From jhumby@ctv.es

Thu Dec 12 1996
Legally:
The interesting characters in this story belong to Chris Carter, 1013
and Fox as brought to life by DD, GA and the X-Files writers. I've
borrowed them for fun not profit.

This story:
I'm happy for the story to be circulated uncommercially, intact and
with my name still attached.

Title - Out of the Shadows
Rating - R
Classification - XA

Summary:
It's 1991 and Mulder is working for Behavioral but is about to get
caught up in a string of cases that make him think it's time to
leave. Scully is working at Quantico. R for violence and some bad
language.

Thanks to Sarah and Ann for their UKism checking and helpful
comments. The remaining errors are as usual, all mine, I like to put
them back in afterwards.

Joann
jhumby@iee.org

=====

OUT OF THE SHADOWS
Part 1 of 6

QUANTICO - FALL 1991

Dana Scully surveyed her empire and sighed. A nice office. A captive
audience of eager students. A reputation as a perfectionist. No one
had ever seen her hand in a sloppy report. No one had ever berated
her for missing evidence.

Too good at her job. Recruited fresh from Med school as soon as she
became an MD. Recruited to the academic staff at Quantico as soon as
she completed FBI basic training. Shouldn't have happened, wasn't
supposed to happen. A couple of years field experience or at least ME
experience should have been the minimum requirement, but in her case
it had been waived. Her 'practice' autopsies had yielded more
information that the 'real' autopsies had done.

She wouldn't have minded the experience in the field but she hadn't
really got that much say in the matter. 'Never turn down a
promotion.' Her parents hadn't wanted her to join the Bureau but now
she had, she remembered how they had always encouraged her to be a
success. It helped as well that the job would keep her out of the
firing line. Safe duties, it would give them time to get used to the
idea of their daughter as an FBI Agent.

It didn't rule out a move to the field, just made sure that she would
be on a higher grade when she got there. A good start to anyone's
career.

Tonight was her chance to listen to someone else do the talking,
Special Agent Fox Mulder. A Psychologist by training, supposedly
based with the ISU, the behavioral team at Quantico. Not that anyone
ever saw him at Quantico. Too valuable. The worst cases, the most
notorious murders. The ones that had already been investigated. The
ones that other profilers had already taken a shot at. Marked for
greatness in the Violent Crimes division. Patterson's obvious
replacement when the time came. If he survived.

She sat at the back of the audience in the darkened lecture hall as
he talked about serial killers, religious fervour, mysticism and the
occult. Interesting. But more interesting had been the way he looked
at the slides as he flicked through scenes of crime highlighting the
symbolism and the imagery. She spotted it even among the clinical
descriptions and sick jokes that spiced the presentation. He flinched
slightly at a couple of the images, closing his eyes at one point to
recover his balance. Interesting.

Not what she would have expected from someone as utterly familiar
with murder as he undoubtedly was. Not what she would have expected
from someone with the heaviest case load in VCS. Not from someone
whose knack for spotting missed crime scene details and producing
terrifyingly detailed profiles was so well known that in some mix of
insult and admiration they'd nicknamed him Spooky.

Dana saw him afterwards sitting alone in the cafeteria. Unusual that.
Usually there would be a line of Agents with a list of questions. Or
else, so she'd heard, some attractive young woman, tall with black
hair, apparently. But right then, alone in the cafeteria he had
looked utterly alone, utterly lost. Eyes half closed, he looked
exhausted, drained.

She went to pick up her coffee and planned to walk over to thank him
for the lecture, maybe stop for a chat if that seemed to be what he
wanted. But as she turned she heard his cellular phone buzz. She
couldn't help but stare. His expression was one of pure resignation,
pure surrender. She heard some of his words. < Tonight.. Couldn't I
leave it until tomorrow.. Yes, Sir.. Understood.. I need to go home
and .. Ok... I'll go straight out.. someone to send my things then..
Yes, I know.. I'll be at the airport in an hour.. Yes, Sir. >

He put the phone back in the case. Quickly knocked back the remains
of his coffee, grabbed his briefcase and left. Scully didn't even get
the chance to introduce herself.

------------

Mulder looked at the ripples on the surface of his cup of coffee. The
circles and spirals and the bubbles that were forming. A kind of self
hypnosis, meditation. Normally it was part of his armoury of tricks
for getting in the mood to work. Work that didn't just need thinking,
work that insisted you draw on the darkest layers of your own mind to
dissect and understand the darkness of someone else. But right now ,
his objective was quite different. To all practical intents, he'd
been on duty now for three months without a break. He'd actually
seen his desk today, that didn't often happen, it was a cause for
celebration.

He'd slept in his own apartment last night, he'd almost forgotten why
he had one. He had to be in the office this last couple of days, a
physical, recertification on the gun range, paperwork, a court
appearance. They'd all caught up. Doing the lecture had been an
afterthought, but it made a change and a change was as good as a
rest. Or so people said. It was a while since he'd had either.

So, tonight he was going to have a real change. Tonight was going to
be a night off. Spooky was not required and Fox was going out. So now
he needed to wind down. Two choices, look up an old flame in the
diary, maybe someone would be pleased to hear from him. Or try and
meet someone, preferably someone who didn't know he worked for the
FBI.

He shrugged, that latter requirement was a shame because he wouldn't
have minded getting to know the pretty redhead who was waiting for a
coffee. She looked so bright, so innocent, so young. Another time
perhaps. He tried to remember being that young. He smiled, who was he
trying to kid. 'Get to know', as if. What he had in mind for tonight
was getting....

The phone rang. He hated that, it was like a manacle, marked him as a
slave. He sighed and dug around in his briefcase for the offending
article. Patterson's voice confirmed the inevitable bad news

As Mulder replied, he hated the whine he could hear in his own voice.
"You want me to fly out tonight, Sir. I was hoping to get chance to
sort out some things at home. Why tonight?"

"Because you are needed tonight."

"Couldn't I leave it until tomorrow?"

Patterson stated the obvious. "Not if you want to do your job
properly."

Mulder wondered why he was arguing. It wasn't as if he ever won
arguments with Patterson. So he started to back down. "Yes, Sir. If
it's that urgent. Understood."

"Agent Jackson will meet you at National with your ticket."

"I need to go home and pick up some clothes and stuff."

Patterson's voice became more insistent. "You're wasting valuable
time."

"Ok, I won't go home. I'll go straight out. I'll get someone to send
my things then."

"Nobody likes getting called out Mulder, so you can knock the self
pity out of your voice. This is urgent."

Mulder winced, why was he still arguing? Patterson always won,
arguing with Patterson just left him feeling like a disgruntled five
year old. He tried to recover. "Yes, I know. I'm just working out the
arrangements. I'll be at the airport in an hour."

"You need to be."

"Yes, Sir."

Great. Just great. He stamped on the feelings of self pity before
they took even more of a hold. < Get on the plane. Go and do what
you're good at. > He put the phone away, downed the coffee and headed
out.

---------

Agent Colin Jackson was waiting at the check in desk at the airport,
he handed Mulder his ticket. "No luggage?"

Mulder shook his head in reply. "No, I was out at Quantico, didn't
get time to stop by my apartment. So I have my briefcase." He waved
the expensive leather case in front of him. "And my laundry." He
waved the supermarket plastic bag.

"They could have let you get a later flight. I mean, we'll be too
late to do anything when we arrive there tonight. If you'd got a
later one you could have just have slept through it."

"S'okay. It's my own fault. I should have had a change of clothes in
the car. I just ran out of clean things."

Jackson nodded. They hadn't worked together for three months. Jackson
realised that Mulder wasn't going to say anything, so it was up to
him. Last time they'd talked, Jackson had been driving Mulder at high
speed to the hospital. They were interviewing a murder suspect, who
had smuggled the razor blade in past the search by the Sheriff's
deputies. The man launched himself towards Jackson. Mulder had put
his hand in the way. "Mulder. I never really got the chance to say
thanks. For stopping that man."

"S'okay. My jumping in wasn't deliberate. Just a reflex response."

Jackson looked at him, momentarily startled by the casual comment,
saw a brief glimmer of humor in Mulder's eyes and relaxed. Jackson
continued. "How did they keep you working? I saw that cut."

Mulder tried to stop the involuntary shudder that started to run
along his spine. He'd seen the cut too. In fact after a day on the
firing range he could still feel it throb. He'd been sent back to
Quantico after the incident, light duties, until he could hold a gun
again. Then after three days they'd found a way to get him back in
the field. "They put me on medical leave. Then they hired me as a
consultant."

"Can they do that?"

"Apparently."

"You shouldn't let them treat you like that."

"S'okay."

Yes. Everything was ok. Absolutely as expected. He started to ask
about the case.

Mulder looked around the plane. Mostly empty. Something to be
grateful for. He claimed a block of seats and put his dirty washing
in the overhead compartment. He was already feeling guilty about
arguing about going straight to the airport. Patterson was right of
course. Even more than usual every hour mattered, every minute
mattered. Patterson was always right. He reminded himself that he had
no time to feel guilty, not if every minute mattered. The thought
almost made him laugh.

Jackson had given him the files. A kidnapper and killer. They even
knew the man's name, Charles Daniels. They knew his MO, they'd seen
his work before. They'd heard his work before, he'd taped the sounds
of his victims and sent them to the police. A little game he liked to
play. They even knew the name of Charles Daniels' lover. Knew her
name, because she was the ransom he was demanding for release of the
young woman he'd taken. And if his lover wasn't there by midnight,
then the teenager would die.

There would be no deals. The Governor of the State that had the woman
in the secure psychiatric unit would not deal. He wouldn't even
pretend to deal. It would look bad if word got leaked to the press
and with elections coming up, well he couldn't afford it. He was
happy to trust in the skills of the Law enforcement community, that
was what they paid the Feds for, wasn't it?

Mulder pulled the walkman out of his briefcase and plugged in the
first cassette.

Jackson had been wrong. A later flight wouldn't have been useful,
just would have wasted another three hours. Mulder wouldn't have
slept on it. With just over twenty six hours until the kidnapper's
deadline, Mulder wouldn't be sleeping at all tonight. After listening
to the first hour of tapes, Mulder wasn't sure if he would ever sleep
again.

< Let go. Imagine what it would feel like to have that teenager's
life in your hands. Imagine how it would feel to be able to try and
barter that life for another. Where would you lock away your victim?
>

A mixture of revulsion and dread was already pulsing through his
veins. Dread that he might not be able to understand in time to save
the victim. Revulsion that he might be able to.

He looked up, the flight attendant was looking down at him, a bright
smile. "Can I get you something Sir? A drink? Maybe a pillow if you
want to try and get some sleep?"

How could she ask that? Sleep, as if he'd be sleeping. He tried to
think about the rest of the question, it took a few minutes to focus
on it. "A glass of water please."

She looked down at him. She wasn't even going to get a smile out of
him. She turned away.

Jackson leaned across the aisle. "Hey, you could at least have sent
her in my direction if you were going to brush her off."

