Mon May 26 1997
NEW: Abuse Of Power by Ian Horsewell
From: I Horsewell phuwv@csv.warwick.ac.uk

disclaimer: Okay, I admit it. They're not mine. I only borrowed them, Your
Honour. And they didn't seem to mind. I claim long and faithful service and
youth and inexperience. Or something like that.
archive: Feel free.

spoilers: None by definition

rating: Probably PG - deals indirectly with child abuse.

class: Adventure, alternate history, UST, but no relationship.

summary: Okay, this is another in my 'Elseworlds' sequence, but it's not
connected to the others. In this alternate history, events in Mulder's past
were slightly different. Hope you all enjoy this one.

notes: I'd just like to say thanks to everyone who's commented on my stories
in the past - please carry on! And especially to Elaine, Melissa and Mike
for encouraging me with this one and all the others.

Abuse Of Power by Ian Horsewell

Okay, this is another in my Elseworlds sequence; what might have been, if
things had been just a little different. As for my last effort, I'm not
going to be writing a sequel to First Encounter, about Samantha Mulder PhD.
But if anyone wants to explore the idea, feel free! I'd love to read someone
else's take on the concept.
But back to this story... hope you all enjoy it.

Abuse of Power by Ian Horsewell

Washington, at day's end.
The roar of the traffic was muffled here, in an alleyway that led nowhere.
The only illumination came from a grimy streetlight and the red glow of a
cigarette. The man was leaning against the wall, blowing smoke rings that
disintegrated in moments. Every few seconds he looked at his watch.
A sound a few feet from the man made him look up. His eyes widened,
straining to make out the features of the figure. He tossed the cigarette to
the ground, red embers scattering across the concrete. "It's about time..." he
said, then stopped. "You're not Frank-" His words were cut off by two
gunshots, close together, muffled by the pistol's silencer. The dark figure
moved close to the fallen body, crouching, briefly resting two fingers at the
man's throat. And then it stood and walked away.

****

"Spooky!" came the call across the crowded room. A lanky, dark-haired man
looked up from the computer monitor, an expression of annoyance quickly
masked. "What?" he asked, obviously not too interested. But the answer got his
attention.
"AD Skinner wants to see you; something about a new assignment." The man's
eyes widened and he stood up, stretching, stiff from too long at the keyboard.
He brushed sunflower seed husks from his shirt front and made his way towards
the office door and the Assistant Director's domain.
"Yes... Agent Mulder." Skinner gestured towards the other occupant of the
office, a petite redhead who nodded politely. "This is Agent Scully, one of
our best pathologists. She'll be your partner for the time being." Mulder's
eyes narrowed.
"With all due respect, sir, I don't really require a partner. I rarely go
into the field." Skinner glared at him, the light in the office glinting from
the glasses he wore. His expression served to shut Mulder up.
"As I was saying... this is because of a change in your duties. I'm
assigning the two of you to a new case that's come to our attention. And a
pathologist is likely to be rather useful. Also, Agent Mulder," he glanced up
from the file on his desk, "it's Bureau policy to assign cases to *pairs* of
agents. Is that understood?"
Mulder nodded obediently. "Yes, sir."
"Then I won't keep you from your duties any longer. All the pertinent
information has been delivered to your office, Agent Mulder. Please
familiarise yourself with it as soon as possible. I'll expect regular
reports from *both* of you." He looked down at his files; the interview was
obviously over. The two agents glanced at each other and headed for the door.
"So, Agent Scully, it's about time for lunch. Shall we grab something and
get to know each other a bit better before we launch into the files?" Scully
looked up at Mulder, wishing for a moment that he wasn't quite as
good-looking. But there seemed to be no innuendo in his expression, and she
nodded agreement. They made their way to the canteen and, a few minutes later,
were sat at a quiet table with their meals.

****

"So you did a degree in Physics and *then* went into medicine? That's
interesting." Mulder chewed thoughtfully on his burger as Scully picked at her
salad.
"I'm a Navy brat, and I always wanted to help people. Medicine looked
good, but I needed something more. And so I joined the Bureau... Dad's never
really accepted it, but that wasn't really a surprise. So what about you?"
Mulder smiled.
"You mean you haven't heard about me already? I'm surprised... the grapevine
around here is usually pretty fast." Scully grinned.
"I know some of your history, but not much. You got your PhD in psychology
in record time, and at Oxford as well. You joined the Bureau a few months
after graduation and have been in Violent Crimes ever since, getting a
reputation as one of the best profilers in the department." Mulder nodded
slowly.
"Sounds about right. But you never mentioned my nickname... come now,
Scully, you're an FBI agent. You must know it by now." She looked away from
his eyes, examining her salad. "They call you 'Spooky'," she said quietly.
"But you don't like it." She looked up. "So what is your name, then? What do
people call you when they've got to know you?"
He laughed. "Mulder, usually. I don't like my first name." Scully raised an
eyebrow. "It can't be that bad, can it?" He shrugged, drinking the last of his
Coke from the can. "It's Fox," he admitted. Scully smiled. "It's just... it
reminds me of my sister. And those aren't very happy memories."
He clammed up, obviously not willing to talk about it any more to a
virtual stranger. Scully looked at him, curious about this mysterious agent.
He was well-known in the Bureau, for his uncanny ability to get inside the
minds of some of the scariest, most vicious killers the Bureau had ever
hunted. And that had led many of his colleagues to ask questions about his own
sanity. But from what she had seen of this case, those very abilities would
be vital.

****

"So, asked Mulder thoughtfully, "what's the one common factor linking all
these cases? What's the framework?" Scully looked up from the file spread over
her desk - a desk that was jammed against Mulder's, due to the lack of space
in this section of the large, open plan office.
"There have been more than a dozen killings in the Washington area... one
was only a few blocks from here! And all the victims were convicts or
suspects in sex offences against children." Mulder nodded slowly, eyes
seemingly fixed on the pen he was twirling between his fingers.
"But there's no obvious M.O. and no other link between the deaths." He was
talking to himself, thinking out loud. Scully looked up at him as she
noticed a change in his voice. "There's no cycle, no regularity. There's no
way we can be sure that there really is a common factor... it could just be
statistics at work. A mathematical anomaly."
Scully's eyes narrowed. "Except for one thing that *does* link all the
crime scenes." Mulder nodded slowly, eyes blank now, attention fixed on
something she couldn't see. "No evidence. None at all." Scully sighed,
flicking through the files. "No witnesses, no fingerprints, no physical sign
that anyone was ever at the scenes apart from the victims and the people who
found them. It just doesn't make sense."
"No, Scully, it makes perfect sense. If there is someone doing this, then
they're organised. Very careful, not making mistakes. Very clever." She
frowned at him. "You sound as if you almost admire the killer... I presume
you do believe that there is a killer at work here, of course." Mulder nodded.
"Yeah, I think so. Or there's an army of people out there, all leaving no
trace of their passing, no sign that they exist. This is the work of one
person... and I guess you're right, in a way. You have to admire someone like
this, if only from a professional point of view." Much as Scully hated to
admit it, admiration was one of the emotions this case had stirred in her.
Every one of the corpses - victims just didn't seem appropriate - had been, in
life, an abuser of children. Those that hadn't been convicted were all under
investigation, or had been in the past. Few of them would be missed. But that
wasn't the point, was it?
Scully was distracted from her thoughts by Mulder's voice. "Scully? It's
gone six, let's go home, get some rest. I'll get started on the profile
tomorrow morning. Were you going to go over the autopsy reports?" She nodded,
rubbing her eyes. "Yeah... I'll have a look at the last victim. The file says
his body is still at the morgue, awaiting the investigation. And now that the
police have spotted the trend, it's our case."
"Lucky us." Scully almost smiled at the deadpan comment. She glanced up as
Mulder stood, shrugging on his jacket. "See you tomorrow?" She nodded,
standing also, still dwarfed by his lanky frame. "I'll drop in here during the
afternoon, I expect. If you need me, then try this number." She reeled off a
ring of digits, frowning when he made no move to write them down. He smiled at
her expression.
"I've got a good memory. See you tomorrow, then." She nodded as he made
his way out of the now-empty office. Empty, that was, except for her. With a
sigh, Scully slipped two of the files into her briefcase and walked out,
flipping off the light as she did so.

****

...the subject is intelligent and well-educated, as well as knowledgable
about police and investigative procedures. Educational background probably
includes some form of medical or paramedic training, and he or she is familiar
with weapons of all sorts, including handguns. Past occupations may include
National Guard or law enforcement, but the subject is unlikely to be
ex-military, due to...
...the subject has access to a variety of handguns, none of which have
previously been used to commit a crime. This implies a fairly high income, and
he or she is probably well paid. The use of other weapons suggests that he or
she has consciously tried to change the modus operandi, recognising that
repetition of a particular 'signature' would increase likelihood of police
involvement. This is in direct contrast to most repeat killers, and
illustrates the unusual aspect of the case...
...it appears that the subject is not emotionally involved in the crimes.
The victims are selected by a fairly random process, the only criterion being
that they are child-abusers. Either the subject or someone close to them was
abused as a child; if the latter, then the child was most likely killed...
...the fact that some of the victims were under investigation at the
time, with no details publicly available, suggests that the subject has
access to unusual information sources. This implies contacts in the local
police department or even in the Bureau, or alternatively a high degree of
skill with computers and hence unauthorised access to Bureau files.
...the rate of occurences seems to be random, and there is no obvious
acceleration as there usually is with crimes of this nature. The point
should be emphasized that this is not a serial killer; the subject obtains no
satisfaction, sexual or otherwise, with the death and takes no joy in the act
itself. Rather, it is seen as indirect justice. The subject does not believe
what he or she is doing is morally wrong; not murder, but execution.

****

"Mulder, this is fascinating, and I can see where you get a few of the
conclusions, but the others... can you explain a couple of points to me?" He
nodded, setting his coffee down and reaching for sandwich. The two agents were
sat outside, having a break from the stuffiness of their office.
"Okay... this second paragraph. Police and investigative procedures...
this bit about a medical background. Where do you get that from?" Mulder
sipped his coffee before answering.
"It's pretty simple, really. You've got to remember that profiles are
based on probabilities, not certainties. But the cases we've got would
suggest that. In the third killing, for example..." he paused a moment
before continuing in a monotone, "the subject died by the application of a
sharp object, possibly a knife, between the second and third ribs on the left
hand side of the breastbone. Minimal marking around the wound suggests that
the object was pointed, placed to the skin or against no more than one layer
of cloth, and pressed firmly and slightly upwards with the flat of the blade
perfectly horizontal, no more than two inches from the centre of the chest."
He blinked rapidly and returned his attention to Scully, who had found the
appropriate report.
"That was word perfect... how do you do that?" He smiled briefly and
shrugged. "I really don't know. But I can't forget things once I've read
them. Anyway... that sort of precision in placing the knife shows
professional training. Either military or medical. Other indications
contradict the military possibility; so some sort of medical training."
Scully was nodding in understanding.
"What makes you think they're not an ex-soldier? Maybe a Green Beret with a
grudge?" Mulder shook his head vigorously, swallowing the last mouthful of his
sandwich.
"No, very unlikely. In the first place, the variety of weapons used; our
person has used four different ones, including some which were .22 calibre -
much lighter than most military sidearms. Secondly, the way every detail has
been thought out and considered, down to fingerprints and shell casings. Now,
those two alone don't rule out a serviceman." Scully raised an eyebrow.
"Really? I'd say they were pretty conclusive." Mulder shook his head.
"No, they still leave one military option open. Someone from a very elite
unit, maybe a Navy Seal or something like that. But the age factor would tend
to rule that out." At Scully's quizical expression, he explained. "The very
maximum age for our subject is 35, right? But we know he's highly educated,
college at least. And then military service, followed by selection for this
elite group... the Seals have a policy of a minimum five years service in one
of the regular units. And unless they're invalided out, Seals rarely leave
before they turn 40 - they stay on as instructors. No, ex-military is almost
certainly out."
"So what do you think, then? A cop?" Scully asked, almost facetiously. She
was shocked by Mulder's reply. "No, I don't think so. Possible but unlikely.
The most likely candidate is either a Federal agent or some sort of
paramilitary, maybe a CIA caseofficer gone rogue." She looked up at him,
hoping he was joking. But there was no smile on his face and no hint of humour
in his eye.
"You really think that we could be dealing with an ex-spy?" Scully
shook her head sadly. "I would never have picked you as a conspiracy
nut..." Mulder laughed.
"No, Scully, not at all. I just think that it's a possibility we should
consider. That would fit with the information sources too, remember."
Much to her disgust, Scully found herself nodding in reluctant agreement. It
made some crazy sort of sense.
"But, Mulder, for now we need something more concrete. We need more
than this to start going through the files of Federal agents and ex-CIA
operatives. We've never gotten on well with the Agency as it is..."
"Okay; let's go." Even as he spoke he was throwing the crumpled plastic cup
into the trash can, muttering "Three points," as it dropped in. She had to
smile at the sheer childish enthusiasm. The two of them stood and headed for
the J. Edgar Hoover building. Now to tidy up the profile and present it to
Skinner.

