Author: Daydreamer
Posted: August 18, 1998

“Any society that needs disclaimers has too many lawyers.”
Erik Pepke

“Fan fiction is a way of the culture repairing the damage done in a system where contemporary myths are owned by corporations instead of owned by the folk.”
Henry Jenkins, director of media studies at MIT Author of “Textual Poachers: Media Fans and Participatory Culture”

Profiles In Caring - The Emerson Case II – Part 1

“To fall in love is easy, even to remain in it is not difficult; our human loneliness is cause enough. But it is a hard quest worth making to find a comrade through whose steady presence one becomes steadily the person one desires to be.”
Anna Louise Strong

Mulder stood leaning lazily up against the cabinets in the kitchen, eyes at half mast, as he watched Scully finish up the dishes. He held the cloth he had used to dry the glasses, silverware, and plates. It felt wet against his shirt front - but his attention was not on a wet shirt - but rather on a compact red head who had just shared a fabulous meal with him. He watched as she concentrated a bit more on a stubborn place in the pot she was washing. Her tongue peeked out of the corner of her mouth and the muscles of her back and shoulders bunched as she exerted additional effort.

Scully could feel his eyes on her - moving slowly over her - like a lover's caress. She felt, rather than saw, when he moved toward. And then, his arms were around her, his hands holding hers in the soapy water.

She tensed at his first touch - this was still so new - then relaxed into his arms. His long, elegant fingers holding her small hands, his arms tight against her own, he leaned over and placed a chaste kiss at the corner of her mouth.

She turned in his arms, looking up at him with love and concern. Since the change in their relationship, Mulder was so careful not to move too quickly. He had iron self-control, she thought, and he was determined for them to progress slowly, learning each other completely, and enjoying every moment of it.

She lifted herself on her toes, catching his mouth with her own, and kissed him deeply, amazed at how her heart overflowed with feelings for this complex man.

“Come on Mulder, this pot isn't going to wash itself you know.” She started slightly as he took the rag from her hand and finished the last pot, placing it in the other sink. He let the water out and began rinsing their hands in clean water from the faucet. She leaned back into him fully, and felt his arousal as her weight settled against him. He reluctantly stepped away, and picked up the still damp towel.

He dried his hands quickly, then hers, more gently, more thoroughly, taking his time to enjoy the feel of her small hands in his. Hands that were so strong, but hands that could be so gentle when they touched him. Having come to learn many new things about her since their return from the Emerson case, he knew she always put on lotion after doing the dishes.

He grabbed the tube from the window sill over the sink and lead her to a chair at the table. Seating himself, he pulled her into his lap. She came willingly, with a slight giggle. <I love seeing this side of her! I love being able to make her laugh!>

He opened the lotion and squeezed some into his own large hands.

“You know you'll smell like roses now, Mulder, “ she laughed.

He laughed with her, delighted by her happiness, then turned serious. “No,” he said, inhaling deeply, “I'll smell like you.”

His shifts from playful to serious often caught her by surprise, sometimes confusing her, but almost always pleasing her. She ducked her head as her eyes filled with tears.

He lifted her hand, cradling it in his own and began spreading the lotion over it with his thumb. He started with small circles in the palm. He worked up to her fingers, rubbing, stroking, working the lotion in. He turned her hand over and began long, sensuous movements up the back of her hand.

She watched as he began to work the lotion into her hand. He massaged her palm, her fingers, the back of her hand. It was incredible! This man took the simple act of applying lotion and turned it into one of the most sensuous experiences of her life. She settled more deeply into his lap, leaning back into him, and purred with contentment. At the sound that escaped her, a deep throaty half sigh, she felt him hug her to him, and she felt him stir beneath her. She smiled. Their time was coming.

She leaned back into his chest, closing her eyes, and made a sound of contentment, deep in her throat. He tightened his hold on her briefly, a small hug, felt the tightening in his own groin, then focused his attention on her other hand. She remained still in his lap, relaxed in his arms, and he thought he could die happy at that moment.

He finished his ministrations and wrapped her in his arms, holding her to him. Her head was nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, and he tilted his head downward, kissing her hair. She sighed - seemingly pleased with the world - and he was happier than he had ever been in his life. It seemed every new experience with her exceeded the last.

They sat that way, quietly, together, for a long while, content and at peace with the world, until the silence was shattered by the ringing of the phone.

Mulder reluctantly released Scully, watching as she rose gracefully from his lap and went to the phone. He followed her to the doorway, unwilling to let her leave his sight.

“Scully,” she said crisply. “Yes, Sir. He's here, sir.” She mouthed to Mulder, 'Skinner,' and indicated he should pick up the extension. He turned back into the kitchen and lifted the receiver from the wall phone.

“Yes, Sir, I'm here.”

“Well, Agents, I'm sorry to disturb your evening. A situation has arisen in the Emerson trial. Our depositions are not being accepted and we need to return to testify after all.”

Muffled groans from both phones. “But, Sir,” Mulder began, “we just got back from our last case, days without sleep, physically exhausting surveillance. Scu - we just aren't up to this, Sir.” Skinner heard the implied - Scully's not up to this.

They had returned from the Emerson case and been on the road almost constantly ever since - for almost 3 months. Mothmen, a monster from a bad movie who turned out to have a soul, the whole debacle with Scully's daughter, and all the questions that had raised. Pusher and his sister. Killer trees, killer dolls, killer computers. Then this last case with hours and hours of watching for a madman. It never seemed to end. They were both physically and emotionally exhausted.

Skinner spoke regretfully, “I do understand, Agent Mulder. Believe me, it was not my idea. But we can't let them turn Emerson loose, now can we?”

“No, Sir, we can't.” Scully spoke up. “When do we have to leave?”

“Early tomorrow - that's the only reason I interrupted your evening. Let's meet somewhere for breakfast tomorrow, then head over to the airport for the flight.” Skinner smiled as he spoke. “See, Mulder, I'm still trying to make sure you both eat!”

Scully and Mulder both laughed at that, and the plans were finalized. Skinner said his good nights, with apologies once more, and Mulder was left alone with Scully. She stood quietly looking at the phone as he walked up to her. He reached out and touched her arm, then slowly ran his hand up to her shoulder.

She turned to him, taking his hands in her own, pulling his sleeves up so she could look at the still healing wounds on his wrists from his run in with the VR computer. She stroked his healing flesh carefully.

He watched the expressions crossing her face. Sadness, concern, worry, fear, wistfulness, tenderness. Her expressiveness when they were alone never ceased to amaze him. She could be so professional in public, schooling her features into bland masks, and yet, with him, like this, her face was alive with her heart's feelings.

He let her touch him gently for a minute longer, then gathered her to himself. “I'm ok, Scully,” he murmured into her hair. “This trip will be a piece of cake after the last few months. Think of it as a break from the DC winter, a trip to warmer climes, compliments of Uncle Sam,” he smiled at her. “And Uncle Walter, too, of course.”

At that she grinned at him, and pulled back so she could look up at him. He loosened his hold, but didn't let go. “Well, since 'Uncle Walter' is accompanying us, we should get some rest and be ready to go on time, don't you think?”

At that, he stepped back reluctantly, his hands still resting on her arms, longing for the day he would never have to let her go. “I guess I'd better go, then,” he muttered, his fingers teasing the silky skin of her arms as he spoke.

She stepped back into his embrace, reaching up for his lips. He kissed her hungrily, pulling her tightly against his chest. She squirmed against him slightly as she lifted herself to her toes, and he felt his groin come alive again. Holding her to him, he entered her mouth as she opened herself to him, inhaling her essence, drinking her in. He kissed her until she broke away, gasping for air.

“Do you want to stay?” she asked shyly.

Did he want to stay? What kind of question was that? Of course he wanted to stay. He wanted more, he wanted it all, but he wanted it in the right way, at the right time. So many things had gone wrong in his life, this was one thing he wasn't going to risk messing up.