Mulder stared at him and tried to understand what he was saying. A
flush of annoyance as he understood. Jackson was off duty. Mulder
tried not to be annoyed about that, he knew that everyone needed to
be off duty sometimes and right now there was nothing Jackson could
do to progress the case. Jackson, after all, was not spooky.

Mulder headed to the washroom. Why was it so different for other
people. Did Jackson really have no idea? Was it really only the
freaks who could force themselves to understand. And if that was
true, what did that make him? Chief freak. Too easy to think like a
monster. Takes one to know one.

Jackson chatted hopefully to the Stewardess. "No, he's not usually
that weird, just tired, he's working."

She smiled suspiciously. "Working? Listening to his tapes. What is
he? He can't be a record exec, else you guy's would be in first
class."

"We're FBI, he's listening to some evidence tapes."

"Oh. And I guess you don't need to, because you've already got them
memorised?"

Jackson grinned. "Got it in one."

Mulder slunk back into his seat and looked out of the window, let the
dark sky hypnotise him. He picked up the headphones and tried to stop
his hands from shaking. Great. All he needed. The case was two hours
old and he'd got the shakes. Great.

-------------------
END of Part 1

From jhumby@ctv.es Thu Dec 12 05:26:17 1996
Legally:
The interesting characters in this story belong to Chris Carter, 1013
and Fox as brought to life by DD, GA and the XFiles writers. I've
borrowed them for fun not profit.

===========
Out of the Shadows (jhumby@iee.org)
Part 2 of 6

INDIANAPOLIS

Mulder and Jackson were met off the plane by the local PD. Mike Cann,
the chief of detectives was almost afraid to ask, but he had to ask,
so he forced the words out. "I know you've only had the flight to
think about it, but have you got anything? Do you want to issue a
briefing? Something my people can work on while you get some sleep?"

Mulder nodded. "Let's go the station."

Mike Cann sighed with relief. Anything would be better than nothing.

As soon as they arrived at the station, Mulder asked for Cann to get
his people together. Jackson looked on, bemused by the whole process.
He knew that Mulder had not prepared anything. He hadn't even made
any notes on the flight out.

As Mulder stood in front of the whiteboard it sounded as if he was
dictating a well rehearsed speech. His audience of uniformed officers
and detectives looked stunned. Cann was as horrified as he was
impressed, he decided to ask the questions his team didn't have the
nerve to. "Agent Mulder. Are you sure he'll carry out the threat? Can
we expect any extensions on the midnight deadline. Will he deal?"

"He won't deal. He'll kill at midnight unless we stop him."

The assembled group looked nervously at the wall clock. It was 12.15
now, they had less than 24 hours.

Cann spoke again. "You say he's not in the same building as the
victim, that he's rigged the place he's holding her to kill her when
he's not there. How can you know? It's not the same as the MO on the
other killings."

"It's exactly the same as the other killings."

Murmurs from around the room. "You're saying the tapes are fake?" The
tapes had conversations between the victims and their captor

"His voice is on loudspeaker. He's not in the building when the death
actually takes place, he's in radio contact or something."

Cann didn't bother to ask how Mulder knew. Gas. Electrocution. Lethal
injection. All of them methods of legal execution, all of them
possible to trigger from a distance. Charles Daniels' chosen methods
of killing. Mulder looked at the mystified faces and explained the
last details. Explained how the police were always so far behind,
that their killer could return to the scene of crime and clean up
before they got there. Often, they didn't get there until days later.
Not until the tape cassette arrived on their police chief's desk.

The officers looked at one another as Mulder left the room. Mulder
had looked absolutely icy, head held up, a haughty cocksure look in
his eye, a sharp tone in his voice, no one would argue while he was
in the room. Damned, big city College boy yuppie from the Bureau
throwing his weight around, acting like he was the only person who
knew how to get anywhere on the case. Cann rounded on them, "he's the
only chance we've got." They muttered in frustration.

As he left the room, Mulder felt the glares. < Strike one for intra
Agency cooperation. > His shoulders sagged. He sighed unhappily. He
had no choice, Cann would pick up the pieces, he'd apologise to Cann
later. Right now, he had no time to argue and no strength to explain.

He just had a job to do. Take a deep breath and dive back under. Then
try and give them the clues that could make the difference.

The briefing to the police team was difficult. Mulder wanted them to
use their local knowledge to match a set of characteristics that the
crime scene would have to some real building. Except the building
could be anywhere in a thirty mile radius.

Mulder scanned the photographs and maps of the old murder sites.
Always commercial premises, small, the kind of place that wouldn't
have a lot of security, maybe a store, a warehouse, a small workshop.
An empty place, but not one that had been empty for long or else the
electricity wouldn't still be switched on. On a side street but close
to a main thoroughfare, Daniels wasn't a local so he picked his sites
while he drove. Near the parking lot of a sports ground or some other
occasionally used place so that he could be confident of parking
close by and invisible when he moved in to clear the murder scene of
his electronics.

The killer needed to be close at the time of the killing. It made the
radio link easier to rig. It meant he wouldn't have to walk far and a
walking man was less conspicuous than a strange car outside an empty
building. So, a mixed neighborhood, where cheap hotels could be close
to commercial properties. The list rolled on.

Meanwhile a thousand miles away, another Analyst was sitting with
Charles Daniels' girlfriend trying to dig out what they could. But
he was getting nowhere.

Mulder stretched out over the bench seat in the cafeteria and tried
to refine the vision in his head. A sports ground. An empty building.
What else? Colours, sounds, smells. He reran the tapes, studied the
photographs and brooded. Cann stayed with Mulder through the night,
finally taking a couple of hours nap in one of the offices. Agent
Jackson returned from the hotel at breakfast time. Mulder kept
working, supplying steadily more data but unable to come up with a
magic formula to narrow the search.

Midnight thundered towards them.

Midnight arrived like a freight train and squashed their hopes.

Mulder watched his hands shake and put them behind his back,
clenching them tightly until his muscles gave up the fight and
fatigue took over and the shaking subsided. Cann was talking to him,
"Come on Mulder. It was a brave shot. And I thank you for it. You've
got to get some sleep. There's nothing we can do for her now."

Mulder threw back his head, a look that was almost petulant flicked
over his face for an instant. "We can get her killer."

Cann nodded. "Yeah. Easier if you get some sleep though." A snort of
laughter, no humor in the laugh. "Easier if I do as well."

Mulder shook his head. "You do what you need to. I'll do what I need
to."

Mulder looked at Cann's horrified expression and realised how he must
look. He decided to compromise. "I'm ok Cann. I'll go back to the
hotel, get cleaned up. I can think there as easy as here. And then I
won't be making your station look untidy."

Agent Jackson insisted on driving. Mulder insisted on staying awake
and listening to the tapes again. They drove along deserted streets
making their way back to their hotel. Mulder straightened up suddenly
and pushed against Jackson's hand, "here, turn here."

The voice was so insistent that Jackson didn't even bother to ask
why.

Mulder told Jackson to stop outside the empty and abandoned
convenience store. "This is it."

Jackson didn't see how Mulder could be so sure. But then he wasn't
spooky and he knew that Mulder was, so he knew that Mulder was right.
Jackson demanded they call for backup.

Mulder stared at him wide eyed, bewildered by Jackson's lack of
understanding. "No time." Mulder said harshly. He got out of the car
and headed for the building.

Jackson made the call as quickly as he could and followed Mulder in.

By the time Jackson had worked out where Mulder had gone, it was too
late. Jackson was just about to enter the store room as he heard the
shout of 'Federal Agent. Freeze.' Then a single gun shot.

Jackson edged cagily around the door and saw a man, clutching a gun,
lying dead on the floor. Jackson looked around some more and saw
Mulder backing into the corner of the room.

Mulder slid down the face of the wall and sat heavily on the floor
and stretched his legs out in front of him. Then very deliberately,
slowly, silently, he pulled his knees up in front of his chest, let
crossed arms fall onto knees and let his face fall onto his arms.

The local police arrived and Mulder didn't move. Cann arrived moments
later. It was Cann and Jackson who pulled Mulder back to his feet.
Cann turned to Jackson, "did you see what happened?"

"Enough." Was Jackson's simple reply.

Cann nodded. They'd leave Mulder's statement until tomorrow.

----------------

Jackson tapped on Mulder's hotel room door. Nine AM. He shouldn't
have to do this, he shouldn't have to do Patterson's dirty work for
him. 'Agent Jackson. This is the FBI, this isn't a debating society.
You have a direct order. Get Mulder to Chicago. Do it now.'

Mulder had said nothing after the killing. Not strictly true. Cann
and Jackson had nearly panicked over his lack of response, thought
he'd gone into shock, shouted at him, insisted he react. Eventually,
Mulder had looked up for an instant and said. "S'okay." Jackson was
terrified that the Mulder on the other side of the bedroom door might
be anything but ok. And even if he was ok, the man had only had four
hours sleep, tops, in the last 48 hours. Shit.

Mulder yawned blearily at Jackson's arrival and headed for the
shower. Jackson sighed with relief.

When Mulder returned to the bedroom, Jackson had come up with an
idea. It was within the letter of Patterson's instructions even if
not in the spirit. "Look Mulder. We can claim to have missed the
plane. We could drive up, it'll take hours that way. You could get
some sleep."

Mulder grinned. "You think I'd be relaxed enough to sleep if you were
driving?"

"You've got to take a break. Insist on it."

"I'm ok. They'll have to send my laundry on after us though. I'll
insist on that, if you like."

-------------

Mike Cann met them at the airport to get Mulder's statement on the
shooting. Cut and dried. No complications. Obvious justification. No
repercussions expected.

As they sat on their flight, Mulder turned his attention to Chicago.
"Why would Chicago PD ask for us, they never ask for the Bureau?"

"It's not the PD. It's the Bureau, the regional office. And it's not
us they want, it's you."

"So you're just babysitting?"

"Thanks, partner. Remind me to come and consult Dr Mulder next time I
need a confidence booster."

Mulder started to scan the faxed notes that had arrived from Chicago.
A Federal Judge and an FBI Agent amongst the list of victims. Obvious
now why it was a Bureau case. No serious leads and the best witness
and best suspect was the Bureau's regional chief, in the same room as
the last victim at the time of death, but claiming to have seen
nothing. Death by poisoning.

"Who called us in?"

"Direct request to Patterson from Jacobs, the Regional boss."

"Jacobs, the best witness."

"Yeah. Wants you to clear him."

"Great."

Great. Absolutely great. He wasn't even supposed to be working,
according to his body and brain he was supposed to be sleeping.
According to the FBI's standard management guidelines, having had to
shoot a suspect he was supposed to be back in the office. So they
could talk to him, so people could check that his reaction was
appropriate.

He swallowed. What would be an appropriate reaction? He'd spent 26
hours in that police station, fighting against the need to sleep.
Thought that was appropriate. Wrong again. Appropriate would have
been to go back to the hotel like everyone said he should.
Appropriate would have been to have driven along that road three
hours earlier. Appropriate would have been if that girl had been
rescued alive. Appropriate. Looked down at his hands. Shaking again.
Not appropriate, not appropriate at all.