****

"Okay; so did you spot anything on the post-mortem, Scully? Anything
that was missed on the first one?" The petite redhead shook her head
reluctantly.
"No, nothing at all. This person knew exactly what they were doing. No
evidence at all about the killer. The only things we an pick up are the
obvious ones - the killer's strong, probably right-handed and quite
tall." She fished the report out of her case without much enthusiasm.
"There's the information, typed up neatly for the files. For what it's
worth."
"Come on, Scully," said Mulder, looking up from his desk and the
reports that covered it. "We'll get this guy, sooner or later. Trust me
on that, okay?" She found herself nodding. Somehow this agent, for all
his quirks and oddities, inspired confidence. The mysteries about him
served only to intrigue her. In time, maybe they could be friends as well as
partners. And Scully deliberately looked away from him as a voice inside her
whispered that she wanted more than friendship with this man.
"Okay, Mulder, I believe you." She smiled suddenly and the male agent was
abruptly surprised by how beautiful she was when she did that. He locked away
the feelings, telling himself that this was not the time. Not now, maybe not
ever. She continued, picking up the files strewn accross her desk. "I'll see
you tomorrow, okay? I'll have another read-through, maybe I'll spot
something."
"Sure. Good night, Scully." She stifled a pang of disappointment that he
didn't look up to see her go; at the same time, Mulder was saying to himself,
"No, don't look at her. Ignore her." But it was harder than he would have ever
imagined.

****

"... and so we've made little progress in the last few days, sir. The
profile's been circulated and we're trying to get access to the CIA records,
but I don't have much hope. Scully's gone over the post-mortems, and hasn't
spotted anything out-of-the-ordinary, apart from the total lack of evidence."
"So," commented Skinner, closing the report, "what is your suggestion for
the investigation?" Mulder looked puzzled at the unexpected question.
"Suggestion, sir? There are still avenues we can try; and we're trying them.
The local police departments; and, if you can give permission, the FBI records
as well. We're not stumped yet." Skinner nodded.
"Very well. You really think that we could be dealing with a rogue agent
here?" Mulder sighed as Skinner removed his glasses and rubbed at the bridge
of his nose. "It's a possibility, sir. The penetration of the previous
investigations suggest the killer has an inside source. The other possibility
is that someone has managed to hack their way into our computers, which is an
even more terrifying prospect." At this, Skinner narrowed his eyes.
"Well... Agent Mulder, I may be able to suggest another avenue of
investigation." At Mulder's interested look, he continued. "There is a group
dedicated to investigating the government, somewhat obsessed with comspiracies
- JFK, for example, though I understand their main area of interest is alien
life." Mulder could not stop himself smiling.
"I know, Agent Mulder. Well, they're certainly a little strange, and they
have no official status, but they might be able to help. They publish a sort
of newsletter, and officials at senior levels tend to pass it around to pass
the time... just a moment." He opened a drawer and rummaged through it for a
few seconds before pulling out a pamphlet. "Here you are. It has ways to
contact the writers; maybe they can help you track down how the information is
getting out." Mulder took the newsletter and turned to leave.
"Oh, and Agent Mulder?" He turned back to face the Assistant Director. "How
are you and Agent Scully getting along?" Mulder smiled again.
"Fine, sir. No problems."
"Good. That will be all." As the agent left, Skinner wondered whether he'd
done the right thing putting him in touch with the Lone Gunmen. But he shook
his head, reminding himself of the deaths being investigated. Stopping the
killings justified it. He hoped.

****

"Mulder."
"Agent Mulder. We received your communication earlier today and we
understand you would like to meet us."
"And you are?"
"I'll stay anonymous for now, Agent Mulder. Let's just say I'm a solitary
marksman. You understand?"
"Yes. I'd like to discuss-"
"Please do not talk about it now. Can you meet me?"
"Of course. When and where?"
"The park outside your office, in ten minutes. Bring your partner, if you
like. But no-one else."
The barely audible hiss of the open line stopped, replaced by a louder
buzzing. Mulder closed the phone and turned to his partner who had listened to
his side of the conversation with interest.
"Feel like going for a walk, Scully?"

****

"Agent Mulder?" asked the short, casually dressed man. Although his words
were phrased as a question, it was obvious that he knew exactly who he was
speaking to. Mulder nodded.
"And you are?" The man shook his head.
"That's unimportant for now. What information are you seeking and why?"
Scully found herself smiling at the paranoia of this strange man. His eyes
were never still, his gaze flicking from side to side as if he was waiting for
something to happen. It was like something out of a bad spy film, the
tradecraft laughable. But he seemed to be taking it so seriously. She couldn't
decide whether he was acting or not - but Mulder seemed to be taking him at
face value.
"We're working on a case for the FBI, trying to track down some kind of
serial killer, a vigilante almost. He or she seems to have access to the FBI
computers. We're not sure whether it's a rogue agent or someone hacking in.
Can you help?"
The man looked up at Mulder reprovingly, speaking to him as a patient
teacher would to a gifted but misinformed pupil. "The term, Agent Mulder, is
'cracking'. To hack is just to indulge an interest in computers - to enter a
system or network illegally is to 'crack' it."
"Whatever. Can you help us find out what's going on? I was told that your
organisation is knowledgable about these matters."
"Well... considering the circumstances, I can ask some of our contacts to
investigate. And, knowing your history, and the nature of the case, I'll make
this a priority for the group. But we can only do so much - we have no
official existence." At this, Scully looked up from the ground. History? What
history?
"Thank you. How do I get in touch?"
"You don't. To quote a much-overused phrase, don't call us, we'll call you.
I hope that your other investigations are successful. Agent Mulder; Agent
Scully." With this last farewell, he turned away and left the park, the two
agents looking after him curiously. After a few moments, Scully turned to her
partner.
"Hmmm. What did he mean when he said about knowing your history?" Mulder
shook his head, avoiding her gaze. "Nothing important. Come on, let's get back
to work. Maybe we'll have a reply from the police department by now." He
strode away. Scully paused for a moment before following. All this case
needed; more mysteries.

****

"So, Byers, what do you think?"
"Don't know. They seem legit."
"I'm almost sure they are. So we going to run with this?"
"Yeah, I think so. I'll e-mail the Thinker."
"Great. I'll check the logs. I want a result on this, fast."
"Sure, Frohike."
"Oh, and Byers?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I have a copy of the film you shot of them?"
"Huh? Why?"
"That Scully. She's hot."
"Whatever you say..."

****

Although there had been no response from the County Sherrif's department,
there had been a call left for them. Mulder looked up at Scully curiously.
"You know anyone called Patterson, Scully?" She searched her memory for a
moment. "Not that I recall. Why?"
"Well, we've got a message to get in contact with a Mr F. Patterson. It's
urgent, apparently." Scully was reaching for the phone as he spoke. "What's
the number? This could be the break we need."
She spoke briefly on the phone, and then closed it, looking up at her
partner. "It's our day for trips out, Mulder. He got our names from the police
department and wants to talk to us about the murders." Mulder shrugged himself
into his coat and held hers open for her. "Let's go." Despite herself, Scully
was very aware that the light, guiding hand on the small of her back was the
first time he had touched her. It was somehow difficult to get her mind back
to the case.

****

"My name's Frank Patterson. I... I want some protection. I think there's
someone after me." Scully raised an eyebrow at this. They'd just introduced
themselves to the man pointed out by the bartender as being Patterson. He was
short, with dark hair and an obviously false left eye. A scar ran from his
eyebrow down to the cheekbone. She narrowed her eyes.
"What makes you think that, Mr Patterson?" He dropped his gaze to the table
and the double whiskey that, she noted in passing, was almost finished. Then
he looked up again, lips pursed.
"Some of the people I know have been dying. They've been killed. We thought
it was just coincidence, just bad luck. But now we... we think we're being
hunted." Mulder's expression of disbelief had changed to one of interest. He
leaned forward. "Who is 'we', Mr Patterson?"
He swallowed. "Some people I know, okay? At a guess, more than a dozen have
died in the last three years. We're... we're getting worried." Mulder's gaze
was harsh now. "You didn't answer my question, Mr Patterson. *How* do you know
these people?" Scully glanced at him - the look on his face was almost...
angry.
Patterson gritted his teeth. "I did time with one of them, Angelo Metrini.
Three years in Riker's, and then I moved here. We kept in touch, okay? But he
was *killed* three months ago. This bastard killed him, the one who's doing
all the murders."
"What crime were you convicted of?" asked Scully. But somehow, she thought
she already knew. It made some kind of weird, twisted sense. Her intuition was
confirmed by his answer. "Child abuse." Mulder's voice was calm, but Scully
thought that she detected something under the surface. Not that she blamed him
for that. "What kind of abuse?" he asked.
Patterson drained the last of his whiskey before replying. "Sexual." Neither
agent commented. There didn't seem to be anything to say to that. But both had
recognised the name of the victim. He'd been shot in the head at close range
with a .22 and, as with all the other cases, there had been no match from
ballistics. They didn't even know if the same .22 had been used, due to the
deformation of the bullets.
"So why do you think you are being... 'hunted', Mr Patterson?" He looked up
into Scully's face, shaking his head slowly. "Listen, I know what's going on,
okay? No-one's really interested in solving this case, because of the targets.
But we're people too! It's illegal to discriminate against queers, and dykes,
and bis. Just because we're... different." He ended his tirade, signalling the
barkeeper for another drink. The agents exchanged looks.
"Okay, Mr Patterson. You're right. It seems that child abusers are being
'hunted' as you put it. We've only just noticed the pattern, due to the fact
that there's no consistent M.O. we can see. Just that there's no notes, no
evidence, and no witnesses. Ever." At this, Patterson looked up.
"That's not *quite* true." He pulled a pack of cigarettes from a pocket and
lit up, ignoring the looks from the agents. "I saw a person leaving the
alleyway where the last one was found. I knew him, we were supposed to be
meeting. I saw this figure walking away, didn't think anything of it. Then I
saw the body. I didn't even touch him, just left. I was the one who called the
cops." He took a deep drag on the cigarette, looking up at the agents with his
one good eye.
"Like I said. I'm at risk here. He's hunting us, and if he figures out he's
been seen, then I'm a dead man. I want protection." He stubbed out the
cigarette as Mulder and Scully exchanged glances. A wordless signal passed
between them and Scully took the offensive. Mulder leaned back, not smiling,
but wondering in a corner of his mind how they had established such a rapport
so quickly.
"Why should we protect you, Mr Patterson? You have no evidence, no proof.
And why has it taken you so long to get in touch with us? The last victim was
discovered more than a week ago." She stared at him, waiting for his
explanation. He coughed.
"I wasn't going to say anything. But there's been no leads, have there? No
clues. And in the papers, no-one's making the link. You've got nothing else to
go on. And this bastard's coming after my friends." He took a deep breath and
fumbled for another cigarette.
"Just a moment, Mr Patterson," Scully continued. "You still haven't told us
why we should protect you." He looked up at her angrily.
"Because I can identify him. And I'm the only one who can, the only thing
you've got to go on. You don't have a choice. Or I'll go to the papers, tell
them you're dragging your feet. How would that look?"
Now Mulder took control as Scully leaned back. "You really think anyone will
care, Patterson?" For the first time he dropped the 'Mr', treating the man as
a suspect, not a witness. "You're all child abusers. You rape and hurt little
children. You think the public will give a damn?" Scully looked at him... for
a moment she wasn't sure how much was real anger, how much acting, intended to
convince this creep that he had no choice. But it didn't work.
"Look! I've been threatened by the best, FBI man. If you won't protect me,
then I've got nothing to lose by going to the press. I know my rights, and I
know how life works. You don't have a choice." Mulder took a deep breath, and
Scully sensed he was no longer feigning his anger. She leaned forward.
"Mr Patterson, how good a witness can you be? You only have one eye. You
only saw this person for a moment, and you weren't paying attention. What do
you really have to offer us?" He glanced at her balefully.
"I've been one-eyed since my time in Riker's. Angelo was the only reason
that I didn't lose the other one. The regular criminals tended to give us a
bit of a hard time, we had to stick together. But my sight's not that bad. I
can give you a fair description. But only if I get into the witness
protection program. That's the deal; take it or leave it." Although Mulder
hesitated, he knew that he had no choice. They had to have this information.
Much as he hated giving this wretched specimen of humanity a break. He looked
back at him.
"You have a deal. What's the description?"
"Tall, pretty thin, with black hair. I'm pretty sure it was a guy. He was
wearing a black jacket over dark pants - I think they were black too. That's
what we're calling this guy." Patterson's voice had dropped to a whisper, as
if he was afraid even to speak his name. "The man in black."