“I'd better not,” he answered. “I need to pack and get ready as well. Tomorrow will be here all too soon.” He smiled ruefully. “Someday soon, I'll stay Scully. I will, I promise. I just . . .” His words trailed off.

She smiled at him, catching his hand again. She brought it to her lips and kissed each finger gently. “I understand Mulder, it's ok. Someday soon.”

A new thought occurred to him. “Will you be ok tonight, Scully?” he asked with concern. “Can you sleep? Is that why you asked me to stay? “Cause I will, you know, if . . .” Once again he broke off, unsure of what to say. She still didn't like to discuss her sleep difficulties.

She smiled again, shaking her head. “No, Mulder, I'm ok. Don't worry. If something happens, you're number one on my speed dial.”

He laughed a little, appreciating her efforts to lighten things for him, but he still looked closely at her, assessing the truth behind her words. She stood patiently under his penetrating gaze, having resigned herself to this part of him. This need to reassure, to reassess, to be certain of things in his own mind.

Finally, he nodded too. “Ok Scully, I'd better go then.” They walked hand in hand to the door, he kissed her softly, just touching his lips to hers, and stepped into the hall.

“In the morning, then,” she said.

“Yes, in the morning.”

She closed the door, and he was left in the dark hallway, bereft of the light that was her. He waited till he heard the click of the lock, and the rattle of the chain, before turning and trudging tiredly out to his car for the long drive home.

Skinner was already seated when Scully came in. She wore a beige suit, with a cream colored blouse, and her heels. The consummate professional, all business, ready to go. Skinner smiled as she approached, and rose to greet her.

“Agent Scully,” he said, nodding, “Good morning. Where is Mulder?”

“Good morning, Sir. I assume he'll be here shortly.”

He raised his eyebrows quizzically. He had expected them to come in together. After all, they had both been at her apartment when he called. Maybe things weren't as they seemed. He watched as she seated herself.

“Is everything - all right - with you and Agent Mulder?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes, Sir, we both just had a lot to get done to get ready for this trip.” She smiled at him, then turned serious. “He's still not himself, sir. Whatever he saw in the VR setup has really shaken him. He was already tired, run down, when that happened, and now, just coming off this last one - he's not up to a lot. I'm worried about him. This is just a simple 'go and testify and come home,' right?”

“As far as I can tell, Scully, that's all that will be needed. It should be two to three days, at the most. Non-strenuous, plenty of time to relax at the hotel. It may even give both of you a chance to rest more than if you were here, on call.” He smiled at that thought. During the Emerson case, he had resolved to be more careful of what cases his two agents were assigned and what he allowed them to take on. So far, he felt he had been singularly ineffective in reducing the risk factor they were exposed to.

Mulder arrived, appearing from no where and took the chair next to Scully. “Good morning, Sir.” He nodded at Skinner. “Hey, you,” he whispered to Scully, his hand snaking out to stroke hers. “Morning.”

Skinner watched with interest as Scully caught Mulder's fingers in her own for a brief moment, before replying, “Hi yourself. You're late.”

Mulder grinned mischievously. “Traffic.”

Scully looked at him, then rolled her eyes. “You came on the metro, Mulder.”

He shrugged, then quickly kissed her fingers.

The waitress came and took their orders, and Skinner was again reminded of how these two looked out for one another. Scully raised her eyebrow at Mulder's request for pancakes, eggs, hash browns, and sausage. His eyes skittered to her, and he hastily amended his request, dropping the eggs and potatoes and adding a melon. He was rewarded with an nod and a happy smile.

When Scully ordered toast and juice, Mulder gave a pointed look at her already slender waistline, and she added a poached egg and fruit to her order, raising her brow as if to ask, “Happy now?” He gave an encouraging smile and reached out, squeezing her hand.

Skinner had ordered grapefruit, eggs, bacon, and toast. He was slightly embarrassed but secretly pleased to see both his agents give him approving smiles as well. It was nice to be somewhat included in their circle.

Skinner informed them of the travel arrangements and hotel accommodations as they waited for their meals to arrive. “Kim couldn't get seats together on the first plane, as this was so last minute. We change once in Charlotte, then go on and arrive around 3:30 p.m., their time. We're staying where we stayed last time. That was satisfactory, wasn't it?”

“It was fine, Sir.” Mulder excused himself from the table.

Skinner watched as Scully's eyes followed Mulder questioningly as he headed towards the restrooms in the back of the restaurant. Their meals arrived and after the waitress left, Scully said, “Did you get adjoining rooms for Mulder and me, Sir? He - doesn't - can't always sleep and it helps if I can hear him when it gets bad.” She looked down as she spoke.

“Yes, Scully, I did. I remembered from our last trip together. I'm right across the hall from the two of you,” he paused, unsure of whether to go on or not, then plunged ahead. “I hope you know you can call me if you need - assistance - with Mulder, at any time. Or if you need ...” He trailed off, unwilling to bring her own nightmares onto the table without her permission.

Skinner looked at Scully and watched in amazement as her hand reached across the table, and took his. “I do, Sir. Thank you.” She squeezed his hand, then pulled her arm back. He sat, dumbstruck by her action, but nonetheless, touched by her graceful gesture.

They began to eat and soon Mulder rejoined them. They briefly discussed the case as they completed their meal, then Scully excused herself from the men. Mulder and Skinner both followed her with their eyes as she walked purposefully to the back. As soon as she was gone from sight, Mulder turned to him and said, “She's afraid to fly, you know. We always sit together because she gets nervous.”

“No, Mulder, I didn't know that.” Skinner replied. “And I don't know what I can do about it at this late date.”

“Are you sure you can't get us seats together?”

Skinner rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I'll see what I can do, but . . . “ He trailed off as Scully walked up.

“Ready?” she asked.

As answer, both men rose, gathering coats. Mulder helped Scully on with hers, placed his hand at the small of her back, and the three of them headed out to the airport.

Scully drove, as both men had taken the metro in from their homes. She left her car in long-term parking, and they shuttled over to the airport, arriving early. Skinner left Scully and Mulder to check the luggage and went in search of a ticketing agent. Though he hated to 'pull rank' so to speak, the request for adjacent seating shouldn't be too hard to grant.

After a short wait, explanations that the three were federal agents and needed to confer prior to testifying at a serial killer's trial, he was successful in having secured three seats together. He didn't want to ask what the airline agent had done to make that happen, but as he walked away, he heard her paging two other ticket holders to come to the counter.

Mulder and Scully met him at the gate, Scully carrying a briefcase, Mulder with laptop, and a large attache with all their notes and papers from the case. Skinner presented them with their tickets, and led the way onto the plane as boarding was announced.

As he stopped by their row, Scully paused also, puzzled. “I thought we weren't together on this leg of the flight?” she questioned.

“I asked for reassignment. I figured we could use the time to discuss the testimony and review before the trial.” From over Scully's shoulder, Mulder shot him a grateful look. It surprised him how pleased he felt to have been able to do this small thing for them.

Skinner placed his briefcase, laptop, and coat in the overhead, then turned to take Scully's. He assumed that she would have managed if she was alone, but she handed them to him gratefully, and seemed glad not to have to struggle to reach so far over her head. Skinner took the window seat, and Scully slid into the middle. Mulder stowed his gear, and was seated on the aisle.

Skinner noticed Scully had immediately buckled her seat belt, and then claimed both armrests, holding tightly to them. He looked more closely at her and saw every muscle was tensed. Indeed, she seemed prepared for impending doom. He shook his head ruefully, and started to say something, when he saw Mulder shaking his head vigorously out of the corner of his eye. He closed his mouth and pulled a magazine from the pocket in front of him.