-----------

Mulder wouldn't even pretend to sleep on the plane. Not even to calm
Agent Jackson's frayed nerves. He read the scraps of data that had
arrived on the fax and tried to remember the who's who list for the
Chicago office.

Jackson was uncomfortable, Mulder was weird enough normally, but a
Mulder who'd just shot a man, just missed saving a young victim, who
hadn't slept much in a couple of days. If there was a definition of
highly strung that had to be it. Yet here was Mulder, sat calm, cool,
icily professional. Jackson stared, it had to be a show, no one was
that cold.

Mulder glanced at Jackson, for some reason the image of Jackson in a
nurse's uniform popped into his head. Yep, Jackson the 220 pound
quarter back would be quite a sight in a short skirt. Mulder
suppressed the laugh, knowing that any reaction right now could so
easily turn into an over reaction. Still, an interesting image.

He had to keep his mind busy, give it things to do, things that
didn't involve trying to understand why he knew the murder scene on
first sight when the local police, the people who knew the town,
couldn't see it. Things apart from what was on the tape he'd found at
the murder scene recording the last moments of life of a young woman
who'd died at midnight. Things apart from the look in the killer's
eyes when he knew that Mulder was going to open fire.

-------------------
END of Part 2

From jhumby@ctv.es Thu Dec 12 05:29:10 1996
Legally:
The interesting characters in this story belong to Chris Carter, 1013
and Fox as brought to life by DD, GA and the XFiles writers. I've
borrowed them for fun not profit.

===========
Out of the Shadows (jhumby@iee.org)
Part 3 of 6

The office was crowded with Agents. Jackson did the introductions
while Mulder stared listlessly around the faces. Harrison, the ASAC
running the case, didn't look pleased to see them. The usual story,
Fox Mulder, Washington's golden boy profiler brought in because the
locals weren't thought to be up to the job. ASAC Harrison was
determined to make sure the DC interlopers understood that he was
running the case, they were just the hired help.

Jackson sat up straight and listened and hoped Mulder wouldn't say
anything provocative.

Mulder sat absentmindedly watching Harrison and didn't even bother to
disguise his air of polite disinterest. Harrison set out the ground
rules. Mulder prepared himself to ignore everything that the ASAC
said.

Harrison's briefing was interrupted by the arrival of the Bureau's
local boss, Martin Jacobs. "Agent Mulder?"

Mulder stood up and introduced Jackson. Jacobs didn't even bother to
look at Jackson, just spared enough breath to say hello.

"ASAC Harrison is going over the case with you then. Good. I'll be
around for the progress meeting at 5." Jacobs turned to walk away.

Mulder immediately stopped him. "Sir. I'd like to talk to you about
what you saw."

"It's all in the reports, Agent Mulder."

"Of course, Sir. But I'd prefer it direct."

"I'm busy."

Mulder continued. "Too busy to give assistance to a murder enquiry
Sir?"

Jacobs put a little more bite in his voice. "I don't like your tone,
Agent Mulder. I'll overlook it for now as you're probably still
getting over the traveling."

"When can we meet Sir?"

Jacobs voice became another notch louder. "Agent Mulder. Are you
going to make this into some kind of an issue?"

"I wasn't planning to, but I assume you didn't ask me to come out
here for the good of my health."

Jacobs threw his head back and laughed suddenly. "Thanks Agent
Mulder. That was just what I was hoping for." Jacobs turned to
Harrison. "If Mulder gives me the green light, I'll say I'm cleared."
Jacobs scanned the room to check out the nods of approval from the
other Agents who'd been listening in on the debate.

ASAC Harrison smiled at his boss and then turned a smile that
contained no humor on Mulder.

Mulder stayed impassive. "So, when?"

Jacobs smiled and nodded his approval. "Patterson said you were hot
and that you wouldn't back off just because of who I am. He was right
on the mark. How about we meet now?"

Mulder nodded and followed him to the office. Agent Jackson started
to follow and was met by a brief shake of the head from Mulder. ASAC
Harrison was stopped in his tracks by a look from Jacobs. Harrison
walked away scowling. Jackson winced.

Mulder turned to Jacobs, it looked like for once he was on the same
wavelength as the management. Time to follow through, Mulder turned
and spoke quietly to Jacobs. "You don't mind if I tape the interview
do you?"

Jacob's voice betrayed only a little of his lost composure at the
question. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Don't know, Sir. But after the interview I don't get the choice."

Jacobs offered his agreement with a shrug.

------------

Mulder returned from his meeting with Jacobs with a few things to
think about. It certainly put the evidence in context. He looked at
his watch, the interview had taken nearly an hour and a half. The
first hour had been shadow boxing. The last twenty minutes had been
useful. Jacobs looked exhausted at the end of it. Mulder felt like
his batteries had been recharged.

Jacobs had been reluctant at first to explain much of what had
actually been going on just before the Agent died. Just insisted they
had been talking. Course it was not just talking, Jacobs had been
giving the Agent a verbal battering for failing to deliver the goods
on this case. It had taken most of Mulder's interview skills to get
Jacobs to admit that. It had taken all his skills to get Jacobs to
admit how upset the Agent had appeared by it. Not really how Jacobs
wanted to think of his last words to the dead Agent.

Mulder borrowed a desk and started writing. Most of what he wrote
were instructions. Old case files he wanted faxed out, tests he
wanted done, information he needed.

ASAC Harrison walked over and stared at the DC import. After a few
minutes Mulder decided to acknowledge his presence, a slight
sarcastic lilt to his voice as he spoke. "Sir?"

Harrison rocked back on his heels. All he needed, Mulder feigning
politeness. "So, Mulder. Did you discover something, or did you just
focus on kissing his ass?"

"Thought I'd leave that to you."

"You're part of a team Agent Mulder. And I run that team. Do you have
any information that may benefit the team?"

Mulder started to run through the list of actions that he proposed.

Harrison breathed in sharply. "Try again Agent Mulder. You can tell
my people what to do when you get my job. Meanwhile you'll do your
job and I'll determine the follow up work."

Mulder thought for a moment and decided that he really didn't care
about Harrison's hurt feelings. "Don't we have a 5 O'Clock meeting,
Sir?"

Harrison glared, then noted the other Agents drifting to the meeting
room.

Harrison tried to run the 5 O'Clock meeting. But it was Mulder who
was setting the pace. Jackson watched nervously. Jacobs pretended to
ignore the conflict, but made sure all the decisions went Mulder's
way.

At the end of the meeting Jacobs pulled Mulder to one side. "A word,
Mulder. In private."

Mulder nodded and followed Jacobs to his office.

Jacobs was nervous, he asked Mulder if he'd like a drink. Mulder
fidgeted in his chair, he couldn't even guess what Jacobs wanted to
talk about. Presumably it was to tick him off over that little spat
with Harrison, but Jacobs more than anyone had to know that the
conflict had been inevitable.

Mulder tried to concentrate on Jacobs. When Jacobs spoke, he spoke
quickly. "Agent Mulder. I've an apology to make."

Mulder tried not to look confused as Jacobs continued talking.
"Earlier today. That little game I played, forcing you to insist on
the interview." Jacobs paused, waited until Mulder confirmed he
understood what he was talking about. "I wouldn't have done that if
I'd known about your case in Indianapolis."

Mulder swallowed hard and remained silent.

Jacobs paced the room before speaking again. "When I spoke to
Patterson. Yesterday. He said you were just finishing on a case and
could fly up this morning. I assumed the case was closed. That you
were doing paperwork or giving evidence. I didn't know it was active.
I've just received notification that you killed the suspect in the
case. At 3am this morning. I'm sorry."

Mulder responded without hesitation. "I don't think you need be that
sorry, Sir. It was the right man."

Jacobs sighed. "It's the first person you've had to kill though,
isn't it?" He paused. "Don't be embarrassed Mulder, it's not like
I'm saying you are a virgin. I never had to kill anyone while I was
in the field. It can't be easy. I was in the army, I've been through
it."

Mulder looked at the floor. Jacobs was wrong. It had been easy. All
he had to do was close his eyes and his brain would replay the scene
right down to the scarcely acknowledged emotion, the unadmitted hope
that Charles Daniels would not put down his gun when challenged.
Pulling the trigger was easy. Mulder avoided the issue. "I'm ok,
Sir. The argument over the interview didn't worry me."

Jacobs frowned. "I'm not suggesting that it did. Just that you've got
enough on your plate without me burdening you with office politics."
He paused. "How did Patterson know that you would be available to
come up here this morning? When I spoke to him yesterday, you must
have still been chasing the killer."

"We were. But we knew he was going to kill someone at midnight. So if
I took past midnight to track him down my presence became irrelevant.
We already had the ID of the killer. I was just trying to get the
location of the victim."

"Did you?"

"Not in time. We got to the building while the killer was cleaning
up."

Jacobs winced. It got worse. Everything he knew about man management,
from what he'd been told in training courses to what he'd seen in the
army and in his years in the Bureau, everything he knew said Mulder
shouldn't be working in the field right now and shouldn't be working
anywhere, not today. "Agent Mulder, I appreciate your commitment in
working through this but you'd be better off back in Washington for a
while."

Mulder looked back at him, puzzled by what Jacobs meant. He couldn't
see how it mattered where he was. Wherever he was, there were two
dead bodies in the morgue in Indianapolis because of him. A young
innocent girl, there because he'd got it wrong and didn't get to her
in time. And Charles Daniels, a killer, there because Mulder had
hesitated just long enough in that room for Daniels to think that he
wasn't serious, for him to think that he could get away with pulling
his gun and running. Chicago or DC, it made no difference. The
pictures were in his head.

Jacobs carried on talking. "You should be with friends, family,
people that you know."

"People who can keep an eye on me, Sir?"

Jacobs smiled apologetically. "Even that."

Mulder spoke smoothly. "I've been in DC for two days in the last
three months. Agent Jackson knows me as well as anyone back there."

"If you need a break. If you need someone to talk to. Let me know.
I'll make sure ASAC Harrison is aware of the situation as well."

Mulder just nodded and thought about his good luck. ASAC Harrison
would be reporting on his mental health. Oh, good.

-------------

Mulder reread the list of victims. A Federal Agent, a Judge, an ME, a
recently retired police Inspector. Should be easy. Had to be revenge,
or some gangland thing. Look hard enough. One case, one perp or one
activity would tie them together. Ok. So if it was easy why hadn't
they caught the killer? Three weeks since the first murder, three
days since the latest one. A team assigned. Nothing.

The Agent's death had been witnessed by Jacobs. Though witnessed was
hardly the word. Jacobs saw the Agent fall dead to the ground. And
before? Before all that had happened was Jacobs had been talking.
Mulder sighed. Not talking, Jacobs had been giving the Agent a
dressing down, a good one from the sounds of it.

Death by cyanide poisoning. Same as the others. Except cyanide was a
quick acting poison and Jacobs had assured Mulder that the Agent had
neither eaten or drunk anything during their meeting. At least so far
as he remembered. No trace of the drugs had been found in the office.
Jacobs was witness and suspect. The only reason he wasn't in custody,
apart of course from his untarnished reputation in the Bureau, was
that he wasn't in the vicinity of the other victims when they died.
And none of those death scenes had any evidence of how the poison was
administered either.

