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Chapter 5
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Quantico ISU offices

Patterson's conditions sickened Mulder. The thought of passively letting that monster touch him in any way was absolutely repulsive. Even more out of the question was the demand that he call his captor "Sir", and not being allowed to have the least bit of sarcasm in his voice. To say it with the same genuine tone of honest respect he had used when he said it to his now dead lover in their most private moments.

Patterson squatted down in front of Mulder, reaching behind him to unbuckle the strap that held Mulder's gag in place. "Now, Mulder, I'm going to take this off, and I want to hear the answer you and I both know you should give. Do this one simple thing for me, Son, and in an hour or so it will all be over. I'll let you live."

Patterson smiled gently as the straps came undone. Stroked Mulder's knee before he gave Mulder back his voice. "After that, we can go somewhere, away from all of this, where no one will bother us. I know you used to like me, Mulder. I can show you I'm not such a bad guy after all."

Mulder's disgust turned into silent rage. How dare this man murder his lover and then ask this of him. Mulder knew Patterson was insane, he knew there were ways to deal with such insanity, to humor him until opportunity allowed a chance of escape. But Mulder was not going to humor this man. No way was he going to let this creature coerce him into handing over what had been gladly given to Skinner in love, because Skinner had earned that respect from him. Now that Skinner was gone, Mulder was not going to sully the memory of their relationship.

Patterson carefully pulled the hard obstruction from Mulder's mouth and waited for his answer, hopeful excitement brightening his features. /No way can he turn this offer down,/ the older man thought. /He'll see that we can make this work; it's that, or death for him, and he knows it./ Still squatting in front of Mulder's chair, he felt his own erection throb to life in anticipation of what was to come.

The gag removed, Mulder remained silent, staring back at the eager, crazed man in front of him.

"Well, Mulder, what'll it be? Some mind-blowing sex with your old boss, or a headstone next to your late A.D.?"

Hearing that, Mulder could barely contain his rage. He clenched his jaw as he slowly enunciated each word of his answer.

"Fuck...You...Patterson." Mulder clearly and quietly spat out the words, filling each sound with all the hate he felt as he glared at the maniac who held him. He was probably going to die today, he knew, but he no longer wanted to live. His only motivation to go on was to see his old boss dead at his own hands. Once that goal was accomplished, Mulder would take his own life, as well.

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Downtown D.C.
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They had taken Scully's car, getting on the road with Skinner riding shotgun, the A.D. trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head as he efficiently garnered all the resources he could on Scully's cell phone.

Mike Delaney's new housekeeper had discovered her boss' dead body an hour earlier. Skinner gathered from the D.C. police detective on the case that the poor woman had only been working for him for a month, coming in two mornings each week, and here she had to go find another job that suited her college schedule.

The housekeeper also had noticed that Delaney's car was missing, and an APB was out for both Patterson and the vehicle. Skinner made it clear in all his contacts with various agencies that a federal officer had been brutally murdered, another attacked and left for dead, and a third kidnapped. Law enforcement folks tended to take it personally when their own were targeted by criminals, and Skinner hoped stressing the facts of the situation would light some fires under a few butts.

Both Scully and Skinner knew they needed some luck on their side, although they didn't discuss it with each other. They already had found some luck, though. An extensive search for Patterson had been underway since shortly after his escape the night before, but those involved in the search didn't have anything to go by to know where to look. Then, when news of Delaney's murder with a blunt knife of some kind came through to the police, some bright mind at the DCPD who had known that Patterson and Delaney had been close friends for years had made the connection - that Patterson had made his former best friend his first victim.

At the moment, Scully and Skinner were headed to the Hoover Building, planning to set up a base of operations. Although their chances of finding Patterson and Mulder had improved greatly with the discovery of the murder, it still didn't bring them any closer to knowing where Patterson would go next.

As Skinner continued to make and receive calls, never putting the cell phone away for even a moment, Scully puzzled over the question of Patterson's possible location. First of all, she wondered, why did Patterson take Mulder in the first place? If it was for some kind of revenge, why didn't he do whatever he was going to do at Mulder's apartment, instead of risking detection on the road?