****

"So how reliable do you think this guy is?" Mulder asked. Scully shrugged.
"I'm not sure. He's scared, that's for sure. But he only saw this guy for a
second, even if it is the one we're looking for. I just don't know." She
looked up at him curiously. "What do you think?"
"I think he's telling the truth. This 'man in black' terrifies him, Scully.
And if he and his associates," - his face twisted in distaste - "are being
hunted, then I can understand that. I just wish we didn't have to protect this
sort of scum." Scully frowned, and Mulder grinned, eyes dark but still trying
to lighten the tone. "Sorry, I don't mean that. Just, for once, it would be
nice to..." His partner nodded. Although that opinion was a very dangerous
one, it was widely held. FBI agents saw a lot of sickening things. Sometimes
the temptation to dispense their own brand of retribution was difficult to
ignore. Justice and the law were not always the same thing.
"Yeah... but this time, it looks like someone's decided to do it themselves.
And they're doing the world a favour." Mulder glanced down at her, surprised.
Not that she held the opinion, but that she chose to voice it. That showed a
remarkable degree of trust.
"The thing is, Mulder, the person we're looking for is a professional.
Possibly one of us, even. They know all the tricks, all the procedures. Do we
really have a chance to track them down?" Mulder smiled.
"We've not given up yet, Scully. With those people from the Lone Gunman, and
a couple of avenues that I've asked Skinner to investigate for us, we're not
precisely doing this by the book. I think we'll get them in the end. I just
hope it doesn't take too long."
"And the pace hasn't accelerated. That's the weird thing, Mulder. The
killer's going slowly, taking his time. That's prety unusual in this sort of
case, isn't it?" He nodded, distractedly.
"Yeah, very much so. But this is a strange case anyway. Nothing matches up
with conventional ideas. He's prepared to go slowly, be patient. And in some
ways, that's the most frightening thing of all." He paused for a moment, then
continued, in a quieter voice. He seemed to be talking to himself more than to
Scully. "Beware the fury of a patient man." Scully looked up at him once more
as he led the way into their office.
"What was that Mulder?" He blinked, then smiled. Scully found herself
thinking how different he looked when he smiled. It was like there was a
completely different personality inside, just dying to get out. And that
person had a mental age of about twelve. She smiled at the thought.
"Just a quote from John Dryden. It seems so appropriate in this case.
'Beware the fury of a patient man.' Don't you agree?" She nodded thoughtfully.
"I guess so. He's certainly patient, that's for sure. And his 'fury' has been
pretty effective so far. You think it's worth alerting the media, warn people
that they're at risk?" Mulder shook his head.
"No point. I think we can assume that all those in the area who have a
record, or are involved in child abuse, have already been warned." Scully
looked puzzled. "What do you mean?" Sitting down at his desk, Mulder rummaged
for a bag of sunflower seeds and started chewing on a handful.
"You caught that thing Patterson said? '...that's what *we're* calling...'.
I think he's a member of a ring. And the word's already been passed." Scully
was outraged. "You mean he might be active? And we've got to protect this
creep? I'm starting to agree with this man in black." Her partner nodded, then
leaned forward, eyes glinting.
"How about we... diversify? Get Juvenile Welfare involved, keep track of
this Patterson's contacts? Much as I hate to admit it, there's going to be no
new leads until the next murder. And we might as well use our time
constructively..." Scully was smiling, her expression that of a mother
protecting her children. Mulder smiled internally as he realised how
appropriate that expression was. In cases like this, the state stood in loco
parentis. And they really could do some good here.
Scully's thoughts were on the same lines. Protecting this ring - if that was
what it was - did not appeal. Here was a chance to actually make a difference.
Her eyes narrowed. "You think we can get Skinner to agree to this?" Mulder
rubbed his chin, leaning back in his chair.
"You leave that to me."

****

"You really think a second operation is called for here?"
"Yes sir." Mulder wisely chose not to say anything else. Skinner had the
folder with the request from Agent Scully and himself. Trying to con him would
not work.
"I'm okaying this, Agent Mulder." He stared into the younger agent's eyes.
"But you and Scully will devote all your time to your case. I'll assign
another team to this one. Good luck."
Mulder nodded. "Thank you sir." Skinner gave him a rare smile.
"I understand how you feel, Agent Mulder. I was recently told about your own
experience. Do you wish to be reassigned?" He held up a hand. "I'm not
criticising you, Agent Mulder. Or casting doubts on your effectiveness. But I
know how hard this must be on you. I have to offer you the choice."
"Thank you sir. But I'd prefer to carry on."
"Very well. That will be all."
Skinner watched as the agent left, eyes narrow behind his glasses, unsure
whether he was doing the right thing. He looked back down at his desk, then
took a folder out of one of the drawers. A report hastily hidden before Agent
Mulder arrived. A faded report, thin, from nearly twenty years ago. And he
began to read it once more.

****

Scully glanced up from the computer monitor to find Mulder staring at her.
She tipped her head on one side and smiled at him. "What's up, Mulder?
Something wrong?" He shook his head, but didn't immediately look away. She
glanced back down at the report she was working on and then back up. "Come on,
Mulder. What is it?"
He shook his head as if to clear it of an unpleasant thought. "I'm working
on another profile. Just trying to think it through in my head before I commit
it to paper. That's the way I work, when I've got time." Scully swung her
chair away from her keyboard. "But that's not all, is it Mulder? there's
something you're not telling me." Although they had been working together now
only a few weeks, she was always astonished when she made one of those
statements. They just seemed to understand each other without speaking, and
she had heard several comments about it already. Maybe that was what this was
about.
"Nothing important." She just looked at him and he dropped his gaze, clearly
not telling the complete truth. She just sat there. He obviously wanted to
tell her what he had been thinking about. She found herself smiling. When
she'd learnt techniques for questioning subjects, she never thought she'd be
using them on her partner. But he was talking.
"I heard someone talking about us in the cafeteria, is all. I thought you
should know that they're all making the wrong assumptions about us." He was
amazed to see her smiling. "Don't worry Mulder, I already knew. You're not the
only one with an odd reputation." He grinned, relieved.
"A reputation? I have a reputation?"
"Listen, Mulder. So they're giving me a new nickname. It really doesn't
matter to me. It's got to be better than the old one, so I can't complain." He
looked at her curiously. He didn't even have to ask. For a moment, she thought
idly about how strange it was that they understood each other so well, so
quickly. One of her old friends from the Academy had commented upon it a few
days ago, something to the effect that there were agents partnered for twenty
years who didn't have their rapport.
"They used to call me the Ice Queen." Mulder managed to keep a straight
face, but it was difficult. But he rarely laughed - he'd had lots of practice
hiding his feelings. It was only with this woman that he could let his guard
down. And that could be dangerous.
"I must admit, Scully, I've never thought of you like that. Is that really
how you're seen in the Bureau?" She nodded, not speaking, just smiling as she
so rarely did. "So you prefer Mrs Spooky, do you?" She almost laughed. Almost,
but not quite.
"Actually, Mulder, I like it. I think the general opinion is that we're well
matched. What do you think?" She stopped, only realising *after* she'd spoken
how it sounded. But he only smiled.
"I guess so." Both agents blinked as the lights in the office went out,
leaving their desks illuminated only by the fading daylight and the desk
lamps. He glanced down at his work, picked a few sheets from the many
scattered over the surface, then looked up at her again.
"I guess I'll see you tomorrow..." He stood up, slipping his arms into the
sleeves of his coat. Scully also stood up, placing several of the folders into
her bag. Her neat, tidy desk was a remarkable contrast to his. "Yeah, I guess
so." Then she looked up him with a smile, not sure if she was really going to
do this.
"You want to grab something to eat?" He gave her a surprised look. Was she
really asking what he thought she was? But the offer seemed to be a serious
one. At that moment, she looked up, faint smile growing wider at his
expression of confusion. "Mulder? Hello?"
"Isn't that dangerous, Agent Scully?" he asked. Then he nodded. "Why not?"
Ignoring the little voice inside his head that was giving him a hundred
reasons why not. But now, this instant, none of those reasons mattered. He
helped her into her jacket and then led the way out of the office, and Scully
shivered. Not from the cold, or from the sudden feeling that maybe this really
wasn't such a great idea, but from the sensation of two fingertips pressed
lightly to the small of her back.

****

"So why did you join the FBI, Mulder?" Scully looked across at her partner
as she asked the question, more curious than her voice would suggest. Mulder
had never really talked about himself, and no-one in the Bureau seemed to know
any more than she did. He had no close friends, only colleagues and
acquaintances. He'd only had a partner once before, and he had asked to be
reassigned after a month.
"I thought we weren't talking about work?" His reply was delivered with a
smile but Scully was sure that he really didn't want to talk about it. But she
wanted to know all about this man, this agent who had been assigned as her
partner and was already her friend.
"I was just wondering, Mulder." She smiled suddenly. "Curiousity is supposed
to be a female prerogative, isn't it?" He couldn't help but grin at his reply.
"Not a very liberated comment." She raised an eyebrow.
"Is that your learned psychological opinion, Doctor Mulder?" He shook his
head, a faint hint of a smile on his lips. "Just a guess, Doctor Scully." They
both smiled, and then Scully laid down her fork with a sigh, admitting defeat
in more ways than one.
"Enough! I really couldn't manage another mouthful. How about you?" She
looked across at Mulder, who gazed down at his empty plate with a face filled
with confusion. "I've finished, but all I remember is the conversation." He
looked up at her. "Thanks, Scully - I've had a lovely evening." She smiled at
him.
"Thank you Mulder - so have I. But it's not over yet." She laughed at his
sudden, panicked expression. "Calm down, partner. You gave me a lift here,
remember? I would appreciate a lift home as well." He nodded in recollection,
then drained his glass. "It's the water - it goes to my head." Both laughed
again.
The trip back to Scully's was almost silent. The only time either spoke was
when she gave him the directions to her home. Mulder pulled in to the kerb and
slowed to a stop. She looked over at him when he made no move to get out. "See
me up to my apartment? You never know what muggers might be out there, you
know. You wouldn't want that on your conscience." He laughed, pulling the key
from the ignition and getting out. "You're right. I mean, you're armed and
dangerous. No mugger deserves that." Scully looked at him over the top of the
car.
"Thank you, Mulder. I think." She led the way to her apartment, pausing at
the door. "Would you like to come on for coffee?" He shook his head
reluctantly. "I really should be going. Thank you anyway... for the offer and
for a lovely evening." She smiled.
"Any time, Mulder. I've enjoyed myself too. See you tomorrow?" He nodded,
made as if to turn away, then faced her again. "Almost forgot - what time do
you want picking up?" She hesitated, thinking about it for a moment. "8.30
okay with you?" He nodded.
"Until tomorrow." He turned and went without a backward glance. Sully
stepped into her apartment, closed the door behind her and kicked off her
shoes. Not realising how she was smiling, she went to put the coffee
percolator on.
She had been telling the truth; she *had* enjoyed the evening, more than she
had expected to. Mulder had a slightly strange sense of humour, but was
interesting to talk to, nonetheless. And he hadn't even tried to kiss her
goodnight, a perfect friend, partner and gentleman.
So why was she disappointed?

****

As promised, Mulder was there to pick her up at 8.30 the next morning. He
said nothing for the first few minutes, then looked over at her with a smile.
"You realise how this is going to look to everyone?" Scully raised an
eyebrow. "You leave your car here overnight and ride in with me in the
morning. It doesn't take an FBI agent to work this one out." She smiled.
"So what? The won't be the first rumours about us, you know." He said
nothing, only lapsed into silence for the next few miles. The next thing he
said surprised her a little; it wasn't like Mulder to shirk off work.
"Okay if I wander off for the morning? I've got to recertify at the range
and I'd forgotten all about it until this morning. Think you can hold the fort
for a while?" Scully shrugged in response, pausing before speaking.
"Well, I could do with some practice. Mind if I join you?" He shook his head
distractedly. "Fine by me. Be warned - I'm a bit rusty." She said nothing.
Somehow, Mulder didn't strike her as the sort of person who would be 'rusty'
at anything. It was one of the few things about him that *was* common
knowledge in the Bureau - 'Spooky' Mulder was a perfectionist.