Intriguing. Of course there was some evidence, somewhere. It was just
no one had looked in the right place yet. Or they'd looked and not
understood and they'd ignored it. It would come. He sent some
questions off to Danny.

Meanwhile Mulder concentrated on the killer. 'Who' was his job. 'How'
was just something you needed when you went to court. He let his mind
wander.

He was grateful to have something to think about. Grateful to walk
into a case as absorbing as this one. He needed things to think
about. There were storm clouds in his head. If he looked at them they
made his hands shake, made his stomach clench. So he didn't look at
them.

But, it was hard to avoid those eyes, Charles Daniels' eyes. So cold,
so arrogant, then so afraid when he realised that he was going to
die. Mulder knew why. Daniels had been so confident that he could get
away. Daniels didn't know.

It was years ago now. Mulder had replayed the scene a lot of times
since then. John Barnett holding a hostage. Mulder didn't fire. The
rule book told him not to. Barnett killed the hostage and an Agent.
It seemed like a lifetime ago, or yesterday. It had been recorded on
security video, but Mulder didn't need the video now, it would replay
for him whenever he wanted. He hadn't fired, standard operating
procedures said he shouldn't.

Daniels had no way to know how often Mulder had watched that scene.
Daniels had guessed about Mulder, guessed he was too young, too
'nice'. He'd guessed from the hesitation in Mulder's voice as he
issued the challenge. He guessed wrong. And there weren't any rules
that said Mulder shouldn't shoot a killer who had a gun in his hand.
And Mulder had practiced, hours on the firing range, he was a good
shot now, instinctive and accurate.

--------

Agent Jackson arrived at the door of the motel room with supplies of
burgers and fries. He'd given up trying to get Mulder to go and eat
real food. Mulder had said he was too busy.

When Mulder didn't reply to the knock, Jackson felt a sudden, faint
wave of panic. He ran to the motel manager's desk and demanded the
key to his partner's room.

Jackson opened the door and felt a little foolish when he realised
that Mulder wasn't there.

Mulder heard the raised voices as he returned, saw Jackson trying not
to get into a row with the motel manager. Saw both of them peering
into his room. His hand drifted to his gun, reflex reaction. He
winced as he felt the cold metal and realised what he'd done. Jumpy,
jumpy as hell. He shook himself upright. Put a smile on his face and
walked over to them. "Good evening. Looking for someone?"

Jackson jumped at the voice and looked embarrassed. He thanked the
motel manager and apologised for dragging him out here. Jackson
turned to Mulder. " I got some food and then I couldn't rouse you. I
asked him to check."

"What do you want to do Jackson, keep me on a leash, or will ten
minute status reports on location and emotional condition be
adequate?"

Jackson shifted. The nickname was right, the man was spooky. "Jacobs
said I had to keep an eye on you." And so had Patterson and so had
Harrison, Jackson added to himself.

"I'm working. Let's eat the food and agree on some groundrules."

Jackson returned to his own room about half an hour later. Reassured
and terrified. Mulder was calm, cool, carefully analytical, he'd warn
Jackson where he was going so that Jackson wouldn't panic. All the
right things. Icily professional. Except, surely, no one was that
cold.

-------------------
END of Part 3

From jhumby@ctv.es Thu Dec 12 05:30:30 1996
Legally:
The interesting characters in this story belong to Chris Carter, 1013
and Fox as brought to life by DD, GA and the XFiles writers. I've
borrowed them for fun not profit.

===========
Out of the Shadows (jhumby@iee.org)
Part 4 of 6

Dana Scully looked at the case notes in front of her. A little
novelty item to add a bit of spice to her daily mix of autopsy duties
and student training. Danny had brought it around. Danny who traded
favours to shortcut the delays and priorities and standard operating
procedures.

Dr Dana Scully, Quantico instructor, disapproved strongly of Danny's
activities. Special Agent Dana Scully, would be field Agent, could
see how the Dannys of this world were needed to oil the wheels of
what could be a slow moving bureaucracy.

The notes in the margins of the file were from the person who'd
enlisted Danny's help, Special Agent Fox Mulder.

The drop out rate among the ISU Analysts was high. The smart ones got
promoted before they cracked up. The weak ones were quickly discarded
by Patterson. Still, the number who had no choice in the end other
than to quit was high. The jury was still out on which category
Mulder would end up in. Everyone knew he was smart, frighteningly
smart. The difficulty was that he was also too smart for Patterson to
willingly let him go. The question was, was he also too smart to let
the job break him.

Dana Scully had only seen him a couple of times, most recently as a
lecturer. The first time had been in the Quantico cafeteria. The
center of attention for a line of VCS Agents bringing cases, 'for a
quick look, when you have a minute. Nothing heavy. Nothing that would
need Patterson's approval.' In Quantico for a couple of days having
been wounded. The rumors said he'd been sent out again before it had
recovered enough for him to be officially allowed on field work.
They'd found a way to straighten out the paperwork. Seemed like a lot
of Bureau rules didn't apply to Mulder. Not surprising then that he,
in return, ignored the rules and used Danny's help to expedite
things.

Scully was flattered to have been asked for help by Danny. He didn't
mess around. He always went to the person with the best answers. So
for Danny to come to her, a relative beginner, that was high praise
indeed. That he would bring her one of Mulder's cases made it even
more of a compliment. Mulder was Danny's best client. And Mulder's
unofficial assistance on a case was one of Danny's most highly valued
trading commodities. Scully wasn't sure what sort of favor she'd be
looking for. Still, no harm in having someone owe her something.
Especially not when it gave her a chance to look at a case as
interesting as this.

--------------

Mulder woke up suddenly and tried to remember where he was. Thursday,
so it had to be Chicago. He realised that his phone was ringing. He
flinched as he sensed who was going to be on the line.

Patterson's voice came through loud and clear. Had Mulder been able
to clear Jacobs yet?

Of all the questions. Mulder tried to get the sleep out of his head.
"No. Nothing positive, either way. It's not him. But nothing to prove
it yet."

"Fine." Patterson followed up with a half heartedly polite goodbye
and the line went dead.

< Yes, Sir. I'm fine. And how was your day? > Mulder's brain turned
on its customary self mocking voice and argued with him about what he
wanted Patterson to say. Nothing. At least Patterson didn't even
pretend to be concerned. And that was fine, because there was nothing
for them to concerned about.

He was surprised how late he'd slept. Though after two days with next
to no sleep, maybe six hours wasn't that impressive. If it got bad,
he could ask for sleeping pills. He had no doubt there would be a
whole line of FBI approved Doctors only to pleased to provide
medication. Any other drugs he'd like while they had their
prescription pad out?

-------------------
END of Part 3

Legally:
The interesting characters in this story belong to Chris Carter, 1013
and Fox as brought to life by DD, GA and the XFiles writers. I've
borrowed them for fun not profit.

===========
Out of the Shadows (jhumby@iee.org)
Part 4 of 6

Jackson and Mulder ate breakfast and headed back to the Chicago HQ.
Mulder wasn't that surprised by what was happening when they arrived.

Two Agents were in Jacobs' office. Sealing desks and drawers.
Checking files back into the records office. Shutting him down.

Jacobs turned to watch them as they arrived. He'd hoped that by
getting Mulder in, it wouldn't come to this. Still, he was resigned
to his fate. Suspended on full pay pending the completion of the
investigation. No criminal charges. Not yet. But definitely not
cleared. He looked hopefully towards Mulder.

Mulder felt the gaze and nodded apologetically. Yes, he'd be cleared.
But, the investigation had to be seen to be done right. Squeaky
clean. Things were already embarrassing enough for the Bureau without
any suggestions they were protecting Jacobs.

Mulder and Jackson made their way deeper into the office to where the
ASAC, Mark Harrison was sitting.

Harrison pointed at the area of carpet in front of his desk. An
unequivocal message. No chairs. Jackson was shocked, he looked at
Mulder but Mulder just walked smoothly into position and stood to
attention. Jackson nervously followed his lead, Mulder was clearly
more experienced at this sort of thing.

The ASAC started talking. "Agent Mulder. I was unaware that the
Washington office were operating a policy of flexible working hours.
It's almost 10."

Jackson winced. Mulder tried not to look at Harrison. If he'd looked
him in the eye he would have burst out laughing. Was that really
going to be the way he wanted to play it? Fine.

Mulder tried to keep a straight face. "Sorry, Sir. My fault, I
overslept. Agent Jackson had to wait for me."

"It'll be in my report. You know that I'm under orders to report
every day to DC while you're on this case."

An image formed, Mulder tried to shake the picture out of his head.
The ASAC dressed in cap and gown, cane in hand, Principal of an old
and very traditional, comic book school. Was that a threat? Reporting
every day. Reporting what, to who? Who did Harrison think he was?
Pathetic. Harrison, time server in the Chicago office, already
promoted beyond his level of competence Versus Spooky, Behavioural's
finest. No contest. Patterson might pretend to listen, might even
feign a few seconds worth of polite interest at Harrison's bitching
but it was really no contest.

Harrison got bored waiting for a response. "Well, since you people
have finally deigned to honour us with your presence. I may as well
make some things clear. I'm now solely responsible for management of
this case." He waved his hand in Jacobs general direction, indicating
that the Chief would no longer be in a position to intervene. "So
I've refined the actions list. As you are on assignment to the team,
I've included you on the schedule."

Jackson winced, this was not the usual form. Normally the ISU
Analysts were treated as consultants, there specifically for their
profiling skills and asked to exercise them as they chose. Jackson
was there as Mulder's partner, a gopher for when the locals didn't
react quickly enough to their Analyst's quirky requests. Officially
though, they were on assignment, reporting in to local management on
this one. But no one would treat Mulder that way. Jackson was
wondering if Mulder would insist on a recall to DC. He hoped Mulder
would insist.

Mulder's eyes danced with amusement. "I'm sure it will make
fascinating reading, Sir."

Harrison paused and started to got through the tasks he'd assigned.
Sensible actions from a sensible man.

Mulder was still trying to stop the laughter bubbling over. At least
Harrison hadn't been unsubtle enough to put them on bathroom cleaning
duty. However, Mulder had no desire to spend any longer working for
Harrison than was absolutely necessary. They had a crime to solve and
Mulder had work to do. "I'm not the right person for the actions,
Sir. I need to speak to some people today. I've a profile to write. I
need to call it in to DC tonight. I promised Patterson it would be in
by first thing tomorrow. I wouldn't want you to have to report that
I'd failed to complete it."

Harrison swallowed and turned to Jackson. "And I assume you aren't
capable of carrying out your orders either, Agent Jackson."

Jackson felt like he was piggy in the middle, he hesitated and tried
to think of a good answer. Mulder leapt back in. "I will need Agent
Jackson for some of the time. So, if you'd prefer to assign us lower
priority tasks in case we can't complete them so quickly, Sir."

Mulder looked back at the floor, he grinned and kept his face fixed
determinedly on his shoes.