Secondly, if Delaney and Patterson had been such great friends for so many years, why would Patterson go so far out of his way to murder Delaney? Just to steal some clothes and a car? That would be ridiculous. Was Patterson angry with Delaney, too, for taking over his position at the ISU? It didn't make sense. From what she had recently learned, Mulder was the one Patterson had obsessed over while in the hospital.

The answers to these questions continued to evade her as she pulled the car into the employee garage at the Hoover. She reached for her ID to show the guard at the gate. Glancing at the badge, she froze as she suddenly realized where Patterson had taken Mulder. And why Delaney had been first on Patterson's list of victims.

With Skinner looking vastly surprised, taking the phone away from his face to ask her what the hell she was doing, she quickly maneuvered out of the entrance to the garage and headed back out, beginning to follow the path she had taken hundreds of times to travel between FBI headquarters and Quantico.

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ISU offices
Quantico
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The answer he received put Patterson in a fury. His face reddened as his eyes fixed on the man bound to the chair in front of him.

Mulder kept his own eyes locked with Patterson's as the older man's anger grew. He had no idea what Patterson would do next, but he had a strong hunch it wasn't going to be pleasant.

Finally, Patterson heaved back an arm and slapped Mulder full-force across the mouth. Mulder's head snapped back with the impact, and bright lights flashed behind closed lids as the swivel chair rolled backwards, away from the desk.

It wasn't clear if it was the strength of the blow or the weight of the man lunging at him, but either way Mulder next found himself on the floor, still attached to the chair. Dizzying pain shot through him as he fell on his cuffed hands and the back of his head rapped with an echoing crack on the hard floor. Patterson was atop him, straddling his chest, repeatedly striking fists to his face, left and right, cursing nearly unintelligible threats.

"I'll kill you, you ungrateful bastard, I'll fuck you sore and then I'll kill you!" was the last Mulder heard before slipping into darkness.

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I-95
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Delaney's car had been spotted outside the ISU offices, parked behind the building. All the lots were empty, but apparently - according to one ISU detective Skinner talked to on Scully's cell phone, who asked to keep his identity confidential - Delaney had a reputation for having romantic rendezvous with young ladies in his offices on off-hours. Even if anyone had noticed the car there by itself, and no one had, they wouldn't have seen it as unusual.

A joint S.W.A.T. and hostage negotiations team was gathering outside the ISU offices, careful to keep themselves out of view of any of the offices' windows. Skinner had always had faith in their abilities, but this time he prayed with special fervor that nothing would go wrong.

"I don't want anyone to make a move until I get there," Skinner ordered into the phone. "We have an E.T.A. of five minutes. Just sit tight until then, but get your people ready. An agent's life is at stake, and I'll kick some butt out there if anyone screws this up."

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ISU Offices
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Mulder was lying on his stomach on a beach, getting a splitting headache from the sun, but was unable to get up to go home, which he desperately wanted. Shit, did he want to go home, but why couldn't he get up? Then he realized it was because he was buried in sand. Sand weighed down on him heavily, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't raise himself an inch. His arms were straight out from his shoulders, and that goddamn sand weighed a ton. He couldn't move his arms in to push himself up.

Some kid must have done it while he was asleep, he reasoned. Hey, kid, where are you? The kid, whom he still couldn't see because his eyes just wouldn't open, started jumping on his back. He jumped and jumped; then a whole bunch of his friends joined him in their prank, jumping like little monsters all over his body. Shit, guys, cut it out and dig me out. What did I ever do to you? I don't even know you. Just dig me out and help me up and show me the way to the nearest hospital. I just want to get off this goddamn lousy beach and into bed and sleep for a very long time. Hook me up with some really good painkillers and keep me under for a week. Just take me anywhere but here.

When Mulder came around again, he was no longer on the floor. It took him a few moments to remember where he was at all, in fact. With great effort, he managed to get his head to pick up off the hard surface; with a little more work, he pulled up the lids of his eyes to halfmast. It wasn't easy; they were almost swollen shut.

He peeked out at his surroundings, needles pricking the back of his neck and head throbbing even harder as he slowly turned it about half an inch one way. Then he remembered, vaguely, where he was and what had been happening before the little Hitler Youth club had started using his back for a trampoline.