Still watching Mulder, he saw the agent visibly relax, sagging into his seat. His hand came up slowly, and carefully covered Scully's on the armrest. She gave him a quick, tight smile, but did not release her hold. Skinner watched as he began to slowly stroke her hand with his index finger, from wrist to finger, back and forth, back and forth. It was a light touch, a gentle caress, but slowly, Scully began to relax.

As the plane began to taxi, she tensed again, holding her breath for the take-off. She flashed an embarrassed grin at Skinner and ducked her head. “I get a little nervous when I fly,” she explained.

“Really,” he replied blandly. “I hadn't noticed.”

She snorted in response, and then glanced at Mulder. He was grinning unabashedly, and still gently stroking her hand. She suddenly seemed to remember where they were and pulled her hand back from Mulder's, giving Skinner a sheepish look. She yawned, then, and Skinner noticed she looked tired. “Why don't you try to get some rest?” he said kindly.

Mulder nodded in agreement, “Yeah, Scully, go ahead. We can do the briefing on the next leg. I'm a little tired myself.” Mulder rose, pulling a pillow and blanket from the overhead. He unfolded the blanket and tucked it around Scully, then seated himself and placed the pillow on his shoulder. Scully cast a quick look at Skinner, then yawned again, and leaned into Mulder, settling against his shoulder.

Though he couldn't tell for sure, Skinner thought he saw her hand slip across the armrest and take Mulder's again, under the blanket. As both of his agents settled in, Skinner turned and looked out the window, feeling a bit left out of the closeness these two shared.

About an hour into the flight, Mulder looked up and called to Skinner quietly. He gestured to Scully and asked, “Do you mind, Sir?” as he made to move her head to Skinner's shoulder. “I need to make a bathroom run.”

Skinner straightened in his seat, thinking how many years it had been since someone had used him for a pillow rest. “No, Agent Mulder, I don't mind at all.” Mulder made the move quickly and stood, heading for the back of the plane.

Skinner sat looking at Scully. She seemed so young to him. Had he ever been that young? And she had gone through so many horrible things for her job, things she seemed willing to endure if they brought her and Mulder one step closer to the truth of it all.

As he watched her, she began to tense. It seemed to him, she instinctively knew that Mulder was no longer here. Her brow creased and her mouth tightened. She began to move jerkily under the blanket that still covered her sleeping form. Skinner had seen this before. But he wasn't sure he was up to it here, in a crowded plane, without Mulder to help him bring her awake and calm her fears.

He reached up and stroked her hair, afraid to say anything, knowing instinctively that the only voice she would hear in whatever place she was now, would be Mulder's. Where was he anyway?

Her movements stilled as he continued to stroke her hair, but when his hand strayed to the base of her neck, she jolted upright, a strangled “NO!” coming from her lips. Her eyes were wild and her hands were coming up in a defensive posture. Skinner released her completely, and tucked himself into the farthest corner of his seat, trying to give her space, and make himself as non-threatening as possible. Where the hell was Mulder?

Scully looked through him with unseeing eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks. She clutched the blanket to her chin, and people were beginning to turn and stare. Just then, Mulder came striding up, took in the situation, and called her name, softly.

She turned quickly to him, eyes clearing, and reached out. In a little girl's voice she said, “I looked for you and you weren't there.”

He seated himself and pulled her to him, as the tears began to flow freely. He murmured into her hair, and stroked her back, then lifted her and pulled her into his lap completely. She settled down immediately, the tears ceasing. Skinner watched as Mulder continued to hold her, and speak soothingly, stroking her and caressing her as she began to drift off to sleep.

Finally, Mulder looked at Skinner, and said, “Sorry, Sir, it hasn't been like this in a while. I knew she'd be nervous on the plane. I shouldn't have left.”

Skinner shrugged and said, “You couldn't have known, Mulder. I'm sorry I wasn't more help.”

“No sir, you did the right thing. Give her space, be as non-threatening as possible, she would have come around for you, too, sir. She just knows me better.”

“This is the second time I have seen this, Mulder. What the hell is going on?”

“I'm not sure, Sir. She rarely remembers it even happening. I think it's flashbacks to whatever happened during her abduction.” He grinned at Skinner. “But there is no way I'm gonna tell her that!” He paused, turning serious. “It doesn't affect her field work, Sir. There is no one else I would trust at my back.”

“No one, Agent Mulder?” Skinner raised his eyebrow.

“No one on active field duty, Sir,” Mulder replied, looking Skinner in the eye.

Skinner nodded, and watched as Mulder shifted uncomfortably. “Want me to put her back in her own seat, Mulder?”

Mulder looked at Scully, deciding how soundly she was sleeping, and then accepted. Skinner rose, lifted Scully just enough to place her in the middle seat again, then reseated himself. The remainder of the flight was uneventful and Scully remembered nothing of what had happened when she awoke. By tacit agreement, the men did not speak of it either.

“Doing easily what others find difficult is talent; doing what is impossible for talent is genius.”
Henri-Frederic Amiel

While the men retrieved the bags, Scully decided to solve one problem in advance. She went and rented the car, thereby eliminating the need for a male power struggle over who would drive. SHE would drive - though both men might end up in the back, just for the leg room. She giggled to herself at that thought.

Scully went and picked up the car and came back to the terminal to meet Mulder and Skinner. Though she had not wanted to come on this little trip, she found herself hopeful that the trial would end quickly, or at least their part in it. Then maybe she and Mulder could spend some quiet down time together. Time to explore the new facets of their relationship.

As she pulled up to the curb, Mulder and Skinner both reached for the front door handle. Scully shook her head ruefully - maybe there was no way to resolve these male power struggles after all. After a brief contest of wills, Skinner yielded gracefully, apparently letting Mulder exert his 'partner' rights over his own 'supervisor' rights.

Once at the hotel, they went to the desk to check in. Scully pulled Mulder to the side, giving Skinner room to handle the transactions for them all.

“What do you mean, rooms 312, 519, and 802?” he asked. “No, that is not acceptable. I gave very specific instructions regarding our requirements.”

Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance. Skinner was in full AD mode, and the desk clerk didn't stand a chance!

It took a while, and Skinner had to work his way through several layers of management, but in the end, they had the rooms that had been requested. Skinner huffed over to them, and passed out room keys.

As they rode up in the elevator to their rooms, Skinner suggested getting together for an early dinner, before heading over to the local Bureau office for a preliminary briefing. They debated the merits of Chinese versus Italian, Italian winning, and a time and place were set.

They parted in the hallway, each entering their own room. As was their custom, Mulder and Scully each went directly to the adjoining doors, opening them and Mulder stepped through. He flopped down on Scully's bed, bouncing once or twice, and then settling. He looked up at her through lazy eyes and leered, “Wanna join me gorgeous?”

Scully stood, hands on hips, looking at him in exasperation. “Mulder, why don't you ever unpack? We're going to be here at least three days. Don't you want to settle in?”

Mulder stood sheepishly, then returned to his room. She heard clanking of metal, zippers opening, drawers opening and closing, and a loud thud as something hit a wall. In about 60 seconds, he was back, jumping into the air and landing on her bed again. “All done,” he grinned cheerfully. “NOW do you want to join me?”

Scully shook her head in amusement, “Well, I don't want to hear you complaining if your suits are wrinkled.” She watched as he rolled over and took the remote, turning the TV on, but muting it. “He waved a hand in her direction, eyes on the TV as he clicked the remote “Don't let me bother you, Scully, go ahead. Do your unpacking or whatever.”

She looked at him. He always invaded her space, but usually not so brazenly. She knew something was bothering him but she would wait for the right time to bring it up. Or maybe he would bring it up this time.

She began her unpacking, hanging her suits neatly in the closet, shoes soldier-straight beneath. Underclothes in one drawer, nightclothes in another. As she began to hang her jeans up, Mulder laughed. “I should have known you would hang jeans, not fold them,” he sang out.