Harrison scowled. "I'll be reporting this. I expect to be the first
person informed of any new information or ideas. Do you understand,
Agent Mulder?"

"Naturally, Sir."

Harrison dismissed them. Mulder headed quickly for the door, Jackson
was in hot pursuit, uncertain of Mulder's reaction. They got out of
the office, then Mulder cracked. Mulder leaned heavily against the
wall of the building and laughed until it made his breathing
difficult. Jackson just shook his head. Mulder might be used to
pissing off ASAC's, but Jackson still had plans for a career.

Mulder felt oddly cheered by the bizarre discussion. Strange that no
matter how serious the work was; no matter how awful the memories
were; no matter how tense he became; nor how much his hands shook
while he was trying to fasten his tie. No matter how miserable he
felt. There was always someone, somewhere in worse condition than
himself. Someone who needed a bigger dose of tranquilisers. Someone
who didn't realise how stupid they sounded. This time the someone was
ASAC Harrison.

--------------

Mulder spent the day discussing the victims and their last known
movements. It was a complicated story, not made any easier by the
fact that the witnesses had all been interviewed several times
before.

He was going over well trodden ground and knew it. The witnesses had
all had chance to think too much, to rationalise too much, to worry
too much. He felt suddenly annoyed with himself, suddenly,
irrationally angry that he couldn't think how to make progress.

He concentrated, took deep breaths. Carefully reminded himself that
this was his first full day on the case and that he was neither
telepathic nor a miracle worker. Still. Even if he wasn't getting
anything new out of the witnesses, surely that had to be telling him
something, didn't it?

Jackson tried not to act nervous when he was around Mulder and tried
to stop Mulder from seeing the careful watch he was keeping over him.
Mulder hadn't said a word to him. Oh, Mulder had done the witness
interviews all right. No, not all right, perfect. Consoling, Quantico
perfection. As much a therapist as a cop. But as soon as he left the
interviewees his eyes blanked out, like he'd switched off. Didn't say
anything in the car. Just a glare when Jackson had tried to ask him
if he was ok.

Mulder looked at Jackson. A sheep dog. Sheep dog looking after a fox.
Had to be a joke in there somewhere. Didn't make sense. What did they
think he was going to do? How did they think he was gong to react?
Did they reckon he'd enjoyed the sight of Charles Daniels' blood so
much that he'd want to kill someone else? That he'd want to kill
himself?

If he wanted to kill someone who would it be? Agent Jackson was safe.
ASAC Harrison was in no danger. Patterson. He chuckled, he was on
dangerous ground now, lucky he wasn't in DC.

They were waiting for a reaction. Mulder knew it. He'd been waiting
for a reaction too. As he waited, the nausea grew. His lack of
response was terrifying him. He'd killed someone. He didn't even
believe in capital punishment, most of the time. He'd killed someone.
And he didn't care. All Mulder could see was a dead girl, who'd been
alive a couple of hours earlier and a killer who was stupid enough to
believe that he wouldn't open fire. But all reaction was battened
down, he felt sick.

He'd seen people die before, innocent victims, other Agents,
criminals. He'd taken part in armed raids to get the killers his
profiles had tracked and he'd seen them shot down. But he'd never had
to kill, the whole point about having an Analyst profile the killer
was to make the capture possible. The Bureau had specialist teams to
handle the rest.

Mulder got back in the car, surprising Jackson by loading himself
into the passenger seat. He handed Jackson the keys. Jackson was
grateful, it gave him something to do.

Mulder leant back and closed his eyes. < Concentrate. Do your job. >

< Do your job? > How? The witnesses knew nothing, had seen nothing.
Jacobs had witnessed an Agent die, poisoned by 'nothing'. Another
witness had seen the Judge die. Poison, taking effect soon after he
drank a cup of coffee. But nothing in the residues of the cup except
coffee and nothing found elsewhere in the house. The witnesses had
told him nothing. Maybe that was because they knew nothing. Maybe
that was because they weren't witnesses to the crime.

The scene of crime specialists had brought nothing back, nothing to
say how the poison was delivered. The implication was that the
victims took it as a pill or capsule either willingly or with
coercion. Except there was no evidence of that either. Scene of
crime? Scene of death. Maybe they weren't the same thing.

Mulder picked up the jigsaw pieces again and threw them back in the
air.

He was going to need further analysis of the physical evidence. But
Mulder would look at who, someone else could look at what. He turned
his attention back to profiling the killer.

-------------

Mark Jacobs, ex Marine, well respected FBI manager, Chief of the
Chicago Bureau sat alone in his living room. He spent little time in
here. Why would he want to? He lived alone. He worked. If he
socialised it was with people from the Bureau or it tied in to work.
Usually it tied in so closely he could claim it on expenses. He
wondered how long it would be before he could do that again.

He hadn't been surprised that they had suspended him. Not even
surprised at how quickly they'd shut down his office. He'd expected
it. Hoped that maybe he could avoid it, with Mulder on the case.
Inevitable though really, too little, too late. Still at least with
Mulder still on the case, maybe they'd get somewhere quickly.

He seldom drank, weeks since he'd last touched any. He enjoyed it.
When he drank he let his hair down. That was why he seldom did it,
wouldn't sit too well alongside his gruff, no nonsense professional
image.

Still, he wasn't going anywhere tonight. And he certainly had nowhere
to go tomorrow. He reached for the bottle of whiskey.

-------------------

It was 6 O'Clock when Jackson and Mulder returned to the office.
Harrison was waiting for them, prowling a narrow strip of carpet like
a caged tiger. Mulder wondered who he'd been sharpening his claws on.
The ASAC reminded them of the 5 O'Clock team meeting they'd skipped.
Mulder told him what additional information he was going to need. He
neglected to tell him about the now eighty percent written profile
that he would type up that evening.

Harrison glared at Mulder. "It's a waste of Bureau resources Mulder.
The autopsies are done. The bodies are dead and buried. The forensic
reports are in. This is simple duplication."

"Not duplication, I'm asking them to run tests that they didn't run
before."

"They didn't run them because, the real experts knew that they were
unnecessary."

"It's a matter of opinion, Sir."

"And mine's the one that counts."

Mulder considered arguing, but didn't. He needed his energy to keep
his hands from shaking. He could get the information through
unofficial channels. He didn't need Harrison.

-----------------------

Dana Scully reviewed the notes again. There was no denying it, Danny
was acting as a go between for Agent Mulder who was, to all practical
purposes, accusing the forensics experts previously assigned to the
case of missing evidence. Not on one murder but on four. Admittedly
Mulder's margin scribbles made no claims, they comprised only
punctuation marks - ticks; crosses; exclamation marks. Sometimes on
their own, sometimes in pairs, sometimes triplicate. But he was
getting at something.

She quizzed Danny over the phone. "On what basis is he casting doubt
on the work of the scientific team?"

Danny sighed. He'd wondered about whether, 'straight as an arrow',
Dana Scully was a suitable client to add to his 'favors' circle. She
had the talent, no doubt about it. The knowledge, bang up to date and
backed up by a genuinely inquisitive mind. But, she was dangerously
close to being a heroine of the Standard Operating Procedures
brigade. Ok, so he'd give her a little test. If she played along, she
would be a valuable acquisition. If she didn't, then there had been
no time wasted, not yet. Better to find out now than when it became a
problem.

Danny's voice contained a snigger, "the evidence doesn't fit Mulder's
profile of the killer."

Dana Scully nearly choked on her cup of coffee.

-----------

Mulder couldn't think of a polite way to throw Agent Jackson out of
his room, so he didn't try. A curt dismissal on the doorstep in reply
to repeated demands from Jackson to go out and eat. "Order me a pizza
for delivery at ten," was his only concession to social chit chat.

The profile had crystallised during the afternoon. The words poured
out into the word processor as a stream of consciousness. A stream?
A torrent. He looked at what he'd written and laughed.

The computer put up with a lot of things. The thoughts were jumbled,
scuttled from subject to subject. The writing was disjointed, the
words in the wrong order to create sentences. The sentences in the
wrong order to create meaning. Word processors had magical
properties. Cut and paste. If only life was like that. He laughed
again and deleted three quarters of the words.

A grudge against the victims. Mulder was convinced they were not
random targets, not just representing law enforcement in general.
They were chosen specifically. Yet the search of old cases had given
them no obvious vengeance seeking perpetrator that neatly tied them
together. But then people had been looking at the criminals. They
hadn't been looking at someone the victims worked with, maybe someone
looking for vengeance for some real or imagined slight, some real or
imagined block they'd placed on his career.

The murderer did not want to be with the victims when they died. It
limited the field, serial killers usually wanted the thrill of the
kill. Even ones who didn't would want to return to the scene
afterwards, like Charles Daniels had done. So someone who knew they'd
be able to get access to the victims after their deaths. Someone with
both the desire and the ability to cover their tracks. An awareness
of police procedures.

Mulder printed out the profile and scribbled a couple of reminders to
himself in the margin of his copy. He faxed a copy out to DC,
Patterson would want to know whether Jacobs had been cleared yet. The
killer was male, almost certainly a Federal Agent. But, it wasn't
Jacobs.

--------------

Agent Jackson headed back to his own room. He was feeling distinctly
redundant. Mulder wasn't talking. On the drive back to the motel
Mulder wouldn't even bitch about the ASAC's temper tantrum. Mulder
certainly wouldn't give him anything useful to do on the case.

Jackson was annoyed. He was more experienced than Mulder. Well, more
years in the Bureau at any rate. He was on the same grade. Yet he'd
been reduced to babysitter by the management. Now he'd been reduced
to errand boy by Mulder, 'order me a pizza'. Who the hell does he
think he is?

Jackson opened the can of beer and held it to his forehead, pleased
to feel the iciness pierce into his brain. The phone rang. He dropped
the can, spilling beer on himself and the bed. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Patterson was on the line, checking up on his favorite problem child.
Obviously ASAC Harrison had done a number on Mulder in his report
that night. Jackson described the day spent interviewing and
explained that Mulder was now carefully tucked up in bed reading and
researching for the profile. Lie, after half truth, after deliberate
omission.

Jackson sighed. What else was he going to say? That Mulder had got
hardly any sleep since he left DC? That he wasn't talking to anyone,
except for essential business? That he'd spaced out in the car? That
he'd laughed hysterically at the office that morning? That he was
planning on working through the night? That he wanted the bodies
exhumed because he didn't think anyone was competent to do their jobs
except him? That unless it appeared in front of him, Mulder had given
up eating and drinking?

Patterson thanked Jackson for the information and closed the call.
Jackson was surprised to hear the concern in Patterson's voice, he
didn't know he cared. Shit, he knew Patterson didn't care. Patterson
probably had some damned form to fill in and Jackson was going to be
his chief witness. Covering his ass. Bastard.

When Jackson thought back over the call he remembered how carefully
Patterson's questions had been framed and how carefully he'd
controlled the conversation. "How did Mulder handle the witnesses?.
Did Mulder get any sleep last night?. Did he make any abusive remarks
to ASAC Harrison?. Any violent responses?.." It would have been hard
to get into the real information.