****

A score in the low eighties, Scully guessed as she lowered her weapon and
hit the switch to bring the target to her. As it moved up the range, the
whirring inaudible through the ear-protectors she wore, she glanced over at
Mulder's target. Puzzled, she took a closer look.
If he didn't improve with his last few shots, he'd barely pass, she
calculated with a distinct feeling of shock. Mulder, the perfectionist, the
professional, shooting this badly? Her feelings must have been obvious because
as Mulder finished shooting, he turned to her, removing the protectors and the
glasses he wore. He smiled ruefully as she followed suit.
"I told you I was rusty." He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. That was also
out of character, from what Scully knew of her partner. Whatever else the FBI
was, it was primarily the elite law-enforcement agency of the United States.
And its agents prided themselves on the high scores they achieved every year
in the inter-agency championships. Mulder's attitude was odd even for him.
"You're doing pretty well though." He gestured at the target, now at this
end of the range. Scully turned to examine it, automatically totalling the
score. Eighty-four, not bad. She placed it to one side and clipped a
sillhouette to the harness, returning it to the bottom of the range. Mulder
did the same, passing his target to the agent in charge of the
recertification. Both replaced their glasses but Scully carried talking over
the roar of gunfire.
"You ever pulled your gun?"
"No, never had to. They don't let me out on the street very often."
"I can understand that." Mulder glanced across at her, wondering whether she
was serious or not. "Do *you* think I'm spooky Scully?"
"Just a bit."
Mulder changed tack, This wasn't going to get him anywhere. "So you ever
have to pull your gun?"
"Once. Didn't have to fire it, though."
"What happened?"
"We busted a suspect and he tried to get away. Nothing serious - he stopped
as soon as I shouted."
Mulder was nodding, seemingly unconcerned that this target was doing little
better than his last. Scully's, he noted, was a complete wreck after only a
few shots.
"You shoot 'Expert' with that thing?" he asked. She nodded absent-mindedly,
explaining after the next shot. "My Dad used to take me shooting with my
brothers when he was at home, pistol and rifle. I was a bit of a tomboy," she
added with a laugh drowned out by another shot. Mulder smiled. Somehow that
didn't come as a surprise.
"So you think that new profile will do any good?" she asked next. Mulder
shrugged, then, realising she was concentrating on the target, spoke aloud.
"Maybe. You never know. But unless our guy makes a mistake, I think this is
going to be a long, drawn-out case."
Much as she disliked the idea, Scully had to agree. The complete lack of
evidence, and with only the vaguest of descriptions to go on, supported
Mulder's idea. There is nothing the FBI fears more than a case where the
person comitting the crimes is as clever, patient and knowledgable as the
agents investigating them. And that was what they seemed to have here.

****

The notification came through a few minutes before the end of the working
day. For once, both agents were ready to go, as their discussions were getting
nowhere. The simple fact was that without more information, they had nothing
to investigate. They'd spent quite a few days in the last few days doing
nothing except reading reports for just that reason.
"Agent Mulder?" He looked up from his desk where he was making a futile
effort to tidy up. "Your results." He nodded, taking the envelope from the
hand of the tall, blond man who had supervised his time at the range that
morning. Scully watched as he tore open the envelpe, wondering whether her
predictions of the morning would be fulfilled.
"Scraped through yet again." Scully nodded in response to his smile,
reaching for the slip of paper. Mulder passed it to her without hesitation -
after all, she'd seen him shoot, hadn't she?
"Scraped through is right, Mulder. A couple of points less and you'd have
had to do it again. The luck of the devil." He grinned, taking the paper back
and burying it amongst the debris on his desk.
"I've got to celebrate. Join me for a coffee?" Scully looked up at him with
an amused smile.
"In the cafeteria? I thought you were worried about the gossips?" He
shrugged, already standing to go. "No, somewhere else. You really think I want
to contaminate myself with the stuff they call coffee here?" She almost
laughed but caught herself in time.
"What, 'my body is a temple' sort of thing?" She also stood, giving in to
the inevitable. Mulder was hard to dissuade when he'd gotten an idea in his
head. Besides, going for a coffee was just the sort of thing friends and
partners did, wasn't it?
"Something like that. And that coffee probably counts as ectoplasm, if you
want to get technical." She shook her head in despair. Mulder's religious
upbringing had, she knew, been sketchy. He'd probably learnt that term from
watching The Exorcist.

****

After a coffee in one of the nearby pavement cafes, the partners started on
their way back to the office to pick up their cars, still talking. Scully
looked up at Mulder curiously.
"You heard anything from that short guy?" He seemed puzzled by the question,
then his expression cleared. "That guy from The Lone Gunman, you mean? No,
nothing yet. And the only contact I had was an e-mail address that doesn't
work any more."
"How come?" Mulder shrugged.
"I don't know how they did it - computers arent't my strong point. But
however they shut it down, it means there's no way to get in touch. I guess
we'll just have to be patient." Scully nodded.
"Yeah, I suppose you're - just a second, Mulder, I have to get a paper. Be
right back." With that, she crossed the road, slipping between two parked,
unmarked vans that waited outside the bank. Mulder watched, mind elsewhere,
as she slipped a coin into the newspaper rack. And then...
Mulder's attention returned violently to the world around him as a man ran
out of the bank, pausing at the bottom of the steps. He was dressed in black
from head to foot, but that was not what caught Mulder's attention. He carried
what looked like a machine pistol, and wore a mask. And he was scanning the
street as another man followed a few steps behind.
"Scully! Down!" She heard the voice, barely recognising it as that of her
partner. That was when she realised how much she trusted him - she was on the
floor, looking around, before she had time to think about it. What was it?
What was he warning her about?
Time seemed to slow down as she saw the man a few feet from her start to
swing around, bringing his weapon to bear on her partner. He was too far for
her to get him and she looked over at Mulder, praying he had cover. But he was
standing there, in the open. As she watched, he pivoted to bring his left foot
forward as, at the same time, he pulled his semi-automatic from the belt
holster. "Freeze," he called as the gun came up, but the masked man showed no
sign of hearing him. Mulder's left hand came up to cup the butt of the pistol,
his face showing no emotion. He was standing sideways, in what a corner of her
mind recognised as classic Weaver stance, minimising his profile. She heard
the sound of automatic gunfire from behind her, cut off as two louder shots
reverberated from across the street. She felt, rather than heard, the man
behind her drop to the floor. She saw Mulder advance towards her, only now
noticing the blood dripping from his upper left arm. At his nod she got up,
startled to find her pistol in her hand though she had no memory of drawing it.

****

The man with the machine pistol was on the floor. She ignored him for the
moment, ears ringing, and focussed on the man behind him, still in the
doorway. He carried a sawn-off shotgun in one hand and a carryall in the
other, but seemed stunned. He made no move to attack her, just followed her
instructions as she told him to drop the items and turn to the wall. She
cuffed him and searched him thoroughly, pulling a knife from his belt which
she dropped to the floor. The whole time she stayed to one side, leaving the
field of fire clear for Mulder, who was doing the same with the man in the
white van.
"You okay?" she called back, not taking her attention from the perp.
Mulder's voice sounded strange, from the adrenaline rush and the echoing
sounds of the gunshots. "Nothing serious. You?" She shook her head as she
knelt to check the man on the ground.
"I'm fine. But he's dead." She lifted her fingers from the dead man's
throat, deciding to leave him where he was for the time being. The words from
her training repeated themselves in her head. "Avoid disturbance to the crime
scene if at all possible. If they're dead, leave them until the forensics get
there." And although she was trained as a pathologist, she wouldn't be needed
here. The cause of death was in no doubt. Two shots to the head, the entry
points less than an inch apart on his forehead. His empty eyes stared up at
her and she stood up, turning to her partner. Both of them could hear the
sound of sirens already.
"Mulder, you alright?" She was expecting him to be shocked, maybe even the
shakes. She'd gotten them when she'd had to pull her gun, and she hadn't had
to fire it. He'd killed a man, and had been shot in return. Her medical
training had already assessed the wound, and it did not seem serious, although
messy. He nodded.
"Yeah, I'll be okay. It's starting to hurt like hell though." They shared a
small smile as a police car screeched to a stop outside the bank. The first
officer out of the car was grey-haired, easily in his forties. His pistol did
not waver as he spoke.
"Drop the guns, now." Both agents knelt to lay their handguns on the floor
as Scully spoke. "We're federal agents, officer. We've stopped a robbery in
process, and my partner is hurt. I'm reaching into my pocket for my I.D." The
man nodded, peering at the leather folder she produced and comparing the photo
with her face. "Thank you for your assistance, Agent Scully. Those the perps?"
She nodded.
"The one in the van is the getaway driver, I guess. The one cuffed to the
railings isn't hurt, but the one down here-" she gestured to the body on the
pavement, hidden by the body of the vehicle "was shot and killed by my
partner. Now, if it's okay with you, I need to see to that arm." He nodded,
waving at the younger man who was speaking urgently into the police car radio.
"Marty... let the lady use the first aid kit. Then tape the area while we
wait for the crime scene guys to get here." The man nodded, showing Scully the
kit in the back of the car and moving away to seal off the street when she
declined his offer of help. Mulder was starting to whiten, coming down from
the adrenaline overload at last.
"Sit down, Mulder... there's fine." He sat on the pavement, wincing as she
cut the jacket away from the wound. "You realise how much this thing cost?" he
asked, trying to lighten the situation. "I think I'll put in a claim to the
Bureau." She smiled as she pressed some gauze to the skin, glad that it wasn't
as serious as she had feared. It looked like the bullet had just creased the
skin of his upper arm. Messy but not life-threatening.
"After hours, Mulder. They won't reimburse you because you weren't on duty."
They shared another smile as another police car drew up, shielding them from
the curious gaze of the public, just across the street. Scully spoke again,
choosing her words carefully.
"Thank you, Mulder. You probably saved my life." He glanced away, shrugged
and winced again. "All part of the service." She shook her head. What was it
with men and the way they had to shrug off any injuries, large or small? Her
train of thought was interupted by the arrival of a fellow FBI agent who she
vaguely recognized.
"Agent Scully; Agent Mulder; well done, first of all. But I'm afraid you
know the drill on this one." Both agents nodded; in any instance where shots
were fired, the agents concerned had to give a statement, fill in forms, and
satisfy a dozen kinds of rules and regulations.
"Sure," replied Scully, standing up. "Got someone ready to take my
statement?" The agent nodded.
"I'll take yours first, Agent Scully, if that's okay. A medic can take care
of you, Agent Mulder, then you can give yours." Scully nodded resignedly;
red-tape had been the only constant through all her time in the Bureau.

****

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Scully glanced across at her partner, talking
to an FBI psychiatrist at the other end of the room. Then she looked back at
Skinner, shrugging.
"I'm really not sure, sir. He's killed a man for the first time. I guess
that's a hard thing to cope with. But he seems okay to me." The Assistant
Director sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing at the bridge of his nose.
Then he looked back up at the red-haired agent.
"Well, it was by the book alright. There'll have to be an investigation, of
course, but from what you say, and what he's said, there was no other choice.
He had to take him down, and he did that very well." He paused, seeing
Scully's expression. "What is it, Agent Scully? Don't you agree?"
"It's not that sir - he had no choice. It's just that he made the shot hard
for himself, by going for a head shot. That style - the 'double tap' they used
to call it - is frowned upon, isn't it?" Skinner nodded, his glance straying
over to Mulder, who had now stood and was shaking hands with the psychiatrist.
"From his report, Agent Scully, he had to aim for the head, because the parked
van was blocking out the chest. And it worked - we've no criticism there. It's
just normally very hard to get it right. Agent Mulder is a good enough
marksman to do it well, and few are." Scully's eyes narrowed.
"What's wrong, Agent Scully?" She shook her head, looking back once more at
her partner who was stood waiting for her. "Nothing, sir. I'll be in
tomorrow?" Skinner frowned.
"No, I don't think so. Let the paperwork go through the system. Agent
Mulder," he paused as the tall agent came closer, "we won't expect you in
until Friday. Regulations must be followed, even though I have no doubt this
was a righteous shoot. Agent Scully, take tomorrow off. Have a break. From
your reports, a day away from the office won't make a great difference." She
nodded. "I'll see you later this week, then. Well done, the both of you."
He watched as the two agents turned to go, neither speaking. Mulder's coat
was slung under one arm, the white bandage reminding Skinner how lucky he had
been. Then his expression frowned as he wondered if there was more to this
than met the eye. Could this have been an attempt on Mulder's life, intended
to slow down the investigation? He shook his head. He was obviously more tired
than he had thought, if he were coming up with ideas like that... time to go
home.

