through pain and guilt and horror. 

The images of his childhood assailed him. His father knew.
All this time his father knew and could never tell him, for
it was the journey itself that shaped the weapon that was
Fox William Mulder. The very fact that he had never been
told the entire truth should have been a clue in itself.

Scully.

She would never believe what had happened to him. And as
much as his heart ached and he despaired for the loss, he
knew this must be the way it was.

For him. For Lucy and God help him perhaps for Gibson.

Pound, pound, feel the numbness, comfortable numbness of
grief and pain. Lucy had been too broken inside and chose
the only way out. But he did not have that luxury, at least
not yet. There was too much at stake. 

And there was still Samantha. 

That journey had never ceased.

He ran back into the hospital, to his room, stripped and
showered.

It now seemed an inevitability that they should separate.
Scully deserved this, Christ she deserved every bit of it.
It really didn't matter what happened to him. He wasn't a
normal man anymore. Perhaps he never had been. All that
mattered was that he stop hurting her. God, he loved her and
he would take pleasure in the knowledge that letting her go
could be his greatest gift.

He felt a warmth seep through his heart, the same warmth
that encompassed his soul when Nik let him go. It was not
like Scully, never like that all too human embrace. But
this warmth, this truth allowed him to smile, almost
without regret, as he opened the laptop and reread her
thoughts. 

Perhaps she might accompany him in the field...It would
never happen, of course. They would each climb separate
pyramids. Hers would grow tall and strong and his, well, he
no longer feared the effect mirroring had on him, except it
had become clear to him now that it would be while
undertaking one such journey that Clyde Bruckman's prophesy
would come to pass. He had not lied to Scully, for it would
not be him with the rope around his neck. 

He would continue to profile. And he would mirror and
attempt to hone his skills. That he would fall seemed
inevitable without Scully. But she would be safe and warm.
And perhaps his small efforts in this raging war would be
sufficient to hold the wolves at bay until someone
stronger, perhaps Gibson Praise, took up the reigns.

He picked up the telephone to call her. His vocal cords
had not been as damaged as first thought and he was now
capable of holding a limited, carefully modulated
conversation. But he had always found the written word a
more eloquent medium to formulate his thoughts. Besides,
Scully would spend half the conversation berating him for
talking and this way, he could not give in to the
overwhelming desire to beg. 

Scully had made her decision and for once in his sorry son
of a bitch life, he was going to do the right thing.

He pulled the laptop closer and began to type. Oddly
enough, the warmth spread through him and a catharsis that
had begun on a beach on the other side of the planet only a
week before, continued its metamorphosis of Fox William
Mulder. 
 

To: D_Scully@fbi.gov 5:30 PM local time

From: F_Mulder@fbi.gov 

"Your news comes as no surprise. I am both delighted and
in no small part relieved. 

"Since El Rico and our reassignment to the X-files, I, in
my usually blinkered manner, have been unmindful of the
effects upon you. This enforced hospital stay has allowed
me to consider much that has happened in the past few
months. Your news has consolidated my thoughts and I trust
you will bear with my necessarily lengthy diatribe one last
time, as I answer some of your unspoken questions.

"I have come to understand at least in part, something of
which motivated my father and I thus regret his passing
even more. I would like to add, and forgive him, but there
is nothing to forgive.

"After his death and my discovery of his apparently
willing role in Samantha's abduction, I found the burden of
guilt he placed upon me incomprehensible. That engendered
in me a hatred for him beyond measure. The months following
Samantha's disappearance were a parody; the police
investigations, the accusations, the taunts and suspicious
looks by neighbors and erstwhile friends, the unspoken
loathing of my mother all served to enforce in me that I
alone was responsible for my sister's loss and our family's
destruction. 

"That my father allowed this sick farce to play out, that
he allowed me to take the burden of guilt and carry it into
my adult years, I now know must have been as agonizing to
him as Samantha's loss. I recall times he looked at me,
drowning in his scotch, his eyes rheumy from pain and
alcohol. I thought he despised me. I feared those looks
because they bored into my soul and said I was weak,
worthless, despicable. 

"I have now come to understand his bitterness was not from
my failure, but from his own. Were I in his place, as much
as I might hope my decisions would have been wiser, age has
necessarily taught me otherwise. For on my journey I too,
have made countless errors, painful mistakes that have
risked your life, your health and destroyed what happiness
you might have known with a whole family and children. 

"What I learned from El Rico gave me more than pause,
Scully. What I learned on Tuesday gave me even greater
understanding. I have learned a painful and bitter truth,
that my naive search for a greater truth was more
destructive than my father's efforts to hide it.

"I'm not martyring myself here, Scully. As I have come to
understand my father, so, too, I accept it is only the
clarity of twenty-twenty hindsight that allows me to see my
own errors. I cannot go on with you in this way. Our
journeys joined early in our time together and became one,
but they have once more parted. Melissa was right, those
who did this to you and in turn murdered her, suffered a
greater horror. Your journey is complete, your truths
understood from your perspective, your answers given and
accepted. It brings no joy to you, I know, but it brings
closure. Take it, Scully, take it and get on with your life.

"I perforce, am on a different journey. I hold a different
truth than yours and thus I must continue the journey alone,
for in one thing it has never wavered -- to find Samantha. I
know the truth now, but it is not enough. Like you, now I
want answers, I want her returned. And even were that to
come to pass, my truths tell me the world is in an even
greater danger than I once believed. I cannot conscionably
walk away from that.

"You see, my father allowed this burden upon me because he
knew he could not take it upon himself. He forged me, with
the bitter tools of guilt and remorse and regret. He shaped
my spirit, creating a vengeful tool within me to fight a
future he feared beyond all else. In a very real sense,
Kritschgau was right, I am an artifact. Not a pawn as
Kritschgau would have had me believe, but a weapon."

Mulder stopped writing for a moment. In the cool darkness
of the early evening night, the sounds of the hospital
seemed to be magnified. Food carts, footsteps and voices
filled the halls outside. But it all faded into white noise
and the complexity of his life took on a surprising
simplicity. The way before him lay very clear.

Three years previously when they'd found the alien body in
the Canadian Rockies, he had been so close to the truth,
the real truth. They had employed a brilliant and complex
diversionary tactic, an almost universally effective
brainwashing technique. 

They sent Kritschgau to cut his belief system from beneath
him, to artfully destroy the entire construct by which his
very existence depended -- his belief in extraterrestrials
and his life quest search for his sister. Kritschgau
convinced Mulder that his entire life was a fabrication of
false memories and half truths, that Mulder had been
created as a pawn to hide and in fact further a government
sponsored agenda of heinous crimes against humanity. The
perversion was compounded, Kritschgau implied, because they
used Mulder's extraordinary sense of honor and justice to
cover their gross crimes with a blanket fantasy of little
green men. 

The void created in Mulder left him floundering and guilt-
ridden. Then they severed his final lifeline by convincing
Scully, and in turn him, that she'd been given the cancer
in order to make him believe the fabricated alien stories.
The destruction of Fox Mulder was so effective he'd
seriously contemplated suicide.

Worse was yet to come. They finally tried to tear out his
soul by having him believe his sister was not simply
returned, but that she had been fathered by the one human
he despised most of all, a man that might in fact be his
real father. 

The first stage of the brainwashing completed, they
introduced a new belief system to fill the void, to create
for him a new world view of things. In this incarnation
they incorporated his still intact paranoia and suspicion
into new truths that encapsulated a lie made ridiculously
easy to swallow. They had him believing an evil but very
human government experimented on civilians in order to
develop hybrids immune to radiation and biological weapons. 

And he'd bought it, hook line and sinker...until Ruskin Dam.

He shook his head. When that lie dissolved in the face of
things learned after Ruskin, they tried a less subtle
psychological destruction; the burning of his office, the
removal of the X-files and his support structure -- Scully.
C.G.B. Spender should really have learned his mistake when
he'd tried to buy Mulder's soul as Scully lay dying of
cancer. True, Mulder bought the lie for a time, but he
remained an honorable man. And after Ruskin his recovered
beliefs were forged even stronger by his experience
recovering Scully in Antarctica. 

Yet, perversely, the whole truth, when finally given to him,
left him empty-handed. CGB Spender gave him that truth in
Diana's apartment and within hours, no thanks to Mulder, the
alien rebels had destroyed the Consortium. Yes, he had his
truth, but he did not have his quest. He did not have
Samantha.

Then, the Meta changed it all again. He gave Mulder focus
and a foundation upon which to work, while simultaneously
rocking the very foundations of all religious beliefs. And
this time he had been left with undeniable proof. That
Scully would refuse to accept his truth somehow no longer
mattered in the face of the greater war raging. It was no
surprise that she could no longer follow him, but chose to
step back into the mainstream of life.

He would not reveal to her what he had learned, what a
Meta who had once been a man had taught him about the true
nature of evil. Let Scully keep her philosophical crutch,
her belief in a God, for he now knew it was not without
foundation. While a part of him sincerely hoped that she
might have opened her mind to this new reality, that the
heavenly hosts were a benevolent alien force and that evil
was as real as her God, he smiled regretfully and knew she
was safer without such knowledge. One day, she would be
called upon to fight that greater evil. What she had
learned in this life would serve her well. He chuckled,
yeah, she'd make a pretty impressive avenging angel.

He began typing again:

"I continue on this journey, Scully, with the albatross of
guilt over Samantha now gone. But the absence of guilt does
not reduce my need to find her, it simply hones my focus.
And having divested myself of that one guilt, the burden of
your losses weighed yet more heavily. 

"Your news gives me hope and lightens that burden. As a
friend, a fellow traveler on a journey that was once mine
alone, I ask of you now to leave without regret and let me
continue on my way. By taking up this newly-offered journey
along roads you once hoped to tread, you give me some
measure of peace and happiness in the knowledge that you
will continue with your life as it should have been, after
a seven-year detour. I know you will take that which you
have learned in your time with me and use it to good
measure. Take also this new offer with my blessing and
thanks and yes, my love, and know that this makes me far
happier than to have you stay by my side.

M.

 

He sat back, spiritually tired, emotionally exhausted, yet
somehow also freed, knowing she would be safe from the evil
to come. He sent the e-mail, made one reservation, unplugged
the cords and got up from the bed. Time now to put many
things to rest.


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



CHAPTER 7

Day 20 - Thursday

Georgetown

11:31 p.m.

Scully read the e-mail twice before blinking back the
tears. Goddamned the man for doing this! She was *not*
leaving him, couldn't he see that? Had he not read the
proposal before answering her e-mail? She sighed. Of course
he had. And he read what she had not written. 

Damn him! It was always about him! How dare he wax so
poetic, so damned formal, yet lyrical, and drive her to tears
this way? I'm not martyring myself, he said. Huh, not much!

She sat curled on the couch with her head in her arms,
worrying over the proposal yet again. It was an opportunity
of a life time and it *would* benefit him! It wasn't as if
they wouldn't be spending time together. Dammit! She had a
right to her life, to what she wanted in her life! And this
was the best of both worlds; the challenge and stimulation
of the X-files and the opportunity to progress in the FBI
hierarchy. 

Then why did she feel like he had already left her behind,
like he had ditched her and gone off by himself, when it
was the other way around?

No dammit, it was *not* a ditch, at least not on her
behalf. It was a way of giving further credibility to his
work! But she knew him, oh, God, help her she knew him. In
his mind, she was gone to him. And she remembered his eyes
after the morgue. His eyes said it then, that what might
have been never should. He had begun to close off from her
then. Oh it was subtle, so subtle, so *let's just be
partners* friendly that it made her ill.

Then on the rooftop, as she'd told him she needed him,
only that had dragged him back from the abyss.

God, she could kick herself. Of course, she should have
known this is how he would react! She'd made it abundantly
clear she no longer felt his journey had any meaning. She
had been offered something to boost her career and thank
you very much, Mulder, but I've found my answers, it's been
an interesting ride and goodbye but yeah, we'll keep in
touch, exchange Christmas cards and all.

Fuck it! It wasn't that way at all!

Damn him!

Was this is how it would end, not with a bang, not even
with a whimper, but a simple e-mail? Couldn't it equally be
a beginning? Since they would no longer exactly be
partners, couldn't they then be more than simple friends? 

But Mulder didn't think like that. With him, it was all or
nothing, you're either with me, or ag'in' me. You're either
his partner and...whatever, or you are an acquaintance, a
fellow worker who might be of some use to his precious
damned quest!

His sister...Samantha...*nothing else matters to me* ...it
was all, all in that phrase. Here she sat seven years later
and she had forgotten, somehow that those words still drove
him. She had been thrust into orbit around his whirlwind
journey and circumstance had thrust that same journey upon
her shoulders. Circumstance had allowed her to complete her
journey, to find resolution, but it left him still barren
and wanting.

He had always expected that she would leave, as every
other woman in his life left. First, Samantha, then his
mother's emotional withdrawal, then Phoebe's betrayal and
Diana's departure. And, God help him, his wife. And now, of
course, it was her turn.

What's it to be, Dana? If she left, he would never follow.
If she remained in his shadow she would not be true unto
herself. Is this the way Diana had felt? 

Betray him, or betray yourself?

Hadn't she promised to continue on this journey with him?

No, she had regretted leaving him before it was complete.
Now that it was complete, now the consortium was dead, so
was the journey.

But what about Samantha?

The wheel hath come full circle, and it has left us both
barren and empty.

Tears drowning her pillow, she finally slept.

*********************************
End Chapter 7 The Engineer

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 4:The Engineer 5 of 7
Disclaimers: See Part 1

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

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

CHAPTER 8

DAY 21 - Friday
Crystal City, Virginia

>From the journal of Crystal Palmer
 

I was up at 5 a.m., wishing like hell I could go for a
ride. Skinner's bedroom light was on and his door half
open. I had to pass his room to get to the bathroom and
couldn't help but notice him sitting on the end of his bed
tying the laces on his runners.

The words were out of my mouth before I realized it. "You
run?" 

He looked up. "Not as much as I should. This is the first
chance in a few weeks."

I almost bounced up and down on my heels. "Don't suppose I
could join you, could I? I've wanted to since I got here,
but...strange city and all."

He blinked in surprise. "Sure."

I'm not much of a runner, really, my knees can't take the
pounding, but it's better than going to a gym. I'd started
to regret my outburst almost before we were out the front
door. Most male runners are faster than women. My ex hated
me slowing him down. But maybe Skinner was more of a jogger.
No such luck, but he admitted to being out of condition and
it seemed to slow him enough for me to keep pace. After
about a mile I realized the bulge under his sweatsuit was
probably a gun.

"D'you always carry that?"

He saw the direction of my eyes and nodded. "And I.D.,
never hurts."

I thought about that for a mile or two then added, "Because
it's D.C., or because you're a paranoid cop?"

He grinned and replied, "Both."

That kept me quiet for another couple of miles then I
asked, "Ever needed it on a run?"

"Twice. Both times on someone assailing somebody else.
Does it bother you?"

"What are the statistics of gun owners in D.C.? Highest in
the country, isn't it?"

He nodded and I could tell he was tiring.

"No," I added. "I'm just an idealist. I'd like to live in a
world where only law enforcement officers and the military
were allowed to own and carry them."

He looked at me oddly and slowed slightly, then said in a
carefully neutral voice, "And yet you showed no hesitation
in using one when it was necessary."

I pulled up suddenly. Oh, shit. Of course he would have
known. He ran a few paces before realizing I'd stopped. I
guess we'd done about eight miles and my knees were feeling
it. As I said, I'm not much of a runner, the impact gets to
me where cycling doesn't. He walked back to me, but said
nothing, waiting for my reaction.

"How much do you know?"

"That you were given a commendation for bravery for saving
a police officer."

"You know I killed him?"

"The assailant? Yeah."

By mutual consent we started walking back to his
apartment. It was only a block or so away. 

"How do you feel about that?" He asked me.

"Killing him? Honestly? I was horrified at the damage one
bullet, one soft little squeeze of a trigger could do. I'm
sure the average person just does not think about that tiny
little piece of metal shredding its way through flesh
and organs and bone and causing such incalculable havoc on
a human being. I know all I wanted to do was stop him and I
knew there was no other way. Even if I could have pulled
myself out from my bike and tackled him, it wouldn't have
been soon enough. So although I was horrified, although I
felt bad he died, I never felt guilty, never lost any sleep
over it. I was just...sad that it had happened and
unbelievably grateful Johns lived.

"I upchucked in the gutter afterwards, and got a bad case
of the shakes, but only for a few minutes. But I can't
honestly say how much of that was just an overall reaction.
I mean I thought about it again after the FBI took over the
hotel and I saw the photos. I was so sick the first time I
refused to clean the rooms. But that...that was different,
that was...evil, beyond comprehension. Casey was a dog gone
mad, although I felt guilty for a while for not feeling
guilty. Can you understand that?"

He looked at me and nodded. "You know he was on his way to
kill his ex-girlfriend and her boyfriend?"

"Yeah, I found out later. I suppose, thinking back, I was
upset for a while. But it was mostly because I felt I had
no right to decide he should die. And anyone who pulls a
trigger should always have that in the back of their mind,
that they may be killing someone and they had better make
damned certain there really is no alternative."

"Would you do the same thing again?"

I wasn't sure how he wanted me to answer, but I could only
be honest. "Without batting an eyelid. I'd never given guns
much thought, never wanted to own one or fire one, but in
that moment, I knew there was no alternative. I made the
right decision and I do not regret that. I only regret the
circumstances that brought him to that point and that he
died as a result. Look, no one wants a police state, but
our justice system works to give offenders a second chance.
I've often thought it would be fairer to give an innocent
potential victim a first chance and there are at least
three people alive today because Casey is dead."

I knew I was rambling and probably sounded overly defensive.
We'd reached his apartment building and he turned to face
me and said, "Crystal, I'm not suggesting you should feel
anything different. Killing someone, no matter how
justifiable the reason, will always have an effect on you.
Hopefully, you can accept it like you have. How did you end
up with the gun?"

"Fluke, pure and simple. You know his car hit me while I
was riding, don't you?"

"Mm, and you were knocked into the gutter, directly behind
an unmarked detective's car."

"Traffic was heavy, so Casey couldn't drive out of there,
even if he'd wanted to. Detective Johns got out of his
vehicle and leaned over me and asked if I was okay. Next
thing I knew, Casey had tackled him and was hitting him
over the head with this flashlight. Johns said later he saw
movement out of the corner of his eye and started pulling
his gun. It was so fast I couldn't tell, but it makes sense
because all I can remember is this painful whack in my
face, seeing stars, then the gun in my lap and I'm
screaming at Casey to stop or I'll shoot him.

"I expected someone to tackle Casey, you know? But
everyone just froze. And that's what I mean about no
choice. I was angry that no one was trying to help Johns.
Until then I would have said that no one who calls
themselves human could sit by and watch a man beaten to
death."

"Happens every day in this city," he replied as we stepped
into the elevator. 

"Well, that may be, but its wrong. I'm no police groupie,
I avoid trouble like the plague, but in a situation like
that, well, I'm not going to apologize to anyone for doing
what was morally right."

I paused as the lift doors opened. It had never crossed my
mind to consider it. Just because he was FBI didn't mean
he'd ever used his gun, let alone shot anyone. But I
already knew the answer because...because of his eyes, the
way he carried himself. I asked anyway, "Have you ever
killed anyone?"

He nodded as he opened his apartment door. "First time
when I was 18. A 10-year-old Vietnamese boy, booby-
trapped."

"Oh, Jesus..." 

I felt my stomach lurch, not in horror but in sympathy at
such a moral dilemma. I put my hand on his arm and he
smiled at me without humor.

"And no," he added, "it doesn't get any easier with time.
But you either learn to deal with it, to believe you can
make a difference, even if only a slight one, or you become
indifferent and stand by and do nothing while people,
civilians as well as detectives, are beaten to death."

I had the feeling he was telling me something more than
just that. But let it slide. 

I showered first, while Skinner made eggs for breakfast.
He was just getting off the phone when I came downstairs.

"All right, Scully, call me back if you hear anything more.
I'll be leaving in an hour."

As we ate I asked how Mulder was. His nose twitched in
annoyance. "He checked himself out last night, then checked
out of the hotel. I'm betting he's on a flight."

"Can he talk yet?"

Hid lips curled. "Not much, which just might keep him out of
trouble."

Skinner showered while I changed. The phone rang and the
machine didn't get it, I suppose he'd forgotten to put it
back on after talking to Scully. I let it go for a moment,
thinking Skinner might hear it, but he didn't so I went to
his room and answered the cordless extension sitting on his
bedside table.

"Hello?"

"Oh...I'm sorry, is this Walter Skinner's residence?"

"Yes, just a minute,"

I went back in to the hallway and knocked on the bathroom
door. "Phone!" 

The shower turned off and he called, "Who is it?"

"It sounds like Agent Scully, hang on." I asked who was
calling and she confirmed it. But she didn't sound too
happy to tell me, in fact I don't think she would have,
except I'd already guessed.

"He won't be long..."

The bathroom door opened and Skinner took the phone from
me with a mouthed thanks. I turned to go back into my room
to give him some privacy, but not before noticing how he
looked in a skimpy white towel and nothing else.

Oh...the temptation to ogle was almost overwhelming.

Well, what did you expect? I'm only human.

 

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

 

Arlington National Cemetery

Arlington, Virginia

>From the Journal of Crystal Palmer

 
Thank God for waterproof mascara. I didn't gush buckets,
but I couldn't help tears. I'd hardly known these men, but
felt their loss in the stone faced-solemnity of their
colleagues, at the loss of a comrade in arms. Their wives
stood proud and tall and I wondered if I could have been so
dignified in the face of such loss. To be honest, I've
never liked funerals because they seem artificial. A
minister or priest or rabbi saying artificial words of
supposed comfort over a person he'd never known. But as I
stood there that bleak morning, in a cemetery that honored
the bravery of its dead, I felt an overwhelming respect for
not only these two men, but all who rested by their side.
These men knew they might one day be called to give up
their lives to protect others. 

To protect us. 

I wished that I might have such courage, such strength of
spirit and I was, once more, humbled.

Scully stood very close to Mulder during the service. As I
said before, they were like two parts of a whole. Now, their
contact seemed like a form of solidarity. There but for the
grace of God lay Mulder, I thought. I could see it in the
eyes of those who surrounded us. They thought the same. For
all many of them might belittle him and his beliefs, I saw
also a respect bordering on awe. 

He'd arrived just as the service began. Scully hadn't seen
him at first, but I noticed him walk up behind her. She
turned to see who it was and the look of sheer relief on
her face was almost palpable. He'd lost his strange tan and
his face was marked and bruised in places, but the bandage
at his throat was flesh colored. From ten feet away he
looked almost normal. Although their coats only brushed, it
seemed they were one.

Scully wasn't surprised to see me. After the morning's
phone call, she must have put two and two together.
Although I could tell by the quizzical look, she wondered
if the numbers were meant to add up higher. Mulder just
grinned at me, looked me over and rocked his head to one
side in a gesture of delighted approval. He had definitely
added up the numbers. I stayed poker-faced, but was
secretly pleased, even if he had guessed wrong. The man
could send whole paragraphs of conversation with his body
language and eyes. He didn't need vocal cords.

I had felt strangely out of place until then, not
unwelcome but undeserving of being there. A few moments
later, the light drizzle turned to rain. Skinner put his arm
about me, gently pulling me close to share his umbrella as
the rain set in. 

At the end of the service, I glanced at Scully. She seemed
to be looking up at Mulder as if she had lost something and
was trying to find it in his face. Afterwards, he left
without her. I don't know, but something about their
bearing sent a shiver down my spine. I had a bad feeling
about it.

Skinner left me for a few minutes to talk to the wives.
Scully came up and spoke to me. We talked for a bit, but it
was superficial. She looked distracted, upset, yet it
didn't seem to stem from the service. I asked her if
everything was okay and she said she was fine and turned on
an artificial smile. I really was at a loss because Mulder
looked, well, happy was not the right word because it was a
funeral. But he seemed to have been freed of a burden. I
suppose it was the case being closed. So why was Scully so
concerned? 