Patterson already knew the questions that had safe answers. If Mulder
was falling back on auto pilot, he would be operating on defaults.
Meticulous in his handling of witnesses. Casual but polite
disinterest towards everyone else. Controlled to the point of
passivity in his own movements.

-------------------

Mulder and Jackson arrived in the office before 8, it was pretty much
deserted. Mulder sat in the borrowed chair, with his feet up on the
borrowed desk, reading the borrowed newspaper. Jackson went in search
of coffee and breakfast.

Harrison arrived and scowled at Mulder. "If you think being in on
time excuses your slovenly behavior. Think again. So where's this
profile you had to write? The one that you had to ignore my orders in
order to write?"

Mulder smiled up at Harrison. Boy, did that man need valium. Wait
until he read the profile, he'd need an extra dose.

He wondered why Harrison was quite so stressed out. Surely, he hadn't
shot someone that week? Surely, he hadn't given the Indianapolis PD
such a bad description of where a young woman was imprisoned that
they couldn't recognise it? Couldn't recognise it, even when an out
of towner like himself could spot it straight away, from a moving
car, at night.

Mulder wondered if Harrison's hands shook.

-------------------
END of Part 4

From jhumby@ctv.es Thu Dec 12 05:31:39 1996
Legally:
The interesting characters in this story belong to Chris Carter, 1013
and Fox as brought to life by DD, GA and the XFiles writers. I've
borrowed them for fun not profit.

===========
Out of the Shadows (jhumby@iee.org)
Part 5 of 6

Lunchtime was a silent time in the office. The profile had disturbed
everyone. It wasn't that they believed it, of course not. But it was
hard to accept a cup of coffee from a colleague, if you knew that one
of your colleagues had already poisoned four people.

No one wanted to believe it. Yet, it could be true. Percentages. Yet
they trusted one another. Didn't they? They put their lives on the
line for each other. And now their stomachs flipped if someone
offered them a drink from the vending machine. How many times could
you say, 'not right now' to your partner or your co-workers before it
was obvious that it wasn't just coincidence.

No way was it true. They were in no danger. DC's spookiest had
spooked them, that was all. The nickname gave him away, he was weird.
And this week, he was too weird to be working. That was all. Wasn't
it?

It was mid afternoon when the call came in. Jacobs had been found
dead by his maid.

Mulder watched the team go to work. A well worn drill. And if he let
them go through with their well worn drill then he'd be watching them
drive along their well worn ruts. Harrison had done everything to
keep him away from the body except pull a gun on him and Mulder
couldn't help but think that was only a matter of time.

They already knew it was cyanide poisoning. They had already decided
it was suicide. Suicide because the hunting pack was too hard on his
heels. They were all breathing sighs of relief.

All except Mulder. Because Mulder knew that Jacobs didn't do it.

Harrison, the ASAC, had actually given him a lecture on profiling
accuracy and how he should be pleased that so many of his
observations had hit the target. No one ever got 100 percent.

Mulder just scowled. What did Harrison know about it?

The argument got worse. Harrison made sure that it got personal.

Mulder's voice contained just a hint of panic. Did they really think
that he wanted to be right? Did they really think he didn't know? Did
they really think he didn't hope that he was wrong?

Jackson tried to pull Mulder away.

Harrison kept poking, after all even Mulder didn't always get there
in time to rescue the victims, why would he expect to always be there
first to the killer?

Mulder glared at the floor. The fact that Harrison was right didn't
make him feel any better about it. There had been plenty of times
when he hadn't been good enough, quick enough. But what did Harrison
know about it anyway? Harrison didn't even know enough to know when
he was a failure. He didn't even know enough to tell the difference
between murder and suicide. "This is a murder scene, Harrison."

Harrison sighed and used his most condescendingly soothing voice.
"You should have gone back to DC after those deaths in Indianapolis,
you've been stressed out all week. I've ignored your insubordination
because you might have helped us solve the case. But, I will not put
up with some over emotional so called boy genius telling me and these
other experienced professionals how to do their jobs."

Mulder's voice was still distinct but it was breaking up, the crisp
professional tones losing their accuracy, a note of hysteria cracking
at its edges. He turned on the ASAC in frustration. "I need access to
the body. I don't want the autopsy done here. I want it done right.
This is a murder scene. If you don't let me do my job I'll bring a
charge of obstructing justice."

Jackson sighed. The other Agents looked on transfixed. Harrison
smiled and spoke sweetly. "Agent Mulder, please leave the building. I
don't need an overwrought profiler in here casting doubts on the
professional integrity of my team. We've lost a colleague, he must
have had some sort of a breakdown that drove him to kill, but he was
still a colleague. I will have him treated with respect. You should
get back to DC while you can still travel without an escort."

Mulder stared at the floor. Jackson put a hand on his arm to lead him
away. Mulder pulled away from his touch. Harrison sent two more
Agents over to join them. Mulder turned sharply on his heel and
walked out of the house.

Mulder sat heavily on the steps of the building and buried his face
in his hands. 'Treat with respect.' Yeah. They were going to treat
Jacobs with so much respect that they were going to label him with
four murders. And that was all just fine because now everyone was
happy and he could go back to DC and ignore the fact that someone had
now murdered five people.

Mulder heard the footsteps in front of him. Agent Jackson talking
with someone else. Mulder looked up. A tall man, bald, wearing
glasses. Mulder tried to concentrate, he knew the man vaguely or at
least had seen him before. Serious, professional. Didn't have to be
an investigative genius to know he was a senior FBI man. Mulder rose
to his feet and tried to look at Jackson and the man who had
accompanied him.

"Agent Mulder. I'm Walter Skinner, New York office. I'm going to be
taking charge of the Chicago office for a while."

Mulder tensed, he recognised the name. Hot tip for the next Assistant
Director's job. Mulder tried not to stare. If he could stop his hands
from shaking then he should probably shake hands or something. He
grinned at the irony, he couldn't shake hands because his hands were
shaking. Great. So he put his hands behind his back. "Good afternoon,
Sir."

Skinner nodded and headed into the building. Jackson followed him in.

Mulder sat down on the steps again.

-------------

Sharon James peered over Dana Scully's shoulder. "So what's this then
Dana? You taking on extra corpses as a hobby now?"

Scully gave a brief grunt of disgust. That was a bit too literal a
description for her liking. "Just doing someone a favor."

Sharon grinned. < Got it in one >. Sharon didn't think that she
recognised the assignment in front of Dana as an official one. Sharon
even had a sneaky suspicion that she recognised the hand-written
marks in the margins. No harm in taking a real shot at it. "What
will Jack say?"

Direct hit. Dana Scully breathed in sharply. She'd wondered the same
thing herself. She attempted to play it cool. "How does it affect
Jack?"

Sharon giggled. "How does it affect, 'Mr FBI Instructor, Jack
Willis'. Would he be worried that his protege was being led astray by
Fox Mulder?"

"I'm not being led astray. And Jack isn't my keeper."

"So you've told him then?"

Dana Scully tried to glare, but Sharon knew her too well, so Dana
just shrugged. "Not yet." She paused and watched Sharon suppress a
smile. "And how did you know it was Mulder? It's not as if Mulder's
asked for anything special, just some extra analysis." Sharon smiled
and tried to suppress a giggle. Dana glared with mock indignation.
"No. It's nothing special."

Sharon laughed. "But you're not going to tell Uncle Jack that Spooky
has you on his case? Think Jack would make you do another semester
on sticking to the rule book." She paused, a teasing in her voice.
"Think he'd get jealous? You messing around with a younger man."

"I'm not messing around with anyone. And Jack's not that much older.
I haven't even spoken to Mulder."

"So you've told Jack?"

"Shut up, Sharon."

---------------

Fox Mulder sat in his motel room and read the notes that had come
through from DC. Interesting. Confirmation of some of his theories.
Some brand new insights. Good stuff. Danny's contacts networks just
got better and better. And the commentary on the results, great.
Coded punctuation marks responding to his own mark up of the notes.
Even now, switched off, damped down, it made him smile. He'd have to
find out who wrote up the report. One day, when he got back to
Washington.

He thought of how much he could tell the investigating team, then how
much he could tell ASAC Harrison, then of how much he could tell
Skinner. A voice pricked at the edge of his consciousness 'of course
you could tell them the truth. You could explain the evidence.
Present your theory. Convince them. Win them over.' Argue loud enough
and hard enough to get past Harrison.

Yeah, he could. And he could be on mandatory psychiatric leave
starting tomorrow. And then who would go after the perp? None of
them. Not until they had some more bodies in the morgue and their
killer got sloppier.

He closed his eyes. It was all slipping away. Lie to them. It doesn't
matter. Don't tell them what you think, don't tell them your
theories, don't tell them how it relates to the other information you
got. Just tell them how to catch him. Write them a profile out of
thin air. You're Spooky remember, you can do that. Don't justify it,
tell them to call Patterson if they think you're wrong. Just make
them do it.

-------------

Fox Mulder watched Walter Skinner carefully. Yesterday had not been
the ideal first meeting. It would not be surprising if Skinner just
told him to get the next flight home. In some ways, Mulder was
surprised that he hadn't just thrown him out when he showed up at the
office that morning. Probably something to do with the time of day,
the fact that there were no other Agents in yet. The fact that ASAC
Harrison wasn't here as a chaperone. The fact that Agent Jackson
wasn't sitting like a panic stricken nanny looking over his shoulder.

Skinner looked up from the notes. "Agent Mulder. There's one thing
you should understand here." Skinner paused. "Mark Jacobs was an old
friend of mine. We were in the marines together, we joined the Bureau
together. I don't want to believe that he murdered those four people.
But this." He waved his hand over the report. "This is pure
conjecture. I'm not going to overrule my ASAC without good cause."

Mulder sat up a little straighter in the chair. "I'm not asking you
to, Sir. It's simply a request that we transfer the autopsy to DC
where we have extra facilities. It can't do any harm. It does not
affect the conduct of the case."

"Unless you're right?"

Mulder shrugged.

--------------

Dana Scully looked down at the corpse. A second opinion. How do you
give a second opinion on an already completed autopsy? It wasn't like
you got two shots at removing the liver or something. She sighed. It
had been a long day. And this was going to make it a long night as
well. How had she got roped into this?

She sighed again. She knew how. Curiosity kills the cat. And makes
Dana Scully work late.

Mulder's questions on how to poison someone but not have the drugs
take effect immediately had kept her up late all week. Slow release
drug technology, except it wouldn't be suitable for cyanide. Then
she'd run into that article on specialised enteric coatings and one
thing had led to another, and another, and another.

A drug delivery system, that didn't deliver its payload until it met
the right trigger. The magic bullet technology. The pharmaceutical
industries holy grail. Being pursued by every cancer research team
and AIDS unit. Anyone who needed to make sure that the drugs got to
the right place at the right time and didn't go and kill off the
healthy stuff as well.

The technology was a long way off. But the research wasn't. The extra
twist in the research tale came as she stumbled onto allegations that
chemical warfare specialists were looking at exactly the same issue.
Deliver a poison but make sure it only becomes active when another
poison arrives. Course they had legitimate reasons for their
research. Didn't they always? Take the antidote now. Have it activate
when the poison arrives.