****

"*I'll* drive, Mulder." Scully was fishing the keys from her bag as she
spoke. Her partner looked over at her, puzzled.
"But I'm going home, Scully. Unless you were planning on taking me out to
dinner?" He grinned, more like his old self, and she found herself smiling
too. He had quietened down a little as reaction set in, but he seemed
remarkably okay for someone involved in their first fatal shooting only a few
hours ago.
"Don't push your luck more than once today, Mulder. I just don't want you
driving with that arm. It must have stiffened up by now, and it would be far
too ironic for you to crash the car after surviving that. Humour me, just this
once, okay?" He gave in with apparent grace, getting in the passenger side of
her car. She slipped in and turned up the radio as she drove out of the car
park, waving at the guard on the way through.
"Can I tune in the radio, Scully?"
"It *is* tuned in, Mulder. This is my kind of music, so please don't touch
the dial. It'll take me ages to find it again." He gave her an odd look.
"You mean you tuned it in to this on purpose?" She nodded, smiling at the
tone of his voice, somewhere between disbelief and amusement. He shook his
head in apparent dispair. "Country music; it looks like there's no hope for
you, Agent Scully." She said nothing, just concentrated on getting out of the
centre of town. Then she spoke.
"So where do you live, Mulder? Or should I just drop you off at the nearest
corner and let you walk home?" He raised an eyebrow, really not sure whether
or not she was joking. He hoped she was; despite his earlier bravado, his arm
was pretty painful. And he'd refused any painkillers as a matter of course.
"I'll direct you. Take the next left..."
Scully was amused to find that although Mulder was very good at following
directions, as he had demonstrated last night, he was very bad at giving them.
Finally arriving at his apartment, she looked across at him, smiling.
"How come you can memorise autopsy reports, but can't remember your own way
home?" He didn't answer; he'd given up trying to understand the way his memory
worked a long time ago. When he spoke, it was another question.
"You want to come in, have a coffee?" He was surprised that he had asked the
question, but glad. Maybe it was time to start acting like a human again, and
a human needed friends.
"Sure." He led the way up to his apartment, stopping to dig his keys out of
his coat pocket. Scully smiled at the door number, where the '2' hung upside
down. Somehow that was the kind of thing she expected. Mulder flicked on the
lights and winced.
"Afraid it's a bit untidy..." Scully looked around with a smile. It reminded
her a lot of back home, before her elder brother had moved out. She told
Mulder as much. "Charlie's room was always like this. And Mom never stopped
nagging him about it." Mulder smiled, moving towards the kitchenette to put
the coffee machine on.
"Grab a seat," he called back. Scully looked around, trying to decide
whether there really was somewhere to sit down in here. Only the worn-out
couch, from the look of things. The old, threadbare blanket that was draped
over the back suggested that this was where Mulder spent his nights. Why he
couldn't sleep in a bed like everyone else was beyond her, but then Mulder
probably did strange things for the sake of it.
"Here you are." He handed her a mug of steaming coffee and she sipped it.
Noticing some writing, she held it up to the light, turning it to read the
sentence on the ceramic, speaking out loud. "Tiredness is an illusion, a
direct result of too much blood in the caffeine stream." She laughed,
remembering a similar one involving alcohol from her time at med school. She
looked up to realise Mulder was nowhere in sight.
"Mulder?" she called, worried but not sure why. After all, he was a grown-up
now, she thought to herself. But his voice came from a half-open doorway
behind her. "Just changing. You know, I still think I should claim the price
of a new suit from the Bureau... if I ask nicely, will you countersign the
form?"
"Not a chance, Mulder. Now, if only the tie had been ruined," she mused as
he came back in to find her sitting on the couch, legs curled up under her.
She glanced up at him as he came round to sit on the arm furthest from her, a
corner of her mind noticing that he looked as good in sweats as he had in a
suit. She berated herself as he reached for his own mug. "Sit down properly,
Mulder. I don't bite, you know." He said nothing, just slipped down to the
couch which, Scully had decided, was actually more comfortable than it had
first looked.
"So how's the arm?" He winced, lifting it and judging the pain involved in
the movement. He rocked his right hand to and fro, having learnt by now that
shrugging was a very bad idea.
"Could be worse. The paramedic suggested I get you to prescribe some
antibiotics, and maybe a painkiller. Any chance?" She was nodding absent-
mindedly.
"Sure, no problem." She set her coffee down on the floor and gestured for
him to do the same. "Let me have a look at it and I'll rebandage it for you.
Looks like it could do with being tightened." He gave her an odd expression.
"I can do it myself, Scully; I don't want to be a bother..." She just gave
him the look she reserved for non-cooperative suspects, nosy FBI agents and
men who wouldn't behave themselves. He quailed. "Mulder, don't be stupid. It's
almost impossible to bandage yourself properly, and I *am* a doctor as well as
your partner."
"Okay. I'll be good." She raised an eyebrow at that - it seemed very
unlikely - as he put down his mug and pulled his sweat top over his head. He
turned to one side to let her examine the arm, pressing slightly on the skin.
"Yeah, it's not too bad. You have a first aid kit here?"
"Yeah, in the kitchen. Under the second cabinet." She got up and went to the
kitchen, trying to ignore the mess. All men living alone, no matter how
organized they were otherwise, seemed incapable of keeping a tidy kitchen. But
even Jack's hadn't been this bad...
Having dug out the first-aid kit from the cabinet, she sat back down and
opened it up. She raised an eyebrow, looking across at her partner. "I'm
impressed."
"By my manly physique?" She almost smiled, tempted to tell him the truth.
But no, he was her partner, and her friend, and that would be a very bad idea.
But fun, a voice told her. She ignored it as she gave him another look. "No,
by the kit. This is as good as the one I have." He forgot himself and
shrugged, then closed his eyes, wincing. His arm was stiffening up and the
pain was increasing.
"When I was at Oxford I was a member of the local Red Cross group. I've kept
it up - it seemed like a good skill for an agent to have." She nodded, busy
laying out a bandage and some gauze on the upturned lid of the kit. "You ever
been wounded before?" He shook his head.
"Not before now. And I guess I was lucky this wasn't worse." Scully gently
started to unwrap the bandage from his arm, trying hard to regard the body
before her as just another patient. That was helped by his comment. "Well,
Doctor, will I be able to play the violin afterwards?" She shook her head at
that old line. "It could have been much worse, very easily. You did well to
stop him when you did."
"You think so?" His voice was well controlled, but Scully thought she
detected a hint of doubt. She nodded, not looking up at his face, seemingly
intent on the arm. "Mulder, you had no choice at all. You did the right
thing." She paused, the tip of her tongue between her lips as she concentrated
on wrapping the fresh bandage around the gauze.
"Mulder, I meant to ask..." She looked into his eyes for the first time
since she'd started here, and her hands stopped moving at his bicep. "How come
your scores are so low? Your shooting then, when it needed to be, was better
than I've ever seen." He took a deep breath then let it out.
"I really don't know. It's different when it's for real. I suppose what you
said was the key - it *needed* to be that good. That's all." Scully sensed he
was serious for once, but she was sure he was holding something back. But who
could blame him for that? He'd killed someone today, for the first time. Of
course he wasn't telling her everything. She returned to her work, pulling it
tight despite his wince. She looked back at his face when she'd secured it
with some tape. He was giving her what she had privately labelled his 'whipped
puppy-dog expression'.
Why did he have to look so cute when he did that? And did he know how
effective it was, she asked herself. Probably not. But he certainly seemed to
make the most of it. So what exactly did he want this time?
"Scully," he said, "can I ask you a favour?" She looked at him, hands
automatically putting the first aid materials back in their proper cases.
"Sure, Mulder. What's up?" He gave her an odd half-smile, moving his shoulder
to get the feel of the limits. "I was wondering if you could stay here
tonight."
Her expression softened. Was he asking what she half-thought, half-hoped,
half-feared he was? But her instincts told her no at the same time as he made
a hurried attempt to explain. "It's just that... well, it's like... I just
don't want to be alone tonight." She nodded, commanding her expression to show
only friendly, perhaps sisterly concern.
Scully smiled. "That's what friends are for." It was the first time either
of them had really put it into words, but Mulder nodded unquestioningly.
Scully was one of the closest friends he'd ever had. After only two weeks he
trusted her, as she did him - the way she had dropped to the floor when he'd
called proved that, if it needed proving. And now she would stay with him
through the night.

****

"The small hours of the morning." Mulder didn't realise that he had spoken
aloud until he heard his words in the stillness. The silence between he and
Scully was comfortable, and had not been broken for a while. She was laid on
his bed, looking out at the night sky, any starlight blotted out by the
clouds. He was leaning against the bed, his head resting on the matress.
"What?" He shook his head, knowing that she would feel the movement though
she could not see it.
"Nothing. Just thinking out loud." He laughed softly. "I sometimes have
trouble if I don't say the words." She also laughed, wondering how much was a
joke, how much truth. Mulder seemed the kind of person who had trouble
thinking things through when they got to close to home. Then again, she
thought, who *wasn't* that sort of person?
"Mulder, do you often have trouble sleeping?" she asked. He nodded, and she
sat up, moving to sit next to him on the floor. His face was just visible in
the darkness, staring out at the night.
"Yeah," he answered eventually. She waited for him to say more but there was
nothing. She tried again. "Do you know why?"
"Not really. I always have done, as long as I can remember. Usually I get by
okay with four or five hours. Now and again I go through periods where I'm
lucky to get two, three hours a night." He turned his face towards her. "It's
just the way I am. But I'm sorry I'm keeping you up." She shook her head.
"I'm okay. I'm not that tired." And then promptly spoiled it by yawning.
Mulder laughed. "Seriously, I'll be okay. I don't have to go in tomorrow."
"Fortunately." He paused for a moment, not sure whether his next comment
would be crossing the line. "I'll be good, I promise. I won't ravish you while
you're asleep." Scully couldn't stop herself from laughing. "What, don't you
trust me?"
"I'll be okay, Mulder. Or don't you like my company through the, what did
you say, 'the small hours of the morning'?" She turned to see him smiling,
more convincingly than before. "I do appreciate it, Scully. Thanks for
staying."
"No problem at all."
There was no sound for a few minutes, neither feeling the need to speak.
They'd already talked a little about the shooting, about the way Mulder
thought about it. They'd discussed the case, even though they'd said at the
start they wouldn't. And now they just sat there, thinking.
"I do, Mulder."
He gave her a look, half-smiling. "Isn't this a bit premature? I mean..." He
stopped as Scully elbowed him, none too gently.
"I do trust you, Mulder. Really." He smiled. "No, I do. I wouldn't be here
otherwise." Mulder nodded, twisting to face her once more. An odd smile played
over his lips.
"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much." Scully frowned at him.
"Trust you to come up with a quote for the situation. Anyone would think
you'd studied Literature, or something." He shrugged, then winced yet again.
"You think I'd have caught on by now not to move that arm."
"No, Mulder, I want to say this. Listen for once, okay?" He nodded
obediently. "I do trust you. More than I've ever trusted another person.
You're a lot like my brothers, in a way." She'd have felt him stiffen up if
her attention had been on him, but she was tired, and fatigue had dulled her
edge. She was thinking her own statement through. "Yeah, you'd make a terrific
older brother." There was silence for a few moments.
"I was."
Scully turned to her partner in surprise. Not from the words themselves, but
from the voice they had been spoken in. It had seemed like a totally different
person had said that. "What?"
"I was an older brother." Scully stared at her partner in shock. He'd hardly
talked about his family, just saying that he didn't get on well with his
parents. He'd never mentioned any brothers or sisters. But he was already
explaining.
"Sam - Samantha, but she hated being called that - was a few years younger
than I was. One night, when Mom and Dad were out, we were watching TV. I
wanted one channel, and she wanted something else. I don't even remember what,
now." The words were coming fast now. It had been difficult to start; now it
would be difficult to stop.
"I was the eldest, and Dad had left me in charge. I wouldn't let her change
programmes." He was *there*, Scully saw. Reliving it. "So she went off,
upstairs I thought. I just sat there, watched the programme, then went up to
tell her she could watch what she wanted. But she wasn't there." His breathing
was slow, his voice steady. But Scully knew that these memories must be very
painful ones. Not once did he turn his face to look at her.
"She wasn't in her room, or anywhere else in the house. She wasn't in the
garden. It was just then, as I was wondering what do, that Mom and dad got
back. They called the police." He stopped suddenly, unwilling, perhaps unable,
to continue.
"What happened then?" asked Scully, knowing that he had to finish it. He
still didn't look at her, but he started again.
"They started a search... asked me questions. They called in the State
police, searched the town, the surrounding area." At last he turned to face
her, eyes filled with unfinished pain, before he looked away again, into the
starless night. "They never found her."
"God, Mulder... I'm so sorry." And she was. Although it had been so long ago
in his past, it obviously still meant a great deal to Mulder. She raised a
hand, touched his forearm. "I'm sorry, Mulder." He nodded, unspeaking. Staring
out into the darkness.