A driver chauffeured Skinner and I to the Hoover building.
The flag was flying at half mast. I didn't say anything.
Skinner saw me frown and look down at my hands. It was not
melancholy that I felt, but solemnity. We are so hardened
in our society, so indifferent, so cynical, especially in
this singularly cynical city of politicians and bureaucrats. 
I don't think I could have explained that to anyone, but I also 
felt guilt, for having disliked, even hated these men and women 
when they first came to our home. Now I felt wanting in the face 
of such honor.

In strange contrast, perhaps in part because of the
funeral, the hours that followed were more than uplifting,
they were exhilarating. For the first time since coming to
D.C., I felt alive. These men and women were really
achieving something. For all most of it was technical dog
work, they were really making a difference. I lusted after
their equipment, longing for the sort of lengthy jam
sessions we used to have in our offices at university. This
was so far removed from the dry corporate worlds I'd been
mindlessly wandering through this past week, it touched
something in me. I did not know what, exactly, but I
suddenly knew that I could never work in any of the places
I had prospectuses for.

Skinner told me to call him at lunch, after leaving me
with a technician named Sam Peaton, but to be honest, I'd
forgotten. He eventually tracked me down in one of the
photo labs at about 5:30. I was starving and exuberant and 
practically fell over myself telling him what I had seen and 
what could be done to improve certain things. He ended up 
practically dragging me out of there by the elbow. About a 
mile of halls and elevators later, I was in his office and he 
was telling Kimberly, his assistant, that she could go home 
for the night. Scully was there with him and that's when he 
dropped the bomb shell.

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

End Chapter 8 the Engineer

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 4:The Engineer 6 of 7
Disclaimers: See Part 1

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

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

CHAPTER 9

DAY 21 - Friday
Washington, D.C.

 
>From the journal of Crystal Palmer

 
When he said he wanted to take me out for dinner I warned
him it had to be casual because I had no evening clothes.
He smiled and replied it was just around the corner at a
pub and we could go there straight from his office. I
relaxed a bit because for all we had developed a closeness,
I felt nervous about the direction things were going. In
fact, I was now at a loss to know what direction that was.

"Is this standard FBI recruiting protocol?" I asked after
my first sip of wine.

He had the grace to chuckle. "No." He wanted to say more
but he looked me up and down, evaluating me, but in a nice
way, a way I would have said was part seduction except that
he managed to look chagrined at the same time.

"When did you decide to make this offer?" 

He looked thoughtful, then sipped his drink and replied, "I
think I'd subconsciously been considering it since last
Thursday, but it took me until yesterday to wade through
the paperwork. Among it were three recommendations that
you be recruited as an FBI candidate."

"So, why didn't you say something last night?"

"I wanted to let you see where you'd be working, meet the
people you'd be working with."

"How long before I have to make a decision?"

"It's an open offer, but if you do decide quickly, we can
get the preliminary interviews and medicals over and done
with by the end of next week. The background checks have
already thoroughly been covered. A little paper-shuffling,
but there's a new class due to start at Quantico three
weeks after that I can get you in. You should stay in D.C.,
meanwhile, because there will likely be routine follow ups."

"Mm, three weeks in D.C. Kind of expensive." 

"Crystal, you can stay as my guest as long as you like, you
know that."

"Do you think that's a very good idea, under the
circumstances?"

He played dumb. "What circumstances?"

I pulled my lips in and frowned. Had I imagined things?
Was Skinner so far into the FBI that this seduction was
purely professional? I felt a little adrift, so stabbed
another oyster and swallowed before answering. "I mean you
are an A.D. Isn't there some sort of protocol?"

He tossed his head back and grinned broadly, then looked
at me with amazingly bright eyes. "The FBI is a political
bureaucracy. A good many have secured their position in the
agency at least in part due to...sponsorship." He shook his
head. "You're not the sort of person to use an...association
to your advantage. And even if you were, in the initial
stages, no one has any sway over an entire board of doctors
and psychologists who'll screen you. As an agent, you would
never be placed under my command because your expertise
lies in a completely different area. When you undergo
training at Quantico, you will pass or fail on your merits
alone. And if you fail, you should not be ashamed, because
the process is designed to filter only those who can meet
its unique demands. Not meeting those demands does not make
you a lesser person. Not everyone is suited for the FBI. Not
everyone should be."

He stopped for moment then added, "But you won't fail. You
have all the qualities of an excellent agent. You have
integrity and honesty, you've been offered money, good
money to betray unspoken confidences. You could have taken
that money in all good conscience for you signed nothing to
prevent you from doing so. You've shown an ability to work
independently and yet you work well on a team in less than
ideal conditions."

"I threw up when I first saw those photos in Seattle." I
grimaced.

"So you should have. But you adjusted. You are sensible
enough to avoid violence, but when confronted with it, you
display courage and cool thinking. You didn't tell me your
ankle was broken by Casey when he sideswiped your bike."

I frowned at him. "Why did you ask about it when you knew?"

"I wanted to feel your reaction, especially to killing a
man." 

I looked away again. A cop, a typical cop.

"Crystal, I'm sorry if you think I deceived you, I didn't.
It's just that..." He looked uncomfortable. "I...The FBI is
not for everyone. You need to rapidly adjust to...circumstances. 
You might go twenty years and never have to pull a gun. But 
if you're ever put in that situation again, I needed to know you 
wouldn't hesitate. Sure, the psych screening will pick that up, 
but *I* needed to know before recommending you.

"You warned Casey three times before pulling that trigger.
And if you'd hesitated any longer, Johns would be dead. I
also know that despite the pain, you hobbled to his car and
called officer down, then sat with him and staunched the
blood flow and talked with him until the paramedics
arrived. I've seen trained agents lose it and have to
retire after killing a man. Yet while you fully comprehend
and regret the consequences of shooting a man, you would do
so again if the situation called for it."

And as I sat there, I realized that yes, this is what I
wanted. This felt right. But it didn't answer a second
question. Could I have both?


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


Scully parked her car just outside his apartment building.
She counted her blessings that she hadn't had to walk half
a mile in the drizzling, half-formed snow. Her heart thudded
in keeping with her short, sharp footsteps. The only good
thing about the conversation she was about to have was that
it would be completely one-sided. Finally, a chance to tell
Mulder exactly what she thought without him somehow
arguing...oh, shit. She pulled up short outside of his
elevator. Who was she kidding? What exactly did she want,
anyway? For him to beg and grovel and ask her not to leave?
Was that it?

No, damn him! She wanted him to accept a future where they
could work together, albeit not as closely...Oh, what was
the point? He wouldn't listen, he never listened to
her... She sighed deeply. No, that was just plain wrong. The
truth was, he always listened. He fed her reasoning into
that great dumb genius brain of his and processed it into
the most improbable reasoning. But he had always respected
her and her opinions. He always listened even if he did not
agree. As she had always listened to him...Well, no she
hadn't. Sometimes she outright refused.

Oh, hell, what was the point trying to talk to him when he
couldn't respond?

Scully decided to leave, but his apartment door opened 
and he came out with a bag of trash in hand. He looked 
up and the genuine delight on his face at seeing her 
tore down her wallsentirely. She had rarely seen that 
totally carefree smile. It made his face look so damned 
funny. His nose sort of flattened out and his cheeks 
edged up to his eyes and oh...her own face couldn't help 
smiling in return.

"Hey, FBI woman."

"Mulder!" her face dropped. "You shouldn't be talking!"

He took her by the arm and kissed her cheek in welcome,
then motioned her to wait in his apartment while he took out
the trash. Scully stared at the elevator doors, dumbfounded. 
He *never* kissed her unless she was half-dead in a hospital 
bed. Could she have been mistaken? Was this new affection 
a sign that they could pick up exactly where they'd left off 
three weeks before?

Her brows knitted in confusion, she walked slowly into his
apartment, pulled off her coat and made herself comfortable
on the couch.

Mulder reappeared in minutes. He rubbed his hands
together as he entered the apartment, trying to ward off
the chill from outside. 

"Want some coffee?" He asked in a soft voice.

"Mulder, why are you talking?"

"Scully, I'm fine. Not as much damage as they first
thought. I can't shout or sing, but apart from that, I'm
fine."

Scully stood, wanting to get a closer look at the dressing
on his throat. "Have you changed that since you checked
yourself out last night?" Her accusation was on many levels.

He shrugged, but kept grinning at her. 

God, what had gotten in to him? "I thought as much. Okay
Mulder, come here, I want to have a look."

"Wait till I put the coffee on." 

In his typically manic style, he bounded into the kitchen,
started the brew, then dutifully placed himself on the couch
while Scully raided her medical kit kept in her spare
travel bag in his hall closet.

Scully gently eased the dressing from his throat. The
second cut had been relatively long, the leading and
tapering edges however were quite shallow. They had healed
to bright pink skin. She was delighted to see the initial
stab had completely sealed, the stitches having already
been removed. But she could see why he'd kept the skin
colored dressing in place. The livid purple color of the
scar stood out like a beacon. It would take some weeks to
fade and it was likely the scar would be permanent. Then
she was suddenly reminded that he said he no longer
scarred.

"Mulder, what happened to you when you disappeared?" 

It was not what she had come by to discuss, but that
seemed to be the best place to start.

He held his hand up for her to wait, then disappeared into
the kitchen to make the coffee. When he returned, he sat
down next to her on the couch, turned slightly to face her.
He placed the mugs on his coffee table and picked up one of
her hands in his. His untroubled face continued to bother
her. As much as she should have been grateful he seemed
happy, it just didn't fit. Could he really, genuinely want
her to accept the director's offer?

She closed her eyes again, distracted by the feel of his
thumb stroking her hand. Why in hell couldn't she be happy
if he was? What was wrong with her?

"Scully," he began in a soft voice, "I asked if I could
prove to you the existence of God, would you let me? You
said you could not follow me on that journey. Then when you
told me about the offer, it became clear to me that you
were right. You have your own journeys to make, your own
beliefs and I have no right to challenge your convictions.
I once thought if I could prove to you the existence of
estraterrestrials, I would be able to convince the world.
But I have come to believe that there are in fact some
truths best left alone. What I learned, what was shown to
me on that Tuesday, was that truth." 

He reached across and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind
her ear. She leaned into his hand a little, but then an
awful feeling hit her again. As it had since this case
began, his gestures were tender, but lacked any hidden
passion. So often in the past his fleeting touches were hot
fire wrapped in gentleness, harnessed only by professional
constraints. But this time, she felt a coldness creep up
her spine. He had shut her out. 

She sucked her breath in. She did not have the courage to
face this and desperately scrambled to pull all her
professional walls around her. 

Betray him, or betray herself? His gesture said it all. He
was giving her freedom. She would not betray him, she
could be true to herself and it was okay, really okay,

Then why did she feel like her heart and soul had been
ripped out? 

Why, goddamn it, what had happened to him? Was this still
part of his fear for her witnessing his mirroring? If she
could just understand what he had seen that Tuesday, she
might be able to sort one from the other.

"Then Mulder, tell me that truth, tell me what you found?
I'm not saying I can or will accept it, but at least give
me some understanding of why you are pulling away like this!"

His head turned to one side in mild confusion. "I'm not
pulling away from you, Scully."

"Yes you are, goddamn it! The director gives you, us, an
opportunity to change the direction of the X-files and your
answer implies I'm leaving you and by the way, have a nice
life!"

He frowned. He knew he could be singularly dense
sometimes, especially trying to decipher Scully language.
He was absolutely sure that when it came to interpreting
meanings, she used a completely different thesaurus than him.

"Scully, you ask me what I saw and in order to explain it
to you, I asked you about proving God's existence. You tell
me you don't want to hear that...so where does that leave
me? I can't tell you what happened unless you let me prove
that which you do not want proved."

"Mulder, are you trying to tell me you had some sort
of...of religious experience on Tuesday?"

He chuckled, released her hand and reached for his coffee
cup. "Or would you prefer the abduction by aliens take on it?"

To give herself time to think, Scully reached for her
coffee and sipped.

"Okay, Mulder, I'm listening. What happened?"

He stood, pulled off his sweater and T shirt, then
unbuttoned his jeans.

"Mulder..?" Scully's eyes widened in surprise.

He grinned disarmingly as he pulled his pants down, "Don't
worry Scully, I'm not coming on to you, I just want to show
you something. Besides, it's not like you haven't seen it
all before, right?"

Her instinct was to turn away, but as he bent over, her
eyes glanced across his shoulder. 

It wasn't there.

It had to be, it must have faded, that's all.

Then her eyes cornered the area. There had been some
scarring from the Jersey Devil and mothmen attack. Thin
dark lines and puckering that had never quite faded.

They were gone.

Her brows now knitted in disbelief, she looked down at his
left thigh, to the distinctive thick scarring of the bullet
wound.

Gone.

Scully deposited her coffee cup on the table and leaned
forward, oblivious now of her proximity to Mulder's groin.
She reached her physician's hands to his thigh and moved
the muscle back and forth. There was absolutely no sign of
the slight thickening of muscle around where the scar
should have been. She stood, baffled, scouring every inch
of his body, searching for a dozen small scars she knew he
had.

Nothing.

The entry and much larger exit hole in his shoulder, where
she herself had shot him.

Gone.

She kept poking and prodding at him, turning his body this
way and that, determined to find a cause. Then it dawned on
her and she gasped in horror, pulled away, withdrew her
weapon and aimed it at him. It all made sense now. It all
fell into place.

"Who the fuck are you and where is Mulder?"

Mulder grinned. "I wondered when you'd come to that
conclusion, but this time, Scully, you're wrong."

Scully's eyes narrowed "Bullshit. It's the one explanation
that *does* make sense."

Mulder cocked his head to one side. "Oh, sure, if you
believed like me, it would all make sense. But you *don't*
believe in shape-shifting aliens or clones, do you Scully?
Any time you see one you consign it to a blow to the head,
or some other *scientific* explanation!"

Scully's eyebrows furrowed at the edge of bitterness in
his voice. But it disappeared as he continued.

"C'mon, Scully, use that patented logic of yours. If I was
replaced on Tuesday, how come I ended up in the hospital  
Friday with my head half off? I bled *red* blood and I would
have *died* if I hadn't been ventilated in time.

"Then...then it happened in hospital, or on the way
here..." But her frown deepened.

"Okay, let's say you're right... If I am a clone, or an
alien, I must have been right about everything, all
along...here, look," he snatched the pocket knife from his
computer table and flicked it open. Scully repositioned
herself in case he lunged at her, but before she could stop
him he sliced a shallow cut across the back of his hand.
Her eyes widened but he lifted the blade to his torso and
made a further knick just under his ribs. Red blood welled
up and a single drop fell.

"You pick a place at random, Scully, anywhere on my body
to prove it's no elaborate trick. Don't worry, I won't
scar." He grinned.

Her face screwed up in confusion and she reluctantly
lowered her weapon. But her eyes continued to travel his
body, searching for a clue.

"Can I get dressed now Scully? It's kind of cold in
here...or do you just want to keep leering at me?"

She pulled her lips to one side, replaced her weapon, then
picked up the mug and drank the contents, a thoughtful look
on her face.

"Mulder, what happened to you?"

"I'm not an alien, or a clone, but it still begs the question. 
When convention and science offer us no answers, might 
we not finally turn to the fantastic as a plausibility?"

She glared at him with her patented look but refused to be
baited.

"Scully, unless you can give me a scientific explanation,
or concede that you cannot, I can't...I won't answer you.
I'm not going to allow you to make that journey unless you
are really prepared to concede to other...possibilities."

So he'd finally called her on it. A part of her knew that
he would one day. She'd seen far too much to not admit
science did not have all the answers. And hadn't her
inability to admit to the fantastic caused him such pain
after the mirroring in the morgue? Hadn't she castigated
herself then for refusing to admit the possibility? Could
she not, just once, concede the point? What was she so
frightened of. The truth?

"Okay, Mulder, I concede I have no explanation for the
absence of scar tissue on your body."

"Nuh uh." Mulder shook his head. "Not good enough,
 Scully."

"You're really going to force this, aren't you?"

He had accepted that she must be left behind but oh, God, he
hoped, like a man holding a lottery ticket, that he might yet
have it all. Yet it must be for the right reasons. It must
be real and honest and if it meant pushing her away to keep
her safe in her world, so be it. "I want you to be truthful
to yourself, Scully because if you can't be that, you are
not ready for this journey and I can't take you along."

"So, give in to your point of view or get ditched, is that
it, Mulder? Whatever happened to that trite little speech
you gave me, not fifty feet away, about me saving you,
making you a whole person with my rationalism?"

"Scully, in this case you have proof and denying it is
irrational. I'm asking for the same rationalism again. *I*
am the proof, the hard core proof that science cannot give
you all our answers. Unless you can concede that, you need
to stick to your own safe world."

He downed the last of his coffee, collected her cup and
took them back into the kitchen. He berated himself for
trying. He was pushing her beyond her limits when there
really was no point. She would be leaving him soon, it was
for the best. But could he have one thing, please, just one
thing, that they depart as friends, not antagonists? In the
long term, she would come to know the truth. One day, she
would disappear just as Nicholas Page had and then she
would know. Whether he lived to see that day, the day she
disappeared for good, he didn't know. 

Oh, hell, it didn't matter. Really. He hurt like shit but
he would not succumb to a lie. He needed to put some
distance between them now.

"Scully, it's getting late, maybe you should go home."

She stood rooted to the spot. He had never, ever asked her
to leave. Betray him or betray herself. That's what it came
down to. But what was it about herself that was she
betraying? Those damned scars had *gone*! She had no
rational explanation for that! Couldn't she concede that
point! Her face started to crumble, not in tears, she could
not let herself concede that, but in loss, confusion. 

"Hey, Scully." He came back out of the kitchen, more than
a little surprised to see her lost, confused look. He pulled
her to him and held her. "Scully, you don't...hm," He sighed.
"You don't have to go, I didn't mean it like that." 

He lifted her chin and peered into her eyes, a smile
tugging at the corner of his lips. "I just thought that, I
think that you are better off living with your own belief
systems intact. God knows I've had mine strung up and spat
out enough times to wonder what the hell the truth really
was."

"And you think that hasn't happened to me, Mulder? You
think you're the only one who CGB Spender played his little
mind games on?"

"No, no, I don't. You've lost a great deal more than me in
this damned quest. He's tried everything possible to drive
you from me and yet you stayed. Beyond all logic and
reasoning, you stayed with me. You're finally applying that
logic to leave, and I respect that. But in this instance,
in this one thing, I'm not asking you to abandon logic. I'm
asking you to apply it. What logic explains the absence of
these scars? You agree there is none. But you are a
scientist, you must concede that an answer exists. I'm
telling you I have the answer but you can't hear it if you
have no ears to listen. Only when you accept that
possibility that another explanation, outside of science,
exists, can I give you your answer."

"Mulder, all I have outside my science is my faith in a
higher order."

"Then there's your answer."

She pulled back from him and looked at him and the
calmness of his face. Had he really had some sort of
religious experience? Could she accept that? "Are you
trying to tell me that...God did this to you?"

He dropped his hands to his side and smiled at her so
gently, in that moment she could believe it.

"God is an idea, a totality. You were right, all of us,
everything in the universe is the sum total of God. But I
can also tell you there are beings...forces that exist on a
higher plane. There are also...lesser minions of this
force, that fight raw evil. I guess you might call
them...angels, but they call themselves Metas." 

She blinked at him and sat down on the corner of the
couch. Could she deal with this? Could she accept a proof
of spirituality? 

"Mulder, I still can't promise I'll accept what you tell
me but...I admit I have...I have to admit that...that my
science cannot explain what happened to you. My faith,
perhaps, is the only thing that might."

His smile lit his face again. "Then sit back, Scully,
because I'm going to tell you a story that will knock your
socks off."

*********************
End Chapter 9 The Enginner

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 4:The Engineer 7 of 7
Disclaimers: See Part 1

*********************
This section rated NC17 for sexual situations

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

CHAPTER 10

DAY 21 - Friday
Crystal City

>From the journal of Crystal Palmer


We were back at his apartment before ten. I'd had enough
to drink to lose any hesitancy I might feel, but I was
certainly not drunk. It was dark inside. Only the residual
illumination of the city lights peeked in through the
balcony doors. Skinner closed and dead-bolted the front
door, then helped me off with my coat. He turned and hung
his own overcoat on the rack, but I didn't move. Instead, I
reached my palm to his chest, just where his jacket parted.
He was firm and warm beneath my hand. 

"I...I'm a little lost here."

He didn't move away. In fact, by turning to face me he
seemed to move closer. The darkness emphasized the smell of
cologne and maleness, a scent that had become arousing by
its recent familiarity. But I really was lost. Was I
mistaken in his attraction to me? Was this...association,
could I go so far as to say friendship, based on attributes
he saw in me as a potential agent, or potential lover -- or
both?

I wore low heels and he stood about two inches taller than
me. He slowly reached his right arm behind me, but did not
pull me closer as he leaned across to kiss me. It was soft,
at first, enough to tell me its intent was not chaste, but
allowing me plenty of room to draw away.

Oh, my...one kiss should not be sufficient to arouse me
like that. His tongue hesitated at the edge of my lips, and
I slowly slid my palm around his chest to his back,
pulling myself closer to him. He moaned softly and I knew
he was just as moved as me, but for all his power, perhaps
because of his size and strength, he was being very, very
careful. But I didn't want careful and controlled, I wanted
to feel his strength. 

He broke off the kiss and pulled away slowly. Jesus, trust
me to find an honorable man when all I wanted was to throw
him on the floor and...but I considered the circumstances.
I was his house guest, a guest of an FBI assistant director
and someone he had recommended be taken into the fold.
Whatever happened between us must be with my unequivocal
agreement. 

I put my other hand to his face and leaned up to touch his
lips with mine again. This time he didn't hesitate and his
tongue reached in confidently, exploring me, sending warmth
through my belly. As the kiss intensified his arms
encompassed me and his grip became more possessive. I tried
to pull him closer, to feel him against me, but he broke
away, burying his face in my neck, trying to control his
breathing. 

His reluctance bothered me, it was as if he feared letting
me feel his arousal. What, did he think I'd want to take
things slower? That I was some teenager on a first date? We
both knew this was coming last Saturday night. I was not
going to make him second guess this. He had to know now
that I wanted him. 

"Skinner..." I whispered as his cheek slid across mine and
his tongue stroked my earlobe. "I'm not a game player, I
don't do things in half measure." Then I very deliberately
reached in front of me until my palm rested on his thigh,
and carefully brought it up to cup his groin.

Oh, boy...all my birthdays come at once. They say that big
men are less well endowed than smaller ones. Maybe. But
that package waiting for me included something long and
thick and very hard. I moaned, it felt sooo nice. Honestly,
just the feel of him was so damned good, I was creaming. He
groaned and all but attacked my neck. There would be a
hickey there in the morning, absolutely no doubt of that.

"Crystal..." It came out ragged but I stroked and cupped
him in reply, unable to take my hands off that nice hard,
soft bundle. Mine, all mine...

He took my face in his hands and very carefully pulled me
away to look at me. I remember thinking the first time I
saw his eyes I could have drowned in them. 

I wasn't wrong.

He took me by the hand and pulled me towards the stairs.
Oh, you have no idea how good that felt. If he'd just
thrown me down on the floor, or maybe the couch, I wouldn't
have objected, but this was a very possessive move to take
me to his bed. 

His bed.

That required time to get up the stairs, giving me a
chance to consider what was happening. Did I ever mention
that anticipation is almost as good as the event itself?
Well, maybe not that good, but very titillating. Okay,
okay, so it was only a set of stairs to negotiate, but it
was the determined way in which he did it. 

He reached across and knocked the phone off the hook,
giving me a chance to divest myself of my shoes. He had his
tie and coat jacket off by the bottom step and I'd also
lost my jacket. About three steps up he had me pinned
against the wall and finally, at long last, let me pull him
against me. Oh God I almost came as he very slowly, very
deliberately thrust his hips into mine once, twice and then
again. I'm not sure what was more erotic, that or the
tongue in my left ear. 

By the time we got moving again, I was soaked and both my
panty hose and panties had been discarded. I heard a
double clunk as his shoes fell down the stairs. How had he
managed to use his tongue and hips while easing his shoes
and my panties off? Ah, the famous executive level multi-
tasking skills coming into play. Mm, I wondered what other
multi tasks he was good at. About five steps later I found
out.