“Yes, well, at least I don't keep them in piles on the floor,” she retorted. “Mulder, it amazes me how you always look so good when you are such a mess!” She sighed as he laughed again.

“Hey, Scully, you think I look good?” he teased, standing up and reaching out to her.

She turned, gave him a long look, and stepped into his arms, wrapping her own tightly around his waist. She let him hold her for a few moments, then asked “So, Mulder, what's bothering you?” her voice muffled in his chest.

She felt him tense, arms tightening around her. “I just have a bad feeling about this, Scully. Even though I know it's silly, I just don't like this whole Emerson case. This guy is just too close to me. I mean, look at what he did. And why he did it - at least his excuse for why. So he wasn't popular in school, in college, in life. He couldn't sustain a relationship with a woman. He felt alienated.”

Scully felt him pull back from her. She let him go, but held onto his hands, trying to keep him grounded to her presence. She reached up and pulled his head down, until he was looking into her eyes. “And. . .” she prompted.

“And there isn't anyone more alienated than I am, Scully. What makes these guys go in one direction and keeps me from following? I just don't understand it.” He pulled his hands from her, eyes roaming the room frantically. He began to pace.

She stepped back, out of his way, and let him work off some of the energy that suddenly crackled in the room. She watched as he paced, his hands pushing roughly through his hair.

“Why them, and not me? What is it that keeps me sane?” At this, he paused his frenzied pacing, and gave a sheepish grin in her direction. “Well, as sane as I am likely to be,” he hastily amended. “What makes my obsessions less deadly than theirs? Or are my obsessions really less deadly?” He began to move again.

Scully watched, knowing he needed to get this out, and knowing she needed to let him. It pained her to watch him torment himself like this, but she realized it was a big step that he was talking to her about it at all. Before the Emerson case, he would have gone off by himself to brood; at least now, he was willing to talk about these demons he carried with him, and fought constantly. She stood quietly, waiting for the right moment to go to him.

“So many people have been hurt because of my obsessions. I probably have a higher body count than most serial killers.” He laughed macabrely and shook his head. “Who am I to think I am any better than these killers? Why else do I know them so well? I am them - I've focused on what I want to the exclusion of all else. It's how I can get into their heads so quickly and so completely. I am them.” He laughed shortly. “Remember Eve 6? 'I am he and he is me and we are all together.'“ He sing-songed in a quick, high voice. He paused again and looked pleadingly at Scully. His voice broke, “Scully, I don't want to be like them.”

She walked to him and took his hand. He followed her willingly and she seated him on the bed. She parted his long legs and stepped between them, pulling his head into her stomach, cradling him against her. She felt the tension in his back, across his shoulders, as he held himself stiffly against her. She held him gently, stroking his hair, and murmuring, “Mulder, you are not like them. You are not like them at all. You are strong and kind and caring. You're a good man, Fox Mulder.”

As she spoke his name, she felt him take a shuddery breath, the tension broke, he loosened in her grasp, and began to sob against her belly. She held him, still whispering in his ear, cooing words of comfort, and her hands stroked and soothed him. He cried for long minutes, his arms coming up and wrapping around her waist, clinging to her like a drowning man clings to a life ring.

She stood like that for a long time, how long she wasn't sure. He finally began to calm, his long limbs relaxing even further as the physical exhaustion caught up with the emotional. She loosened her hold slightly, encouraging him to lay back on the bed. He moved where she directed, never taking his eyes off her, never speaking.

She loosened his tie, slowly pulling the knot apart, then unbuttoned his shirt, pausing frequently to stroke his cheek or his arm. She pulled the colored strip from his neck, then leaned over and cupped his face with her hands. She kissed one eye, then the other, and he left them closed when she pulled back. “I'll be right back,” she murmured. His eyes flew open, but he didn't speak.

She walked into the bathroom, and wet a wash cloth with cool water, wringing it out. She returned to the bed and began to gently bathe his tear swollen face. His eyes closed again, under her gentle ministrations. She stroked him gently, watching as his breathing slowed and he slipped away in sleep. When she was sure he was asleep, she rose quietly, and finished her unpacking.

When she was done, she changed out of her work clothes into casual wear. She stood looking at Mulder. They still had several hours before they had to meet Skinner. She went to him and took the shoes off the feet that hung over the end of the bed. He stirred, but didn't wake.

She moved around to the other side of the bed, again giving him a long look. Making her decision, she crawled onto the bed, sliding over next to Mulder. She curled up next to him, placing her head on his shoulder, and wrapping her arm across his chest. She heard him sigh in contentment and his arms pulled her in more closely. He turned his head, and whispered huskily into her ear, “I missed you, Scully. I'm glad you're here.”

She smiled softly into his chest and closed her own eyes in sleep.

When he woke, it was dark. Mulder lay there, looking down at Scully sprawled across him in sleep. Her hair cascaded over his chest and wisps of it tickled his nose. Her head was pillowed on his shoulder, and her right leg was drawn up across his groin, which was already fully awake.

He sighed quietly in contentment, then began gathering her hair. He stroked the silky strands together, tucking them behind her ear, then gently kissed her forehead. She stirred and he pulled her closely to himself. “Hey sleepyhead,” he murmured, “time to wake up.”

She made an unintelligible sound, deep in her throat, and nuzzled deeper into his body. He chuckled, and reluctantly began to pull away. She tensed, and wouldn't let him go. “Sorry, Scully, believe me, it's not my idea. But we need to meet Skinner soon.”

She opened one eye and looked at him. They hadn't 'slept' together yet, but they had shared a bed on several occasions since that first time several months ago. He treasured the closeness they shared when they did so. Scully was at her most open and honest when she first awoke, more vulnerable to emotions than at any other time.

“Don't want to,” she muttered sulkily.

He chuckled softly. She didn't come awake quickly, either. He clasped her to him for one last hug, then sat up quickly, bringing her with him. She came fully awake then, and fixed him with a baleful glare. He cupped her face in his hand, saying, “I'm sorry, I'd like to stay too, but we can't.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, touching soft lips with the tip of his tongue.

Her eyes softened at once, and she returned his kiss, opening herself more fully to him. He clung to her for a long moment, then pulled away, reluctantly. He rose, hand lingering on her face. “Scully, I . . . That is, earlier . . . well, thank you.”

She nodded and they shared an intense look, then he said, “I gotta shower before the meeting, Scully. Meet you in 45?”

She nodded and he turned and went through the open door, into his own room.

Skinner stepped into the hall and crossed to Scully's room. He had relaxed, watched a little TV, checked in with the office in DC and the local office here, then rested during the afternoon. He was once again dressed in his suit, a fresh white shirt being the only change he had made. He knocked once, then waited.

Scully opened the door promptly. She had completely changed from earlier, and was now wearing a navy pantsuit. Her hair and makeup looked freshly done.

He glanced over her shoulder into the room, expecting to see Mulder. Instead, he and Scully both turned as Mulder exited the next room, looking sharp as always in this gray suit. They each carried something, Skinner an attache, Scully had her lap top, and Mulder carried a box with case notes and other pieces of information that they felt might be needed.

They went to the car and stored the materials in the trunk, then crossed the street and walked down a block to the Italian place they had chosen earlier.

After being seated and ordering, Skinner began. “Mulder, there seems to be some concern over how you were able to identify Emerson as the perpetrator from nothing more than a list and a partial anagram of his name.”

Mulder nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I can see how it might raise questions, but there wasn't any question that Emerson was our guy, right?” He stopped and looked closely at Skinner. “Was there? I mean, he had the next victim at the farm and he tried to shoot her in front of dozens of law enforcement officials. What more do they want?”

“I agree absolutely, Mulder,” Skinner said, “but the legal system is questioning if we had sufficient cause to even be at the farm to begin with.” He paused, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. “The difficulty with the depositions, and the - intuitive - way that you made the connection. . .”