"Scully."
"Agent Scully, I talked to you and your partner a few days ago, in the park.
Do you remember?" The red-haired agent found herself nodding.
"Yes, I do. Do you have the information?"
"I'm afraid there is no information to have, Agent Scully."
"I'm sorry?"
"Agent Scully, I mean to say that, as far as we can determine, there has
been no serious attempt to get at the information your partner described. If
you really believe that the information has been used to commit a crime, then
it must have been obtained legitimately."
As much as they had discussed the idea that a rogue agent might be
responsible, this evidence to support it came as a shock. To know that one of
the agents she knew and trusted was a murderer - but no, that wasn't right,
was it? The rogue was a *killer* - something different entirely. These
thoughts flashed through her mind in an instant.
"If the need arises, would you be willing to help us again?" She didn't
seriously expect the man on the phone to agree; what he and his organisation
had done so far was already pushing the limits of legality.
"If the need arises, Agent Scully." And the phone went dead.

****

"Mulder."
"It's me." Briefly Scully wondered when she'd stopped identifying herself on
the phone. It just didn't seem necessary any more. "I've had a call from a...
mutual friend. He said that the records haven't been accessed from outside the
Bureau." She could almost hear the wheels turning.
"And so we must have a rogue." His voice was tightly controlled, but she
thought she could feel anger in it. Unsurprising, really. "And I've got
another couple of days before I can do any work on it. Any word on the
investigation?"
"Nothing yet. But Mulder, you *know* that regs normally require four days
minimum administrative leave for shootings." He didn't say anything; he didn't
have to. "Okay, Mulder, I'll talk to Skinner. I wouldn't really know what to
look for anyway. Satisfied?"
Somehow she knew he was smiling. "Thanks, Scully. I owe you one."
"After keeping me up all night, Mulder, you owe me several." Then she
winced. Glancing around, she breathed a sigh of relief. No-one seemed to have
heard that comment, for which she was devoutly thankful. Over the phone, her
infuriating partner was laughing.
"But I thought you enjoyed it as much as I did, Scully." She shook her head.
"Wasn't it good for you?"
"Mulder, if I could reach you, I would hit you." Yet more laughter came over
the phone. Well, Scully thought, at least he had cheered up a little. After
talking out his past, he'd fallen asleep, but she had stayed, to watch over
him. Now she was starting to regret it. "Scully - I had no idea you were into
that sort of thing..."
Scully gave up. "Make that *shoot* you. See you in a few days Mulder." She
hit the disconnect button, shaking her head. Now if she could just convince
Skinner that the regs should be waived this once...

****

"So you feel that in the circumstances, I should make an exception."
"Yes, sir, I do." Scully tried to read Skinner's expression but it was
impossible. Hardly surprising - you didn't get to be an Assistant Director of
the FBI by showing how you felt about everything. But annoying nonetheless.
"Well, I suppose it's your right to know that the investigation matches your
stories perfectly." He raised a hand. "I didn't doubt you, Agent Scully. But
anyway, with a clean report, and the fact that the shooting was completely
unrelated, I see no reason why we can't bend the rules this once."
"Thank you, sir."
"And you might as well let Agent Mulder know - discreetly - that he's in
line for a commendation. No reflection on you, Agent Scully, but our
investigators said the've never seen a better shot in a live situation." He
lifted a sheet of paper from his desk.
"...considering the time to prepare, the distance from the target (approx 30
feet) and the precision of the shooting, we wish to congratulate Agent Mulder
on his markmanship." He looked across at Scully, who blinked.
"I'll tell him sir." Skinner nodded, leaning back in his chair and
interlacing his fingers. His eyes never left Scully's.
"Agent Scully, I appreciate that he's your partner, and your friend. But I'm
asking as a colleague now, not a superior. What is your judgement of Agent
Mulder's mental state?" Scully frowned.
"I'm really not sure, sir. He seems to be fine - surprisingly so,
considering. I think he's alright. We talked it over, and he seems to be
okay." Skinner nodded, his next question changing tack.
"And what do you think about this theory of Mulder's - that the person
you're looking for is an agent?"
"I hate to say it, sir, but it all makes sense. The weapons training, the
access to the information, everything. We're going to need full access to the
records, sir." Skinner nodded reluctantly.
"Yes, that's true. I'll get one of the records clerks to brief you and Agent
Mulder on the procedures. Thankfully it's all computerized now - you might be
able to save time there." Scully was nodding, hoping that there was *some*
shortcut. Or she and Mulder would still be investigating this time next
century.

****

"Both you and Agent Scully are now cleared for the personnel files." The
clerk, a tall, stooping man with greying hair, made no effort to hide his
disapproval of this state of affairs. Mulder only nodded - he'd already had
several agents make jokes about him using the files for blackmail. He had to
admit, he wondered what Scully's records would show about her. He grinned.
"Agent Mulder?" He returned to reality to see the clerk staring at him
with an expression of concern. "You do understand the importance of these
regulations? All information is to be kept completely confidential. The
computer records are sorted solely by identification numbers. You will have
to see either myself or my assistant to collect the folders themselves." Well,
there goes any chance of checking Scully's vital statistics. "And we hope you
will exercise discretion in this matter." He nodded.
"Of course, Mr Anderson. I'll take good care." The man seemed to find his
grin less than reassuring, but still left, muttering something about his
assistants. Mulder had to smile despite the pain that still throbbed in his
arm. Anderson was a legend in the Bureau, a man who had been appointed to his
position in the Records Department not long after Hoover's death. There were
claims the only reason he hadn't been forcibly retired were the secrets that
he knew. Mulder's smile turned to a frown as he realised how long Scully had
been gone. When would she-
That train of thought was derailed by the sound of his phone ringing. He
pulled it from his pocket and opened it up. "Mulder."
"It's me." He smiled. Scully was almost the only person who used his mobile
phone to call him, rather than his desk or home. Come to think about it,
Scully was almost the only person who *called* him.
"Mulder, I was here at the local police station, trying to get hold of their
records, when a report of a body came in. It's been found in an alleyway on
Fourth and Ten. Can you get down to the scene? From where I'm standing, it
looks like another one for us."
"I'll be right there." Mulder didn't wait for an answer, closing his phone
and grabbing for his coat. Even the pain in his arm didn't slow him down on
the way to the car.

****

"Mulder, this could be the break we're looking for." Scully stepped away
from the police car and gestured back at the crime scene, so marked by the
tape sealing it off. "I got here at the same time as the uniform. They were
tipped off by a member of the public, who says he didn't touch anything. I'm
the only one who's been past the entrance to the alley, and all I did was
check if he was breathing. No joy."
"What makes you think this was by our man?" As Mulder asked the question,
he scanned the surrounding area, getting a feel for the scene. Scully shrugged
as his attention returned to her.
"There's no one thing. Just a feeling. A man alone, no signs of a struggle.
No obvious physical evidence - no footprints, no shell casings. It doesn't
look as if the body's been disturbed, as it would have been if theft was the
objective. It all matches in." Mulder was nodding.
"Yeah, it makes sense, Scully." He glanced over at the alleyway. "When are
the forensic guy expected?"
Scully shrugged. "Any minute. When they've done everything, then we'll get
the body down to County General. I'll do the autopsy there." She looked over
at the body, no longer identifiable as a person, looking just like a bundle of
clothes. No matter what the differences, all bodies looked the same.
"Not that there's much doubt about the cause of death." Mulder raised an
eyebrow in a wordless question. "Well, from what I could see without touching
him, his hands were tied behind him with twine and he was shot twice in the
back of the head. End of story - he didn't even bleed much."
"Any idea of the calibre?"
"Looks like a .22 again, like last time. But as I recall, there doesn't seem
to be any pattern to the weapon." Mulder shook his head, eyes momentarily
blank.
"He's used a 9mm three times, a .22 three, not including this one, a .38 and
a shotgun twice each, and a knife once." He shrugged. "Maybe he keeps running
out of ammo." Scully frowned as she tried to recall what was so effortless to
her partner.
"But always essentially random - to lessen the chances of anyone seeing a
pattern." Mulder nodded, turning to see the arrival of a police van. "Here's
the crime scene guys. Maybe he made a mistake this time."
"We should be so lucky."

****

"The cause of death appears to be massive trauma to the brain due to several
gunshots fired upwards into the skull. There are two entry wounds, indicating
at least two shots were fired, although one would have been enough. There are
no exit wounds, indicating that small calibre bullets caused the trauma, which
is supported by the size..."
Mulder managed to screen out the calm, emotionless voice coming from his
partner. Somehow. Actually seeing the wounds had no effect on him. But hearing
her talk about them so dispassionately made him feel a little queasy. Not that
he intended to tell her that. He tapped lightly on the glass and she turned
towards him.
"I'm heading back to the office. Maybe I can do a little work before
quitting time. When will you be done?" She shrugged.
"Two, three hours. I won't be back tonight. See you tomorrow?" He nodded and
turned to go, then stopped and retraced his steps.
"Scully?" She glanced away from the cadaver at the sound of his voice. "On
second thoughts, I'll head home. My arm's killing me and there's not much I
can really do anyway."
"Sure. Okay if I come round when I'm done? I really ought to have another
look at that wound." He frowned. "Don't act like a kid. I'll see you in a few
hours." He nodded and went, but Scully looked at his receding back for a few
moments. Then she returned her attention to the man on the slab.
"There are no other wounds..."

****

"So how come you're not taking the painkillers?"
He tried to avoid her gaze, but she just sat there, waiting for the answer.
Eventually he gave up and looked her in the eye.
"What if something like that happens again?" She narrowed her eyes.
"Seriously, what if it does? Or any other emergency situation? I might not
react fast enough." He reached for his sweat top - an old, battered one
emblazoned with 'Oxford University', Scully noticed - and pulled it on,
wincing.
"Maybe, but pain won't do you any good, you know." He nodded.
"I'll be okay. And I'm taking my antibiotics, Doctor Scully. Scout's
Honour." She gave him an odd look, closing up his first aid kit once more and
standing to put it away. "Were you ever a Boy Scout?" He smiled.
"Well, for a while I was..."
"Let me guess. they called you 'Spooky', and you got tired of it, and you
left." He tipped his head on one side, a smile in his eyes.
"How did you know?"
"A lucky guess. See you tomorrow?" He nodded.
"Sure." His voice changed in some undefinable way. "Thanks, Scully."
"Like you said the other day - all part of the service."
Mulder just smiled as she left the apartment. Then, curious despite himself,
he put on the copy of the autopsy tape she'd left for him. Sometimes you just
had to know the details.

****

"Morning, Scully." Mulder hadn't even looked up. Scully shook her head,
wondering how he could have known it was her approaching the desk. And the
she decided that, on reflection, she really didn't want to know.
"Morning, Mulder. Did you read through the report I gave you?" He nodded
than glanced up at her. "So did you spot the two mysteries?"
"Yeah... I like mysteries. That's why they put the I in FBI." Scully
closed her eyes for a moment, not really prepared this morning to deal with
Mulder's veering sense of humour. "Want to give me your ideas?"
He nodded, obviously realising her mood. He suddenly took on the air of a
lecturer, one of the mercurial mood changes that she had come to expect.
"One, why were the victims hands tied? None of the others we've found had been
bound in this way. And two, what was the mysterious chemical found on the
victim's neck? A white powder, from the report." Scully nodded.
"Yeah - two new things. Could the killer be changing his tactics?" Mulder
shrugged, leaning back in the chair and folding his hands behind his neck.
"We won't be able to say anything for definite until we know more.
Specifically, *why* the hands were tied, and what the chemical actually was.
Any ideas on that one?"
"It's gone to analysis for testing. The agent I talked to said that he'd
try to get it back to me by this afternoon." Scully looked across at Mulder
who seemed completely relaxed. "So shall we try this computer search?"
"Okay. On one condition."
"What's that?"
"That you do the typing. As far as I'm concerned, computers are for
playing solitaire on." Scully just sighed.

****

"Okay, so are there any other parameters that we'll need to add in?"
Mulder looked bemused for a moment. "No, I don't think so. Let's see..." He
started to tick items off on his fingers. "Experience with forensics, either
as an agent or in the lab. High scores at the range. Height above five
eight, because of what Patterson said. And noted as being involved in a
child abuse case prior to joining the Bureau." Scully nodded, reflected
light glinting from her glasses with the movement.
"Ready to go then." She hit a sequence of keys and the screen cleared. The
two agents waited for a few moments, then a line of text appeared. Mulder
read the words aloud.
"Estimated search time - 30 minutes" Scully rolled her eyes and stood up,
pushing her chair away from the computer. "You want to grab a coffee?"
Mulder shook his head.
"I think I'll just wait. I want to have another look through the files
we've got, anyway. You go ahead." She glanced down at him doubtfully. He
smiled and waved her away. "I think I can look after myself for
half-an-hour, Scully, even if I am wounded. See you then." She left without
saying anything. His attitude seemed unusual, even for Mulder, but then
she'd learnt by now that Mulder never quite acted like you expected.