This time it was me pushing him into the wall. His tongue
was very carefully exploring the continuous erogenous zone
along my chin. Mind you, every square inch of my body had
become an erogenous zone, so location was not a factor. Lo
and behold, I found he'd divested me of my skirt and his
socks. How does he do it?

Just as we reach the turn, his trousers dropped and
draped down a couple of steps. Proudly displaying my own
temporarily lost undressing ability, I had single handedly
undone my shirt buttons and managed to get the thing off.
Now I know that sounds like a pretty basic maneuver, but at
the time I felt proud of achieving something other than
mindless groping.

By the time we reached the top of the stairs, there was
not much left except his underwear, and that found its way
to the floor before we'd reached his bedroom. The biggest
problem I could see was that we were both so over the top,
this was bound to be over with all too soon. 

I wasn't wrong. 

I know he had all good intentions of making it last, but I
wrapped my legs around him when we fell onto the bed,
pulled him on top of me and thrust myself downward, impaling
myself in the process. Common sense took over for about
fifteen seconds while he held me absolutely rigidly. Squirm
as I might, he was so powerful I could hardly move.

"Crystal...sh,"

"Wha..?"

But some higher function in my brain took over and told me
he was fumbling in the bedside drawer. What in hell...?

Oh, oh, yeah. 

Jesus I hate condoms! I wondered how fast we could get
blood tests. I knew I was okay because I'm a blood donor.
And I figured he was too, given his position. And I was on
the pill, but I wasn't about to turn this into a discussion, I 
was far too gone for that.

Give him his due, he had it on in no time flat. Before he
could settle back down on me I'd arched back up again and
reimpaled myself. 

I'm sure I lasted at least four strokes, but maybe it was
less, I really wasn't counting. But that was it, I was gone
and naturally enough, my legs wrapped around his back and
groaning his and God's name all at once, Skinner lost it as
well.

"Jesus...Jesus, you are so beautiful," he managed to croak
out between thrusts and groans.

We gently pulled away from one another and I looked into
his face. There was enough light coming from the street to
see the grin quivering on his lips. I couldn't help it, the
sight of it sent me off and I burst out laughing. He lost
it as well and hung his head on my shoulder as his body
quivered with laughter. I mean, it was funny. Here we are,
two mature people and we can't get it on longer than a
couple of 16-year-olds! 

We both tried to apologize at once and of course that set
us off laughing again. And then a more thoughtful part of
my mind finally clicked in and I realized I had never seen
him this relaxed. Okay, under the circumstances that may
sound a little odd, of course he'd be relaxed. But this man
carried around with him an extraordinary presence of power
and strength and dignity. Mulder, for instance, had bedroom
eyes and a soulful face. You could easily imagine him
making love. But Skinner was entirely different. I knew I'd
never really be able to look at him completely straight-
faced again. Something in those rich brown eyes would
always remind me of this moment. I suppose it just
surprised, and delighted me, that he could relax enough to
think sex could be funny.

He kissed me then, long and full and deep and I could feel
my arousal growing. I slowly bucked against him, sliding up
and down slightly, trying to get the right angle. He was
still hard enough to stay inside me and he knew exactly
what I was doing. He pulled back a little and cupped one of
my breasts in his hand, then licked and suckled the nipple.
I wrapped my legs around his thighs to hold him still,
telling him with my body that I needed control of this. His
mouth moved to the other breast and I continued in a
sliding motion, rubbing his pelvis across my clitoris until
the second orgasm started to hit me. He pulled away from my
breast and thrust his tongue in my mouth, mimicking the
thrust of his sex into mine and I exploded more powerfully
than the first time.

We slept then, for a time. I'm not sure who woke first but
by mutual consent we headed for the bathroom. I cannot tell
you how big I am on oral sex. I mean giving as well as
receiving. I adore it, but I suppose like most people I
like it clean. I cannot stand a man going down on me unless
I've just stepped out of a shower. Although in this case,
while still in the shower was even better. 

Oddly enough, I've never made love in the shower before,
either. It always sounds like a good idea, but the
practical difficulties generally outweigh the desire.
Anytime I'd started, we'd given up and headed to the
bedroom. But Skinner is so damned strong he can hold me
above himself and lower me on to him while maintaining a
good rhythm. I did wonder what would happen when he came,
but practicalities took over again. Damn those condoms! In
the end, though, he didn't climax, but held me gently until
I came down from mine.

Now, it was my turn for self-indulgence. I started to
remove the condom and he stopped me and looked at me, his
eyes questioning. I smiled and decided to tell him what I
had in mind. From my experience, most men are pretty turned
on when you give them a graphic description of what you are
about to do to them. Skinner was no exception.

"I am going wrap my tongue around *you* and to suck *you*
not some piece of latex. And I'm asking you now, please,
please come in my mouth. I want that very badly."

Oh yeah, that worked. His nostrils flared and his jaw
clamped and he went absolutely still. I teased and played
with him unmercifully for some minutes, the logical part of
my brain wondering when the hot water would run out. 

Skinner was gentle with me. Some men tend to lose it after
a while and start plunging in recklessly, or grabbing your
head and pulling you on to them. Skinner maintained a
reasonable semblance of control until the very end. Even
then, he only allowed himself to wrap his fingers through
my hair as he moaned my name over and over. 

The water started to lose its heat soon after. At about
the same time I could have sworn I heard a knocking sound.
Skinner turned the shower off and grabbed a towel. He
turned to face me, his eyes smiling as he systematically
dried me. Then I heard the knocking sound again. He heard
it this time as well. His brows knitted together and he
answered my unspoken question.

"Someone's at the door."

Without further ado, he grabbed his thick bathrobe and
wrapped it around himself as he headed out of the bathroom.
I couldn't help but admire his naked butt along the way.

I stood there toweling my hair, grinning like an idiot for
about ten seconds. Then I remembered the telephone was
off the hook and the trail of discarded clothing from the 
front door to the bedroom. I risked a glance outside. Oh, oh,
Skinner had not turned on the hall light. It would be a
miracle if he didn't trip and break his neck...on the other
hand the darkness hid the evidence from anyone standing at
the door.

I scrambled around, then ran naked back into the guest
room and found my own bathrobe. Definitely not as nice as
Skinner's. I rushed back out in time to hear voices. Oh,
shit, oh shit he's letting them in the front door! How in
hell...didn't he realize...? Had he had time to pick up...?
I ran down the first part of the stairs, clutching
discarded apparel and tossing it to the top. I figured I
could probably sneak down and grab the rest while Skinner
kept whoever in hell it was occupied...who the hell was it
anyway...? But the voices gave them away immediately.
Mulder and Scully. Then I saw the light go on and Skinner
called my name.

There are absolutely no etiquette books dealing with such
a situation, I'm sure. I tied my bathrobe, grabbed a towel
from the floor and wrapped it around my head as I went
downstairs. And there it all lay, the evidence of our lust,
a trail of clothes and shoes and oh God help me my panties
artfully draped across one of Skinner's shoes on the second
step. Well, that pretty much summed it up, I thought. Three
FBI agents in the living room, three pairs of eyes looking
up at me and I'm supposed to descend the stairs with some
dignity. 

Great, just fucking great.

The question, of course, was do I step on or over or
around the panty hose? The skirt and Skinner's jacket,
well, they were definitely step around, but panty hose just
don't rate, nor do men's socks, although in that regard I
was luckier. One of them was scrunched up against the wall,
somehow having wrapped itself in his tie.

I navigated my way around this stuff, pretending that it
was normal to ornament a stairway in this manner. The fact
that we were both sopping wet and wearing bathrobes kind of
added to the we-have-just-fucked-ourselves-silly ambiance. 

Oh, brother...I mean, he was their boss and it was just,
well...it just seemed tacky when I wanted to scream out
that tacky is far from what it had been. But something in
their eyes pulled me up short. Skinner's brows were knitted
and he stepped towards me and my heart just about burst out
of my rib cage.

"What's wrong?" was all I could manage.

Skinner glanced at his two agents. They shared a look and
I knew, God help me I knew.

"It's Jace, isn't it?"

My face must have turned white because Skinner suddenly
had me by the elbow.

"What...?" I tired to stammer out.

"Jace...Justin's been abducted." Scully said quietly.

"How...?" But as sure as I knew it was Jace, I guessed
why. I turned to Mulder, my face cracking. "It's him, isn't
it?"

He swallowed and nodded and I could see pain and sympathy
twist his face. He knew, perhaps more than anyone in that
room, he knew what I was feeling. I crumpled back into
Skinner's arms.

**********************
End Chapter 10 The Enginner


From: sonny <sonny@webspin.org>
Date: Wed, 29 Sep 99 06:09:11 +1000
Subject: xfc: NEW Mind Games 5; Seattle 1 of 7
Source: xfc

From: sonny <sonny@webspin.org>

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 5:Seattle 1 of 7
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 1

Day 22 - Saturday
Crystal City, Virginia
2:50 a.m.

 
Skinner had the telephone to his ear. He'd motioned for
Scully to accompany Crystal upstairs to pack while he made
numerous calls and Mulder brought him up to speed. 

Crystal's youngest brother, Justin, had been abducted from
his bedroom. As near as they could tell, it was sometime
between 10:30 p.m. and midnight. The bedroom was in a
separate annex to the hotel, on the ground floor. The 7-year-old 
boy was a restless sleeper and various family members were 
accustomed to checking him during the changing nightly shifts 
in the hotel. It was not unusual to find he had kicked off the 
bed covers and was cold and shivering. His father, Andreas, had 
checked on him at midnight. He was surprised to find the window 
wide open. The outside temperature was well below freezing. The 
boy was gone and Andreas, instinctively going to the window, 
noticed a few drops of blood on the edge. He also noticed large
footprints and more blood drops outside. He immediately
called the police, then tried Crystal at Skinner's home,
only to find the number busy. 

Skinner's lip twitched in annoyance, but there was nothing
he could say to that. Fortunately, Andreas had the presence
of mind to call the FBI duty supervisor across the road.
Within minutes, they had called Mulder's home number. Scully
had accompanied him to Skinner's apartment. 

As Mulder filled Skinner in, Scully followed Crystal
upstairs. Acutely aware of the conflicting emotions the
woman would be experiencing, Scully kept her eyes down as
Crystal picked up assorted clothes along the way. When they
reached the top of the stairs, the sight of Skinner's
underwear at the entrance to his room, and the evident
disarray of the bed covers within was just too much. Crystal
breathed out loud and flung the clothes on the floor in
abandon and turned to stare at Scully. She pulled her lips
to one side in a "What can I say?" look.

Scully lifted her lower lip in a partial smile and said,"I'm glad. 
For both of you."

"And what about you?" Crystal asked softly, her eyes
motioning downstairs.

Scully's eyes slipped aside, but not before Crystal saw
the pain and longing in them. With sudden acute insight, she
added, "You have to be the one to make the first move. He
loves you far too much to place his burdens on you."

Before Scully could reply or even turn away, Crystal went
into the guest bedroom to pack. Scully was left a little
dumbstruck at the woman's insight in the face of her own
grief. She would make one hell of an FBI agent.

Scully bent to sort out Crystal's clothes from her boss',
tossing Skinner's on to his bed and carrying Crystal's into
the guest room. Scully herself felt no embarrassment at the
situation. She'd once had to autopsy a woman Skinner had been
having intercourse with not ten hours before, examining the
woman's vagina for evidence of sexual abuse. In her
profession, dignity necessarily came in other forms and she
had lost none of her respect for the A.D. over that
incident, despite the unusual circumstances. Skinner
himself might have suffered a few moments of embarrassment
when the agents first entered his apartment that evening,
but he had pushed it aside quickly. He'd suffered much
worse at the hands of the D.C. police and OPR. 

Crystal was stony-faced as she tried to pack, but she
couldn't decide what to get together. She put her hand on
her face, suddenly at a loss where to begin. Scully touched
her shoulder and said, "You get changed and I'll pack, okay?"

Crystal nodded and left for the bathroom. 

Moments later, Skinner appeared at the door. "Agent Scully,
there's a flight leaving in forty-five minutes. I have all four of 
us booked on it, can you make it in time?"

Scully finished folding the coat in her hand and placed it
on top of the other clothes in the suitcase. She turned to
Skinner. "Yes, sir, Agent Mulder and I have overnight bags in
the car. Do you want us to wait for you?"

Skinner nodded his thanks and went to his bedroom to
change. 


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


The plane doors had just closed when Scully arrived at the
boarding gate, Skinner, Mulder and Crystal just steps
behind. Scully demanded the door be reopened. The pedantic
airline employee insisted it was too late. Scully's coat
had pulled to one side and the airline attendant, sick to
death of being bullied by government bureaucrats, added
that in any case he had no notification of weapons
being carried on board. They would have to go back and get
the proper security clearance, then he would be formerly
notified and they could catch the next flight in four hours.

Crystal's face fell. Skinner simply grabbed the airline
attendant by the arm, motioning for Mulder, Scully and
Crystal to go into the boarding tunnel. Crystal saw him
pull out his ID and say something to the attendant. Scully
hurried her along. By the time they'd reached the plane
itself, the door was reopening and the fixed plastic
smiles of flight attendants met them. Crystal looked back
to see Skinner's stony face right behind.

There were more than a fair share of scowls from the other
passengers as the four of them made their way to their
seats. The scowls vanished however, at the sight of weapons
inadvertently exposed during the shedding of coats. Crystal
looked at Skinner, wondering. 

He winked at her and replied, "Never underestimate the
power of intimidation."

For the first time since hearing the news, Crystal allowed
herself a small smile.

The plane was half empty, allowing two separate rows for
Mulder and Scully, Skinner and Crystal. 

Scully had gotten little sleep the previous night, worrying
about her partner's whereabouts, and none so far that
night. After the plane took off, she finally allowed
herself to settle back and try for some sleep. Mulder had
covered her hand with his, as he often did during bumpy
takeoffs. He went to release it as they leveled off, but
Scully, mindful of Crystal's words and the bewildering
revelations of the night, turned her hand under Mulder's
palm and clasped his fingers tightly. Mulder rolled his
head to one side in mute question at the intimacy of her
grip, a little surprised at her action, but she had already
closed her eyes.

The airline stewardess walking by a few minutes later,
frowned at the site of the FBI agents seated in rows 48 and
49. First they delay departure, then they act like lovestruck 
teenagers. The bald-headed one had his arm around the dark-
haired woman, stroking her hair and apparently whispering 
sweet nothings. The cute one behind had a redhead asleep 
on his shoulder, her hand clasped in his, resting on his lap. 
Jesus, so much for the big bad G man image. What a life, 
running round the country, flashing guns and badges to get 
their own way, fucking like jack rabbits in motels, no doubt, 
all at the taxpayers' expense. No wonder the crime rate was 
through the roof. 

Scully awoke with a start. Her head rested on a familiar
yet oddly unfamiliar form. She jerked upright and blinked.

"Sorry, sir."

Skinner glanced down at her. "That's perfectly all right
Agent Scully. Glad you could get some sleep."

"Where's Mulder?"

"With Dr. Palmer."

Scully nodded. Mulder would need to get as much
information as possible about the victim, about Crystal's
brother, in order to predict how the UNSUB might act.

"How do you feel?" Skinner asked as she cupped her face in
her hands.

"I'm fine, just need some coffee."

Skinner pressed the attendant button. He glanced at Scully
again and said, "It's always worse when it's someone you
know, or close to them."

Scully wasn't sure if he was talking about her, or himself.

"Mulder doesn't think he'll kill him, might not touch
him," she replied.

"Mm, I've read his profile."

"The one the Seattle P.D. shelved." Scully hadn't meant to
sound bitter. She'd told Mulder the same thing, the death
of the four perpetrators had seemed to give closure,
"Still, even Mulder was surprised at the speed with which
he reacted."

"What do you mean?" 

The flight attendant arrived, complete with surly
resignation.

"Can we have two coffees here, please?" 

She nodded and left, idly wondering who was banging who.
Now it was the cute one sitting with the dark-haired woman,
holding her hand and Red had just been sleeping on the
older guy's shoulder.

The next row up, Mulder was talking quietly to Crystal. He
had been with her for the previous two hours, trying as
much as possible to get inside the mind of her brother. 

"How will he react to this?" Mulder asked her. "Will he 
be submissive or rebellious? Will he attempt to escape, or fight 
back or will terror dominate him? I would expect the terror to
paralyze him, he's only 7 years old, after all."

But if his sister was anything to go by, Mulder thought, the kid 
might just show some cunning.

"Why him? Why now? All of the others have been...what was
the term you used, opportunistic?" Crystal asked.

"He's angry, furious what we took from him. This guy is
different from most serial killers. He doesn't want to get
his hands dirty, literally. I doubt he even has much
physical contact, let alone sexual contact, with anyone.
His thrills are vicarious. He likes to watch. I had hoped
that he may have satisfied his urgings with his current
video collection. And that might have remained the case,
but I think he acted spontaneously and took advantage of a
situation. I'd suggest he was a frequent visitor to the
hotel, probably your Sunday night buffets. He's intelligent
though, so it probably won't be a regular, although I
wouldn't discount that." 

"But he would have avoided the hotel while the FBI were
there, surely."

"No, no, that would have been the attraction. This guy
would have gotten off on hanging around the hotel. It was
the center of operations. Being there was a constant
reminder. Although he's way outside the type of most serial
killers, certain psychological aspects still fit. Keep in
mind he likes to watch. He probably started out with
mainstream porn, progressed to kiddie stuff and snuff
movies, the latter of which are an expensive specialty item
unavailable through regular channels. Then something
happened, he got involved with porn producers and liked to
watch live shows. He's probably still a regular at the
strip joints, although they don't do much for him anymore.
But every aspect of his life revolves around his need to
watch, and that included watching the police then the FBI
work on the crimes. It allowed him to relive things over
and over. He had no reason to believe he would be a suspect
and therefore no fear of apprehension."

Mulder trailed off, realizing he was verbalizing aspects
of his profile rather than answering Crystal's question.
"Did Justin like to sleep with the window open?"

Crystal frowned and nodded. "Jace is a restless sleeper and
no matter what the weather, he insisted on having it open,
even if it were just an inch. So what are you thinking?
That this guy came back to the hotel last night to
recapture some of the thrill, found it empty of what he
needed then discovered Jace's window open and couldn't
resist?"

Mulder pulled back and looked at her, surprised that she
had so quickly grasped the situation. "Pretty much. He
grabbed Justin on a whim. But now he's got him, he won't
know what to do with him. He's not going to want to deal
with an aggressive child, it's more like a...not really a
trophy but an item he might pick up in a supermarket and
put in the cupboard until he can find a use for him. And
this guy needs to find other participants to live out his
fantasies. And that's going to take time and money.
Meanwhile, I think he'll keep your brother captive
somewhere. I doubt if he'll mistreat him because he won't
want to physically handle him."

"But the blood..."

"Did Justin suffer nosebleeds? Look, your father said it
was no more than a few drops. I just can't see this guy
hurting your brother because he couldn't stand to get any
on himself." Mulder turned to look at Crystal and added "I
can't guarantee anything, but don't go tearing your heart
out wondering what he's doing to Justin, or that Justin is
still alive. I'm pretty sure he'll be okay for at least a
few days, probably longer."

"Yeah, but if this guy is as anal as you say, he won't put
up with Jace having a nosebleed or being noisy or crying or
putting up a fight, right? And if he keeps him locked away,
if he treats him like an object, he won't expect Jace
to....I don't know...make a mess, or a fuss, that sort of
thing."

Mulder was taken back. Either this woman had done a few
undergraduate years of psychology or she was
extraordinarily analytical, even when her emotions were
involved and she was stressed. Either way, she was going to
make one hell of an FBI agent.

"I won't lie to you, that aspect is a concern. But it
depends on Justin, if he's as insightful as you, even at
that age, he'll instinctively keep a low profile."

Crystal nodded "Jace...Justin is amazingly empathic. He
picks up on people very, very fast and he's observant. The
only thing is, he's pretty hyper and being confined for any
period...I don't know."

She glanced at Mulder, trying to seek an answer to a
question she was afraid to ask.

Mulder turned his head to one side. "What is it?"

Crystal paused then decided to plunge ahead, "I...I
was outside when you were on the roof the other night," she
felt him instantly freeze up. "No...no it's okay, Skinner
told us...and more or less threatened us with unspeakable
horrors if we ever breathed a word. But he also explained
that it's a sort of...psychic ability."

Mulder's face remained closed but his body relaxed a
little. 

Crystal breathed deeply. "I...I can't imagine a more
frightening talent. But you use it to save people's lives.
You...give of yourself to do that and I am both awed and
humbled that you would willingly do such a thing at the
risk of...well frostbite at the very least."

Mulder allowed himself a slight smile.

"And I have no right to ask it of you, but I'm going to."
Crystal added, searching his face.

Mulder shook his head no, "I'm afraid it doesn't work like
that." He was unsure how much she understood, but now was
not the time to explain it only worked if the killer was in
the process of his kill.

"Skinner called in while you were packing." He continued
"Agent Smith had taken it upon himself to run the profile
in the national database and with what we know, with other
aspects of the profile, I'm almost betting we'll have a
short list to work on by the time we get to Seattle. There
was little to go on at the farm, but once we get all the
elements and start putting them together... And once we have
names, we can start running traces and access driver's
license photos..."

"And can check to see if we recognize any customers."

"Yeah. Crystal, we have a lot more to go on that you think.
The FBI resources are what located Sarah Jefferson and
Steve Baxter and we had them pinpointed within thirty-six
hours. It was just damned good luck to have netted all four."

"What if there were more? What if there were six or more?
Then..."

"Nothing indicated that; don't go giving yourself
unnecessary pain over this. As I said, I won't lie to you,
nor can I make guarantees, but I think we have a good
chance on this one."

A short time later Skinner came back to take his place
beside Crystal. Mulder nodded that he had as much as he
needed and stood, stretching his back before resettling
next to Scully. 

"Get much sleep?" he asked his partner.

"Yes, but I woke up on the wrong pillow."

Mulder chuckled. "Hope you didn't drool."

She glared at him.

"Sorry." He smiled. "I needed to talk with Crystal, get a
feel..."

"'S'all right Mulder, I know." Scully placed a hand on his
arm and smiled. 

Mulder absently covered her hand with his, running his
thumb along the back of her wrist, but Scully felt
uncomfortable with the contact. It was an intimate gesture,
yet everything about Mulder told her he had emotionally
withdrawn from her. Not as a friend or partner, that was
still very much intact, but as...well, something more. His
thumb across her wrist was causing her body to respond in a
less than platonic way. She turned her hand until their
palms met, then squeezed his hand and let go.

His story of alien beings the previous evening had
affected her in unexpected ways. Mulder had always found
it somewhat incredulous that her entire life was based on
the narrow parameters of science, yet she placed faith in
unquantifiable, unprovable religious convictions. She
herself had such doubts, having abandoned most aspects
of her faith in medical school. But her cancer and perhaps
more importantly, prior to that, her meeting Kevin Cryder,
then the strange events not long after Emily's death, had
driven her to question her lack of faith. 

Scully had looked upon the face of evil and knew it to be
real. Why then could she not be gratified that the
spiritual, both good and evil, could be quantifiable? That
both good and evil were a form of metaphysical
possession by alien beings? 

Because it was just too damned Mulderish.

"Mulder, the things you told me last night, doesn't it
strike you as rather Erik Von Danikenish?"

"Sure, but so did Gibson Praise. It makes a lot more
sense when you look at it that way, that we are all in this
together, Scully. That our origins, be they gray Reticulans
or men from Mars, are essentially the same, because all
matter was formed at the same time and we are all a part of
that. That's why we could never find proof of the
differences, because the proof lies within us. Not all DNA
is activated, but every species on the planet, and
elsewhere, are formed by a unique combination of DNA. And
science, Scully, has a bad habit of ignoring that which it
cannot explain. What's not activated is called junk DNA,
but don't you see that is a limitation of science? Just
look at the term, *junk* DNA, how scientific is that?! It's
another way of saying, hell, we don't know what it is, we
can't see how it works, therefore it must be junk. 

"Scully, that's a scientific cop out, big time. One day
someone will come along and prove it's not junk, but
inactive in our species, and science will go, oh yeah,
that's great, and incorporate it into prevalent thinking.
It's not as if that sort of thing hasn't happened before.
Hell, one minute the world is flat and anyone who said
otherwise was burned at the stake. The current paradigms by
which we live are just that, paradigms, not hard and fast
fact. To me it is not simply the height of folly but out
and out hubris that our current science believes it is
capable of explaining everything in the universe. If it
could, then what would the point of research be? We may as
well sit back and declare we know everything now."