“You mean 'spooky,' don't you, Sir?” Mulder interrupted bitterly. He tensed, hand tightening into a fist where it lay on the table. Scully reached out and laid a hand on his arm. He looked at her and took a deep breath.

“AD Skinner is not the enemy here, Mulder,” she said gently. “Let's not shoot the messenger, ok?”

He took another deep breath and calmed visibly. He placed his hand over Scully's where hers still stroked his arm. He shot Skinner an apologetic glance, and mumbled, “Sorry, Sir.”

“No, Mulder, I mean intuitive - remarkably intuitive - resulting in the saving of the last woman's life. Your performance in this case was magnificent, and something to be proud of.” He paused again, trying to gauge Mulder's reaction to his next comments. Shaking his head slightly, he plunged ahead.

“However, Mulder, the lack of concrete evidence to make the connection prior to our move on the farm, has created some difficulties for the local office with the courts. It has generated some - animosity - toward our participation here.”

As Skinner talked, Mulder stared at the tablecloth, his face white and pinched. He ran his hand through his hair, raking the already unruly strands into further disarray. His left hand clenched and unclenched where it lay on the table.

Finally, he shrugged. “I've been where I'm not wanted before,” he said. “I'll survive.” He gave a weak grin to Scully. “I'll even behave.” He looked down at the table, retreating into himself.

Skinner looked at Mulder, then at Scully, who was watching Mulder with obvious concern. She glanced in his direction, and he met her eyes with concern in his own.

Suddenly Mulder paled even further. He pushed back from the table, mumbling “Excuse me,” and headed for the rear of the restaurant.

Skinner and Scully watched him vanish into the narrow hall at the rear. Then Scully turned, saying, “He doesn't feel good about being here to begin with. This is not going to help.” She looked accusingly at Skinner. “I thought this was a simple 'show up and testify' situation. He hates having to explain what he does - mostly because he can't explain it.”

“I know, Scully, I know,” Skinner nodded agreement. “I hadn't realized how many difficulties there were until I checked in with the field office this afternoon. I'm sorry. I'll try to smooth the way - I'll do what I can.”

She looked steadily at him. “He -” her head jerked towards the back the building, “needs to know that. I think he's feeling pretty alone right now.”

Skinner rose. “You're right. I'll go. I know he won't want me “mother-henning” him, but he needs to understand, I am on his side on this. I think he did great work, and I won't let him be torn apart by others who can't appreciate that. Excuse me.” He rose and followed Mulder's path to the back.

“One friend in a lifetime is much; two are many; three are hardly possible.”
Henry B. Adams.

When Skinner entered the restroom, Mulder was standing shakily at the sink, face pale and blotchy. He gripped the sides tightly, while leaning heavily forward.

As Skinner took in the scene before him, Mulder paled even more, and began to drop like a rock. Though Skinner moved immediately, he was unable to get to his agent before his head connected with the porcelain sink, making a sharp 'crack' ring in the tiny room.

Skinner grabbed Mulder before he hit the floor, totally disregarding the blood flowing freely down the front of Mulder's head and onto his shirt. He lifted him and moved him against the wall, lowering him to sit and lean against the wall. Mulder was semi-conscious again, and feebly plucked at Skinner's hands.

“Stop fighting me, Mulder,” Skinner ordered. “Just sit down and be still for one minute, please.” Mulder stopped resisting and sat where Skinner placed him. Skinner rose and wet several paper towels in the sink, returning to squat in front of Mulder and hold the towels to the wound on this head, still bleeding freely.

Skinner looked in Mulder's eyes, and saw pain, embarrassment, fatigue, confusion, and a bit of fear. “Can you hold this Mulder?” he asked, gently taking the man's hand and lifting it up to hold the towels in place. He held his own hand over the towels for a minute, his other hand against Mulder's chest, helping support him against the wall.

When he was sure Mulder was steady for the moment, he rose quickly and went to the door. Sticking his head out, he roared, “SCULLY!” He returned to his position in front of Mulder, who had begun to slump. “She's coming, Mulder. She'll be here in a minute.”

Skinner seated himself on the floor next to Mulder and pulled him into his arms, Mulder's back against his own chest. Though he felt awkward in this position, he was glad he had done it when he felt Mulder relax and slump into him.

“What the hell is going on here, Mulder?” Skinner murmured quietly as he held his once again unconscious agent and waited for the cavalry - in the form a small red-headed woman.

Scully sat at the table thinking how quickly Skinner had turned from suspected adversary, to supportive supervisor, to caring friend in the last few months. Oh, yes, he could still be a real hard-ass at times, a stickler for details, insistent on protocol. That was the Marine in him, she assumed. But he could also be amazingly sensitive, and seemed to be genuinely concerned for her, and for Mulder.

She knew that this was a new experience for Mulder, an older man who actually cared about his welfare. She knew his relationship with his father had been quite strained, and she suspected that there had been abuse - perhaps quite a lot. But Mulder hadn't talked about it yet, and she was going to let him reveal himself in his own time.

She felt that Mulder had cast Skinner in a pseudo-father figure role, perhaps without even being aware he was doing it. She sometimes felt Mulder was testing Skinner - seeing how far he could push before the older man either exploded or completely rejected him. So far, Skinner was standing up to it admirably. He'd earned big points the day Mulder had hit him while drugged, and he had not retaliated. She smiled to herself. Mulder was still talking about that. “Even though I hit him, Scully, he didn't hit back!” There was amazement and pleasure in his face and voice, every time he mentioned it.

She settled back, waiting for the two men to return, when suddenly the air was split with a loud roar - “SCULLY!” Skinner's voice. She leapt to her feet and took off for the men's room.

When she entered, she saw Mulder unconscious in Skinner's arms, head bleeding freely from a deep gash. Skinner was trying to hold Mulder, support his head, and keep pressure on the wound.

“What the hell happened?” she demanded as she knelt to assess Mulder's condition.

“I came in to talk to him, like we discussed, and he was leaning against the sink, very pale. Then he dropped, cracked his head on the side of the sink, and that was all she wrote. He came to briefly, that was when I hollered for you, then slipped away again. You're the doctor, you tell me what the hell is going on.”

Mulder began to stir again, then stiffened when he realized where he was and who was holding him. He began to pull away from Skinner. Skinner tightened his grip, saying softly, “Settle down, Mulder, you're hurt. Scully's here - she needs to look at you.”

Scully pushed gently against his chest, forcing him back into Skinner's arms. “Lean back, Mulder, let Skinner hold you. I need to see what happened.” She gingerly touched at the edge of the wound, feeling him wince as she did so. “Mulder, what happened in here?”

She felt him lean back, still stiff, but he was trying to do what she asked. 'Good,' she thought. 'At least he's aware of what's going on, and understands what is being said.'

She took several more towels and began to clean the wound. “So, Mulder, care to share with the rest of us just exactly what happened in here?” She grazed the edge of the gash, and Mulder grimaced. “Sorry.”

“Come on, Scully, let me up. I'm ok, now.” His voice was hoarse, whispery.

“Ok as defined by who, Mulder? You apparently fainted, knocked your head so hard you were unconscious twice for several minutes each time. And you're bleeding all over the place. If this is ok, would you like to tell me what 'not ok' is like?”

She looked at Skinner. “I think we may need to take him to the hospital.”

“NO, Scully, no,” Mulder cried out, panicky. His eyes darted to his wrists, barely visible beneath his long sleeved shirt, and the red flesh that could just be seen there. “No hospital. I'll sit quietly, you clean it up. Please.” His eyes sought hers, pleadingly.

Mulder straightened in Skinner's grasp. He winced again at the pain the movement caused, closed his eyes, and slumped back once more. “Please, no hospital.”