****

"So, have we got anything yet?" Mulder looked up from the file that was
open on his desk. Well, thought Scully, on top of the things which covered
his desk. She'd been here for weeks and she'd never seen the desk surface.
Mulder had enough junk on his desk to overwhelm a land-fill site.
"This list came through a few minutes ago." Mulder waved a sheet of paper at
her. "I've sent it on to Records. They'll be bringing up the folders in
about half an hour or so." Scully took the sheet from his outstretched fingers
and glanced over it.
"Twenty-six. Not as bad as it could have been." Mulder nodded, obviously
deep in thought. He looked up from whatever he was thinking about as Scully
sat down.
"Mulder, has anyone brought a report up for me?" His brows furrowed.
"I thought you said that it wouldn't be until this afternoon?" Then his
face cleared and he almost smiled, leaning over to help himself from the bag
of sunflower seeds on the desk. "Ley me guess.... you're hoping that the
*nice* Agent Pendrell has tried to do it early." Scully cursed her fair
complexion as she felt the beginnings of a blush on her cheeks.
"Mulder, just because there are some rumours about him, doesn't mean that
Agent Pend..." she trailed off at the expression on her partner's face that
mixed amusement and warning in equal measure. She had barely begun to turn
her chair when the figure behind her spoke.
"Agent Scully? I.. I have that report you wanted." She shot Mulder a glare
colder than liquid nitrogen as she finished twisting to see the young agent.
"Thank you, Agent Pendrell. What did the analysis show?"
He shrugged, a little overwhelmed by her presence. Office rumour had been
hinting at Pendrell's 'thing' for her for some time now, but Scully had
never taken it seriously. Until now, that was. He seemed, thought Scully
incongruously, like a twelve-year-old faced unexpectedly with the prom queen.
"I'm afraid it looks like contamination, Agent Scully." He waved the piece
of paper at her. She frowned. "What kind of contamination?"
"The chemical tested out as from the gloves we use - you know, for
evidence?" Scully nodded impatiently and Pendrell quailed - though he was
the lab expert, she was a field agent, much more familiar with such things.
He swallowed.
"Anyway, that's it - I rechecked it but it matched. Standard Bureau issue."
Scully nodded, taking the sheet of paper that he handed to her and glancing
over it. Pendrell stood there for a moment until Mulder spoke. "Thanks,
Pendrell. It's much appreciated." The younger agent nodded and turned to go.
Scully hardly even noticed.
"Still say there's no truth in the rumour?" asked Mulder with a faint
smile. Scully struggled to hold back one of her own. She elected to change
the subject and Mulder let her.
"Looks like that lead is going nowhere. Just contamination." She shrugged,
then looked up curiously at Mulder - his expression seemed strangely
triumphant rather than disappointed.
"Hang on, Scully... you say you never touched the body, right?" She
nodded, not seeing the point he was getting at. "And no-one else did
pre-autopsy?"
"No, but...." her face changed as she understood what he was driving at.
"Mulder, if I didn't touch him, then who did?" Mulder was nodding now.
"That's right - we were the only two from the Bureau who have had access -
and it wasn't us." He paused. "Wasn't the chemical found in the place where
you'd have checked for a pulse?"
"Yes - if I *had* checked for a pulse." Scully smiled. "I was pretty sure
he was a deader, and to prevent any contamination I checked for respiration
directly - glasses under the nose? You remember that one from the Academy?"
Mulder nodded, waiting for Scully to state the obvious conclusion.
"So, if the chemical wasn't from *us*, then it must have been from another
Agent..." Her voice trailed off as she raised her gaze to meet Mulder's.
"And it's one more bit of evidence - we have a rogue."

****

"Agent Mulder?"
Both agents looked up at the question, but Mulder spoke. "Yes?" Scully
found herself faintly cursing her petite frame as she looked over the tall,
blonde secretary from Records. And then wondered *why* she had reacted that
way. It wasn't as if she cared.
"I have those reports you requested, Agent Mulder." She set the large
stack of folders on the desk, and it promptly collapsed, sending files
everywhere. "I was asked to remind you that all the information in these
folders is..." Scully nodded, taking a certain pleasure in the fact that
Mulder was deep into one of the files already. But she avoided analysing why
that gave her such a sense of satisfaction.
As the woman left, Scully too picked up one of the folders and started to
scan through it. Something told her it was going to be a long day.

****

"Scully?"
"Huh?" She surfaced reluctantly from the file she had been reading, the
fourth of the afternoon. It was only as she realised how hard reading the
text was in the half-light of the office that she understood how late it
was. Looking out of the windows, she found that it was dark outside - the
sun had set. She groaned and stretched, stiff from sitting too long.
"Yes Mulder?" He smiled. Deep in his mind the tall agent was admiring the
way his partner looked when she did that. But those thoughts were locked
away from the world. It wasn't safe... especially not now.
"I'm heading home - see you tomorrow?" She nodded, and he patted his
briefcase. "I've got a round dozen folders here you've got the rest,
okay?" She nodded again, her eyes following his form as he turned to go.
She sat there for several minutes, mind a long way from the silent office.
Then she shook her head as if to put aside her thoughts, focussing once
more on the desk before her.
"Damn," she said, thinking out loud in the luxury of solitude. "trust him
to leave them laying around." She shook her head in despair, picking up the
folders he had left. Automatically her scientist's mind counted them. To her
confusion, there only seemed to be thirteen. What had happened to the other
file?
Maybe Mulder actually had thirteen, she reasoned. Or maybe there was
another file on the desk. She stood and searched through the first few
strata on the shared desks. No joy.
What she did find, however, was the cover sheet with the files. On closer
examination she found that only twenty-five listed, instead of the
twenty-six Mulder had mentionned. A few minutes more searching gave her the
original list of matches from the computer.
She was right - the stack of files they had sent was one short, identified
only by the ID number of the agent. She cursed briefly but in detail - her
father would have been shocked to hear how much she had learnt growing up as
a Navy Brat.
There was only one thing to do. Go down to the Records and dig the file
out herself. With a sigh, she grabbed her things, as well as the papers with
the details, and headed for the basement.

****

It couldn't be true.
She checked the file numbers. They matched.
She checked the list. It had only one possible interpretation.
She checked the name again.
How could this be?

Mulder, F. W.

****

Scully leaned back against the wall, uncertain if she really wanted to
read the file. This was her partner, damnit! He had opened his soul to her,
told her things she *knew* he had never told a living soul. Although they
had been partners a few scant weeks, they reacted like they'd known each
other all their lives. Scully's scientific background acted well to anchor
some of his more 'Spooky' theories. And she was starting to accept some of
his strangely accurate leaps of apparent illogic.
This couldn't be true. Could it?
But her mind started to give her examples from the past weeks that
suggested this was not some unfortunate computer error. His reaction to the
suggestion that child abuse could be involved. The almost willingness to
condone the actions of the killer. The anger with Patterson. All indicators
that, for some reason, Mulder felt even more strongly about child abuse than
the Bureau as a whole.
She pursed her lips, still not sure whether it would be right for her to
read the file she held in her hands. The file with her partner's name on it.
The file that told how he had been affected by child abuse before he had
joined the Academy.
But that was not the main question. Why had Mulder missed this file off
the list he had sent down to Records. Was it embarassment? Shame? Or
something else? Or was it simply that the Records Department had been unable
to send the file of the Agent requesting it?
Scully shook her head. The only way to sort this out would be to read the
file. And that was something that Mulder could easily consider to be a
betrayal. He had, quite literally, shared his soul with her. But there were
some things that he hadn't told her. And now she had to decide whether she
was going to read the information or ask him herself.

****

"Mulder, pick up the damn phone..."
But there was no answer from the line, the central machine telling her in
precise tones that the number she required was out of range or out of
service.
The folder was on the desk before her, still unopened. Still catching her
eye every time she glanced in its direction. Still a glaring reminder that
there were some things she did not know about her partner. And though she
tried to tell herself that of course he had not told her everything, of
course he had a right to some secrets, it still hurt. It felt as if he had
kept something from her unnecessarily. As if he had, in some strange way,
betrayed her by his silence.
She was thinking, now, about the other aspects of the case. The other
mysteries, trying to put aside this matter until she could talk to her
partner, let him explain. For now, there were other things to worry about.
The main one was something about this latest murder that didn't make
sense. The inconsistency that Mulder had pointed out, as well as the
presence of the chemical on the victim's neck. That had been explained, one
more suggestion that a Bureau agent was responsible.
But why had he been tied up? Why had this one been different? None of the
others had been restrained in any way... that had been one of the things
which marked them out, unusual for most killings in the city. Murders were
either easily explained, often within a family or by a close friend, or they
were within the criminal community.
These murders - executions, Scully corrected herself, remembering how
Mulder had emphasized the difference in his profile - were different. In a
normal criminal case, the victim would only be tied up if he or, more
rarely, she, had to be moved, or if they were being interrogated-
Scully sat bolt upright, uttering a muffled curse as the phone dropped
from nerveless fingers. That was it. That was the reason why this victim had
been tied up. He had been questioned before being killed. But what had the
killer wanted to know? What had been so important that he had paused in an
alleyway before shooting him in the head twice?
Picking up the phone once more, she hit the memory button for her
partner's mobile. Still nothing. But Mulder might be the only person who
could guess what the killer had been after. And she couldn't get in touch
with him at a time when seconds could be vital. Whatever information the
killer had gained, he or she would be sure to make use of it as soon s
possible. And no-one knew what the information really was.
Except...
There was someone who probably knew what the victim did. Who might be able
to guess what it was that the killer had deemed so vital. If, of course, he
was willing to co-operate. And if she could get in touch with him in time.

****

"Skinner."
"Sir, it's Agent Scully."
"Yes?" Amazing, Scully thought. You'd have thought he was used to being
called unexpectedly by junior agents in the late evening. Maybe he was.
"I have a possible lead for our case, sir. But I need to get hold of
Patterson, as quickly as possible."
"That may be a problem, Agent Scully." She heard a faint sigh. "Patterson
has not reacted well to the investigation carried out by other agents into
his... activities." Scully could hear the distaste in her superior's voice.
"He may not want to talk to you and Agent Mulder."
Scully gritted her teeth. "I haven't been able to get hold of Agent
Mulder, sir. His phone seems to be out of range. But I did find something
unusual." She wondered whether this was relly a good idea then put the
doubts out of her mind. She was committed now.
"His file was one of the ones on the computer match, sir. He's shown up as
being involved in a child abuse case prior to entering the Bureau." She
could almost see Skinner's expression of disbelief.
"Have you talked to him about this, Agent Scully?" She shook her head
before she remembered that he couldn't see her. Just as well, an errant
though reminded her, as she glanced down at her jeans and an old Academy
sweater. "No, sir."
"Well, I know the details. Have you read the report?" She replied in the
negative again, wondering whether waiting had been the right thing to do.
Skinner carried on. "Well, I suggest you do in the near future. Mulder has a
rather painful family history, Agent Scully. This case might have been
enough to affect his mental balance... if there is a possible clue to the
identity to this killer, Mulder may have taken the law into his own hands."
He followed this grim statement with the details of how she could contact
Patterson. Scully murmered an acknowledgement into the phone then picked up
the folder, staring at it. Wondering what secrets it held.

****

"I don't want to talk to you."
"Mr Patterson, you have no choice." Scully held up her badge to the gap,
through which she could just about see Patterson behind the door. "I am
identifying myself as a Federal officer and I have the right to demand your
cooperation." She hoped her intimidating expression would do the trick. This
was no time to be worrying about things like this.
Patterson surprised her by giving in so soon. "You'd better come in." She
did so, glancing around the small, sparsely furnished room with professional
detachment. It was obvious Patterson had not been here long - it was one of
the safehouses the Bureau operated for witnesses who could be in danger.
Patterson's nervous expression and darting gaze confirmed that; the man was
in fear of his life. And rightly so.
"Mr Patterson, I have reason to believe that some of your... associates
may be in danger." He snorted in disbelief as he poured a generous shot of
whisky into a dirty glass. "Tell me something I don't know."
"This is important." Scully moved a little closer, needing to convince
this pathetic specimen that she meant him no harm. At least, she amended to
herself, that she would do him no harm, whatever her beliefs.
"I believe that the last victim was interrogated, Mr Patterson. And that
whatever he knew was so important that the 'Man In Black' as you call him
spent time asking questions instead of just getting away." Patterson's
expression of disbelief was slowly changing to one of doubt.
"Do you understand? The man doing this *knows* something now, Mr
Patterson. Something that may have grave consequences for you and the people
you know." Patterson dropped his gaze.
"You *do* know something!" Scully exclaimed. She took another step closer.
"Patterson, what is it? Tell me. Please, tell me this. We have to know what
information was so important."
At last Patterson replied, perhaps convinced by her arguments, perhaps
just unwilling to resist any more. "There's a... a meeting," he admitted. He
refused to meet her eyes. "Of some of my friends. I didn't want to go, but I
know the details." He paused. "And so did Conners."
"Where?" Scully asked, taking her phone from her pocket. She stood there
poised, waiting for the details. But Patterson shook his head.
"No way. Not after the way some of my associates have been hounded after
the last time I talked to you." Scully narrowed her eyes.
"Mr Patterson," she said, calmly, hiding the anger as well as she could.
"You have no choice. You have to tell me this. And these are your friends'
lives at risk here! We have to get back-up there, now!" He shook his head
again, downing the last of the whisky in the glass.
"No choice here, Agent Scully. I'll take you there. Just you, no-one else.
And then, if there's a problem, you can call 'back-up'. Not before." Scully
closed her eyes for a brief moment, wondering what she should do. Which was
the right decision. But she knew that there was no time to argue. Like he
said, she had no choice at all.