He turned to face her and capturing her hand in his again
continued, "Scully, you know that. You look for ways of
quantifying what we have seen and you have personally
discovered whole new species, an entire subcutaneous muscle
group...the list goes on. I'm not asking you to abandon
your science, nor your rigorous analysis of the known
facts. But I would have thought by now you would have come
to accept that not everything can be explained within
current scientific thinking."

Scully sat with her chin tucked in and frowned. "But I have,
Mulder. You've shown me things that challenge me on an
almost daily basis."

"And yet you rarely admit when I am right."

Scully sat quietly. He was correct, of course, but she had
no answer for him. Or perhaps she had and it was just not
one she wanted to believe of herself. Instead, she smiled
and said, "Give you an inch, Mulder..."

He laughed aloud. "So that's it!"

She chuckled with him but then frowned and pulled her hand
away again. "But we're not talking about science, here,
Mulder. What you talked about was...trying to explain the
spiritual in physical terms."

"No, Scully, that's just it. I wasn't. These creatures are
metaphysical. I'm not sure if the black...thing I saw
entwining itself throughout people's minds was what I
perceived it to be. You know as well as I do that our brains
function in a cognitive way. We interpret the unexplainable
in a linear fashion, a gestalt impression of a subjective,
nonlinear experience. What I described is the way in which
my brain perceived it. But it was very clear to me that it
is somehow entwined in people's minds, perhaps what we
might call their souls. The Meta said some individuals are
more susceptible than others. That once enmeshed, it was
impossible to disassociate from this...evil... except
through physical death and even then, the thing might
consume and dominate the soul. Perhaps what we might call
hell."

"So how do you fight it off?"

Mulder shrugged. "I'm not sure...I think perhaps as much as
it is possible to have this...entity subsume one's mind,
one's thought processes, it is also possible to allow what
he called the Masters to enmesh with your mind...a
defensive barrier of good versus evil. Perhaps the
manifestation of this in some individuals leads to
sainthood, who knows? The thing is, Scully, I saw and felt
it, both sides of it. And it makes complete sense, it
explains...everything, from religion to philosophy to
psychology to the paranormal, alien visitation -- everything
in the X-files, it's all there, it all makes sense!" 

His voice had lowered in volume, but increased in
intensity. His excitement was undeniable. But just because
he had his answers did not mean he was about to give up the
fight.

"Scully, nothing of what I told you last night conflicts
with your concept of God. Certainly you believe in evil,
both in a metaphysical and tangible sense. Presumably you
believe in benevolent beings, angels if you like. It's a
common tenet that good guys become angels when they die. I
can't tell you with absolute certainty that what I saw was
an angel. I can tell you that in our mythology...okay,
okay." He held up his hand, realizing he was about to go
into another long ramble. "Look, all I'm saying is, I was
shown...things, that gave me understanding of the nature
and capacity of good and evil. I am physical proof that
*something* happened to me that afternoon. If not what I
describe then I'm prepared to accept it as something else.
Just show me what that something else is, Scully. But
before you try, ask yourself the question, why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why do you need to disprove what I saw? It has always
been important to you to quantify things, yet as you
pointed out, you can't quantify the metaphysical. Now, I can
at least give you some explanation that makes sense and
your automatic reaction is to deny it because it doesn't
fit within your science or religious philosophy. Yet it
does!" 

They were interrupted by a flight attendant offering them
breakfast. The everyday actions of dropping tray tables and
juggling napkins and utensils allowed Scully time to absorb
his...accusations. Because that was what they were. Yet
what was he asking of her? To believe him or simply accept
what he said might have some validation? On the basis of
what? The physical evidence of his body? Could she offer an
alternative explanation? No, but that didn't mean his was
the right one. She closed her eyes for a moment and rubbed
a hand across her face.

"And if I cannot accept what you tell me, then you can no
longer accept my presence on this...journey..." 

"Scully, that's not it at all and you know it," he answered 
with some frustration. "The director made you an offer. An 
offer, I believe you should accept because you have your answers, 
you have resolution and it's time for you to move on. Isn't that 
what you want? I agreed with your reasoning and it gives 
credibility to the X-files. I believe in that, I believe in the work, 
perhaps now, more than ever, because I see a need to fight this 
manifestation of...evil...I mean how did you expect me to respond?
How did you want me to respond? Convince you not to accept?
Tell you that you should stay with me and believe something which
you continue to refute? It's not like you to dissemble,
you're too honest a person."

Scully had lost her appetite and pushed the food aside.
She had no answer to give him because he was right. What
exactly did she expect of him, that he would give up his
quest? 

When she did not answer, he added, "For once, Scully, this
is not about me, it's about you. I told you what I saw
because you wanted to know, not because I have any desire
to convince you. I want what you want, I want you to be
happy and this offer is a golden opportunity. What is the
difficulty in you accepting that?"

"Giving up on me, huh?"

"That presupposes you want me to convince you to stay."

"Jesus, I hate it when you play psychologist with me!"

He sighed. "Look, Scully, I don't want to wrestle with you
on this. I've given you physical proof and against my
better judgment, an explanation that fits the evidence,
the science and religious philosophy. And because I know
you still can't accept that, I'm agreeing with the proposal! 
What more do you want?"

The word had left her mouth before she realized she'd
spoken. "You."

******************************************
End Chapter 1 Seattle

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 5:Seattle 2 of 7
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

Flight 308 to Seattle 

Scully closed her eyes in the bitter realization she had
made a complete fool of herself. For a while she thought he
really had not allowed his windowing abilities to badly
affect their relationship. Since his disappearance and
return he had been Mulder at his best. The easy repartee of
their partnership seemed back to normal, his bad jokes and
innuendoes thrown at her resumed in their usual form. He
had also seemed more content, less guilt-ridden, even when
the body of the last two victims were found. He accepted it
instead of drawing into himself. But his easy affection
lacked the undercurrent of passion and it had been made
clear he no longer entertained a more personal relationship
with her. 

How much of that was due to his strange abilities and what
she had been subjected to in the morgue she was unsure. But
the truth now rocked her. Whatever he had experienced with
the Meta had genuinely allowed him to come to terms with
his past, his present and his future. And his spirit, made
whole by his experience no longer depended on her. And that
is why he could give her up so easily.

The knowledge shocked her to the core, bringing with it an
almost overwhelming grief. That he should be healed and in
so doing abandon her, freely, happily giving her what she
truly wanted, now explained the content and meaning of his
e-mail. Then it dawned on her that this was, far more than
the physical evidence of his now scar-free body, sure proof
that what he said was true.

Oh, my God..had she loved him and stayed with him only
because he needed her? Was her own spirit so small and
wanting that she defined herself only in terms of being
needed? Was altruism truly selfishness defined by those who
need to be needed? She, Dana Katherine Scully, independent,
refusing to give of herself suddenly felt a sense of loss
and abandonment like she had never known.

She looked up in to his face, a face touched by
God...whatever he defined Him to be and saw in it the
truth. That he loved her so truly, so selflessly that it
brought him genuine happiness to open his arms and set her
free. How could she have been so blind? He had done this
before, with Emily, prepared to give her away, give her a
chance at motherhood, despite his great need. Now, he no
longer had any need. She turned away as, to her horror the
tears finally spilled from her eyes.

"Oh, Scully, don't cry, c'mere," and he tried to pull her
into an embrace. 

But she would have none of it. She had needed his need,
but she could not tolerate his pity. Instead, she pulled at
a napkin and turning to the window, dried her eyes. Never
let it be said that Dana Scully couldn't clamp down on the
emotional walls swiftly and surely. Damn herself for
letting him see her weak like this! 

The flight attendant came to collect the meal tray and
Scully excused herself to go to the bathroom. She needed to
reapply makeup and fix her hair. Refusing to look Mulder
in the eye, she climbed across his long legs and walked
steadily to the rear of the plane.

For his part, Mulder sat slightly stunned at her
revelation. In fact his instinctual response was to get
very turned on. Oh, he had been aroused countless times by
the sheer fact of her presence. And she had told him by her
actions that she loved him. But the signals were constantly
mixed and their professional roles easier to fall back on
than risk all. It was only on her couch, three weeks
before, that he seriously thought he could take their
relationship to a different level. 

Since then, he had exposed her to something about himself
no one should have to experience. Sure, it wasn't *him*,
but it was due to an inherent ability in him. That wasn't a
glove he could peel off and toss away. The memory of his
first wife, a beautiful young biologist whom he'd married
after he left Patterson, returned to haunt him. What he had
done to her, not physically, but spiritually, had been
something he swore he would never subject another woman to.
That Scully had seen it still weighed heavily on him. He
was willing to believe she accepted it as another aspect of
his profiling talents. She was his friend, his partner and
he was thankful beyond words that aspect of their
relationship had not changed. But as a psychologist, he
knew that any intimacy was forever tainted. As much as
Scully might think she could put the image aside, it would
creep up on her in a vulnerable moment. The Meta had given
him hope, on many levels and he simply could not comprehend
why Scully would wish to stay.

Now, he knew. 

The timing sucked. But then it always had. What in hell
was he supposed to say to her now? It seemed no matter what
he agreed to, it was wrong. When he wanted to take her in
his arms and tell her he loved her, she froze up and ran
off to the bathroom to reapply that well known Scully
faade. When she returned, well, the Great Wall of China
was like tissue compared to her construct. He shook his
head. As much as he loved her, with rare insight for his
usually dense self, he realized this was something she had
to come to grips with. Emotion and logic would have to war
in her heart and mind and the victor emerge to show him
where he finally stood. But for now, the only way she could
deal with this was to pretend it never happened, push it
aside and tramp all over it with the need to tackle the
case in front of them. The least he could do was give her
that, so he pulled out his legal pad and began melding his
memorized profile of the UNSUB with what Crystal had
supplied him about the victim.

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


CHAPTER 3

Day 22 - Saturday
Central Hotel, Seattle 

>From the Journal of Crystal Palmer
 

I don't hate flying, but I hate flights. It takes as long
to get to the airport and check baggage and then get off
the plane and find the damned bags again, then get a cab
into town as it does to make the damned flight. Okay, it's
a little different when crossing the continent, but you
know what I mean. This time, I hated it for an entirely
different reason.

>From shower to plane in forty-five minutes, including
packing. World record. Skinner got us on by bullying. A gun
and a badge, well what the hell, there had to be some
benefits to the job. Given the scars on his body and a
broken marriage, there were certainly plenty of downsides. I
hated being so far away. I went through all those guilt
things with Justin. If I'd been there, if I hadn't come to
D.C., if, if, if. But I couldn't really indulge myself in
guilt because if I'd still been married I would never have
gone back home to live. If the world stopped turning, we'd
fall off. 

Fuck, I hate if onlys. I've had enough of them in my life,
I wasn't prepared to indulge in any more.

Skinner was good. It must be so hard for these guys having
to deal with frantic or grieving relatives. And he didn't
have the luxury of emotional distance from me, seeing what
I'd been doing to intimate parts of his anatomy just an
hour before. He was reluctant to let Mulder come talk to
me, but I wanted that. I needed Mulder because he was the
only one who could tell me how things really stood. 

He helped. God, not for a minute did I believe he could. I
thought I was just clutching at straws, but he really did
help. He placed it all in a picture box and put each piece,
like a jigsaw, on the table, helping me fit them together
so he could see the picture. He sees it in three dimensions, 
of course and all I see is the flat image, but it helped, despite 
the cracks throughout, despite the knowledge that one ill-
fitting piece could see the whole thing fall apart and Jace 
end up dead. I put the pictures, those pictures out of my mind. 
I had to concentrate on the here and now, not the what ifs.

Agent Smith met us at the airport and took us to the
hotel. I can't really remember a great deal over the next
few hours except it was full of self-recriminations. Dad
was beside himself with what he had done, letting the FBI
in his hotel, accepting their blood money, paying off the
mortgage, knowing this had taken his son from him. But he's
like me when it comes to what ifs and eventually, I think I
convinced him it was no one's fault, any more that Jace
could be blamed for Mom dying. Appointing blame is simply
something our family is not big on, even self-blame.

I told him what Mulder told me and he respected Mulder. A
lot. He'd not seen what happened on the roof, but he'd
heard and he'd seen for himself how Mulder had been so
right it was...well... spooky. 

I tried to get access to find out what was happening
across the road. It was different now since they weren't in our
hotel. They were back on their own turf and I was an
outsider once more. I started pounding the desk and someone
grabbed me and told me to calm down. Took me a few moments
to realize it was Skinner. Should have known -- it was like
fighting an oak tree. He took me through a door into a
private room and I could see the conflict in his eyes. It
shut me up right away because I realized I'd put him in
a difficult situation. God knows why I was feeling so
damned logical because one part of me wanted to pound him
and demand he let me help.

"Crystal, you can't be part of this now. Even if you were
an agent, you would be ordered to back away. You're too
close and that makes it dangerous, not for you, but Justin,
because you can't think with a clear head."

I exhaled a deep sigh, folded my arms and glared at
him. Fuck, I hate it when people are right.

Skinner pursed his lips. "I promise I'll keep you up to
date. The good news is, Agent Smith followed up on Mulder's
profiles of the fifth UNSUB. Seattle P.D. had closed the
case, but the FBI hadn't. It was, I admit, shelved and I
agreed that it could be back burnered..."

"But you knew, Busche knew, Mulder was sure..!" I was
incensed they had done that! He could have, he *should*
have ordered them to follow up on the investigation! 

He stared at me unflinchingly. "The investigation would
have been followed up, in due course, but this office is
short-staffed and there is a hell of a lot more sick fucks
out there. This case is not isolated, though I wish to
Christ it was. I am entirely responsible for that decision,
not Busche, so you want to blame anyone, you blame me."

Damn him, but I couldn't. I've got this bad habit of seeing
the logic in someone else's argument and it was worse
because he was prepared to take the responsibility on his
shoulders alone. Shit. How can you rail against an
honorable man who admits the buck stops here? How many
people do that in this day and age?

"Now, listen to me. We have some leads, some good leads on
this."

But I stormed out of there. I was closer to the door than
him and it wasn't that far from the building exit. I know he
started to follow then stopped himself and I was glad. I
didn't want him wasting time placating me, I wanted him to
find Jace.

I ran across the road and tore back to my room, stripped
my clothes and pulled on lightweight bike gear. Some vague
deference to good sense allowed me to put a jacket on, it
was only just above freezing outside, but I wanted to be
cold. I wanted to be totally fucking numb. I couldn't sit
here and wait, I had to grind it out, push it out from me.
If I couldn't help, whether I was here or gone made no
matter.

I threw my bike down the steps and onto the parking lot,
slammed the helmet on my head, and took off around the
front. I practically ran two agents down, Mulder and Scully
as it turned out, in my haste to get away. Mulder called
after me but there was no way I was stopping. If Skinner
had sent them after me I would have been pissed with him
for wasting his precious fucking limited resources and I'd
already given Mulder everything I could. I'd been told to
back away. Well screw them, I was.

I checked my mirror then glanced back before turning
against the traffic at the corner. I saw Mulder watching me
and I knew he understood. 

Perhaps he was the only one who really did.

 

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

Mulder looked at Smith and allowed his lips to curl in a
slight smile. "You did good. Thanks for putting in the
overtime."

Skinner looked away, still torn with guilt that he had
ordered the investigation to be steeped down to a lower
level of priority. He nodded once to Smith, in recognition
of the man's fine work. "I want tails on all six of them.
What's your take, Mulder?"

"This one, Jameison."

"Why? He doesn't fit all the parameters of your profile,
that's why I put him at the bottom." Smith asked.

When Smith had started his babysitting assignment on
Mulder three weeks previously, he had been both suspicious
and resentful. Forenzzi's little speech had made him wary
and Mulder's ditching had pissed him off, big time. But
Smith had done a complete about face after the rooftop
incident. Mulder might be wacko, but he was one of the
most dedicated human beings Smith had ever seen. Any man
who risked his sanity and his life just trying to crack a
case like this, deserved some form of respect. And Mulder
was good, damned, but he was good. And he was no coward in
the field, another one of Forenzzi's pieces of bullshit.
Smith felt he owed Mulder some sort of an apology, so he'd
made a point of working after hours, getting very little
sleep, running Mulder's profile through dozens of data
bases, cross-referencing them until he came up with thirty-
two possible names. Fine tuning had brought it down to six
possibles. When Justin was abducted he recalled Mulder's
profile notes indicated the guy probably got off hanging
around the hotel during the investigation. He immediately
ran the photos past the hotel staff and all the FBI agents
and technicians. With no luck, he was about to go back to
the discarded names and start again.

Mulder then said that although the perpetrator would have
spent time in the hotel, he might have taken pains to
disguise himself. Recognizing one of them would have been a
lead, but not a guaranteed hit.

Smith had relegated Jameison to the bottom of his main
list simply because he was the only one who belonged to a
strip club. Mulder's profile indicated he probably wouldn't
be that obvious.

"Even my profiles are not gospel," Mulder grinned. "He's
taken an unusual step by personally abducting a potential
victim. If anything, I figured he's go for prostitutes.
What's the club?"

"Well, this is where it gets interesting and why I kept
him as a suspect. It's a regular, reasonably high class
strip joint. Squeaky clean. No liquor problems, no drugs,
no underage, any of the girls caught selling on the side get
tossed. They get a lot of college girls there and they make
sure they're escorted home after working hours, safe and
sound. Trouble makers and drunks are sent home in a taxi,
their fare paid."

"Jeez, we could do with a few like that in D.C." Mulder
muttered.

"I thought you preferred yours in two dimensions, Mulder,"
Scully replied.

He smirked. "Always willing to expand my horizons, Scully."

Smith continued, "I think, but there's no proof, that it
fronts for a more private club known around the traps as
Extras. Vice knows about it but it's hard to prove, you
know? They provide singles, couples, mixed bag, dogs and
kids are specialty items for private parties. Some of the
street kids have worked for them, but they don't last long,
it can get pretty rough.

Scully glowered. "And they can't get a bust on them with
that?"

Smith's lips thinned and his head rocked to one side. "It's
hard to pin it down, they go to ground real fast." 

"So, Jameison's a member of the strip joint, but no way to
connect him to this private club?"

"From what Vice tells me, the club side of it works in
plain view. I mean it's private parties only, clients'
homes. Membership is by reference only and even then,
members are apparently checked out pretty thoroughly.

"So, Agent Mulder, why him?"

Mulder couldn't really say why, it was a gut instinct, but
every nerve in him screamed that this as the one. He could
almost smell the evil.

They had absolutely no evidence to justify a search
warrant, but Busche knew a judge whose wife worked for
kid's shelters. They had their warrant within an hour, but
it did them no good. Jameison's home was on a six-acre
block. The security gates were unlocked and no one was
home. Not wanting to scare Jameison into doing anything
stupid if he had Justin stashed somewhere else, Skinner
ordered three teams to quietly scour the house and yards
for any sign of the boy, but make every effort to leave no
trace of their visit behind. They came up empty-handed. And
they still had not traced Jameison's whereabouts.

They had, however, with the cooperation of SPD placed 24-
hour tails on the other suspects. SPD vice was keen to
bust Extras so they sent two of their own plainclothes
into the strip club, fistfuls of five and ten dollar notes
scrounged from petty cash. Just for appearances, of course.

It had been a long, exhausting twenty-four hours for
Scully. She had managed to get a few hours sleep early in
the evening, then decided to go down to the restaurant for
a late dinner. She'd checked to see if Mulder was in the
adjoining room, but it was empty. He said he'd be across the
road, reworking a few ideas. Scully hoped he'd managed to
put his head down for a few minutes that day. 

Scully was surprised to see Crystal sitting alone in a
corner at the far side of the restaurant. Crystal caught
her eye and motioned for Scully to join her. Most of the
tables were full. The weather outside was good and it was a
Saturday night. Three weeks, Scully thought. It's been just
three weeks. Three weeks since this began, three weeks
since Mulder held her in his arms and taught her how to
play baseball. Three weeks since he'd started to kiss her.
Three weeks and more had been learned and lost and won than
most people experience in three years. 

Scully felt an almost overwhelming desire to sit and talk
with her sister. Melissa knew her. Melissa could read her
and although she might pretend to scoff, Scully would have
listened. 

Crystal stood as Scully approached.

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully."

"For what?"

Crystal motioned for Scully to sit. One of the new staff
immediately placed a carafe of water and fresh bread sticks
on the table. The advantages, Scully thought, of eating in
a popular restaurant with the owner's daughter.

"For nearly knocking you over this morning. I didn't mean
to be so rude, I just had to...get out of there." 

Scully nodded her head. "That's all right. Where did you go?"

"I don't honestly know. I just kept going until my knees
almost gave out. I went for a run with Skinner yesterday
morning." Yesterday morning? Could it have been only the
previous morning? Despite the time difference it seemed like
weeks had passed since then. "And I forgot how it takes a few
days for my knees to recover..." she trailed off, not
really having the heart for conversation.

"Sleep any?"

Crystal nodded. "Almost five hours, Agent Cummins brought
me up to speed about half an hour ago."

Scully looked at Crystal carefully over the rim of her
glass. Crystal smiled and said, "No, she wouldn't tell me
his name, but I guessed Mulder was sure who it was."

Scully simply nodded. "Don't worry, Crystal, Mulder's
usually right."

They talked for a while and Scully allowed herself a half
glass of wine with an excellent stuffed chicken breast. She
had already believed Crystal Palmer would make a good
agent, but now she began to appreciate that Skinner saw far
more than sharp intelligence and classical Greek beauty.
Scully was so absorbed by the woman's pithy and accurate
character analysis of Forenzzi, she didn't notice Mulder
approach until he was almost at the table. 

With a warm smile at Crystal but without preamble he said
"Scully, I really need to run something by you..."

Scully put her fork down with a slight sigh of
exasperation. He might live on sunflower seeds, but she
needed real food.

Mulder looked at his partner with such a woebegone face,
Crystal almost burst out laughing.

"All right Mulder, can I at least finish my dinner?"

He smiled. "Sure...fifteen minutes?"

Scully nodded in resignation, but he'd already gone. 

Crystal chuckled at the look on Scully's face. "Don't knock
it, it's a rare man who's not afraid to admit he needs you."

Suddenly, Scully remembered his e-mail and her face clouded
"He doesn't need me. I'll be returning to forensics soon
and he's made it clear he'll be happy working alone again."

Crystal stared at her in amazement. She'd had reason to
observe them closely these last few weeks. Mulder was
driven, passionate, but he needed a grounding force.
Without Scully to guide and protect him, he would destroy
himself. But his needs were on many levels. Scully was a
bright woman, could she be so dense as to not see that?
Despite her own pained spirit, or perhaps because of it,
Crystal could not idly stand by and watch him destroyed, he
was too beautiful a soul for that. And if Scully seemed
withered now, without him she would curl up and die inside. 

Crystal took a deep breath, recognizing the folly of
unsolicited advice. "He might be an enlightened, politically
correct man of the nineties, but he still has instinctual
needs. He's still a man, he needs to be a big brother, he
needs to be protective and offer support. He needs...to be
needed. You give him professionalism, loyalty, integrity
and strength. But you don't trust him enough to give him
the one thing he truly needs -- your need."

"That's...not true, I trust him with my life." Scully put
her fork down and scowled at the woman opposite.

"But not your heart. Only by giving him your need can you
prove your trust. Since you show you have no need for him,
and he's an honorable man, he'll let you go with his blessing."

Scully was confused, how could Crystal know..? "You don't
understand, the FBI is..." 

"A man's world and you see need and love as weaknesses
that exaggerate your femininity and throw your
professionalism into doubt. You think engineering is any
easier? You stand on a few oil rigs in the North Sea or
Saudi Arabia, order pit bosses around and see what it's
like being a female in a man's world! Trouble is, you've
decided you can be a professional or a woman, but not both.
You think you have to cut one part of yourself off in order
for the other to thrive. What you don't realize is by doing
so, your soul is withering and dying."

Scully shook her head, angry that her words cut so deeply,
so true...like Melissa would have done. "Crystal, law
enforcement partners are not normal relationships. You
depend on each other's strengths."