Skinner spoke up now, “Agent Scully, what is your medical opinion?”

Scully took in Mulder's obvious distress at the thought of the hospital. “Well, Sir, it's deep, but not too deep, and I think I can close it with butterflies - so he doesn't have to have stitches. I'm more concerned about concussion.”

She looked at Mulder again, then reached out and gently lifted his chin so his eyes met hers. “What is going on Mulder? You need to be a bit more forthcoming if you want to avoid the hospital.”

Mulder took a breath, then said. “Fine, let's just go back to the hotel. I know Skinner doesn't like sitting on the floor in the bathroom any more than I do.”

“Can you stand, Agent Mulder?” Skinner inquired.

“I think so, just give me a minute.”

Skinner released Mulder slowly, then got to his feet and reached down to help him up. Mulder reached up a hand for Skinner to pull him up with, and was surprised when the older man leaned all the way down, wrapped his arms around him again, and lifted him to his feet.

Scully moved quickly to one side, putting her arm around Mulder's waist. Skinner let go, letting him move under his own steam, with Scully's assistance. He held the door and Scully lead Mulder through.

“Take him out to the entry and sit down. I'll take care of the bill, then run back to the hotel and get the car. I'll be back in a few minutes.” Skinner headed off.

“Please grab my purse, Sir,” Scully called to his retreating back.

With a nod and a wave, Skinner was gone.

Scully lead Mulder to the entryway and seated him, staying close to his side.

“I can walk to the hotel, Scully, I'm feeling a lot better. Except for a killer headache.” He flashed a lopsided grin at her.

Scully fixed him with a pointed look. “You are not charming your way out of this one Mulder. How long have you been feeling sick?”

<Busted! God, she was good!> “I was a bit light-headed on the plane, Scully. Just a touch of a headache, a little queasy, a little dizzy. I just figured I was coming down with something - nothing serious.” He looked at her. “Really, Scully, it just started today.”

She nodded, then said, “Well, it may have not been serious before, but now you've added cracked skull and concussion to the list, so you have to take it easy, ok?”

Mulder started to nod, then thought better of it. “Ok, Scully. Geez - what a worry wart you can be!”

“Someone needs to worry about you, Mulder,” she retorted, somewhat exasperated. “You certainly don't worry about yourself.”

Mulder leaned back gingerly, still holding the makeshift bandage to his head, but letting his eyes close. “Please don't be mad, Scully. This one wasn't my fault,” he sighed.

“I know, Mulder” she responded. “I'm not mad, just concerned. You should have said you weren't feeling well. We didn't have to come out to eat. You could have stayed in the room and rested, even skipped the briefing. Then you would have been rested by tomorrow.” She reached out and took his hand, holding it in her lap. “Just rest, Skinner will be here soon.”

Mulder laughed to himself at that. <Oh yeah - she's still stick thin, and I'm going to suggest missing a meal. I'm not the only one who needs someone to worry over them.>

“Scully,” he began gently, “You need to eat, too. You still haven't gotten back up to your normal weight. I'm not going to give you excuses not to eat. You have enough of them without my help.” He peeked at her from under his lids and watched as color filled her face.

“It's ok, Scully, really.” He turned his hand in her lap, till he was the one holding her hand. “I'm ok, not hurt too bad, and I know that with some sleep this headache's gonna go right away. Relax, will ya?” He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her palm gently.

He watched her take a deep breath, struggling for control, then she smiled in his direction. “Let's just get you back to the hotel and get this taken care of. We'll deal with other things later, ok?”

He let his hand drop back to her lap, and smiled in agreement, letting his eyes close fully. <Always the practical one, my Scully.>

Skinner stood by the open door to Scully's room, and watched as she cleaned the gash on Mulder's head. They had gotten Mulder back to the hotel and up to his room without further incident. He had helped her remove Mulder's coat and shirt and he now lay on the bed in just his pants and t-shirt.

Mulder lay quietly for the most part, but every now and then, when she got too close, he winced or pulled away. By the third or fourth time he did that, Scully snapped. “For God's sake, Mulder, be still! This is hard enough without you moving all over the bed.”

“Anybody ever tell you you have a lousy bedside manner, Doctor?” Mulder retorted.

“Which is why I work on dead people, Mulder, remember?” He pulled away again. “Which could be arranged for you if you don't BE STILL!”

“It hurts, Scully,” he whined.

She softened immediately. “I know, Mulder, I'm sorry. I'm being as gentle as I can.” He winced. “But you WERE in a bathroom, and I have to be sure it's clean. I don't want to risk infection. Just hang in there a little longer, ok?”

Skinner chuckled to himself. These two were amazing. Only Mulder could manage to split his head open on a case that only involved testifying at a trial. And only Scully would threaten to kill him, when he was already in pain.

He cleared his throat. “Can I be of assistance, Agent Scully?” he asked.

She looked up in surprise, as if she had forgotten he was in the room. “Well, Sir, we have to keep him awake for at least 6 hours and then wake him every hour until morning. What shift do you want?”

He was about to reply, but his cell phone rang. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled it out and answered, “Skinner.”

His mouth immediately tightened as he barked out, “When?” “All right. One of my agents is injured, fell and split his head open.” Another pause. “Yes, Mulder.”

Skinner began to pace. By now, Mulder was sitting up, watching as well, and Scully turned back to him, trying to push him back down to the bed.

“That certainly wasn't the tune you were singing earlier,” Skinner continued. “I've told you how valuable he is, what an asset he can be.” Pause, listening. “I'll see what I can do. IF his doctor clears him, we'll be in tonight. If not,” hand over phone, he turned to Scully. “Will he be able to work tomorrow?” with a nod towards Mulder.

She looked at Mulder and then back at Skinner. “I would think so - if he rests like he's supposed to.”

“Can he go in now? Or in a few hours?”

“Maybe in a few hours - he needs to get some painkillers in him, and I don't want him moving about for a while.”

Skinner removed the hand covering the mouthpiece and continued, “If not tonight, then tomorrow. Do what you can with what you have. We'll be there around midnight, if possible, first thing in the morning otherwise. Call me if anything new arises.”

Skinner hung the phone up and stood looking at it in silence. He turned slowly to face Scully and Mulder.

“Liam Emerson has escaped.”

“Refuse to be ill. Never tell people you are ill; never own it to yourself. Illness is one of those things which a man should resist on principle.”
Edward George Bulwer-Lytton

“What??” Mulder and Scully cried simultaneously.

Mulder immediately began to get up, pushing Scully to the side. “I have to go, Scully,” he began, then stopped as a wave of nausea and dizziness rolled over him.

His arms flailed as he began to topple and he caught Scully across the face. She stumbled and fell backwards calling, “Sir, get him, please.”

Skinner strode over, caught Mulder, swiftly redepositing him on the bed. He was more than a little annoyed with his stubborn agent as he turned to assist Scully from the floor. Her face bore a large red mark where Mulder's hand had connected.

Unable to focus, Mulder sank back on the bed. He lay there for a minute, dark spots dancing in front of his eyes. <Maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all.>

He closed his eyes, thinking he would ask a few questions in just a minute, when the bass drum in his head quieted. He lay there, fighting the nausea that threatened to overtake him, focused only on not heaving his guts up. As he got his stomach under control, he became aware that someone was calling his name.

“Mulder, damn it, Mulder, answer me. Shit, Sir, I think he's out again.”

“Then leave him for a minute, Scully. Let me look at your face where he hit you.”

He heard movement, then “It's not too bad. Does it hurt? Of course, it does, what am I saying? I'll get some ice for you in a minute. Let's make sure Mulder is going to stay in one place for a while.”

<I hit Scully?> Mulder was confused. “I'm not 'out,' Scully. Just moved a little too quick, that's all.”