The early spin offs were intriguing but strictly academic. A sugar
coated pill that lost its coat only when caffeine arrived. Another
one, soluble only in alcohol. Another tripped by sudden raised
adrenaline levels.

And the center of the research game? A University lab in Chicago.

So now she turned her attention to the body of Bureau chief Mark
Jacobs. Suicide or murder? Any way of showing how he died? Any way to
identify how the poison was delivered?

---------------

Mulder tried to concentrate on the task in hand.

Harrison kept throwing him those 'you not dead yet' glances. In fact
the whole office seemed to be split between that expression and that
other one, the one he characterised as, 'what a shame he's probably
been working too hard.' The only amusing feature of the situation was
the fact that the choice of expression seemed largely determined by
the gender of the owner. Mulder avoided eye contact. An attack of
laughter brought on by this sexual stereotyping would do nothing for
his credibility. Not, he reminded himself, that he had any
credibility.

So while the team carefully shut down the case, filled in forms,
filed reports, Mulder kept working.

He continued to say a polite but definite no thank you to offers of
cups of coffee.

No profile was ever a hundred percent accurate. And he had no desire
to kill himself just out of an arrogant belief that he was hundred
percent right this time. He might have the wrong man, even now. It
might just be personal prejudice. Concentrate.

-------------

Scully heard the footsteps approaching the autopsy bay. Familiar
steps, quick, confident, heavy, a man. She turned and was pleased to
confirm that Jack Willis was standing behind her. She smiled and told
him she wouldn't be long.

"Dana." A stern voice from behind her as she turned back to the
table. "What exactly are you doing."

She frowned. He was doing it again. Using that voice. Who did he
think he was? Her instructor? Her boss? Her father? She stated the
obvious. "An autopsy." She felt a little irritated with herself for
the petulant tone that seemed to be in her words. That wasn't the
image she wanted to convey.

He spoke again. "For who?"

"Department of Justice, Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"Mulder."

"It is Agent Mulder's case. I've been asked for a consult on it."

Jack continued his lecture. "Clearly. And if you help him, you're
going to get the credit? As if you don't have enough of your own work
to do, you're going to take on other people's too. It won't get you
anywhere. This is invisible. If you want to distinguish yourself,
start writing up your own work for publication."

She glared.

Jack continued to press. "Why are you working for Mulder?"

"I'm not. I'm trying to find out how five men died."

"You've fallen for it too, haven't you? The Spooky mystique. I
thought you had more sense."

"I've got more sense than to listen to this sort of crap from you."

Dana Scully listened to his footsteps heading away. No surprise. It
could only be a matter of time. Ironic if they split up over a little
thing like this. She sighed, another nail in the coffin of her love
life. But then, Jack Willis was not the only fish in the sea.

--------------

Jackson watched as Mulder picked half heartedly at the food. "Mulder.
When are we going home?"

"When the case is closed."

"It's closed." Continued Jackson, a slight pleading tone in his
voice. "You saw them closing it down today."

"Not closed. The autopsy reports aren't in."

"And when they are, then we can go home?"

"Why don't you ask Harrison or Skinner or Patterson." Mulder paused
theatrically, "or all three of them, for permission to return to DC?"

"Without you?"

"Of course. I've still got things to do."

Jackson frowned. Things to do. Harrison was going to kill Mulder if
Mulder just sat in the office staring at the walls again tomorrow.
Harrison? Hell, Jackson would kill Mulder himself if he didn't stop
getting both of them in the shit with the management. He couldn't
make out why Skinner hadn't sent them home. Probably Patterson didn't
want Mulder back in the office, because of course if he went back
Patterson would have to report on Mulder's condition directly. No
third party to pass the buck to. Shit.

---------

Mulder reread the report. He had it now. The MO was clear. Drugs
administered hours or even days before the deaths. The idea of
different trigger chemicals on different victims not proven because
they didn't have the physical evidence from the earlier bodies. But
this time it was the alcohol that tripped the drug to life. Murder.

Could be suicide of course. Mulder smiled at that. The DC pathologist
who'd handled the second autopsy carefully pointing out that just
because of the poison delivery system being a designer product that
could kill without leaving a trail there was still no reason why it
couldn't be suicide. He wondered if the person writing the report had
suggested it deliberately to make him laugh.

Lie to them. It doesn't matter. Don't tell them what you think, don't
tell them your theories. Just tell them how to catch him. No, don't
even do that. No need to warn the perp. Go and get the evidence
yourself, finish the jigsaw. Don't try and justify it. You're Spooky
remember, you can do that. Just do it.

Jackson didn't like it. Mulder didn't care. Jackson wanted backup.
Mulder reminded him that they might be getting backup from the
killer. Jackson said he wouldn't go in without support. Mulder said
it was just an information gathering interview and that even if he
was right they weren't going to be meeting the killer. Jackson said
that if Mulder was right, things could get very hot, very quickly.
Mulder just shrugged.

Jackson went back to his room to grab his coat. Mulder waited until
Jackson's motel room door closed, then he got quickly into the rental
car and drove away.

Jackson emerged carless and furious. He headed to the Bureau office
in a taxi.

Mulder made his way to the University and an interview with a
specialist in drug delivery systems.

The information that Danny's contact had sent through was excellent.
Direct link to the fount of all knowledge. The interview went well.
The Professor loved his work and was happy to explain it. He walked
Mulder through the members of his team explaining their roles and
responsibilities. One name stood out. Mulder thanked the Professor
for his time.

He knew that he had to call in to the office quickly. He had to talk
to Jackson. Talk to Skinner. Explain the evidence, real and
circumstantial. Plan the next phase. Plan the capture.

-----------

Back at the office, Agent Jackson tried to keep it from being a big
deal. He explained to them that Mulder had this idea. That he'd gone
off on his own to interview someone. Some academic or something. And
Jackson didn't know where he was. Except that Mulder didn't look that
clear headed this morning. And now Jackson had let him go off on his
own. How was he to know Mulder would do a dumb thing like that?

----------------

Mulder felt a strange foreboding as he left the Lab. He checked his
gun was in place. As he walked he realised that he was looking
around, side to side, his eyes sweeping the street, just like he'd
been taught at Quantico. His hand drifted to his jacket again and
made sure that it was loose enough so that he'd be able to reach the
gun holster quickly if he needed to. Jumpy, jumpy as hell. He
reminded himself that he had reason to be.

He was regretting coming out here alone. He should have kept working
on Jackson. If he'd handled it right he could have even brought in
Skinner. He knew for sure it was neither of them. Of course he also
knew for sure who the killer was, but he'd needed the trip to the Lab
to confirm it. Damned idiot. Coming out here on his own. Jackson
didn't even know where he was. Stupid.

He was annoyed with himself, disappointed in himself. No reaction to
the killing the other night? Sure. That was probably why he'd given
up sleeping, eating, drinking. That was probably why he'd sat shaking
on the steps of Jacobs' house. Yes, that was no reaction all right.
So if he couldn't even remember to eat, how come he trusted his
judgment on what was safe? Idiot.

< Yep, no doubt about it, you've definitely shown everyone your
genius credentials this time. Congratulations, Agent Mulder. And
exactly how many box tops did you have to collect before you got your
Psychology qualification? >

He hesitated. He could back into the building and call the office
from there. Or he could go to his car and get out of here, fast. And
then call. The car was closer so he kept walking.

He had almost got to his car when he heard the noise. A movement in
the shadows of the underground parking. He tensed, stood still and
wondered when he'd drawn his gun.

Oh God. He already had his gun in his hand. Harrison could shoot him
where he stood and if the luck ran with the ASAC it could even be
construed as a justified homicide. Mulder felt the nausea rising in
his throat.

Mulder closed his eyes and threw himself to the floor, rolling to the
back of one of the concrete supporting pillars. He crouched low.

His body was tensing up like he had been crouching forever. Mulder
could hear Harrison moving to circle over towards him. Mulder froze.
One on one. Not that bad a set of odds. Except that Mulder wasn't
sure he could hold the gun steady right now, wasn't sure if he had
the strength in his fingers to pull the trigger, wasn't sure he could
keep his eyes open for long enough to take aim.

Panic was taking over, clouding his vision and dulling his hearing
and he needed to be able to hear Harrison's approach. But all he
could hear was his blood pulsing like a tide through his head. Time
moved slowly, painfully.

Mulder squeezed his eyes tight shut, hoping that when he opened them,
things would focus again, but it was so hard to open them. His grip
tightened on the gun, he could feel the throbbing where the razor
blade had cut his hand months ago.

He stayed locked in place, not even trying to move, desperately
trying to clear his head enough to listen for Harrison's approach.

Suddenly more footsteps, running. "Federal Agents. Stand still and
put down your weapon." Repeated. Then silence. And then a flurry of
movement as they led ASAC Harrison away.

Then, Jackson's voice. "Mulder where are you?"

Mulder tried to reply but his vocal chords were paralysed. He put his
hands up. A few seconds later two Agents were by his side hauling him
to his feet.

Minutes later Mulder finally looked up, he stared unsteadily at
Jackson. "How did you find me?"

"One of those faxes that came in for you, you left it out in the
room. It mentioned the University and Professor Carlton. We called
him and he confirmed you'd been there."

He nodded uncomfortably. "Thanks."

The task of linking ASAC Harrison to one of the Professor's research
assistants, Karen Harrison, was easy, father and daughter. The task
of proving that he was the killer to the satisfaction of a court
would be tougher. Skinner would make it his pet project.

-------------------
END of Part 5

From jhumby@ctv.es Thu Dec 12 05:32:44 1996
Legally:
The interesting characters in this story belong to Chris Carter, 1013
and Fox as brought to life by DD, GA and the XFiles writers. I've
borrowed them for fun not profit.

===========
Out of the Shadows (jhumby@iee.org)
Part 6 of 6

Walter Skinner tried to fathom out the Agent sat across the desk from
him. It was a game of cat and mouse. They both knew it, they both
played it well, they both stuck to the rules.

Skinner had two choices. Slap Mulder on the back, thank him for
clearing a friend's name and finding a murderer and give him a
commendation. The other, equally compelling desire was to slap the
Agent around the head and tell him not to take such stupid risks.

Ironically, the most appropriate reward was the same as the most
appropriate punishment, a couple of weeks suspension on full pay.

Mulder played the game well, no doubt about it. Apologetic, but
confident and self assured. "It was an error of judgment, Sir. But
the case was closed. I thought I was simply tidying up loose ends."

Skinner found himself going through the motions of the debate. "But
Agent Jackson recognised the dangers of the situation."

Mulder nodded comfortably. "Agent Jackson seems to have more faith in
my hunches than I do."

Skinner sighed. If Jackson hadn't told everyone at the office what
Mulder was up to, it really wouldn't have been that big a risk. He
wasn't going to discipline Mulder for being good at his job. But he
wasn't going to have him on his conscience either. Mulder was
Patterson's baby. Mulder wasn't needed in Chicago, he could go back
to Washington. Skinner would tell Patterson what happened, suggest a
vacation for Mulder, some down time. He told Mulder his verdict.