"Dana, giving love and showing need requires more trust
and strength and a braver heart than facing criminals. In
order to appear strong, you build walls around your
emotions, but they're walls of glass! Anyone with eyes to
see, including Mulder, senses the woman behind. But your
walls are so thick and hard all he can do is look and
desire with a longing heart. He's not a fool, he won't try
to break through because he knows the walls would shatter
and take you both down. Instead, as a man of integrity, he
respects you and backs away, convinced you do not need him. 

"You rightly take pride in your integrity and honesty and
strength of character and that professional clear head and
bravery under fire. But denying him your need is a
deception, Agent Scully. It's a lie, to both of you, a lie
by omission and worse than that, it's the act of a coward."

Crystal realized she had gone too far, but it galled her,
watching these two orbit each other like blinding suns,
held in thrall and yet kept separate by an extraordinary
magnetic force.

Scully somehow managed to both arch her eyebrows and
frown, then politely, coldly, excused herself and left the
restaurant, her half-eaten meal now lead in her stomach.

Crystal was about to get up and apologize, but she also
saw unshed tears and confusion in Scully's eyes. The agent
was not one to let words hurt her unless they were true.
Perhaps, just perhaps, they might break through that
strange wall she had erected. If not, Crystal feared
neither of them would survive for very long.

Crystal sat in thought for a while. Skinner had walls,
too. Too late, he found a way to broach them. She had no
idea if their relationship would deepen, but of one thing
she was certain. Because of his sensitive position, secrets
and freedom to come and go without explanation, she
understood without question. But not walls, not like that.

Scully was angry, with herself more than Crystal. Damn the
woman for looking into her heart and exposing it like that!
There was no time for this!

She wrapped her emotions out of the way as her cell phone
rang.

"Scully."

"Agent Scully? This is Smith, we've located Jameison!" The
excitement in his voice was palpable. 

"Where?" 

"He's just turned up at the strip club!"

Her personal emotions now shunted aside, Scully almost
smiled "Well done, Agent Smith, have you informed Agent
Mulder?"

"Yeah, just now, he said to call you while he got hold of
Skinner and prepared a full backup surveillance team."

Scully all but ran up the stairs to the second floor. She
literally bumped into Mulder coming down. He grabbed her to
steady her. "Smith tell you?"

"Yeah, let me get my coat and weapon."

"I'll get the car, meet you out front."

Scully nodded, all thoughts of her conversation with
Crystal now gone. She trusted Mulder, and although she'd
never tell him, she trusted his hunches enough to know this
might be the break they were looking for.

As she hurried back downstairs a few moments later, a
niggling voice said, well, that's the problem isn't it, you
don't trust him enough to tell him...

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

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 5:Seattle 3 of 7
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 4

Day 23 - Sunday
Seattle 
12:50 a.m.


That Smith had been on the ball enough to have traced
credit card transactions between Jameison and the Extras
Club was bound to springboard his career. Skinner had a
personal stake in this one, big time, thought Scully. She
was pleased. Mulder had plenty of detractors, so it was good
to know he also had one or two quiet supporters, even if
they were only junior agents.

Mulder had parked around the corner in the shadows, their
dark blue Taurus blending with the night. 

He had given no further thought to Scully's inadvertent
confession on the flight. It was neither insensitivity nor
indifference, but the way his mind operated. All of his
being, to the exclusion of everything else, had become
narrowly focused on locating Jameison, saving this child
and stopping the bastard permanently. Whatever he and
Scully were to each other was held frozen in time until
then. 

Over the years, Scully had come to understand his single-
minded tenacity. Give him a shovel and a desert and tell him
the evidence was out there, then while everyone else threw up
their hands in despair, he'd start digging enthusiastically. And, 
oblivious to everything around him, he'd keep digging, never 
giving up until he dropped dead. That he was an embarrassment 
to his peers, that he sometimes ignored Scully and ditched her 
meant nothing to him in the face of his truth. In time, her respect 
for this tenacity had evolved into admiration and eventually, love.
He was the most extraordinary human being she had ever met.
If he sometimes lacked the simple social skills and
thoughtfulness people displayed to one another, it was a
cheap price to pay for his friendship and companionship.

Scully knew all this, yet she sensed in him now a relaxing
of the previous day's concentrated tension. It had all come
down to the here and now. Jameison was inside, all they had
to do was sit and wait. 

Scully gulped, Crystal's accusation playing heavily on
her mind. This was neither the time nor the place, but they
could be there for hours. Mulder's active mind, having gone
over every scenario a dozen times, was starting to get
restless with boredom. His hand began to fiddle with the
heater, a sure sign. They sat quietly, comfortable on a
professional level, but as Mulder's obvious boredom
increased, the air of tension between them of things spoken
and unspoken the previous days, became stifling. The
darkness gave her a measure of freedom to expose her soul.

"I'm...afraid, Mulder."

He glanced swiftly at his partner, immediately
understanding this was not about the stakeout. 

Scully continued, "Crystal finally made me realize
something this afternoon, that I was...a coward."

"You're no coward, Scully." 

But his response was not as intense as it should have
been. In many ways he was not surprised by her next words.

"When it comes to my emotions, I am."

He said nothing, realizing she had come to a decision. He
waited quietly in the dark, letting her do this at her own
pace.

"And so are you. What happened with your wife, Mulder?"

That threw him, when had this become about him? But then,
he had always been more able to reveal himself to her than
she could to him. And his marriage was an issue she was
bound to bring up someday. An issue he would sooner forget.
But as he had insisted on her emotional honesty, so he
could give her no less in return. It was time she learned
the truth, the whole truth.

"Scully, once I come out of these mirroring events, it
honestly has no long term effect on me. If I mirror a
victim, on some level, I know I felt their pain, but it's
like a dream. It's gross, ugly and horrific but you're
analogy to a glove is more accurate than you might imagine.
I've always thought of it as like watching a horror movie.
It sends cold shivers down your spine at the time, but you
walk outside into the warm light of day and shrug it off.

"Trouble was, Bill had me back into the damned theater
before my feet had touched pavement and it started to get
to a point where I couldn't remember if there *was* a light
of day.

"The last case with him, fourteen young men, all early
twenties, had been badly beaten, sodomized, shot in the
extremities and left to die of exposure. This particular
mirroring I was channeling the victim, similar to what
happened on the hotel roof. Scully, for some reason, when
it's a victim, I have a lot more control, but there is a
trade-off. I see a great deal less and sometimes,
unusually, my own psyche gets caught up in it. I can be
jerked out of it before it comes to an end. You pulled me
out of the last one."

Scully looked down at her hands. She'd finally confessed
how much she needed him. She'd sworn then that he would
never have to face it alone again...but in her cowardice
and the cold reality of morning, she had once more, backed
away. Crystal was right indeed.

Mulder continued. "Maybe it's because they *are* victims
and therefore weaker, I don't know. Bill knew that as well
as me. And he knew whether my body became victim or killer,
I witnessed it all. Despite that, he...lost it that night.
The victim had been badly beaten around the mouth. His jaw
was broken and he was in incredible pain. The killer,
Jackson Grujik, had just sodomized him, then tried to force
himself inside the victim's mouth. It was impossible
because of the physical damage, but I must not have
conveyed that to Bill. The next thing I know, Bill's trying
to..."

He broke off, he'd already told her on the rooftop what
Bill had done.

"Is that what snapped you back?"

Mulder nodded once. "I think a lot of shit the previous few
years came down on me all at once. I didn't know if he was
gay or bisexual or just caught up in the moment. Thinking
about it later, I believe he'd kept it tightly controlled
all these years, but had started to succumb to his own
personal madness. Not immersing himself, but actual
psychosis, like the Mostow case. It didn't surprise me when
he tipped then, I'd already had my suspicions. Seeing the
clay on his hands was just the giveaway.

"But that last time with me, I wasn't thinking too
clinically. I was furious on many levels, not the least of
which by pulling me out of my trance, it interfered in the 
process of evidence gathering. He said he was trying to 
make it more real for me, so I could see more clearly, but...
Look, I heard the crap Forenzzi put out about me and it bothered 
me only in that it was taking Skinner's time up with
press releases when it could have been put to more use
elsewhere. 

"Scully, I'm not even vaguely gay. And believe me, when
you spend time at Oxford, you find out one way or another,
despite the likes of Phoebe. But I can understand how
someone would think that, or worse, pedophilia, witnessing
one of these events.

"Patterson, of all people, knew that. He knew me because
we'd had good reason for those issues to be discussed over
years traveling together. So when the stupid son of a
bitch shoved his dick in my mouth...I fucking near took his
head off. Took four agents to get me off the bastard,
despite me being physically run down."

He hadn't meant to be quite so graphic with her, but the
memory of it still made him wince. It was this involuntary
shudder that convinced Scully, if she had any lingering
doubts, that his mirroring truly was outside of who and
what he was. 

"All the times I'd ever been immersed in these incidents,
they've never been part of me or what I am. Patterson's
action was up close and too damned fucking personal."

"You never considered pressing charges?"

He glanced at her sideways. "For what? For interfering
with a case, obstruction of justice? Sexual assault? Jesus,
Scully, it might have made me sick and I never forgave him
for it, but it's not the sort of thing you ruin a man's
life over. What it did do was wake me up out of a
continuous two and a half years long fucking sick movie
show. 

"So I walked. Came close to leaving the FBI altogether,
but the director convinced me to take accumulated leave and
as much personal time as I thought I needed. 

"I went up to Chilmark for a time. Not to see Mom,
although I spent a day or two with her. I had a few other
friends up there, including a woman I'd known off and on
for years. She was a biologist, doing some research on
coastal dune vegetation." 

He lifted his hand and ran it through his hair. The memory
of those months was bittersweet. He'd spend weeks with her,
just the two of them, exploring the coastline. He recalled
her excitement as she'd dig into the sandy soil, examining
the root structure of an unidentified dune plant. She'd
drag him out in the foulest weather so she could see
exactly what happened to dune-stabilizing grasses in high
velocity winds, then they'd end up making love on the beach
in the middle of a storm. God, he had loved her in a simple,
pure, innocent way.

"I was a naive fool to think I could bring her back with
me. She was a post grad at American University and it all
seemed logical that I'd go back to work and we'd get
married and live happily ever after. But things happened. I
went into the VCU and my partner was killed."

"Steve Wallenberg."

He nodded. "Yeah. Meanwhile, Patterson used the opportunity
to try and convince OPR I wasn't suited for..."

"But they cleared you!"

"Yes, they cleared me, but by then, I'd started to discover
a few things. I'd met Arthur Dales and had one very bad
hallucinatory experience with an unknown substance. That's how
I met the Lone Gunmen -- although they didn't call themselves that,
yet. But the experience led me to relive something of my sister's 
abduction. I met Doctor Verber and started regressive hypnotherapy 
sessions. Scully, it was a...confusing time in my life and I let 
myself be pulled back into the BSU, conditional on Patterson 
keeping the hell away from me. 

"It was only a couple of months after Julie and I were
married that I agreed to deep profile, then finally, mirror
a bad case. She'd gone up north for a few weeks and I let
myself run down until I could get into the mind of this
guy. The trouble was, she came home unexpectedly. 

"Even that wouldn't have mattered, but this guy hit his
last victim two days sooner than we expected. It was
opportunistic and happened with virtually no warning, woke
me from a deep sleep and I never had a chance to call up
the unit and warn them to come get me. "

Scully closed her eyes and reached across for his hand.
His voice was almost a whisper as he continued. 

"I could always shelve the things we dealt with in the
VCU. I could come home and forget about them with Julie. Oh
sure, she knew I was an FBI Agent and accepted I wore a
gun. But she disliked it, disliked violence in any form,
wouldn't even watch cop shows on television. If I left my
gun lying around she'd cover it with something, couldn't
even bring herself to move it out of the way. I tried to
show it to her when I'd clean it, thinking if she could
understand the mechanism, she wouldn't be so afraid of it,
but she refused and I didn't have the heart to push it. It
was an aspect of my life she accepted, but she didn't like
it."

Scully sat quietly, wondering what a Fox Mulder who was
not yet obsessed with the X-files would have been like. A
young man coming home to a beautiful, loving wife at the
end of the day. She would have grounded him, allowed the
ugliness of the VCU to be swept aside...until his own
personal demons caught up with him.

His voice trailed off as memories assailed him.

"What happened?" Scully prompted quietly.

He shrugged in the dark. "Much the same as you, but this
guy used to shoot his victims before leaving them to die of
exposure, or blood loss, whichever came first. So instead
of a scalpel, I used my gun."

Scully let out an involuntary moan. Oh, God, it had been
bad enough for her, a pathologist and FBI agent who had
already seen Mulder in the throes of his own personal
demons. But for a naive young woman who loved him in an
innocent and simple way, who knew nothing of Mulder's
necessarily violent life, a person who both feared and
hated guns...oh, my God, what she must have experienced.
What Mulder must have suffered.

"When they explained it to her, she was good about it. I
guess I should have expected nothing less. She was always
generous to a fault...but after seeing that, Scully, after
having gone through that, no woman..."

"Mulder, it was different for her, she would never have
understood it."

"That's why she agreed to an annulment. Just put it past
her, past us. She moved to Florida afterwards. It was a
good move, professionally, lot of coastal erosion problems
down there. She remarried about three, four years back, to
a coastal management planner. I think they've even got a
kid now.

"The director allowed my indulgence on the X-files as
an...apology, and a promise he would seal certain aspects
of my file."

"I'm okay about it, Scully, really, but when you ask me if
I'd wish for a normal life, just for a while...I...I have, I
tried it once and it was very nice but it caused someone I
loved far too much pain. I promised myself I'd never do
that to anyone again. 

"But you can allow yourself to be talked out of self-made
promises. I met Diana soon after and fooled myself into
thinking it just might work with someone who understood
what the work was like. But by then, I was so obsessed with
the X-files and finding Samantha that Diana rightfully gave
up and left. And Scully, that was it, there was no way
after that I'd allow myself to be involved with anyone,
ever again. Make no mistake, despite what I've learned,
more importantly, because of what I've learned, finding
Samantha, fighting the...the lies and the outright evil we
see, I see in the X-files, is still all that matters."

They sat silently for some time. Scully wrestled with her
own emotions. How could she deal with this now? Had she
been mistaken that night he'd taught her to play baseball?
Hadn't he thought there might be something more between
them? Damn it! He had started to kiss her, she was not
imagining things! The only way now was to risk her heart,
to stop being a coward. 

"Mulder, how did the others in the VCU deal with your
mirroring?"

He laughed. "Morgue humor."

She grasped his hand more tightly and added, "Have you
forgotten what your partner is, partner?"

"Scully, look, I'm not blind to...the fact that, well..."
shit, he could do this. "I stupidly fooled myself...I
thought for a while that maybe, because of what we'd been
through together, that you and I might become...closer than
partners and friends. But that was a mistake, Scully. My
mistake and I'm very, very sorry if I led you to believe
something that I shouldn't have."

"Because of what I witnessed in the morgue?"

"And my obsessive little quest. Scully there's no room for
anything else, not now not ever..."

"Mulder, I told you to throw away the glove..."

"Scully, it's not that. But even if it was, Jesus, I know,
I really do understand that as my partner and friend you
can accept that aspect of me. But...not as a woman."

"Mulder..."

"No, listen to me. I know you hate me playing psychologist
with you but what you saw...what you felt...under
different...circumstances...those events would replay in
your mind. You can't separate the association and I won't,
I can't allow that to come between us. So I cannot allow
the circumstances to arise where it might."

Scully tried to read his face in the dark. He needed to
have this idea knocked out of his head once and for all.
Once it was gone she could try and deal with the other
aspects, the Meta and their changing status within the FBI.
One step at a time.

The only sure way she knew how to do this was to finally
be honest with him on a very fundamental level. For all
Crystal was right in accusing Scully of trying to hide her
femininity, Scully knew how he would react, as a man, to
what she would say. But there was no other way.

"Mulder, you are talking to a woman who, after examining
some cadaver's stomach contents and seeing half-digested
pepperoni and mushrooms, gets hungry and starts salivating
over the thought of a pizza."

She sat back, wondering how long it would take him to
absorb the implications of her analogy. He was a smart man,
surely it wouldn't be long...

He jerked in his seat and turned to face her. His body
responded far faster than his brain and he idly wondered if
the car was dark enough to hide his rapidly growing problem. 

Shit, she was a pathologist, for crying out loud. Christ,
he'd been a fool! Skinner was right. The damned Meta was
right, too! Then he recalled her words on the rooftop. She
had called him beautiful, not just his body...Could she
really feel that way about him?

Okay, if he accepted that she could ignore the circumstances 
and concentrate on the fact that she saw and handled *his* 
erect penis, could she be attracted to...?...Nah!

As if she could read his thoughts, Scully added softly,
"Most people would find it pretty disgusting, in fact
downright perverted, that I can compartmentalize my
associative memories. Over here, masticated, semidigested
pepperoni, cheese, tomatoes and dough in a dissected human
stomach. But all I can think of when I'm looking at those
remains, when I'm hungry, and I get hungry a lot, Mulder,
especially with you, is how good a pizza's gonna taste if I
could just be allowed to try."

He was now downright uncomfortable, even in his loose
trousers.

They'd become so accustomed to subtext, the rational part
of his brain warned him that he was reading it all wrong.
He had to be certain, this was too important to approach
from an acute angle.

"So you're saying you can think about...seeing me like
that...and..." 

He gulped but she finished the sentence for him.

"And feeling you in my hands. Yeah, Mulder, I think about
it. A lot. I might be a doctor, but I'm also a woman. I
mean, what if the situation were reversed?" 

"That's different, Scully, I'm a guy; lascivious thoughts
are a constant..."

"And you think women don't have them too?"

He was tempted to convince himself that it was because she
hadn't been with a man in while. Any hard cock in her hands
might have been enough to...but not under those
circumstances...and not Scully. And if their situations had
been reversed, and it had been him touching and watching
Scully like that, his brain would also conveniently ignore
the circumstances and remember only what it was like to see
her, feel her... Shit, he'd be walking around with a fucking
splint tying his cock to his leg because the memories would
never leave him in peace. Was it possible, in some small
way that she felt the same? 

But before he could respond she said urgently, "Look!"

Mulder glanced across at the entrance. In the dim light,
it was not easy to make him out, but yeah, that looked like
Jameison all right. He glanced briefly at his partner and
turned on the ignition while Scully radioed through that
the subject had left the club. All thought of what they had
just been discussing fled from both their minds. But they
both knew a monumental barrier had just been broached. And
this time, there could be no going back.

"Can you see him, Scully?"

The angle she sat at allowed her a better view of the
parking lot.

"Yeah, he's getting into the Jaguar," 

They waited for the vehicle to start. After a few moments
Mulder asked, "What's happening?"

"He's just sitting there, like he's waiting for
something..."

"Or someone. Shit, Scully, maybe he's already picked up
another couple. I didn't expect it quite so soon. If that's
the case..." 

They glanced at each other in concern. 

Minutes passed while Scully kept Skinner briefed. Suddenly
the Jaguar's lights came on and it pulled away. Mulder
eased the Taurus out to follow, keeping his lights off. As
they passed under a street light they could just make out
one, possibly two additional figures in the vehicle. They
must have approached the car from behind. Scully radioed
that information through.

Neither of them commented, but they were both tense now.
Keeping a trail on this guy was critical because if he did
have Justin and he had picked up two people to take home
with him, at the very least, the boy would be subjected to
sexual assault.

A second unmarked car pulled in behind the Taurus and
Mulder flipped his headlights on as the three vehicles
rounded a corner. The trailing vehicle turned his off,
depending on street lights and the vehicles in front to
illuminate the way. 

Traffic was light. The digits on the clock edged close to
2:00 am. Mulder and Scully pulled away at an intersection,
turning left as the Jaguar went on ahead. They continued to
coordinate the trail with other vehicles and finally, a
helicopter. This was imperative when the traffic became so
light that any tail, no matter how far back, would be obvious.

It quickly became obvious that Jameison was heading home.

"Shit!" Mulder exclaimed as he sped through parallel
streets, wanting to get to the address and park before the
Jaguar arrived. 

Scully could feel his frustration and disappointment. If
Justin had been kept in the house, the search teams would
have found him. But then, it wouldn't be the first time
Mulder located a hidden room...A sudden thought hit her.

"Mulder!" she whispered as he turned off the ignition
"Wouldn't it be possible that this guy has his own studio
on the premises?"

Mulder's head swiveled to his partner. "Jesus, of course!
Soundproof rooms! It makes sense. He could keep Justin
inside and the kid could scream his lungs out and no one in
the next room would hear him! If the entrance is hidden, no
wonder the search team never found him!"

Then Scully stopped and shook her head. "But nothing showed
up on the building plans...a sound studio would have
required building permits...contractors..."

"Not necessarily. He might have used a Canadian company,
or paid cash to a private contractor wanting to avoid tax.
No Scully, I think you're right! Look at all the
landscaping, that's tons and tons of dirt -- enough to cover a 
pretty big underground complex!"

Scully relayed her theory to Skinner as Mulder leaped out
of the car and ran to the closed gates. Without warning,
the gates swung open and Mulder ducked inside moments
before the Jag pulled in. Before Scully had a chance to
catch up, the Jag wound up the driveway and security gates
closed behind. 

The stately old home was surrounded by a ten foot high
stone fence. Scully cursed Mulder once again for abandoning
her. Jesus, this was just like the farm all over again! And
this time, he might not be so lucky. 

Shit, shit shit!

Scully practically hopped from one foot to the other as
Skinner, Smith and four other agents in unmarked cars
quietly pulled up behind the Taurus.

Skinner's bulk once again belied a swiftness and agility
that left Scully blinking. Before she'd finished explaining
Mulder was inside, Skinner was already atop the wall and
reaching for her hand. Within seconds, all seven agents
were inside the grounds and making their way to the house.
Minutes passed while they surrounded the house, covering
all exit points, but there was no sign of Mulder.

"He'll be inside," Scully answered Skinner's questioning
look.

Skinner rolled his eyes, knowing Mulder would never
consider the legality of entry. The search warrant could
not be used twice. But Skinner would ram probable
cause down the judge's throat if he had to. He checked the
front door and found it unlocked. Mulder had probably
gotten in that way. Any second now, security alarms would
likely be going off. But all they could do was play it as
it came.

Skinner motioned Cummins to go in first, then Scully,
while he covered them. Agents Wilcox and Smith were
stationed at the rear door while Busche and Cowley came in
behind Skinner. Suddenly a gunshot penetrated the quiet of
the night, then shouting and a second then third gunshot
from a different weapon. 

Scully refused to allow her emotions to take over. This
was the biggest fear of a deeper relationship with Mulder,
that her feelings would interfere with her ability to act
professionally. She allowed Skinner to move ahead of her
into the kitchen. The shot seemed to have originated from
there. But there was no sign of movement. 

Wilcox and Smith came in through the back door but Busche
ordered them outside again. There could yet be a third,
secret entrance if Scully's theory proved correct. Backup
had already been called.

Meanwhile, Scully thought she detected a sliver of light
through what she presumed was the ajar pantry door. As she
opened it she was almost knocked over by a terrified boy
running into her arms.

"He's got a gun! He's got a gun and there's blood
everywhere!"

She couldn't see clearly in the dark. "Justin?" 

"No, Jace is still down there, with the policeman! He's
been shot...there's blood all over the place!" 

Scully's heart pounded as she handed the boy to Cummins.
The female agent pulled him into her arms as Scully
followed Skinner into the pantry. He glanced back at his
agent once, torn between fear for Mulder and for Crystal's
brother. Despite the darkness, he saw that same fear
reflected in Scully's eyes.

Outside, backup began arriving. It seemed half SPD had
been alerted. The external wiring for the gates would soon
be dismantled and a half dozen police were climbing the
fence. If there was an exit outside of the house, unless it
led into an adjacent property via an underground tunnel, no-
one would escape.

Scully entered the pantry and saw a second doorway leading
to a short stairway. She gave it a cursory glance as she
passed. It opened away from her and was covered in shelves
of food. No wonder the search teams had not found it.
Jesus, how had Mulder figured it out? Her eyes cornered the
room below, noting a well laid-out study and two open doors
leading elsewhere. Skinner had started through one. He
turned and motioned for two of the agents to follow him
while Scully went to the next door.