Scully sat back on the bed, keeping her face in profile. “Mulder, that is why you have to be still for a few hours. You need to let your body deal with the trauma it has received. You have to stay awake, but you need to be quiet and rest.”

“Scully, look at me.” He reached up and gently turned her face toward his own. He gasped at the bright red mark that was visible on her cheek. His eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Scully . . .”

Skinner spoke up. “Mulder, I am staying right here, for the next six hours. You pull a stunt like that again, and I will personally carry your sorry ass to the hospital and see you are on bed rest for a week, you got that mister?”

“Yes Sir,” Mulder responded in a small voice, tears slipping out of his eyes. One hand was on Scully's cheek, gently tracing the imprint there, and he cradled her hands in his other one.

Hearing the distress in Mulder's voice, Skinner softened. “Look Mulder, just stay put. I'm going to go get some ice for Scully, ok?”

“Yes sir.”

Skinner wasn't sure Mulder had heard anything he had said. He was totally focused on Scully, tears still sliding down his cheeks.

She was murmuring to him, a long, low stream of 'I'm ok, Mulder's' and 'Shh's,' but none seemed to be calming him. She stroked his hair gently and continued cooing to him.

He, in turn was reciting the 'I'm sorry, Scully' litany. He gripped her hands, repeating the words over and over.

Skinner watched for a moment and figured it was time for a tactical retreat. He grabbed the ice bucket and headed down the hall.

When Skinner left, Scully slid down onto the bed, gathering Mulder into her arms as best she could. He was so tall, it was hard to hold him, and she had to be careful of the injury to his head, but eventually, she had him cradled against her breasts and was stroking his back, still making soothing noises.

He continued to whisper, “Oh God, Scully, I am so sorry.” and variations on that theme, but he was calming. She felt the tension ease out of him as she stroked him, and his head grew heavy on her breast as he relaxed himself against her. The tears stopped, and he grew quiet.

“Mulder,” she said, shaking him gently, “Mulder, don't get too comfortable. You can't sleep yet.”

He moved against her, murmuring, “I'm not asleep. Oh God, Scully, I'm sorry.”

“Enough, Mulder, I know. You didn't do it on purpose. Now, let it go.” She moved slightly, and he wrapped his arms around her more securely.

“I have to get up, Mulder. I suspect Skinner has been giving us some private time. He's been gone way too long to just get ice.”

She slowly disentangled herself from him, and rose from the bed. He rolled onto his back, and lay looking at her through eyes filled with pain and misery.

“Mulder,” she said again, “It really is ok.” She leaned down and kissed him gently on the lips. “I'm ok.” She kissed him again, deeper, longer, and felt a flame of desire sweep through her.

She rose. “I'm going to go look for Skinner. You -” finger pointing - “Stay awake! and Stay put!” She shot him a serious look. “I'll be right back.”

Mulder gave a half hearted mock salute and said “Yes, Ma'am.”

She laughed at him and stepped out the door to search for the AD. Three steps to cross the hall and a sharp knock on the door brought Skinner immediately. He had changed out of the blood stained shirt and was dressed casually in khakis and a polo shirt.

“Everything ok over there?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir, for your - discretion. But I don't want to leave him alone.”

“Fine, I'll come over now. I've been making phone calls.” Skinner paused, uncertain. “Since he has to stay awake, can we go over what has happened so far? Or should we not talk about it.”

Scully smiled up at the older man. “Just try and sit with him for the next few hours and NOT talk about it!”

Skinner smiled back and gathered his notepad. They walked back to Mulder's room.

“I just want to check on him, Sir, and then I am going to change as well. You watch him. He's actually being very good since he hit me.” She smirked. “Guilt can be a wonderful motivator.” She paused, then looked at the AD. “But don't start without me.”

When Scully and Skinner reentered his room, Mulder was laying quietly on the bed, counting the cracks in the ceiling. His head still hurt, but the painkillers Scully had given him were kicking in.

Unfortunately, as the pain receded, he was getting drowsy. <This staying awake just may be harder than I thought. Especially if I can't move around.>

Scully went immediately to the bed and took his chin in her hand. Looking directly into his eyes, she asked, “How do you feel?”

He focused on her face, <definitely in doctor mode - better behave> and said, “It doesn't hurt as much, but I am a little drowsy.”

She took out a pen light and shone it in each eye, checking pupil dilation. Apparently satisfied with what she found, she checked his pulse and respiration, then looked closely at the wound itself.

“Ok, Mulder,” she said, “you look all right. The drowsiness is to be expected, but you need to stay awake for a while. You're still apt to be very dizzy when you move around. Skinner is going to stay with you while I get changed and then we are going to talk about Emerson, and where he might have gone.”

“Scully, can't I move around some, if I'm slow and careful?” Mulder whined. “I mean - what if I have to . . . you know?”

“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” Scully asked. She looked appraisingly at him. “Mulder, how long has this been going on?”

Her hands were on her hips and he felt sure he was in trouble, and he even thought he might know what for. <But innocence has worked before> “How long has what been going on, Scully?”

“Frequent urination, Mulder, that's what. I have seen you go to the bathroom more in the last 24 hours than I have in a normal week. What gives, partner?”

<Oops - not getting away with it this time. She is serious. Well, the best defense is a good offense.> Mulder cast his eyes at Skinner and said, “Scully, do we really need to discuss my toileting habits, right here, right now?”

“Yes, Mulder, we do. And Skinner needs to know, because one of us is going to be accompanying you for the next few hours, even into the bathroom. So how long has it been going on?”

“Frequent urination?”

“Yes, Mulder,” tapping her foot, “frequent urination - I'm sure with your Oxford education you are familiar with the term?” Scully asked sarcastically. She was rapidly losing patience with his stalling. “How long has it been happening, and how often do you need to go? And do you actually go, or just have the urge but can't relieve yourself, or do you just dribble?”

“Geez, Scully,” Mulder flushed beet red, “is this absolutely necessary?”

Skinner had been quietly watching them but now decided to get involved. “Apparently so, Agent Mulder. Would you please just answer Scully's questions?”

“Ah, shit, all right. It's been happening for about a week, and I need to go almost all the time. I usually try about once an hour or so, and I don't always go, but I certainly feel the urge. And yes, Scully, to use your technical term, I dribble!”

Mulder closed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. <Have a little 'closed body language' everyone>

“All right, Mulder,” she sat on the bed and rubbed his arm. “I'm sorry. Like you said, I don't have the best bedside manner.” She grinned when he cocked one partly opened eye at her. “Or any bedside manner for that matter. I'm pretty sure you have a bladder infection - and a bad one from what you've said. Do you need to go now?”

Mulder looked at her in misery, “Yeah, but I really don't want an audience, Scully, please?”

She reached out and gently laid her hand on his brow, away from his wound, and brushed wayward strands of hair away from his eyes. “I know, Mulder, and I'm sorry, but you need help. You are still way too unsteady to stand alone, and with Emerson loose, you are going to be working much harder and much sooner than I would like.”

She paused and took a deep breath. “I need a specimen, as well.”

He groaned.

“I'm sorry, but I've got to get it cultured and find out what you've got and get you on antibiotics.”

He closed his eyes again, anticipating the next question. <Oh, God, no, no, no, don't let her say what I think she's going to say. Please, please, please, please, please.>

“Now, who do you want to help you? Me? Or Skinner?”

<Oh shit>

When he had been promoted to Assistant Director, Skinner had assumed many responsibilities. Chief among them, in his mind, was responsibility for the safety and welfare of the agents under him. He had not, however, ever imagined that would include holding onto an injured, unsteady, extremely unhappy, Fox Mulder, as he tried to give a urine specimen.

Skinner chuckled to himself. He didn't know who was more uncomfortable with the current situation - Mulder or himself. Well, at last, something was happening. Mulder finished and gave a sigh of relief. Skinner took the container and seated Mulder on the closed toilet.