The ripping pain was still there, but now it was being induced by a man he had known well years ago. Lids heavy and face pressed down into the wood, he didn't need to be able to see clearly to know that his arms were stretched out and secured to either side of the desk he was laying on, and his ankles strapped tightly to its legs.

/Duct tape,/ Mulder thought through the fog as he realized he could not part his lips to take in the air he needed. His shattered nose was clogged with blood, which he tasted as it seeped down his throat. He craned his sore neck to look behind him, glimpsing the man who had once been his mentor.

The man's face was wild and single-minded, looking down at but not really seeing Mulder, oblivious to the rhythmic agony he pummeled into the body below him.

Mulder decided it would be a good idea to go back to the beach.

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Outside
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Surveillance equipment had been set up to see and hear what was going on inside the office where Patterson held Mulder. For the last few minutes, the S.W.A.T. team had been deployed into the building, planning to take Patterson by surprise and avoid having to go into hostage negotiations mode. Skinner, Scully, and others leading the operations had been able to watch on a monitor and listen through headphones to what was happening inside.

From the time they had set up the video feed, they had no proof Mulder was alive. In fact, it looked like Patterson might have carried out every fantasy he ever had on Mulder before they had even arrived on the scene.

They had watched as a lifeless Mulder lay taped down to the top of an office desk. They had watched Patterson rape him, getting no response from the body he was violating. They had watched the rapist, once a respected member of their inner circle, stop from exhaustion and finally go sit down to talk to his victim, removing the silver tape from the man's mouth. The victim was not talking back.

Skinner had seen this all, and he could not show the horror and guilt he felt inside. Scully was the only one who knew, and he was grateful for that one show of mutual horror and understanding from another human being. If not for her wordless show of sympathy, Skinner thought he might go insane holding in what he was feeling as he watched his lover being raped. Unable to do anything to stop it.

They would have to follow the story they had already begun. The story was that, earlier that morning, Skinner had stopped by Mulder's apartment to check on the progress of his current case. The story was that the door was unlocked, he had gone inside, into the kitchen, and someone had clubbed Skinner over the head. The story was that Skinner would hate to lose a fine agent like Fox Mulder.

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Inside
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The mean man wouldn't let him go back under the warm sand. The mean man kept poking at him, talking at him, making his tender ears hurt his head more. The mean man was sitting in front of him, stroking his hair. The mean man was crying.

"I'm sorry, Son. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I love you, Fox."

The voice was so familiar. He knew who it was. "Dad?" he asked weakly, lifting his head up and trying to look at the man who had hurt him.

His dad patted his hair some more. It felt good. Wiped the tear from his cheek. That felt good, too.

"It's okay. Fox. You'll be okay. You just...you should have listened to me. You should have done what I asked you to do. Then I wouldn't have had to do it."

Fox kept his head down. He was so sleepy. He was glad Dad wasn't mad at him any more, but he was so tired. "I'm sorry, Dad," he mumbled quietly through swollen lips. "I'll listen from now on." He had to sleep now; it must be way past his bedtime. /I love you, Dad/ he thought as he let the darkness return.

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Outside
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Skinner strained to hear any sounds of response from Mulder as Patterson talked. He could hear nothing, but thought he could see some movement from the battered body on the desk. A glimmer of hope, still tinged with grief, kept Skinner's eyes glued to the monitor.

Then he saw that Patterson had a gun in one hand.

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Inside
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Patterson sat, forlorn at the failure of his plan. He never wanted to hurt him. Sure, sometimes he'd say he did, but he never really meant it. He just wanted to get what was his due. Some show of respect.

He'd had feelings for Mulder since the first day he had worked with him; he'd always wanted him. For a while, he had thought there was something mutual brewing. Mulder had liked him, had respected him, had appreciated all he'd done for him. And then he had grown up in a way, Patterson guessed, and had gotten a mind of his own.

He looked at Mulder's unresponsive form and sighed. This wasn't how he'd thought it would turn out. To be honest, he wasn't sure how he'd expected it would turn out...he supposed he hadn't thought to plan it through to the end. But he knew this wasn't how he'd wanted it to end.

He lifted Mike Delaney's gun out of his lap, pressed the nuzzle to the soft flesh under the chin, said a short prayer to a God he thought had abandoned him, and pulled the trigger.

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Continued in chapter 6.