The following sixty seconds were the same confused,
organized but uncontrolled pandemonium of the previous
week. Sixty seconds in which Skinner was shot by a male
assailant, Jameison was shot by Scully, the two assailants
taken into custody and EMTs called.

But no sign of Mulder or Justin.

Once she ascertained Skinner's condition, Scully left the
pandemonium behind and rounded another corner into a small
room. In front of her was a pool of blood spreading around
Mulder's prone form. He lay atop a crying boy, his face
half gone.

Scully staggered, her grip on her pistol wavering at the
sight of her partner, clearly beyond help. For the first
time in her life she literally froze in disbelief. 

Her gun hand slowly dropped, some part of her mind kicking
in that the boy might be injured and she had to get to him,
but the sight of Mulder's face...what remained of it...

"No...not like this Mulder! Damn you! Not like this! I
*need* you damn it! You can't ditch me like this!" 

But her rational mind knew she was babbling. Fox Mulder
had finally gone.

An eternity passed as she moved towards his body, knowing
she had to get to Justin. He was what mattered now. The boy
Mulder had given his life for...But as she kneeled down to
his body something picked her up and moved her aside.
Scully went to fight it, thinking it was another
agent...until she saw the bright blue colored flesh inches
from her face.

"Shit, Mulder, we need you alive," it said in annoyance.

Scully looked in frozen amazement at the blue man...oh, God,
he was not a man! She stared round-eyed as he reached
across to Mulder's torn face. Blood still poured from the
horrific injury. Despite the fact it had destroyed half his face,
his heart still beat. Mulder was still alive, for the
moment.

The blue...creature turned to Scully and said, "Good thing
I was passing by. I'd never normally interfere, but there's
no reason not to do this and every reason to...so..." 

He turned his cat like eyes back to Mulder. Seconds passed
while Scully, beyond disbelief, fell back to sit on the
floor. She noticed that Justin had stopped crying and was
staring up at the blue man in awe. When her eyes came back
to Mulder's face, it was visible -- and whole.

"How did...you...you..!?" Scully tried to articulate what
her scientist's mind refused to believe.

The large blue...man helped the boy out from beneath
Mulder's prone form. 

The agent blinked slowly and, seeing the Meta standing
over him, grinned. "I thought you weren't supposed to help?"

Nik sighed. "I was just in the neighborhood, thought I'd
drop by and see how you were doing...but don't get any
ideas, I am not your fucking guardian angel. Next time,
duck."

Mulder laughed aloud. "I'll remember that."

But before the words were fully out of his mouth, the Meta
had disappeared.

Scully stared at Mulder, her jaw slack in disbelief, her
eyes fixed on the splattered blood all over his shirt
collar and coat. He grinned and winked at her as he sat up,
helping Justin to his feet with one hand.

"What was that?" Justin asked in amazement.

"Do you believe in angels?" Mulder leaned down and asked
him in the same voice Scully recognized from her first
meeting with him seven years previously.

Justin frowned. "Of course not! Besides, an angel wouldn't
cuss like that."

Mulder smiled. "Well, then, *that* was nothing. C'mon, you
have a very anxious family waiting for you at home."

Justin stared at the big man, then broke out in a grin. "A
secret, huh?"

Mulder nodded and smiled in return as he clasped the boy's
hand and led him from the room. He didn't bother to look at
his partner. She either accepted, or not. As he said, he no
longer had the driving need for proof, for the proof was
within him, again. 

Scully stared back at the pool of blood and tissue on the
floor. She knew without doubt when forensics tested it they
would find it matched Mulder's. But what was the point? As
much as she needed to convince herself that what she had
witnessed had been interpreted in some gestalt fashion by
her brain, the fact remained that Mulder had just stood up
and walked out of the room without a scratch on him.

Oh, my God...he had been right...all these years...what
happened to him the week before...it was all true...

Oh, my God...

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

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 5:Seattle 4 of 7
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 adult concepts
********************* 
CHAPTER 5

Day 23 - Sunday 
Harborview Medical Center - Seattle

>From the journal of Crystal Palmer
 
One of the most heart-rending sensations of relief and terror I
have ever experienced was hearing Jace was safe and Skinner
had been shot. I'm still not sure how I managed to stay
upright and I do not recall running across the road and
telling everyone that Justin was okay and they were
bringing him home.

Dad, Dulcie and Gemma burst into tears while everyone else
hugged each other and laughed. It took Dad a few moments to
realize I was standing there like a statue, white as a
sheet, my fists clenching and unclenching. I was desperate
in equal measures to get to the hospital, get back across
the road to find out more about Skinner's condition and
stay there until Scully and Mulder brought Justin back. 

The hotel was half full and I don't think the guests
appreciated having the entire staff begin an impromptu
party down in the dining room. I didn't notice, though, as
Dad took me aside and asked what was wrong.

"Skinner...he was shot," I replied.

"The A.D.? The one you were staying with in D.C?"

I nodded grimly. "I'm going back across the road, I have to
find out how he is."

Dad just looked at me with those wise, knowing eyes of his
and nodded once.

When I returned a few minutes later, he saw the look on my
face and pulled me into the big pantry at the back. I burst
out crying as the whole damned thing came down on me. I'm
not one for crying. I mean I do, but I think the last
really good cry I had was after Paul left me...not when he
died, but when he left.

Dad pulled me away from him and made me tell him. 

I shook my head and said, "He's okay, Dad, he's fine,
really, he was clipped in the arm. They're going to stitch
him up and keep him in overnight but that's it. But...it
could have been different. Oh, Dad, he might have died, Jace
might have died!"

He looked at me in gentle understanding and made me sit
down on the step ladder. Dulcie came in, but despite her
age, she's pretty sensitive. She took one look and left
again. Justin would be here in a few minutes and I needed
time to pull myself together.

"Do you love this man?"

I blinked away the tears and answered him honestly "I'm
not sure...I...it's all too soon and close and mixed up
with Jace and...I haven't told you yet but they've
approached me to join the FBI...and I haven't told them
yet, but I know without a shadow of a doubt, it's what I
want to do."

His hands dropped and his brows furrowed. I knew his first
thought was for the danger it might put me in. But we were
all in danger, every day, at least this way I felt I had
some control.

He wrestled for something to say then asked quietly
"Because of him?"

I laughed without humor. "Oddly enough, it's got nothing
to do with it. But how did you guess how I felt about him?"

He reached under the side of my collared sweater and
touched something on my neck. I actually blushed. How had
he seen it there? I'd taken great pains to hide it, easy
enough in this weather. But then Dad always was pretty
observant.

He smiled. "You're no fool Crys, you know the difference
between love and lust. Just take a little time on this
because all our emotions are very raw."

Did I mention I have one hell of a Dad? Still, I blushed
again.

"But I don't understand why you would want to join them?
You have hated them here."

"No, I didn't realize it until the end, but what I really
hated was what they fought. I resented them for showing me
that these monsters are here, all around us. But it's like
with that detective, Johns. In all good conscience, I just
can't sit around and depend on others to protect us,
especially not after tonight."

I trailed off as we heard the fuss outside. I wiped my
eyes one last time. Scully, Mulder, Cummins, Justin and
another boy had arrived. The kids had to be taken to the
hospital for a checkup, but since they seemed okay, Mulder
insisted they come by here first. 

Ten minutes later we're in a convoy to Mercy General.
Fortunately it was the same hospital as Skinner had been
admitted to. Now I'd seen Justin and had a chance to hold
him and feel for myself he was fine, I needed to see
Skinner. Justin was more concerned for his new friend than
himself. Near as I can understand the boy, Peter, is the
son of a prostitute. I ended up sitting in the front of
Scully's car and she told me his mother had *sold* him to
Jameison a few days before. I just about gagged. The things
I'd learned the last few months had taught me a few more
painful lessons about life. That all the policing in the
world didn't stop, or even deter the really bad crimes,
especially the ones engendered by society. All it did was
fight to reduce the number of victims. What it came down to
was not how many you lost, like the children that had been
killed over the last eighteen months, but how many you
saved. That wasn't something you could calculate, not
something you could pat yourself on the back for, but it
was more important than simply putting people in jail. 

I looked at Scully and felt acutely embarrassed for the
things I'd said the day before. Although I'd wanted to
shake her out of that faade she wears, I wasn't exactly
tactful. But she smiled at me and said, "No, you were
right." She didn't say anything more, but I felt better,
she'd used the past tense, not the present.

When we arrived at the hospital, it was clear Jace and
Peter would be overmothered by half my family and Agent
Cummins, so I felt absolutely no compunction following
Scully and Mulder to the emergency room. 

Skinner was sitting up on the edge of a bed as an intern
finished up. He was shirtless and my first reaction, after
seeing him looking casually unaffected by the bandaging of
his arm, was oh, my God, he really is a magnificent specimen.
I mean, I really hadn't had a chance to look from a
distance the other night. 

I hadn't had time to develop any sense of possessiveness
over Skinner, so I felt more pride than jealousy when I saw
Scully giving him the once over. And don't give me that
she's a doctor line...and by the merriment dancing in
Mulder's eyes, he wasn't buying it either. 

Skinner's first reaction was to look both his agents up
and down. He frowned when he had a good close look at
Mulder and the blood all over his shirt collar. Mulder self
consciously tried to cover it with his coat, but the dark
stain on the black wool was a give away.

"I heard you'd been shot, Agent Mulder."

Mulder grinned and Scully paled, an odd reaction, I thought.

"Rumors of my demise have, as usual, been exaggerated." 

I could see by the look on Skinner's face that he wasn't
buying it. I had wondered myself about the blood on Mulder, 
but Scully had some on her, too. Given the amount of shooting 
that had happened that night, I figured it must belong to 
someone else. I reminded myself that these three went back 
seven years. A long time, a very long time in that lifestyle. 
I bit the inside of my lip, wanting to be part of this group,
yet feeling like an intruder.

Finally, he turned his eyes on me. We hadn't exactly
parted with loving words.

He asked softly, "How is your brother?"

"Fine, he's really fine...thank you." I looked at all
three of them as I replied, putting everything I could into
that last word.

Skinner nodded once and his eyes changed for a brief
moment, just enough for a personal message to be conveyed.
He didn't have to say or do anything more, it was enough.
He then asked Scully to give him a quick run down of the
current situation. I moved to leave. He'd made it clear
that I was not FBI yet, and he was right. There would be
time to talk later. But Mulder touched my arm and motioned
me to take a nearby seat. 

Skinner gave his full attention to the agents for the next
ten minutes, not glancing at me again during their
debriefing. These were his people. They were his absolute
priority, his loyalty and duty to them and his job would
never allow anything, including personal relationships, to
stand before that. Rather than being put out, I felt a
surge of pride for his passion and dedication. And his
honesty, both to them and myself. If we were to develop any
kind of relationship then he made no pretenses things would
be any different than this. 

I watched them during this debriefing and for all his
stern demeanor, I sensed a powerful connection between
them. They meant a great deal to each other, more than
Skinner would allow himself to show. 

Skinner turned, grabbed his undershirt and pulled it over
his head. There was a dark red stain on the cuff and part
of the torso but he ignored it. However when he grabbed his
dress shirt, his nose scrunched in annoyance at the mangled
and bloodied right arm. I almost gasped when I saw how
*much* blood. Jesus, was he really all right? But his face
seemed as tanned as ever and his eyebrows lifted in
resignation as he pulled the shirt on.

Scully was making noises about him spending the night.
Then an orderly came in with a wheelchair to take him to
his room. 

You have to say one thing about authority. When someone
has it, they don't have to say much to wield it. Skinner
simply stood, looked the orderly up and down, grabbed his
jacket and said, "That will not be necessary, I am not
spending the night." 

Scully started to object while the orderly had the good sense
to shrug and leave. Skinner simply looked at her, his face
somehow expressionless but imposing. That countenance would
have faced down a room full of generals, but all I could
think of was how similar it was when I...well, never mind,
but it was just as I thought, I could never again take him
quite as seriously as he appeared to everyone else. I hid
my grin behind my hand.

Scully gave Skinner her car keys and she left with Mulder
while Skinner put his suit jacket back on. It was almost as
bloodied as his shirt, although being dark it didn't stand
out as much. His eyes scanned the room, looking for his
overcoat no doubt and he asked me again how Justin had
coped with the whole thing.

"He's just very, very hungry. Mulder was right. That
bastard didn't touch him, just kept him locked up in a room
from the moment he arrived, no food and the only water from
a tap in the bathroom. So how bad is that, really?" I
motioned to his arm.

He shook his head to dismiss it and recalling the rather
wild and frightening assortment of scars he had, I added
"C'mon, Skinner, I'm going to see it eventually, so 'fess up."

He looked at me oddly, his face clouding a little. "A very
small, very clean hole through the fleshy part of my arm."

My mouth dropped in a mock sad face. "So, no making love in
the shower for a few weeks, hmm?"

His frown deepened and I instantly regretted it. I had
implied something that was just not mine to imply. The
other night was raw lust. To me, it was lust based on
something more than mere physical attraction. It was lust
for the man himself. But for him...I sighed, feeling lost
again. I really could not read him all that well. Sure,
he'd been very tender and gentle with me on the plane and
okay, we hadn't exactly parted as best buddies a few hours
ago...

"Look, I'm sorry I made an idiot of myself yesterday...and
I'm sorry I stormed out but I had to get away before I made
it worse."

"Crys," he stopped me with a hand on my arm. But it was
not the hand of a lover. Oh, hell, we'd hardly finished in
the shower when this came down, and ever the gentleman, he
had been kind and affectionate under the circumstances.
There had certainly been no promises, real or implied,
made. I forced myself to smile and said, "I'd better get
going because you'll no doubt be up for hours yet, sorting
through the mess of paperwork after the night's work."

Before I had a chance to move, his hand changed pressure,
moved up my shoulder and he pulled me gently to face him.
His eyes scanned my face then he leaned down and very
thoroughly kissed me. And I do mean thoroughly. His big
hands possessively reached down to cup my buttocks and he
pulled me closer so that I could feel him growing hard
against me. Then he whispered gruffly in my ear, "I might
not be able to lift you in the shower, but I can still make
love to you with my mouth."

I swallowed very hard. Boy, he'd learned that trick fast.

"And before I spend the rest of the night on reports, I am
in dire need of a shower."

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


From: sonny <sonny@webspin.org>
Date: Wed, 29 Sep 99 13:06:36 +1000
Subject: xfc: NEW Mind Games 5; Seattle 5 of 7 
Source: xfc

From: sonny <sonny@webspin.org>

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 5:Seattle 5 of 7
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 sexual concepts
********************* 

CHAPTER 6

Day 23 - Sunday 
Central Hotel, Seattle
5:45 a.m.
 

They drove the first few blocks in silence. There seemed
to be so much to say, so much to apologize for that Scully
was uncertain where to begin. 

She sighed in frustration. "Mulder."

He glanced at her briefly, but it was all up to her now.
She had seen him with half his face gone. She had seen the
Meta. She had been witness to the rapid healing, miracle,
call it what you will. And he had heard her torn voice call
out to him in despair. Oh, hell, he thought, remembering how
he'd felt only a few weeks before, seeing her lying in a
pool of blood on his floor, almost frozen in disbelief that
she might be dead.

Scully turned and peered closely at his face again. Her
hand reached up almost involuntarily to touch the dark mole
on his cheek. He flinched, the memory of the unbelievable
pain still too close.

"Does it...hurt?" Scully asked him tentatively.

"No, but it turned me off facials for life."

"You...you were conscious?" she asked, wondering if he'd 
heard her cry of despair.

"In and out." 

"Mulder, what...who was that?"

"Ex Navy SEAL Nicholas Page. Now called Nik, or NikKim if
you use the proper address. The Kim part of it designates
the second half of his mental partner, a Pegasus named
Kimral."

"Pegasus..." Scully nodded. Sure. Fine.

"Yeah, light luminous green, winged, you know, your
standard flying horse, although I have to admit, somewhat
larger than I expected."

"Larger than you expected..." Whatever.

"Well, to be honest, I wasn't exactly expecting him, but
he's definitely larger than those in the literature."

Scully muttered something about virgins.

"What? Oh!" He chuckled. "No, you're thinking of unicorns,
Scully."

Her bottom lip lifted and she nodded once. Right. Of course.

He tried to suppress a yawn, but lack of sleep, jet lag
and coming down from the adrenaline high were finally
conspiring against him. 

Scully clasped her hands together and looked down
"Mulder...I owe you an apology."

He glanced at her, but said nothing. He'd given as much as
he could. It really was up to her to meet him on this. 

"Is he what you called a...Meta?"

Mulder nodded.

"What did he mean, they needed you?"

"I was a bit surprised, myself. I was given the impression
that he wouldn't intervene in...domestic disputes."

"Mulder is he...an angel?"

He chuckled "How many angels do you know who curse like
that?"

She closed her eyes in frustration. Damn the man! "You're
enjoying this aren't you?"

He grinned at her broadly. "Yeah, yeah I guess I am. But
it's not that important anymore, Scully, I told you that."

She turned away so he wouldn't see her face as she battled
tears. It no longer mattered to him whether she believed or
not. He had ceased caring about her opinion, about her. She
was not blind, she'd seen how his body reacted to her
confession of desire for him. But it was too late, far too
late. He had abandoned her emotionally. And she deserved
it. There was no point anymore. But before she left him for
good, she owed it to him, to herself, to finally be honest
with him.

"It does to me."

He reached across and felt for her hand. Clasping it
strongly he said, "We've covered this a hundred times
Scully, I just can't see any point going over it again. But
maybe now you understand why I have to go on. Nik and 
those like him fight a greater evil, but that doesn't make the
lesser ones unimportant. The X-files are and always will be
necessary to fight the sorts of evils that people, humans,
can't fight in conventional ways. The director's proposal
is a good one because it ensures the continuity of the
work. I would be lying if I said I won't miss having you as
a partner. I will. But your promotion is a natural
progression and will be advantageous to the X-files."

He had accepted her leaving graciously, now he was asking
that she do the same. Her eyes became bright and watery as
she struggled desperately to tell him what he needed to
hear. 

Frowning, he turned the last corner to the hotel car park
and switched off the engine, then he turned to face her,
"Scully, c'mon, it's all over and we can go back and start
anew."

All over. Anew. Alone.

She glanced up at the hotel and thought of Crystal. There
was nothing to risk anymore. He'd said it was all over.
In a few weeks their partnership would be dissolved, so she
could stop being a coward and finally admit to the truth.
She clasped her hands and tried to bury them in her coat,
desperately trying to hold on to her dignity. 

"I was so wrong, Mulder, God, I was so wrong."

"No you weren't, Scully! You were right to make me
question everything. You made me cautious, you saved me
more times than I can count! And in...in this new position
you'll continue to validate the work!"

"But I never admitted when you were right. I can't believe
how conceited that was."

He began to interrupt, but she stopped him. She recalled
the first life-saving course she ever took, in high school.
The instructor told them that when you give CPR to someone,
they're already dead. What you do, be it effective or not,
is not going to make them deader. But you might, just
might, give them a second chance at life. To not try
because you were frightened was...cowardly.

Their partnership was dead. She could do nothing and leave
it at that, or she could stop being a coward and trust him
with all that she was, all that she...needed.

She turned her eyes to him and he was almost stunned at
the look on her face. He was about to ask what it is was
she wanted, but she had already told him that, and as
thrilling as that answer had been, as heady and downright
erotic as her words were, he still did not understand what
she really wanted to do. 

"Scully, do you want to head the proposed division?"

Her face twisted in love and regret and a dozen other
confused emotions. It was so much like her face in his
hallway the previous summer, the desire to kiss her was
almost overwhelming. But that, he thought, would confuse an
already complicated issue.

"I thought I wanted it Mulder. And a part of me still
does. But more than that, I want to stay with you. You've
shown me things. I...I've never thanked you for what
you've given me in my life,"

He frowned. "Scully all I've ever done is take; your time,
your health, your chance for children..."

"No! Mulder just listen to me, please! I gave freely! I
joined the FBI knowing the risks, knowing the dangers. For
all we know if I hadn't been partnered with you, I might
have ended up with...Forenzzi or...Tom Colton...and I would
have died when Eugene Tooms broke into my apartment. You
can't know that all the bad things that have happened to
us, not just to me, but to you, wouldn't have been that
much worse if I'd never been partnered with you! Mulder,
you gave me a...a way to expand my knowledge in directions
I never dreamed of. And I was too much of a coward to
admit to you, or myself that the paradigms by which science
works *can* and *should* be broken. That's how knowledge
grows, that's how humanity expands its thinking! And you
gave me that and I just couldn't get past my conceit!

"Mulder, I was afraid, afraid to admit so many things. And
you've shown me, not just tonight, but two nights ago, in
your apartment. You gave me proof, undeniable and I've been
too afraid to admit it. And now, it seems now it's too late
because you no longer care what I believe."

He looked at her tenderly. "I care, Scully. God, I care more
than ...more than I can express. And that's *why*, although
I want you to believe, not at the risk of what you want.
What you need."

"Mulder, what I want, what I need is what you have always
given me, your ability to see the world with eyes that
aren't blinded by convention. I need you to challenge me. I
need you to push me to the furthest limits of my knowledge.
And now I need you to hold my hand when you have finally
forced my damned stubborn brain into admitting what you've
known all along. Mulder if I have to sit in a lab and
supervise a bunch of green agents, I'll go mad, knowing
you're out there and finding...something that I want to see
just as badly as you! Mulder, don't leave me, don't ditch
me like that. I need you."

He was so exhausted, physically and emotionally, he could
hardly focus, but he pulled her into his arms and said, "Hey
partner, I'm not going to ditch you, at least not like
that. But give yourself some time to consider this Scully.
Right now, we're both too damned tired to think straight." 

He pulled back from her and touched her forehead with his.
He wanted to kiss her but he knew if he started on that
road he wouldn't stop and his body was simply too damned
exhausted.

The headlights of another vehicle pulled into the parking
lot and they pulled from their embrace and got out. Scully
noticed the sky on the horizon seemed to be lighter. She
glanced at her watch, it was close to dawn. She looked up
again to see Skinner and Crystal exit the newly-arrived
vehicle.

"When was the last time you had any sleep, Agent Mulder?"
Skinner asked as he approached the younger man. 

Mulder swayed slightly as he stood from locking the car.

"A coupla nights ago. I'm fine, sir. If I can just have an
hour or two before the debriefing."

The four of them walked to the front of the hotel as they
talked.

"No, Agent Mulder. I've called Busche and the debriefing
has been set for 4:00 this afternoon. I've booked our flights 
back to D.C. at 7:30. It's going to take days to go through 
the house and catalog the evidence. The local office here 
can handle the loose ends, so you should get some sleep."

"Sir, I..."

"Agent Mulder, that's an order. Agent Scully, I'm holding
you responsible to make sure he carries it out."

They stood together in the foyer. Mulder closed his eyes
in resignation, then berated himself immediately as he
started to sway again. Scully took him by the arm and
pulled him to the stairs. Their rooms were on the second
floor. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that the
A.D. and Crystal opted for the elevator. Skinner's room was
on the fourth floor. Scully was pleased to see them going
together.

 
Scully unlocked his door as he leaned against the wall,
then pulling him by the arm, led him in and closed the door
behind them.

"Scully, I'm fine, I can do that," he brushed at his
partner's hands as she undid his tie.

"You'll be a lot more comfortable if you get those clothes
off."

He grinned lazily and opened one eyelid. "You putting moves
on me, Agent Scully?"

This time, she let her own grin answer. "How 'bout you get
some sleep, Mulder?"

"I'd sleep a whole lot better if you stayed with me." He
allowed his hands to gently touch her hips as he breathed
in her soft scent.

"Now who's trying to come on to whom?" she replied softly
as she pulled his shirt from him. "Just lie down Mulder."

He sighed once and sat back on to the bed. He stayed awake
long enough to feel her removing his shoes but after that,
he was gone.

Although she had managed considerably more sleep that her
partner, Scully was exhausted. She pulled the dark drapes
across the window, put the Do Not Disturb sign on his door
and returned to her adjoining room. As much as she felt
like a shower, she settled for brushing her teeth and
changing into pajamas, promising herself a long, luxurious
bath in the morning. 