Mulder smiled.

Skinner sensed that Mulder had played the game before.

----------------

NEW YORK

Despite filing what he hoped was an accurate report on Mulder after
the case in Chicago, Agent Jackson wasn't surprised to find that he
was still on nursemaid duty. Nor was he surprised when Patterson told
them to fly directly from Chicago to New York and another man hunt.
Well, a hunt for two men this time, according to Mulder.

Mulder understood what had happened. He was jumpy, accident prone. In
Chicago he hadn't taken even the most routine precautions for his own
protection. He was trying to do better. He took his sleeping pills at
night. He even tried taking his valium in the day. But it was taking
its toll, he felt dulled, drained by it. He could still do the work.
He did still do the work. Jackson started to relax. Mulder felt the
helplessness build, felt himself drowning, wasn't sure if he could be
bothered to swim for shore.

Memories were strange things. Some so clear, so distinct, glorious
technicolor with surround sound and full emotional force. Others
vague and hiding in shadows. And one, an old one, a vital one,
apparently missing all together. He was going to get someone to help
him with the memories. He didn't like them hiding in the shadows, he
wanted them all out where he could see them. When he got back to DC,
he'd get someone to help drag them out in the open.

Another empty house, another young hostage, another killer. Deja vu.
Except it wasn't. Except this time they'd arrived early enough.

It was an accident, an emergency, things had happened in a rush. No
time to put hostage procedures in place. No real backup. Just four
Agents walking into a building. Mulder was with the others, then he
wasn't. A mistake. The ASAC had called left, he'd turned right and
walked into the room where a young man was tied to a radiator.

A man was crouched behind the hostage holding a gun to his head. With
no time to run the killer had offered Mulder a deal. "Put your gun
down. And I won't kill him."

The rules were clear enough. An Agent could not put down their
weapon. But Mulder would have, would have been happy to, he didn't
care about the rules. Didn't care about anything except buying a
little more time for the hostage. A vague hope that this time he
could make a difference. He didn't get the chance to make a decision.

Mulder felt a thump to the back of the head and slumped half
conscious to the ground.

"We've got to move rooms. We need a hostage. Bring the Fed. This one
can't walk." He pointed at the man tied to the radiator.

"You got something to tie him up with? Try and find his cuffs."

A gun against the head. A knee pressing against his neck. Mulder
sprawled helplessly. He felt his hands being tugged forward. Saw a
club hammer swing down. Heard the crack as it impacted the bones in
his right hand. A howl of pain. "Don't need cuffs now. He won't be
causing trouble."

"Make sure."

Mulder felt his own handcuffs closing on his wrists, a rope looped
around the links to pull him with. Then he was being dragged away. He
screamed.

The other Agents heard the scream and retraced their steps. They
found the young man tied to the heater. They heard the yelps of the
new hostage.

Mulder looked down at his hand, he was ready to pass out, lower
himself into oblivion. Another scream so the other Agents would know
where he was. A crash of metal against his head as the men tried to
shut him up. His last thought as he lost consciousness, whatever
happened next, he was out of field work, he wouldn't be holding a gun
for a while.

------------

When he woke up he was in a hospital bed, the cuffs had gone. Black,
red, purple bruises. And that was the bit he could see, the rest was
in a cast. They told him both men had died in the shootout that had
followed his capture. The Agents didn't take kindly to people beating
up one of their own. He'd been lucky with the injury, some time in a
cast, some physiotherapy and it should mend completely.

When he returned to DC and was safely home in his apartment he had
plenty of time to think. It had been another near miss. Nearly dead.
Nearly permanently disabled. Again. It could only be a matter of time
before his luck ran out. A run of three cases, three near misses,
only one set of bruises. Lucky.

He thought about it. Not the worst cases, not the worst crimes, not
the worst criminals. Not by a long way.

He considered what his head was telling him. Not the worst. No, not
the worst, not even close. He'd fallen far lower than this and walked
away. This didn't even need crutches. He didn't even plan to run away
and hide in a closet in a nice quiet motel room this time. Certainly,
this time, he didn't need other people's help to get over it.

He'd come out of it. He'd play with the Bureau's counsellors,
mandatory referral because of being captured and hospitalised, a
formality. They would wait for a respectable, but surprisingly short,
length of time. Then, they'd file a report, saying he was fit to
work, but that he needed to be carefully watched. Asses covered in
anticipation of when it finally all fell apart.

Skinner had thought about calling his bluff, but he hadn't. So had
Detective Cann back in Indiana, but he wasn't even in the right
management loop. So had Jackson, time after time. Maybe even
Patterson had thought about it, he'd regularly said the right words
in the past. But Patterson, or someone like him, would kill him,
sooner or later.

Mulder smiled at the thought, the final psychiatric report would say
he had a subconscious death wish. Ironic that, people would say
suicide when actually someone, or several someones, were trying to
kill him. And the only person who could stop them was? Spooky Mulder,
hunter of serial killers.

A snort of laughter at that. Patterson and the others probably didn't
think of themselves as killing anyone, at least, not a real person.
But then, half the murderers had Mulder brought in didn't think they
were killing real people.

He looked at his hand. Not the worst injury he'd picked up. In fact,
just about ideal. Another snort of laughter. Best not tell the Bureau
Psych squad about that observation. Injured and glad of it.

Time for a time out. Reopen those questions that Patterson had kept
him too busy to deal with.

Patterson's words had stopped him for a while. 'The FBI isn't here to
fund your personal agenda, Agent Mulder.' No. Perhaps not. Except it
wasn't just his agenda, it was the agenda for all those people whose
cases other Agents had given up on. Why should he give up too? If he
was going to kill himself working for the Bureau, then it could at
least be his own decision.

Another thing not to mention to the Psychiatric unit.

He noted the background music he'd loaded into the CD player. Talking
Heads, Psycho Killer. Talk about bringing work home. He switched it
off. He picked up the X-File he'd been reading and switched on the
TV. Close Encounters of the Third Kind was blasting across the
airways.

He laughed, even the home appliances were trying to tell him
something. Best not tell Psychiatric services that one either.

He didn't believe in coincidences. He switched the TV off, grabbed
his jacket and headed to a Bar.

---------------

WEEKS LATER

"Go on Dana. Go over there and talk to him. He's on his own. You've
worked on one of his cases. You'll never get a better excuse."

Dana Scully laughed. The cafeteria could only have contained a dozen
people. Sharon was good at lifting her spirits after a hard week.
But, Fox Mulder looked like he'd had one too many hard week. "I don't
think he's interested in talking to anyone. A couple of people have
tried to get his attention."

"Female, attractive ones, working on one of his pet cases?"

"I'm not going to rebound off Jack into somebody else's bed." Dana
said it with a little too much enthusiasm and drew a few curious
looks from around the room. She glared at Sharon. "Now look what
you've made me do. Anyway he doesn't even know I'm the one going over
the evidence for him and having kept it quiet this long, I'm not
going to break my cover tonight."

Sharon, looked back, a puzzled shake of the head. So Scully
continued. "Because if he came back with a 'so what' I'd throw
something at him."

"You sure he doesn't know you're helping him."

"Certain. I made Danny promise. He gives away my cover and I quit."

"Why?"

"Well, I didn't want Jack to find out."

"No problem now then."

"So? I don't want to lose my mystery. Besides he doesn't look like
the life and soul of the party right now."

"You've not heard?"

Scully arched her eyebrows to indicate her interest. So Sharon
carried on. "He had to shoot a suspect a few weeks back. He just
missed rescuing a teenage girl. Then he killed the perp. Self
defence, legitimate, it was all above board. But he's been moodie
ever since. Nearly got himself killed. Twice."

"So, if he's that moodie, why is he back here working." Dana paused.
"Why isn't he on psychiatric leave?"

"Leave? You've got to be joking. He's been working non stop. After
that Chicago poisoning case you helped him on, he went to New York.
The only reason he's back here now is because he broke his wrist.
Well, some killer broke it for him. He traded himself for a hostage,
but one of the guys didn't just stop at tying him up. He wanted to
make sure that Mulder couldn't cause trouble so he hit him with a
hammer."

Scully winced and looked at Mulder again. Noting this time that she
could only see his left hand on the table, playing with the cup of
coffee. "So why isn't he on medical leave now?"

"Aw come on Dana, I know dating Jack used to leave you so far out of
the gossip loop, but that's ridiculous." Sharon paused to tease Dana,
who attempted to feign disinterest, but Scully could only keep up the
look for a few seconds before she cracked. Sharon continued. "He got
cut up by someone a few months back. Couldn't hold a gun, supposed to
be in the office, light duties. So they gave him medical leave, took
him on as a Consultant and sent him back out. So this time he
wouldn't play along."

"So is Patterson annoyed with him?"

"Patterson? Not just Patterson, half of the DC brass are annoyed with
him. Though of course they can't say it straight out, he's playing it
strictly by the book. The other half are looking at how to get him on
their cases. He's got the kind of hit rate that would improve
anyone's efficiency ratings. And he's told Patterson he wants to
leave."

"To do what? He'll be in line for a relocation to Alaska if he
doesn't watch his step."

"That's why they are so annoyed. Mulder's calling in favors. Lots of
them. Bureau. Political. Legal. And a lot of people owe him favors so
he's taking his time in DC as a chance to collect."

"To do what?"

"You know what. You've even been working on some of the cases for
him. Unofficial. He's doing it out of hours. He wants it made
official. He wants to be allowed to work on the X-Files."

Dana Scully nodded.

-------------

Mulder concentrated on the swirls on the surface of the coffee. It
had been another rough week, though no rougher than he'd expected.
Dragging memories out into daylight was bound to be unsettling.

Saying no to all the 'when you've got a minute Mulder, let's keep it
unofficial' requests was difficult. Saying no to Patterson's plans to
get him out of Washington had been less difficult, he'd even enjoyed
the irony of using the rule book to get his own way. Saying no to all
the suggested moves within the VCS mainstream had been easy. The
tough bit had been groveling to all those people who'd owed him
favors. All the people who'd said < if ever you need some help just
call >. He'd hated it. But it seemed to be working. Just the barest
chink appearing in the door.

He was grateful that Danny usually handled the day to day stuff of
trading favors.

Another couple of weeks and he might even have enough energy left
track down whoever Danny's new contact from forensics was. It had
been good stuff and while he was still in credit with Danny's favor
bank he had always liked to thank his helpers personally. Tickets to
a ball game, bottle of champagne, whatever. Favors were important, he
didn't know when he might need more. He guessed that even if got his
own way and was allowed to work on the X-Files he couldn't expect
much official help.

------------

MARCH 92

Dana Scully was only obeying orders. A surprise set of orders. But
not unwelcome. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door of the
basement office.

A voice from the other side of the woodwork. "No one here but the
Bureau's most unwanted."

She smiled and walked in.

END - Out of the Shadows by jhumby@iee.org
(Thanks for reading it. Hope you enjoyed it. - Joann)