****

Twenty minutes later, Patterson glanced over from the passenger seat at
the report she was reading. "What's that?" he asked curiously. Scully gave
him a look that should have crumbled him to dust on the spot. "Nothing to do
with you." She kept reading and Patterson returned his gaze to the traffic.

****

A missing person's report.
A social worker's report, stating that although Samantha Mulder had been
upset, there was no apparent reason for her prolonged absence.
A psych report on F. W. Mulder, age twelve, stating that he was unlikely
to have had anything to do with the disappearance.
Interviews with the parents. together and separately.
Witness reports from a passing motorist who had seen a young girl walking
away from the Mulder house late that night.
A police report about the unidentified, naked body of a prepubescent female
discovered in woodland several miles outside the limits of Chilmark, MA.
An autopsy report; cause of death was manual strangulation. Other injuries
consistent with self-defence against a larger, stronger opponent. Evidence
strongly suggesting sexual assault and rape both pre- and post-mortem.
A statement from Mr W. Mulder formally identifying the body as his
daughter, Samantha Mulder.
Police reports detailing the arrest of a vagrant by the roadside on the
way out of Chilmark.
More police reports, with an inventory of the vagrant's belongings; he
could give no explanation for the articles of children's clothing, including
underwear, found in his possession.
A statement from Mrs W. Mulder formally identifying the clothing as
belonging to her daughter, Samantha Mulder.
Court transcripts and medical reports on the vagrant, one Andrew J. Dooley,
giving the course of his trial for the rape and murder of Samantha Mulder.
The statement of the judge, condemning the brutal crime and sentencing
Andrew J. Dooley to life imprisonment with no possibility of parole.

****

Scully closed the folder. Looking straight ahead, into the darkness, she
finally understood. Mulder hated child abusers with a passion that defied
belief, until you understood his past. All the contradictions suddenly made
sense.
His poor performance on the firing range and uncharacteristic lack of
concern, compared to his reactions and incredible accuracy in the street.
His understanding of the way killers, murderers thought and acted,
compared to his revulsion at his close acquaintance with their minds.
His status as a loner within the Bureau, despite his great skill in
profiling and his high rate of case solution.
His hatred of child abusers coupled with his hatred for himself, his need
to 'atone' for the actions of a twelve-year-old boy so long ago.
That was it. Suddenly it was all clear.
Mulder hadn't vanished this evening to hunt down the killer. His mind had
made no great leap, guessing the subject's next actions. He was not going
after the killer to stop him.
He *was* the killer.
And Scully was perhaps the only person who understood why.

****

The car journey lasted a few brief minutes and years beyond counting.
There was not long enough for Scully to come to terms with these new,
unhappy truths, but, at the same time, it was too long for her to simply put
it aside. She felt betrayed, used. All the time, Mulder had been playing two
roles. And Scully had hoped, deep down, that after this case there might be
room for them to be more than partners.
Companions?
Friends?
Her mind stopped there, refusing, even in the privacy of her own thoughts,
to carry on the logical progression. They were partners. And now they would
never be more than that. Now she would have to be the one to end Mulder's
career in disgrace. Even though it was the last thing she had considered or
expected.

****

"Okay, we're here." Patterson's voice was a welcome interruption in the
car, stopping the constant whispering of the thoughts in her head. Thoughts
telling her how wrong she had been to trust Mulder. Thoughts that were
getting harder to ignore. She looked out into the darkness, seeing only the
shadow of a large building in front of the car.
"Where's *here*?" she asked. Patterson hesitated. Scully was actually
rather ashamed of herself for not keeping track of the route herself. But
Patterson soon gave in, faced with a rather intimidating stare. He gave her
the address and Scully filed it away. Patterson reached out to stay her hand
as she reached for her phone. They locked gazes.
Fortunately her resolve was not tested a second time. From the building in
front of them they both heard gunshots, two of them. Then ominous silence.
Scully hit the button for headquarters, giving the address and asking for
immediate back-up when the call was answered. Then she closed up the phone,
ignoring the warnings of the agent on duty not to enter the building and not
to approach the assailant. This wasn't an assailant, or a criminal. This was
her partner.
"Stay here," she ordered, pulling out her gun and checking that a round
was chambered. Scully pulled two spare magazines for the pistol from her
purse before looking over at Patterson. Fear masked by determination was
obvious on his face.
"They're my friends. And they're fighting back. I can't let this bastard
get them." She narrowed her eyes, surprised by his unexpected bravery yet
not wanting him in there. He was bright - he'd realised that the shots
they'd heard hadn't come from a silenced weapon. And so someone was shooting
back at the vigilante. If he saw Mulder there, he might be able to put
things together...
What was she thinking? Scully tried to examine her own motives. Was she
really considering trying to cover this up, prove Mulder a hero? Hide his
involvement? Because, whatever his reasons, whatever his history, Mulder was
still a killer. Still someone who had killed over a dozen people, whatever
their criminal records. He had to be stopped.
But could she do it?
She put that thought aside, like so many others. Later. For now, she just
had to find him and stop him. The details could be dealt with later.
"Okay. Follow me and keep your head down."

****

The door had been left ajar, and it slammed against the wall with a
satisfying bang following Scully's kick. She stepped in and scanned the
room, eyes tracking over all three bodies. She put her feelings on hold.
There wasn't time for that, not now. Maybe not ever.
A few moments brief examination confirmed that they were dead. And it was
pretty recent, too. Mulder... the killer, she corrected, not trusting
herself to react as she should if she didn't keep that in mind. The killer
must have waited until nightfall before driving out here.
There were two doors out of the rom. With only a brief glance behind her
to ensure that Patterson was sticking close, Scully examined what she could
see of the next room. Empty, apparently. But when she stepped through the
doorway, her heart sank as she found another body. This one was clutching a
revolver, and the smell of cordite was heavy in the air. Patterson dropped to
his knees and tugged at one shoulder. Slowly he managed to turn the body
enough to see it's face. Scully did not need to ask; it was obvious he had
known this man. She waited for him, eyes never still, as he threw up in a
corner. She had to admit, the two bullet-holes in his forehead had made
quite a mess.
Patterson stood up slowly, shaking. He glanced over at Scully, wiping his
mouth with one hand. Her expression did not change as she turned away and led
the way to the next doorway.
This room was not as empty as the others. No bodies lay on the floor, the
only illumination a circle of light from the doorway. Scully moved away
hastily, aware how her silhouette made her a target, and batted at the wall
for a lightswitch. Nothing. Otherwise, the room was in darkness. She couldn't
even tell how big it was. But something told her that there was someone in
here. She prayed silently for a moment, to a god she was not sure she
believed in. And then she spoke.
"Mulder?"

****

Movement.
Footsteps in the darkness.
A shadow on the edge of the circle of light.
She took a deep breath as the figure stopped. Features hidden by the
darkness, it waited. What for, she did not know. Could not even guess at.
Forgiveness?
Compassion?
Understanding?
"Mulder, is that you?"
The figure took one more step forward, and suddenly her eyes focussed on
the pistol it held in one hand. The light caught it, gleaming dully. A Sig
Sauer. Mulder's gun. Her eyes rose to the face that she could barely make
out in the dimness.
Mulder.
His eyes were watchful, alert. She'd never seen him like this before, she
thought briefly. Before recalling a time when she had seen this side of her
partner. The shoot-out outside the bank. His face, like now, blank of all
emotion. Eyes wary, waiting for something. Anything.
"Scully?" He seemed surprised to see her. His hand stayed at his side,
slack, though he must surely recognise that her pistol was aimed at his
heart. She nodded, her eyes flickering past him, seeking out danger.
"How did you... the files." He answered his own question, nodding slightly
in understanding. "You found me in there." It was a statement now, he knew
what she had discovered. But she nodded anyway. If she could just keep him
talking until back-up arrived...
"Don't you want to know why?" The question was unexpected. Her eyes
narrowed as she took in the expression on his face. The feelings were no
longer hidden. It was not that he wanted her to understand; he was not
'justifying' himself, as so mnay serial killers had attempted. He just
wanted to explain to his partner. And she owed him that.
"I know why, Mulder." Her grip on the pistol wavered. Despite everything,
she could not believe this man was a danger to her. "I know why you had to
try and get revenge." He shook his head.
"Not revenge. Justice." Scully took a deep breath. Couldn't he see that
justice had nothing to do with this? "You murdered them, Mulder." She heard
Patterson gasp as he finally understood why Mulder was here. He had not been
*hunting* the Man In Black.
"It wasn't murder. It was execution." Mulder seemed calm, and Scully
thought back to the profile, right back at the start. It had seemed to make
sense then. She looked at her partner with sadness in her eyes. "Did it
bring her back?" She saw him swallow.
"No. But they won't do it again. That's something."
Scully was about to answer when she heard a movement behind her. Mulder's
eyes widened in shock and time slowed as she heard him calling, "Scully, down!"
and wondered as she dropped to the floor why she still trusted this man with
her life.
The sound of gunfire, immediate, deafening.
The flash from Mulder's pistol, blinding.
The terrible sight of a wound appearing on Mulder's chest as if by magic,
then a second. The dull thud behind her, felt more than heard, as Petterson
dropped to the floor. Scully watched Mulder as he also fell, wounded, gun
clattering on the ground. She glanced behind her and saw Patterson, two
holes in his forehead, crumpled, lifeless.
"Mulder?" She knew she spoke, felt her lips move, but understood that the
roaring in her ears prevented any real sounds. She moved to Mulder, who
looked up at her, almost smiling, hand pressed to the wounds in his chest.
The blood pulsed from beneath his palm, staining the dark material of his
clothes. She leaned closer to him, wondering vaguely how she came to be
kneeling across his body.
The feel of breath on her cheek. The faint movement of his chest. She drew
back, ready to start CPR, knowing deep down that there was no chance. At
least one of those rounds had gone through the heart. Only a priest could
help Mulder now. He was beyond medical help.
Amazingly, he was trying to speak. She leaned closer, the echoes of the
gunshots clearing now. He tried to smile. It almost broke her heart. He
spoke, a whisper she might almost have imagined.
"Sorry, Scully... wish I could have... known you better." And then his
eyelids fluttered closed and she heard a faint rattle in his chest as he
exhaled. His chest did not rise again.
That was how the agents found them. Scully, eyes dry, face expressionless,
knelt over Mulder's body. Her fellow agent, partner, and friend.

****

Epilogue

****

... it is unlikely that we will ever know who Patterson was aiming at.
Mulder, the man who had killed his friends and associates? Or myself, who he
may have believed to be aiding Mulder in his quest? The truth will never be
known. Agent Mulder's shots were too accurate, and it is my professional
belief that Patterson was dead before he hit the floor.
However, one mystery even greater than this remains. Why was Mulder so
slow? His shooting skills were incredible, his reflexes remarkable, as his
actions in front of the bank demonstrate. There, he drew his weapon, called
to him to stop and fired, all before a man armed with a machine pistol could
bring it to bear. In this instance, his weapon was in his hand. He was a few
feet away rather than across a wide street. And yet he did not pull the
trigger until Patterson had fired two rounds from a revolver.
Was Mulder simply tired, from days and nights spent living a lie? Had his
reflexes been blunted by the time he had spent that evening, stalking men
through the rooms of that building? Or was it simply that he had given up?
Did he decide that all quests must come to an end?
These questions have no answer. No-one, not even I, his partner, can delve
into the mind of a dead man. Ironically, the one person in the Bureau who
could have explained his motives was Mulder himself. And his profiles seem to
offer the only clues to his behaviour, accurate in every detail.
Agent Mulder was buried with full honours, despite the acceptance of my
report of events by a Board of Inquiry. The file into the 'Man in Black'
killings has been closed. But these, the most important questions of the case,
will never be answered.

THE END

Please send me comments!

Ian Horsewell 8^) University Of Warwick
i.j.horsewell@warwick.ac.uk - http://www.warwick.ac.uk/~phuwv
--- Living is the only thing in the world worth dying for ---