She corrected herself, later in the day.

It seemed she'd only been asleep a short while when she
felt someone climb into her bed. Knowing immediately it was
Mulder, force of habit made her roll over and ask what the
hell he thought he was doing. But she stopped herself just
in time. She'd given out pretty powerful signals the
previous night. He reached sleepily for her hand and
immediately fell back to sleep, snoring softly. She smiled,
too exhausted to worry anymore.

Some hours later, Scully awoke again. This time however,
the sensation was entirely different. She could feel her
partner's warm hands move down her shoulders. Very
deliberately they reached beneath the bottom of her pajama
shirt, then made their way up inside. The movement was slow
but very precise, very deliberate, like a blind man feeling
the facial features of someone for the first time. Scully
was only half aware at first, wondering if this is what had
woken her. 

As his hands slipped over the soft flesh of her belly,
awareness came in full force and she almost jerked away.
But the movements were slow, soft and completely
inoffensive. Was he even awake? She wondered. Was he aware
that she was awake? He held his hands beneath her breasts,
not touching them, just moving them back and forth in a
caress.

Scully became aware of his smell. Salty, masculine, the
unique healthy, familiar and wholly pleasurable, comforting
smell of Mulder. She could feel his breath against her
neck. Even, slow...asleep? Not quite, just totally relaxed.

A great deal more relaxed than her. How long since she had
been with a man? How long since she had felt warm strength
surrounding her? Realistically if she had found herself in
this position with any man, her body might have become
aroused. But this was Mulder, the feel and smell so
familiar to her body, yet never quite in this way before.
This was far more potent than mere sexual arousal.

The slow, exquisite seduction of his hands continued. A
thumb reached up between her breasts, rubbing gently
against her sternum. He still had made no contact with any
of the supposed taboo parts of her body. He had not touched
her breasts, not rubbed her thighs with the legs entwined
around her body, so this was all right, wasn't it? She
could allow him this in the same way she allowed him to
touch her hands, or her face. 

His head moved slightly and the sensation of his warm
breath against her neck increased. She could feel the
slight scrape of his chin, the rough sandpaper of two days
growth. But it added to her growing heat. The feeling was
one of maleness. Maleness holding her close in bed. Mulder
maleness.

Her concentration on his breath and feel of his face
against her neck distracted from the fact that his thumbs
now circled the bottom part of her breasts. No mistake now,
he was definitely touching her breasts. She should move,
really, but before she could act, his thumbs rotated
downward, back onto neutral territory. His hands glided
across her rib cage to the sides. And his thumbs began
again to massage the soft, sensitive skin under her arms.
Beside her breasts. On her breasts yes? No? Where do
breasts begin and chest end? She should know, she was a
doctor.

Without warning, his hands gently but surely rotated in
and up, cupping her breasts fully, one in each hand. He
captured her nipples between the sensitive skin of his
thumb then massaged each breast firmly, fully, possessing
them. There was nothing hesitant or uncertain in his
movements. He touched her with complete confidence, he was
taking of her womaness, of those features which made her
uniquely feminine. The intense heat of desire filled her
body and she gasped softly in pleasure. But his movements
seemed oddly unerotic, almost like a boy cuddling a beloved
soft toy.

But this was no boy. This was a man full grown with the
desires and passions of a man. She reminded herself of that
quickly. This was no game. She had given him tacit
permission to do this, so why was she afraid? Because this
was Mulder and intimacy with him was filled with a depth of
meaning far more intense than any lover she had ever known.
Yet his movements remained so slow, so gentle, prerogative,
but undemanding. 

Scully turned her head to seek his eyes. Was he even awake?

She was shocked to see him watching her through drowsy,
hooded eyes, watching her eyes then looking down at the
movements of his hands under her pajama shirt. His face
seemed oddly expressionless, still asleep on some level. No
embarrassment, as if he had every right to touch her like
this. 

And he did. Scully was only surprised at his sure
confidence, at the ease with which he held her. Then it hit
her. She had assumed he had not been with a woman, save
perhaps, although it seemed unlikely, Phoebe, since she'd
known him. But that did not mean he was not an experienced
and seductive lover. A wave of anticipatory pleasure passed
through her body as she realized he would be as passionate
and focused and thorough in bed as with everything he did.
Her only concern now was what might interrupt them. A bee
that led to a Sunday stroll across the Antarctic
wastelands? Or a visit from Skinner telling Mulder he must
give up his sanity?

What this time?

They would laugh about it later, but at the time it seemed
oddly quixotic. One minute she was contemplating what a
sure and sensitive lover he would be when his hands slipped
down and...stopped. Scully glanced up at him and almost
gaped in surprise. He had fallen asleep! 

A half-hour later she lay comfortably buried in a warm,
frothy layer of bubbles. It surprised her to find she'd
woken close to 2:00 p.m. They had slept almost eight hours
and Mulder still lay softly snoring in her bed. She would
get out of her bath soon, pack, then wake him at three.
That would give him an hour to shower and change and grab
something to eat before the debriefing. Then there would be
the long flight to D.C. and they could talk, really talk
and decide between them exactly what the future held. For
them, for the X-files. 

"Any room in there for me, Agent Scully?"

Her eyes shot open and she slid lower into the water,
realizing her breasts were partially exposed. Considering
what his hands had been doing an hour before, it seemed a
ridiculously prudish gesture.

"Mulder!"

How long had he been standing there? He leaned against the
doorway with folded arms and a familiar cocky grin. His
hair stuck out at odd angles and his trousers and
undershirt looked understandably crumpled and slept in.

"Yes, Agent Scully?" He casually walked to the tub.
Scully's heart raced, wondering what in hell he was about
to do, but his movements gave it away. Her eyes rounded as
he pulled off his shirt and unzipped his trousers, his
intent clear. As her eyes found his again, she realized
that nothing, absolutely nothing was going to stop him now.
His eyes told her that he already knew her as a lover, had
known her for years. What they were about to do was little
more than a physical consummation of something long since
held between them.

The door to Scully's room resounded with a knock.

He stared at his partner in disbelief. This couldn't be
happening, really. 

Shit, if he ignored it they'd go away. But one hand on his
zip, he heard the knock again, followed by the sound of the
lock unlatching. His nostrils flared in anger and he about
faced, closing the bathroom door behind him. He zipped his
trousers and reached the door just as it opened. 

"Agent Mulder?" Skinner's eyes glanced around. "Did I wake
you?"

"No, sir, I was just about to take a shower."

"Good, the briefing's been brought forward half an hour."

"Okay." 

He rubbed his hands over his face and his stomach rumbled
loudly enough for Skinner to hear. 

"I'll have room service bring you up some lunch. Is Agent
Scully awake yet?"

Mulder nodded and walked back into the room, expecting
Skinner to follow. 

"That's okay, Mulder, I won't detain you. I just wanted to
personally thank both of you for expediting this case. The
quick turn around on this one..."

Mulder nodded in understanding. "How's the arm, sir?"

"Fine. I'll see you in an hour and a half."

Mulder nodded and closed the door, then resignedly headed
for the shower in his room.

But first, he had a phone call to make. And his
instructions were very particular.

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

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 5:Seattle 6 of 7
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 adult sexual situations (just rewards <g>)
********************* 


CHAPTER 7

Day 24 - Monday
Washington, D.C.
3:45 a.m.


He pulled his car into the entrance of the hotel, winked
at his partner and stepping out, handed the keys to the
parking valet. Scully repeatedly asked him where they were
going, but he declined to answer.

She slowly stepped out of the car as he pulled their
overnight bags from the trunk and motioned with his head to
follow.

Scully was scowling now. What on earth was Mulder doing?
She followed him through the plush foyer to the reception
desk.

"You have a reservation for George Hale."

"Ah...yes Mr. Hale, Room 403...and you also required..."

Mulder interrupted. "That will be fine, thank you."

The concierge nodded. "How would you be paying for that Mr.
Hale?"

Mulder produced his credit card.

Scully whispered, "Mulder, what's going on?"

The concierge took the credit card and noted the
difference to the registered name. Using a false name was
one thing, but such clients invariably paid cash. Given the
previous two fraudulent credit card transactions had been
on his shift, he wasn't taking any chances. 

"Sir...I'm very sorry but I will need some further
identification, a drivers license perhaps?"

Mulder, in no mood to play games, pulled out his FBI ID. 

"Eh...thank you...Mr. Hale." A grin tugged the corner of
his mouth. Considering the room service order he couldn't
understand the man's cavalier use of his FBI ID.

Neither could Scully, although her partner's intent was
now obvious and her lips also curled at the edges. "Mulder,
if you wanted to keep this quiet."

"Scully," he said as he filled in the registration form,
"I am sick of interruptions. For eight months I've put up
with fucking bees, long clawed aliens, mutants, the OPR,
global conspiracies, one of us getting shot, knifed, or
otherwise wounded. Skinner, who by the way gave us tomorrow
off, barging in the front door and goddamned serial
killers. With my luck, we'd get home and find that black-
lunged son of a bitch tossing my place, or your brother
waiting at yours. I don't give a damn if the entire FBI
knows about this...but I will *not* be interrupted for the
next thirty-six hours or I *am* going to use my gun,
despite the fucking paperwork. Do I make myself clear?"

He directed the last to the concierge who blinked, nodded
and noted 'hold all calls' against the room extension. 

Scully glanced nervously at Mulder's no-nonsense
expression. He pulled her to him and reached into her
inside coat pocket. Her eyebrows came together in
consternation, surely he wouldn't...But he simply pulled
out her cell phone, turned it off and placed it back in her
pocket. Then, shaking his head at a porter, grabbed their
bags in one hand, picked up the key card in the other and
motioned Scully to the elevator. 

Scully pulled her lips together in a nervous smile at the
concierge and followed her partner. She had always admired
Mulder's self-confidence and unerring focus in the face of
opposition. And any thoughts she may have entertained about
him being a little shy or bumbling had been abandoned when
she'd woken in his exploring hands the previous afternoon.
So that just left her to deal with her own shy nervousness.
And Agent Scully, M.D. was neither shy nor nervous.

So...that just left her to deal with Dana Scully, who was
currently dealing with a very severe case of butterflies.
Jesus, what exactly had she gotten herself into?

The elevator doors were about to close, but he stopped
them just in time. Scully hurried to catch up. As the doors
closed he leered at her and whispered, "Home free."

His trousers were becoming uncomfortable in anticipation
and he was tempted to drop the bags and grab her right then
and there, but the ride was short. The doors opened and his
face froze in panic. 

No. Fucking. Way. 

"Bill!" The word fell from Scully's mouth in disbelief.
Fortunately, Scully thought, Mulder's panic look was so
bland only she recognized it.

"Dana? Dana!" Bill grinned widely at the sight if his
sister. His selective visual perception took a few moments
to identify the man standing by her side.

"Bill what are you doing here? At this time of night?"

"I got in an hour ago from San Diego. You know what's its
like on those damned flights, I was about to go down for an
early breakfast, then a 5:30 a.m. with Admiral Hughs.

Mulder stared unblinking, softly muttering the word 'gun'
like a mantric chant. Scully realized how much danger her
brother was in, especially when the volume of Mulder's
chant increased sufficiently for Bill to hear.

"Gun?" Bill glanced at him, wondering what the crazy son
of a bitch was going on about. What the hell were they doing
there, anyway?

Scully's impressive logicing abilities finally kicked in
and she pulled her own weapon. Frowning at her brother, she
said quietly, "Sorry Bill, on a case, can't talk now. Call
you later."

Bill wasn't born yesterday and he looked at the bags
Mulder was carrying. He recognized one of them as Dana's.
And Mulder had a key card in the other hand. He didn't
realize these were the only two items between him and
Mulder's weapon.

Scully scowled at her brother's disbelieving look. "Bill,
get out of the way, you are interfering with a stakeout. I
told you, I'll call you later, tomorrow. Maybe."

Except for a BB gun when they were kids, Bill had never
seen his little sister with a weapon in her hand. It confused 
him. Sure, he knew she was FBI and her asshole of
a partner was always getting her into trouble, but for her
to actually use a gun seemed...well...it just wasn't Dana. 

His voice dropped to meet Dana's whisper, "What are you
doing?"

Mulder, whom he'd always taken for a weak-minded idiot,
looked dangerously ready to kill someone. What the hell was
going on?

"Bill," Scully hissed "I am a federal agent, if you don't
get out of the way I'll have you arrested for obstruction
of justice, now move your butt before you get your stupid
self hurt!"

That finally woke him up. He stepped aside to allow the
agents out of the elevator. Mulder strode purposefully down
the hall while Scully looked back at her brother. She
shooed him onto the elevator and put a finger to her lips,
her eyes ordering him to say absolutely nothing to anyone.
Bill hesitated. Maybe he should stick around and see if
Dana needed some help. It was not like that sorry excuse
for a partner of hers would look out for her. But the look
on Scully's face made him reconsider. All right, he'd check
with the concierge after meeting with Hughs.

Mulder had meanwhile opened the door to their room,
muttering, "Of all the fucking hotels in D.C. ..." He carried
the bags inside and turned to face his partner, a
concentrated look on his face. Scully closed the door
behind her then turned to examine the delicious array on
the room service cart near the door. She smiled broadly and
lifted the bottle of champagne from the ice. 

Mulder came up behind her and reached around to take the
bottle from her hands. "Fast thinking, Dr. Watson."

Scully chuckled "Well, I couldn't let you shoot my
brother, even if he is a..."

"Moron?"

She didn't reply, too aware of his closeness, the way he
grappled with her hands for the champagne bottle. It
reminded her of their grappling with the baseball bat. She
turned to grin up at him but instead of making some
uniquely Mulderesque wisecrack, he brought his lips to her
jaw line and tenderly nuzzled her. 

His tongue teased her as his kisses progressed down her
jaw and along her neck. She dropped the champagne back in
the bucket and went to turn in his arms, but he held her in
place, holding her hips with his hands. But this time there
were no hips before hands mantra, only warm soft kisses and
lips and tongue and warm breath and slight scrape of his
beard and the sound of his soft murmur and smell of his
cologne and oh, God, it was exquisite! She closed her eyes
and laid her head back on his chest, exposing her neck to
his mouth. Her uncertainties were washed away in the face
of his gentle, determined onslaught. 

He brought his arms up, eased her coat and jacket from her
shoulders and tossed them across a nearby chair. Still
without turning her he unzipped her skirt and allowed it to
pool at her feet. She remained oblivious to the mechanics
of his undressing until he'd undone the buttons of her
blouse and had it halfway off her shoulders.

"Mulder..."

He moved around to face her and finally kissed her mouth.
She had expected a passionate, open-mouthed kiss, not the
series of tortuous, small caresses with his lips. His tongue
tip teased her lower lip, arcing delicately between her
lips as she moaned in anticipation. Finally, divested of
her blouse and bra, he pulled her closer so that she might
feel his arousal. He finally covered her mouth and opened
his lips to receive her questing tongue. Groaning aloud,
she lost all sense of reason and plunged in her tongue in
an uncontrolled need to reach him. She had needed and
wanted him for so long, needed his strength and his passion
and all that he was. More than making love to him, she had
wondered what it would be like to kiss him, to feel him
this way, to explore all the sensitive areas of his mouth,
his palate and his soft, firm tongue, to taste the essence
of Mulder and know him, and thus herself. And it was so
real, so alive, so encompassing that when he finally arced
his tongue into her, she wondered if it was possible to
come just from being kissed.

Scully was completely unaware that she was trying to stand
on her toes, trying to grind her hips against him, to feel
him at the core of her arousal. He was too tall. But oh, God,
his hardness still felt so good. Since when did her belly
become an erogenous zone?

Scully gasped as he pulled away from her. His hands had
already come around to her breasts, encompassing them,
enfolding and possessing them. Then his mouth replaced
them, teasing her nipples and the exquisitely sensitive
area under her breasts. She was hardly aware that his hands
had grasped her half slip, panty hose and panties all at
once, and already peeled them from her hips, until his
mouth moved still lower, tickling her newly-exposed belly.

Lower, his hands pulled the last of her clothes down to
her ankles. He distracted her by using his mouth and tongue
to explore every inch of stomach. She felt him find and
bring her hand to his head, then tug at one foot. She used
his head to balance herself as she allowed him to lift
first one foot, then the other. Somewhere in her peripheral
awareness, it stuck her that she was now completely naked.
But then time stopped and pooled and exploded as his tongue
unerringly reached between her legs, parted her lips then
burrowed inside.

Mulder gently leaned her against the door. As cold as it
was against her back she was pitifully grateful for the
support. His large sensitive fingers held her by the hips
as his mouth did things she had only dreamed of. Jack had
done this, as had other lovers...but oh, God, not like
*this*. They had done it as a service, a grudging extra
special gee if you're really nice Dana, little present.
Some part of her brain was still functioning because she
recalled Mulder's words; that what he was doing was, in a
healthy, mutually loving relationship, a reward unto
itself, the giver being sexually gratified by the control
of pleasure he had over her. 

Good grief, did he have any idea how *much* control? 

Oh, yeah. He did, because at that moment he pulled his
tongue up through her lips and swirled the tip around her
engorged clitoris, driving her right over the edge.

Scully knew she grasped his head, because she could feel
his soft hair in her hands. And she knew her feet must
still touch the floor, otherwise she would be falling down.
But that's all she knew as the intense orgasm racked her
body, sending waves of sharp heat down to her toes. His
hands held her upright, while his mouth stilled over her.
As the shudders racked her, he knew that to continue would
be painfully over-stimulating, yet he was reluctant to
leave the feel and smell and taste of Scully in that most
beautiful part of her body.

When her hands finally released his hair, he stood,
wrapped his arms around her and kissed her mouth. The taste
of herself on his tongue was something she had never
experienced before. Not with Jack, not with anyone and she
jerked back, some part of her Catholic upbringing kicking
in. 

"Taste yourself, Scully," Mulder whispered as he ran his
hands through her hair. "It's sweet, like honey, the most
beautiful taste in the world."

Medically, she knew why, the natural sugars to sustain and
nourish sperm. But the reality of it stunned her, for some
part of her mind presumed it would be salty, bitter like a
man. But he was right and he filled her with her sweet
taste until she came back down to reality.

Mulder pulled back and stared down at her, a huge, carefree 
grin on his face. "*Now,* we can open the champagne,
Agent Scully."

Indulging himself in a further fantasy, he picked her
small form up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

"Mulder!" she giggled.

Yep, Scully giggled. He wasn't sure if she could actually
do that but yep, folks, it was official -- Agent Scully giggles!

Scully wrapped her arms around his neck, fearful he might
drop her, but he just grinned and deposited her gently on
the bed. He stood and let his eyes run down the length of
her body, absorbing the sight with his eidetic memory. 

She squirmed beneath his concentrated gaze and tried to
alleviate her sudden shyness with humor. "Mulder, did you
just do something illegal?"

He grinned mischievously. "You didn't do your homework, did
you, Agent Scully?"

"Well?"

"Nuh uh, not telling, wouldn't want to take the fun out of
it!"

He turned back to the champagne and deftly removed the
wire. Pulling the glasses together, he popped the cork and
captured the erupting bubbles in them. 

Scully pulled back the bed covers and started to climb
under but returning to the bed with glasses in hand, he
stopped her. 

"I want to see you."

She looked into his eyes and was stunned at the depth of
desire in them. His forehead shone with a light dusting of
perspiration and she suddenly realized the ambient room
temperature was, relative to the hallway, warm. Someone had
set the room heating prior to their arrival.

Scully blinked then frowned as she stared up at him
"Mulder! You're still fully clothed!

The eroticism of what he had just done hit her, arousing
her once more. He had deftly stripped her and made love to
her with his mouth without so much as removing his overcoat.

"Don't you think it's time you took at least some of your
clothes off, Mulder? I can't see us moving forward on this
until you at least lose the overcoat and tie."

He laughed, a real laugh with flashing white teeth. Had
she ever seen that laugh before? It pulled at her heart and
she reached for his hand to pull him to her. But he tugged
it away. Lazily blinking, he pulled his lower lip into his
mouth then slowly tugged off his overcoat. His eyes never
left hers as she watched him slowly strip down to his
boxers. It surprised her how erotic it was to watch him
carefully undress. But to her dismay, he left his shorts on.

"Mulder!" she whined softly.

He looked at her more seriously now, as aroused as she by
the way her eyes captured his body. It made absolutely no
difference to him that she had seen him naked before. This
was different, entirely different. And her eyes and the way
her delicate tongue slowly licked her lower lip were close
to undoing him.

"Not yet, Scully. I'm still hungry."

Mulder pulled the cart to him and picked up the plate
of sliced strawberries and honeydew. He sat at the edge of
the bed and ran one finger from her lips, down her chin and
throat, between her breasts and down across her stomach to
the soft burgundy hair between her legs. Then he picked up
the strawberry and honeydew slices and laid them along the
line his finger had just traced.

Scully lay back against the pillows, fascinated by his
absolute concentration as each slice was fitted perfectly
with the previous. But she was also hungry, for the sight
and feel of him. She lifted her left hand and traced it
across his knee. Her fingers moved inside his thigh in ever-
increasing forays closer to the bulge that jerked
fascinatingly as her fingernails dipped and teased. She
remembered the soft, silky feel of him in her hands and now
she wanted, desperately needed to see and touch it, to
touch Mulder in this way. The context of the last occasion
meant nothing to her, all her aroused brain could recall
was how good he'd felt in her hands. Her fingertips tingled
with anticipation. But as her nails finally feathered
across him, he gasped and gently pushed her hand aside.

"Mulder..?"

"Not yet, Scully."

"Please?" God did he mean to drive her insane?

He looked at her sheepishly, then pulled the bowl from
behind him. Her eyes moved to see what this was and she
giggled again as he scooped out spoonfuls of thick white
cream and ladled them across the fruit. With a final extra
large scoop dropped onto the last piece, he brought the
spoon back up and spread yet more thick cream across her
nipples. He turned and grinned at her, planting half a
strawberry on top of each whitened nipple. He sat back to
admire his handiwork.

"Mulder," Scully warned threateningly, "exactly what...?" 

He stopped her with a mouth full of the rich sweet cream,
topped with a small, perfect strawberry. As she grinned and
chewed on his offering he leaned across and licked the
cream and fruit from her right nipple. His portion was
smaller, so he made sure that nipple was well and truly
cleaned before moving back to the left one and taking
another mouth full.

Scully, understanding the game now, opened her mouth and
flicked her tongue, begging for more. She noticed the bulge
in his shorts jerked a response. He filled the spoon again,
this time with cream and honeydew. He eased it between her
lips. She sucked hard, refusing to let his fingers pull it
from her mouth. Her eyes rested on his groin as she sucked,
her intent clear.

He had started this game because he knew damned well he
wouldn't last five minutes if he exposed himself to her.
Not those big blue eyes staring at his cock while she
licked her lips and teased him with the sight of her
tongue. And heaven forbid that her hands would stroke him.
Sixty seconds, tops, was the best he could hope for. But
damn her if she was going to sit back and let him enjoy
his little delaying tactic. She had to participate, and it
might yet be his undoing.

"Scully, when did you start studying oriental lovemaking?" 

She arched her eyebrow at him, but this time it failed to
have the usual effect. "I'm not the one with the food
fetish."

He quieted her with another spoonful as he thoroughly
divested her neck and the line between her breasts, of
fruit and cream.

"There are certain works," he explained as he refilled the
spoon, "that describe, in great detail, how to bring your
lover to orgasm with just a look." 

He plunged the spoon back into her mouth before she could
reply, then tongued down her sternum and stomach, savoring
the rich fruit and cream and taste of Scully.

She had thought him in control, yet his words gave her
warning. His slow, erotic food play was a distraction from
an arousal that was literally on the brink. She grinned
delightedly. He might not keep it together very much
longer. This compensation before the fact was the most
sensual gift of love making she had ever experienced. Few
men realized that staying power was not what made them good
lovers. But Mulder knew...

"And here I thought you were just hungry," she replied
before swallowing.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Scully." And the spoon,
now piled high with extra cream and fruit, plunged back
into her mouth moments before his lips plunged into the
soft hair between her legs, licking and swallowing the
fruity cream. His tongue arched around the inside of her
thighs and sought the deeper folds where her legs joined
her body. He kept up his exploration as he eased himself
completely on to the bed and kneeled between her calves.
Then he gently lifted each of her legs across his shoulders
and plunged his tongue into her depths, far deeper this
time than he had been able as she stood against the door. 