“Scully said to change while you're in here,” he ordered gruffly, handing over sweatpants and a clean t-shirt. “Do you need help?”

Mulder shook his head stubbornly, immediately regretting it as a bomb exploded in his cranium and he began to list toward the wall. Skinner caught him and said, “I'll take that as a 'yes.'“

He knelt and removed Mulder's shoes and socks, then helped him stand and lowered his pants. He replaced them with the sweats and reseated the man. Mulder looked miserable. He was almost green, where he wasn't red from embarrassment. He swayed on the seat, as he tried desperately to remain upright.

Skinner moved in close to him, pulling his head against his abdomen, giving the sick man a place to lean his weight. He pulled the dirty t-shirt off, and realized how clammy it was. Skinner leaned over and wet a wash cloth with warm water and quickly wiped down the trembling man's back, chest and arms. He pulled the new shirt on over his head, and then stood still for a minute, allowing Mulder to rest against him, before he helped him back to the bed.

By the time Mulder was settled in the bed again, Scully had returned and she had changed as well. She now wore jeans and an oversized sweater and looked much more comfortable.

Skinner had called and had an agent sent over to retrieve the specimen and take it to a local lab for culture. In the meantime, Scully had contacted a local doctor and gotten a prescription for an broad spectrum antibiotic phoned in for Mulder, and the agent would be bringing that back shortly.

With Mulder resting, his injury cared for, and the infection soon to be under control, they began to review what was known about Emerson. They had just started when Skinner's cell rang.

“Skinner” he barked. He listened for a minute, then said, “When?” He listened some more. “I understand that.” Pause. “No. I told you he was injured. He can not come to the crime scene.” Pause. Skinner sneaked a look at Mulder. He was following every word of the conversation.

'I should go next door to Scully's room,' he thought. 'Aw, fuck it! He's gonna hear soon enough.'

He refocused his attention on the phone. “I understand. Messenger copies of both notes over to me here at the hotel. I want pictures of both crime scenes, and I want both scenes left as intact as possible. Have forensics go through them, but keep the detectives at bay. We'll be there as soon as we can.”

He replaced the receiver and said without preamble, “A body has been found. There was a note. And a second woman is missing. And there was another note.”

It took several hours for photos to be developed and the case files and new information to be gathered, copied, and sent to them at the hotel. Mulder had behaved admirably, staying calm, and in bed, ostensibly resting, though Scully and Skinner both knew his incredible mind was frantically sorting through information, possibilities, looking for something that would give them a clue as to where Emerson had gone.

He had come up with several avenues for investigation, and Skinner had called the local office and gotten things moving in the directions Mulder laid out. When there was a knock on the door, Skinner went.

Mulder started the sit, then stopped himself. He looked at Scully, and asked, “Can I sit up now, please? I really need to see what's happening.”

Scully looked at him. “How do you feel?”

He smiled. “Better, really. Far from great, but better. My head still hurts, but it's a dull ache now. I'm not nauseous, and I only get dizzy if I move too quick.” The smile turned to a frown. “I need to go to the bathroom again, though. I thought you said these pills would take care of that.” He sounded petulant, like a little boy who had been promised ice cream, and then never gotten it.

Scully laughed. “They will, but they need a little time to work, Mulder. You just took the first one an hour ago. Try to be patient. I know that's not your strong suit, but do try, please? And who do you want this time, Skinner or me?”

Skinner came back on the last part of the conversation. He and Mulder exchanged a glance, then he said, “I'll go with him, Agent Scully. We worked out a system last time.”

Mulder chuckled wryly. “Yeah, he does all the work and I just sit there.”

“Well, Agent Mulder, not ALL the work,” Skinner quipped, and they all laughed.

When Skinner and Mulder returned, Scully had set up a work area for Mulder near one of the room's chairs. She beckoned them over, and Skinner helped Mulder sit. Scully pulled the ottoman over and Skinner lifted Mulder's feet.

“All right, Mulder,” she began. “You can sit - for a while. BUT, you must tell me if you feel dizzy, nauseous, or the pain increases, understand?”

Mulder had already picked up the top file folder and was reading as he mumbled, “Yes, Mom.”

Skinner and Scully looked at each other. “He's needed, Agent Scully. His unique abilities may be all that will catch this guy.” He took in the concern in her stance, the worry in her eyes. He softened his voice. “I'm sorry.”

She nodded once, then went to pick up a folder and begin her own reading.

They worked quietly as the new material was read by all. At one point, Mulder had asked for some information from the previous case, and Skinner had gone down to the car and brought up the box they had stored there.

While he was gone, Mulder took the copies of the two notes and laid them in his lap. “What do you make of this, Scully?” he asked. “Last time, letters. This time, whole words. But do they make sense?”

He continued. “Here we have the first note - found on the dead woman.

N O W I N

But what is he telling us? We don't win? She didn't win? He can't win?”

His voice began to deepen, and his breathing grew harsh. Scully went to him and took his hand. “Not now, Mulder,” she said. “You can't do this. You aren't strong enough to do this.”

He focused on her, and his eyes cleared. He smiled at her and took her hand, raising it to his cheek. He held it there a long moment, then kissed her fingers slowly, lingering over each one. “I'm stronger than you think, Scully,” he said softly.

Skinner came in, and Scully pulled away, going to help him with the boxes. “He's trying to profile, Sir. I don't think he's up to it. But I don't think we can stop him.”

Skinner reached out and gently touched her shoulder. “We'll keep him safe, Scully. It'll be all right.”

They returned to Mulder. He had pulled the second note out. It had been found at the scene where the second woman had been abducted. It read:

M A D L I F E

M

He looked up as they approached. “Letters, now words. It means something.”

He paused, took a deep breath <I promised> “Ah, Sir, I need to, uh . . . Oh shit, Scully, I hate this!” He dropped his head in disgust. “Can I please go alone this time?”

“All right Mulder, but leave the door unlocked. You have 5 minutes, then I'm coming in - got it?”

Mulder nodded, and got slowly to his feet. <Don't blow it, buddy. Take your time> He walked carefully to the bathroom and closed the door, pointedly not shutting it completely. Once he realized he was a lot better, not nearly as shaky as he had been, he freed his mind to return to the case.

NO WIN - MAD LIFE - M - What was this all about? He finished and flushed, went to the sink and began to wash. He stopped in mid-wash, soap held loosely in his hand. His breathing began to deepen, as he went further into his mind, chasing the elusive thought that he knew could give them a hint into Emerson's mind.

His head jerked up, and he began to write on the mirror with the soap. NO WIN MAD LIFE M

His knees began shaking, and he thought he heard Skinner at the door, but there was no time for that now. He almost had it. His heart was racing, and he was growing cold. Idly, he wondered, why was he always cold when he did this?

He stared at the letters on the mirror. He began to write - crossing letters off as he went.

F I N D M E N O W

L I A M

The door opened and Skinner entered. Scully stood behind him in the doorway. He was swaying, dragging in deep ragged breaths. Skinner went to him, trying to pull him away, but he fought. “NO - there's more.” It came out in a husky whisper. “Leave me”

Skinner looked at Scully. He maintained his grasp on Mulder, holding him erect and supporting him. They both watched as Mulder began to write again.

F I N D W O M E N

L I A M

Mulder stared at the mirror. “Before, he was taking revenge, getting back at a world he felt hurt him, getting even for his pain.” He turned slightly and looked at Skinner. “It made sense, in a really warped kind of way. And he was taking credit - he wanted us to know it was him, so he left us his name - one letter at a time.”

Mulder turned back to the mirror, his face reflecting the growing horror he felt inside. He swayed in Skinner's arms, almost falling, and said, “But now, it's not about getting even, or past hurts. Now,” Mulder shuddered, “he likes it. Now, he just wants to play.”