She gasped, trying to concentrate long enough to swallow
the fruit. "Mudnah...ah, God, are you trying to choke me?"

But his only answer was to lift his mouth to the delicate
bud above her lips as his hand reached blindly for the bowl
of cream. She watches him scoop the thick whiteness onto
his fingers and reaching gently between her legs, spread
her lips and push the cream deep inside her.

"Jesus Mulder I thought you weren't a Freudian!" she
managed to gasp out as the evoked imagery shattered most of
her remaining self control.

"I'm not, Agent Scully, but creaming vaginas wasn't
exactly Jung's forte."

That did it. Or maybe it was the second double finger full
of cold cream in heady contrast to his hot tongue. Whatever.

Scully arched her back and clawed at his shoulders as she
came a second time, if possible, more deeply, more
satisfyingly that the first wild relief from seven years of
longing. 

As his head came up to grin wildly at his partner, she
grasped him with unexpected strength and sat up. She forced
him on his back and his eyebrows lifted in shock. How could
she manage such strength so soon? He didn't realize that
she was not yet sated and for that, she needed, absolutely
must have him to see, to feel and to taste.

Scully ripped his shorts down, groaning in frustration as
they caught first on his erection, then knees, then his
ankles. Finally she threw her left leg across his and
looked down in satisfaction.

All for me...Her eyes glinted in frightening anticipation.
If he weren't so turned on he'd be fucking terrified.

"Scully..." Mulder warned "This is going to embarrass the
hell out of me in about ten seconds..."

"Shut up Mulder."

She licked her lips as her eyes absorbed every inch of
him. Beautifully formed, beautiful with that lovely long
ridge disappearing under the hood of his glans, already
tipped with a wet jewel. It jerked spasmodically as her
fingers reached for him. She literally ached to take him in
her hands.

Mulder groaned "Scully...no..!"

**************************************
Chapter 7 continued in next part

Title: MIND GAMES: Book 5:Seattle 7 of 7
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 adult sexual situations (just rewards <g>)
********************* 

CHAPTER 7 (Con't)

Mulder groaned "Scully...no..!"

But she ignored him and positioned herself close, knowing
that if he did lose control, she had mere seconds to get
him inside of her before it was too late. She ran her
fingers up his length. So soft, so hard and silky and hot
and she just couldn't resist squeezing and arcing her
tongue out and staring into his glazed eyes and watching
his face contort in exquisite agony as her other hand
cupped his balls and one finger reached beneath to press in
and he couldn't close his eyes as he came and came in hot
eruption all over her chest, all the while calling her name.

She reacted instantly, lifting then lowering herself and
enveloping him inside of her before his shudders ceased and
his erection diminished. Freed from inhibitions she thought
she had, she grabbed his hand and held his thumb against
her clitoris as she rode him quickly and brought herself to
yet another, final orgasm.

Scully woke some hours later, wondering how it was
possible that she could be aroused so soon. She had gone
years without a man coming near her and months without
touching herself. 

She smiled as she recalled their bath together. Slick
soap, warm hands, gentle, affectionate kisses and the shy
happy smiles of new lovers. Then soft towels and cuddling in
bed together. Mulder made certain the *do not disturb* sign
was hung on the door and the drapes closed to keep out the
impending daylight. So they slept, peacefully and
soundlessly, undisturbed by dreams or nightmares.

Scully allowed the sleep to fall from her, wondering
vaguely what time it was. She looked around and risked
climbing out of bed long enough to use the bathroom and
brush her teeth. Again, they had slept eight straight
hours. If they kept this up they might begin to think of
themselves as normal. She smiled in sheer pleasure at the
tousle-haired form of her partner. Her heart moved and a
moment of fear crossed her face as she remembered the sight
of him on the floor, surrounded by blood. But then she
recalled the tall, blue alien. Perhaps not an angel, but
something far greater to her, as he gave life to this very
special man. Part of her fear of loving him had been mixed
with her fear of loss, as she had lost so many friends over
the years of constant moving. But Nik had washed that fear
from her. For he had promised her, deep in her heart, that
one day, if she lost Mulder to one of the hideous monsters
they chased, he would take Mulder in his arms to a richer
place. And one day, soon, she would be allowed to follow
and find him there. And together they would fight a greater
evil.

What they had now, at this moment in time, would not last.
Soon, they must return to their real world and there would
be no strawberries and whipped cream and champagne except
perhaps in rare moments. 

Scully pushed the thought aside. They had one such moment
now and now was all that mattered. She climbed back into
bed. 

Mulder rolled on to his back. She eased the covers from
him and stared with absolute pleasure at his naked form. It
was too much, far too much to resist so she lowered her
mouth to him and gently sucked him deep inside. 

An evil delight filled her. Could she get away with this
while he slept? 

She gently ran her hands down the inside of his legs,
tickling the sensitive flesh behind his knees. He groaned
softly and spread his legs wider. She grinned and settled
between them, keeping her mouth around him as he slowly
grew, filled then overflowed her. She lightly grasped his
scrotum and he squirmed and muttered, tossing his head
across the pillow. She was torn between wanting it to last
and wanting him to remain asleep, thinking it was just a
dream. After weeks of nightmares he deserved one truly good
dream.

Slowly, carefully, she licked and suckled, kissed and
cajoled. Each time he seemed close to waking she stopped,
allowing his erection to diminish so she could take him
completely into her mouth once more. It was the very fact
that his erection waxed and waned so quickly that convinced
her he still slept. That and the odd way he tossed his
head, grunted and moaned and loosely grasped the sheets.
She indulged herself for a full ten minutes before deciding
to bring the game to an end. He had muttered her name
numerous times, sending a wave of pleasure through her
body, causing her to wonder how many times in the past she
had been in his dreams. Finally, she tasted a drop of the
salty, bitter essence that announced his imminent
ejaculation. She brought her hands into play, stroking him
upwards in firm, measured movements, in counterpoint to the
downward pressure exerted by her other hand at the base of
his testicles.

Her tongue swirled around his head, then she sucked firmly
and was rewarded with the flood of warmth in her mouth and
a guttural call of her name. Although she had never been
exactly fond of the taste, that it was Mulder gave it a
whole new meaning. 

The force of his orgasm jerked him awake and he arched up
and balanced on his hands. He looked down in wide eyed
wonder at what had to be the most amazing...he wasn't
prepared to use the usual terms because it was far too
sensuous and loving for such crudities...amazing...Jesus, 
amazing Scully job, he'd ever experienced. It put Phoebe's 
extraordinarily practiced renditions to shame.

"Fuck, Scully...I was asleep!" he whined.

She blinked, then stared unflinchingly into his eyes as
she swallowed, then lifted her lips from his slackening
penis and wiped away the residue with her tongue.

"Jesus, you let me *sleep* through that!" He swallowed
convulsively, realizing she was studiously cleaning him.
Good God, no woman had ever done that to him. The normal
reaction was to judiciously get rid of it as fast and as
inoffensively as possible. That she would accept him so
completely left him in awe.

She grinned as she climbed back up the bed, pulling the
covers over them. 

"Pleasant dreams, Agent Mulder?"

"Good God, Scully, next time you're gonna do that, wake me
so I can at least watch!" He grinned in delight as she
snuggled into his arms and wrapped one leg over his body.
He could feel the dampness as her pubic hair scratched
against his hip.

"You just looked so positively...suckable, Mulder, I
couldn't resist."

His body still tingled and he wished, not for the first
time, that men had a better deal when it came to the quick
comeback. But although his body was sated, his desire was
not.

"You're wet, Scully," he announced gruffly.

"Mm," she arched against him, rubbing herself on his hip,
"You called for me in your sleep."

"Wouldn't be the first time you've given me a wet dream."

A thrill of pleasure arced through her, "Oh, really? When
did you start having this problem, Agent Mulder." 

He nuzzled her hair, hoping her lazy, rhythmic movements
against his hips might be encouraged with a little oral sex
of a different kind. Scully was full of unexpected
surprises, perhaps this would be another.

"The night you offered me root beer instead of iced tea."

That jarred her. That long?

"But that was..."

"Yeah," whispered in her ear. "And do you know how many
times I've come in my shorts sleeping in adjoining hotel
rooms with you? Those moans you heard weren't always
nightmares."

She gulped. She couldn't reply but her rhythm became more
insistent.

"And what about you, Agent Scully, how many times have you
run those little fingers down inside yourself to make yourself 
come?"

God, was he really talking to her like this?

Was she really reacting this way? She gulped again at her
own brazenness.

"I'd like to see that, Scully. I'd like to see what you did to 
yourself the night we played baseball. Did you think about 
me?"

That jerked her eyes up to his and he smirked. She nodded
slowly, no longer able to hide any truth from him.

"And what about the other times, Agent Scully, in the
bathtub while I was finishing up a report in your hotel
room? How many of those times were you thinking about me?"

She jerked up and stared at him wild-eyed and flushing in
embarrassment. "How did you know?"

He burst out laughing. "I wasn't too sure, but I had a fair
idea that your sudden change in temperament wasn't simply
due to hot water and bubbles. God, I was tempted a dozen
times to come in and see for myself. Although I admit I put
my ear to the door once or twice."

"You what?!"

Oh, this was too good! "C'mon Scully, I'm a guy, what'd you
expect?" He pulled her back into his arms and added, "Now
let me see, for real." 

His eyes captured hers and she flushed and turned away,
"I...I don't know if I can."

"Then use me, use my hand," he whispered to her softly,
reaching his right hand between her legs, but letting his
fingers remain idle, wanting her to show him what she liked
"Teach me, Scully, teach me how you like it...please..."

Somehow, it was easier using his hand. She brushed her
fingers over his and pushed them lower, arching her body
into his. He pulled his head back to watch her fingers push
him against her, rubbing herself with his hand, pleasuring
herself with him. She reached for his left hand and tried
to push those fingers inside her while she urged his right
fingers to play across her clitoris, but he grasped her
wrist and pushed hers in instead. He gasped at the sheer
erotic pleasure of the sight and amazingly, felt himself
grow hard as her fingers plunged in rhythmically. She was
lost now, sighing his name over and over as her fingers
moved in and out while her other hand ground his thumb
against the small knot of nerves. 

He couldn't help himself, seeing her, feeling her like
that, he took hold of himself in his free hand and said
"Open your eyes, Scully."

She complied, looking at his face. His eyes flicked down
to what he was doing, at the firm, slow movements of his
hand on himself. Her eyes followed and widened at the sight. 

"Oh, God Mulder, you are so beautiful..." She called him
over and over and came jerkily, pushing her hand against
his over and over.

When she stopped, he rolled over onto her and slowly
entered her. At no time had he considered a condom. Scully
couldn't get pregnant and they were both clean, except
maybe for one or two too many alien viral infections. He
closed his eyes for a moment in the sheer joy of feeling
her surround him. And this time, he managed to outlast her
slow, soft second orgasm. 

Although she was wet, she was also tight. Wonderful for
him, but he feared he might cause some soreness if he took
too long about it. He let himself go soon after, a small,
soft orgasm, promising her with whispers that when they
became used to each other, he would take longer.

"I know, Mulder. I love you, God, I love you."

"I know. And Scully and I wasn't drugged, I do love you."

 

Downstairs a very frustrated Bill Scully tried to convince
the concierge that his sister was in a room somewhere in
the fourth floor. He just hadn't gotten the number.

"What name, sir?"

"Scully, Dana Scully."

"Sorry sir, no one with that name."

Bill was no fool, "Okay, what about Mulder, Fox Mulder? 
They're FBI agents, they may be registered under
different names, but they are definitely on the fourth
floor. I spoke to them myself early this morning. 

This was the young concierge's first day as duty manager.
He had just taken over an hour before and was rather
excited by the prospect of FBI agents undercover in the
hotel. This Navy Captain in front of him seemed genuine
enough and he was, after all, a guest. He checked through
the records and found that one George Hale had paid with a
Visa card in the name of Fox Mulder. 

"Ah, here it is, one room only under the name of Hale. Do
you want me to call them? Oh wait, there's a hold all
incoming calls against the room. I'm sorry sir." 

"That's all right," Bill smiled congenially, having
glimpsed the room number "I'll catch up with them after
lunch."

He walked across to the elevator and punched in the fourth
floor. His own room was right next door, surely it wouldn't
cause a problem if he just knocked. 

He hesitated at the do not disturb sign, but damn it, he
was only in town until tonight and how often did he get to
see his little sister?

Mulder could just suck it and wear it.

He tapped softly on the door.

"Mm, 's probably room service." Mulder mumbled into her ear.

"What did you order?" Scully replied.

"Fresh crawfish, salad, trout, a very tart little white
wine...oh and a coupla dozen oysters..." 

He stood, wrapped a towel around himself and grabbed
his pants on the way, feeling in the pocket for loose bills.

Scully was feeling far too fucked silly to get out of bed.
Besides, Mulder could pay off the bellboy and bring the
cart in himself. She rolled over, pulling the sheet
between her legs, but left her hips and breasts bare.
"Mulder, there is no scientific evidence to indicate oysters
are an aphrodisiac. Besides, we don't need no afrodesiak!"

Meanwhile, Mulder had opened the door without looking up,
fumbling inside his pockets for the small bills he was sure he'd 
left there. "Just leave it and I'll take it inside..." he glanced up 
as his fingers located the money.

Bill Mulder stood in stunned horror at the apparition
before him. Mulder's hair stood out in every direction and
he sported a couple of pronounced hickeys on his neck -- and
lower down. And he smelled. Of sex. But it got worse, far
worse. Before Mulder could stop him, Bill had pushed the
door aside and was met with the sight of his little sister
lying naked on the bed, muttering something about not
needing aphrodisiacs.

Instinct and ingrained hatred took control of good sense
and he let fly with his fist, "You bastard!"

Fortunately for Bill Scully, both his aim and his strength
were severely affected by his loss of temper. He was not to
appreciate that fact though, for another few minutes.
Mulder had the good sense to simply roll with the punch
after it struck him a glancing blow to the head.

Unfortunately, the loose towel around his waist became
disconnected from his body as he hit the floor and rolled
on to his back. The sight of a naked Mulder, and the
offending penis staring him square between the eyes,
incited Bill Scully to launch another screaming assault.
But he was stopped short by the terrifying sight of a gun
barrel about a foot from his face.

"FBI! Don't move or I'll blow your fucking head off!"

Mulder blinked up at the bare ass standing straddled over
him. He grinned, not sure what he enjoyed about this
situation the most. It was a definite toss up, but it was
most certainly the high point of his sorry son of a bitch
life. A butt naked Scully standing over him, the same butt
naked Scully defending his manhood -- literally -- and the
look of absolute shock and fear on Bill Scully's face. 

Scully frowned in surprise and sudden recognition.

"Bill?"

"Ah...uh, Dana!" But when Bill realized she had pulled the
gun on someone she thought was an intruder, his stance
turned aggressive again "Dana what...what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Scully was totally unfazed by
her nakedness. When she'd seen Mulder knocked into the
room, her automatic reaction had been to go for Mulder's
weapon on the bedside table. They may have been horny as
teenagers, but they weren't stupid.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I *was* enjoying the
best goddamned fucking lay of my life until you burst in
here like the fifth cavalry."

Mulder's grin widened. Best lay of her life, huh? Suck on
that and wear it, big brother.

"Dana! Put...put the gun away, will you?" Bill squeaked,
shocked to the core by her language and her total lack of
modesty.

"Not on your life," and she sighted along her weapon,
clearly intending to shoot.

Mulder's eyebrows lifted. 

Bill paled and his eyes dropped to Mulder's, disgust at
the sight of him mixed with a pleading look. Mulder
couldn't stop grinning, but he managed to frown and shake
his head at the same time.

"I'd back off if I were you, Bill. I've seen her kill men
for less," well, that wasn't quite true. "Fact is the last
guy...uh, the last *two* guys who attacked me are sharing
adjoining suites in the Seattle morgue, care of your
*little* sister." 

Bill tried a nervous laugh, but stopped abruptly when
Scully nodded her agreement.

"Now, back off!" Scully growled.

Bill Scully blinked in total confusion. This didn't make
any sense! Dana should be the one scrambling for clothes
and explaining herself. He moved to step towards her.

"I'm warning you, Bill, I *will* shoot."

"Dana, I'm you're brother! For God's sake put the gun down!"

"You might look like my brother, but you may not be him.
We've been fooled before by shape-shifting aliens. And if
it is you, do you realize what the penalty for assaulting a
federal agent is, Bill?"

"It's okay, Scully, I wouldn't press charges." Mulder
commented, trying to calm everyone down.

"Yeah, but I might, how's your head?" 

"It's fine, Scully." 

As much as he was really enjoying the view, he decided to
back up and get Scully's gun. She had a point.

"Not that head, the other one."

Mulder glanced down at himself, wondering if he had
sustained an as yet unrealized injury. "Looks okay."

"As long as it *feels* okay because if anything interferes
with what I've got planned later this afternoon I am going
to be even more pissed than I am now!"

Mulder was fascinated by the chameleon changes to Bill
Scully's face. In truth, his own eyebrows lifted and he
almost blushed at this heretofore unrealized side of
Scully. Bill's face changed from deathly white to 
embarrassed rose to the mottled red of anger then back 
again to white as his emotions warred. 

A knock on the door broke the deadlock. 

All three of then asked, in varying pitches, "Who is it?"

"Room service."

Mulder held up his finger as his eyebrows lifted. "Ah!" He
grabbed a couple of bills from the floor, wrapped the towel
back around his waist and headed for the partly-opened
door. He paid off the bellboy in short order, told him to
wait, then pushed the food cart inside, retrieved the
previous cart with the up-ended champagne bottle and
strawberry husks, excused himself as he pushed it past Bill
then closed the door once it was outside. 

Scully had meanwhile managed to don a robe and drop the
gun to her side. By this time even the thick-skulled Bill
Scully was starting to get the picture. Okay, his sister
was in the FBI, but she was a doctor for God's sake! She
cut up dead people! She didn't go around acting like lady
Rambo and shooting people, did she? I mean the only time
she ever got hurt, it was following her damned alien
conspiracy nut case of a partner.

But he recalled the television news the previous week, how
she and Mulder had been involved in that Seattle child
murderer case...and the speed with which she'd leaped off
the bed to defend her partner.

Shit.

"Was that...*you* who shot one of those child killers in
Seattle?" He asked in a stunned voice.

"Yeah, Bill, that was your kid sister," Mulder said as he
moved the trolley over to the table. "And the night before
last she took the fifth one out for good measure."

Bill's face screwed up. He'd heard an FBI agent had shot
and killed the leader, but he just could never reconcile
FBI involvement in things like that, with his sister. Little
Dana who'd cried over a lousy garter snake.

"Bill," Scully replaced the gun in Mulder's holster, but
carried it with her to the small, impromptu dining table,
"I strongly suggest you leave the hotel..."

"But I have a room here!" he motioned. "The one next door!"

Mulder rolled his eyes as he sat at the table. So much for
a late afternoon of uninhibited lovemaking.

"Well, Bill, I recommend you either take an earlier flight
back to San Diego, or live with the fact that the screams
you next hear coming from this room are *not* to be
interpreted in any other way than your sister being very
thoroughly fucked, thank you very much, or I swear, no
matter how much it pains me to have to tell Mom, I *will*
shoot you! Now get out!"




Epilogue

FBI Headquarters - Hoover Building 
Washington, D.C.
Two weeks later

 

"Agent's Smith and West were agreeable?" Mulder asked A.D.
Skinner. 

"Under your direction, West will continue to profile on a
consultant basis, however incoming X-files will take
precedent, at your discretion. Smith was understandably
pleased with a promotion to D.C. from a field office."

"He deserves it, he's good."

Skinner nodded agreement. "And the specialists Scully
approached have all agreed. They're being bumped up a level
in pay, so the move to D.C. was also welcome.

"What about Scully's assistant? That approved, too?"

"The board was somewhat reticent, but when I pointed out
Scully's acceptance was conditional on her ability to
retain her position as your partner, given your success rate
and the current kudos surrounding the Line Killings, they
agreed. But don't let it go to your head, Mulder. Staying
out of trouble would be viewed as appropriate gratitude. It
might even mean an increased budget next year."

Mulder grinned. He was happy they'd maintained their
basement office. Moving all the old archives to Quantico
had given them almost ten times the current floor space.
Enough room to accommodate West and Smith in addition to
private offices for he and Scully, and a shared clerk/secretary. 
When renovations were complete, a large part of the new 
forensics division would be moved into the remainder of the 
basement. That meant all new air conditioning and heating 
units, carpeted offices instead of linoleum floors and much to 
Scully's relief, new women's rest rooms, complete with lockers 
and showers. 

Mulder nodded as Skinner stood to dismiss him. He walked
to the door, but before leaving he turned and asked, "How's
Dr. Palmer doing at Quantico?" 

Mulder already knew, Scully had told him the previous
night when she'd come back from lecturing the new classes,
but Mulder couldn't resist the temptation to see his boss'
human side.

Skinner's face remained impassive, but Mulder saw the look
in the A.D.'s eyes. 

"Fine, seems to be coping...well."

Mulder's lips curled as he went to leave. Running close to
the top of her class in most subjects, and breaking her
self-defense instructor's arm was *coping*, all right. 

"Just one last thing, Agent Mulder," Skinner asked as his
agent's hand reached for the door.

"Sir?"

"I have an...odd report on my desk about an incident that
took place at a D.C. hotel two weeks back. Something about
a naval officer in confrontation with two FBI agents.
Anything you would care to elaborate on?"

Mulder stared at his boss innocently.

Skinner didn't blink. "Would informing you that the naval
officer registered as one William Scully and that the
agents were registered under the name George Hale assist
your memory, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder remained impassive.

"Fine Mulder, but off the record, next time you and Agent
Scully use a hotel, on assignment or otherwise, I personally 
don't care if you only use one, but at least have the common 
sense to *book* two rooms. Do I make myself clear?"

Mulder allowed himself a very tiny smirk as he left. "Very,
sir."

As he made his way back down to the basement, he opened
the letter once again and scanned the contents. His eyes
settled on the news that Crystal's father had petitioned to
adopt Peter Sprackett, the boy whose mother sold him into
an unspeakable horror. 

Life's horrors would continue, animals like Jameison would
always be around the next corner, and he had to unravel and
entirely new mystery around his own ability to move into
the fifth dimension. But at least for now, for them, for he
and Scully, for the X-files, today was a good day.



-----------------------------------------------------------
                                      End

Feedback...hey, it's all that feeds us, we sure aren't
paid for this! spider@webspin.org 


-----------------------------------------------------------
---------------------Authors notes:

Thanks for coming this far, I hope you enjoyed reading it
as much as I enjoyed writing it instead of working <g>.

I personally think Mulder was married to Diana, but since
I wouldn't have given two hoots if he'd nearly shot her
during a mirroring event, I had to give him a nice wife
instead :-)

Didn't mean to be quite so sappy at the end, but it was
pretty dark in places, so I thought, what the hell. I wrote
Chapter 7 in one sitting, late one afternoon listening to
Mark Snow's CD *The Snow Files* and that last few minutes
of track 11, the end of the X-files....ah, almost had me in
tears.

Couple of references: *Whoever Fights Monsters* by Robert
Ressler and Tom Shachtman *I have lived the Monster* ditto
*Justice is Served* ditto and *Journey into Darkess* by
John Douglass as told to Mark Olshaker *MindHunter* ditto
*Unabomber* ditto All are much darker than this piece and
can be purchased through amazon.com.

Also highly recommended on the subject of profiling are
two great works of fanfic;

"Oklahoma" and "The Abyss Looks Back." Both can be found
archived at MTA and Gossamer under the alphabetical listing by
story name.

Spider 
26th September, 1999

-----------------------------------------------------------
-Oh, as to Mulder's reference to a
person from Porlock in the prologue...

"In Xanadu did Kublai Khan A stately pleasure dome
decree....

And then that asshole from Porlock turned up and stuffed
up an opiate high and what would have rivaled The *Rime of
the Ancient Mariner* (S.T. Colerige)....They probably have
bee hives in Porlock, too <g>.