Title:            Revenge
Author:           Lovesfox
E-mail:           Lovesfox@rogers.com  (Feed me, please)
Web site:         http://www.geocities.com/kim_djd/index.html
Rating:           NC-17 (violence, consensual M/S sex and strong    
                  language)
Category:         Implied UST then MSR, Angst, Story/X-File
Classification:   XRA
Spoilers:         Not really, but up to mid-S7
Archive:          As long as my name and everything stays attached
Summary:          An old case of Mulder's resurfaces seeking revenge

Disclaimer:       Alas, not mine.  They belong to Chris Carter and
                  1013 Productions.

Dedication:       To true friendship, through thick and thin.  
                  Thanks, T.

Warning:          This story contains some scenes of violence, a rape
                  attempt, implied character death, references to
                  incest, and graphic sex.




Revenge Part 4 of 29
by Lovesfox




Zeus Storage and Warehousing, Dockside
Washington, D.C.
Wednesday
12:35 pm


Skinner moved from the doorway where he had stopped in shock at the 
sight of the body hanging from the ceiling.  Mulder's wail of grief, 
heard outside the warehouse, had effectively pre-warned him that he 
would see Agent Scully's body, but he had not been able to control 
the shudder that had run through him when he saw her displayed as 
she was.  The bolt of remorse and anger had had him stopping in his 
tracks.

He avoided looking at her as he moved to crouch beside Mulder, 
grasping the agent's shoulders with firm hands.  "I'm sorry, 
Mulder," he said quietly.  "You did everything you could."  He 
cringed inside at the platitudes he was mouthing, knowing it was 
necessary.  Mulder's body tensed beneath him, the man's breathing 
harsh and panting.  Words were still pouring from the agent's mouth, 
but they were faint mumbles.  He could make out Scully's name, and 
pleas to a God he knew Mulder did not believe in.

"Come on, Mulder, let's get out of here," he said, trying to lift 
Mulder from the floor.  He could see that some of the SWAT team had 
moved forward, waiting to take the body down.

One moved to stand beside Scully, and suddenly Mulder was fighting 
his grasp, his fists swinging, yelling, "Don't touch her!  Keep 
your hands off of her!"  He got to his feet, nearly knocking Skinner 
on his ass and lunged at the agent near Scully.

Skinner scrambled to his feet, gesturing from behind Mulder for the 
agent to back off.  He moved closer to Mulder, who was hunching 
slightly on his feet, watching everyone warily.  "Mulder, take it 
easy. They're just here to help.  We need to get her down, Mulder.  
Come with me and let them work."

Mulder shook his head wildly.  "I'll do it!" he rasped, shaking 
off the hand Skinner had put on his shoulder. "I'll do it," he 
repeated.  He turned away from Skinner, and looked at Scully, 
his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Skinner looked at the agent still standing to the left of them and 
said quietly, "Find me a chair or something."

The agent was shaking his head, and started to say, "Sir..."

"Just do it!" Skinner barked, and saw Mulder flinch.  

Another agent hustled forward, carrying a crate.  He held it out 
to Skinner and said, "This is all I could find, Sir."

Skinner took it from him with a nod and stepped over to stand 
beside Mulder, bending to put the crate down.  The body, and he 
did not want to even think the words 'Scully's body', still 
swayed slightly, and a wave of dread washed over him.  He really 
did not want to do this.

Mulder stepped onto the crate before he could and Skinner forced 
himself to watch as the agent's hands lifted shakily upwards.  
Skinner had to blink back sudden moisture as Mulder tenderly 
stroked a strand of her hair, hearing him whisper, "I'm so 
sorry, Scully."  Skinner turned his head, trying to let Mulder 
have this personal moment.

Mulder made an unusual noise, almost like a grunt, and Skinner 
could hear rustling noises.  He turned his head back to see 
Mulder gently lowering her head.  The agent's next words stunned 
him.

"It's not her."

"Mulder?" he asked and moved even closer. "What did you say, 
Mulder?"

Mulder's hands were now busy at her chest, and then he was handing 
Skinner something.  He looked down briefly and realized it was a 
Polaroid.  Mulder climbed down from the stool and the agent lifted 
his head to meet his gaze, and Skinner could see that despite his 
glistening eyes, there was a tremulous smile on the agent's face.  
"It's not her," he repeated.  He started to walk away, but his legs 
betrayed him and folded beneath him. 

Skinner leapt forward and caught him in mid-fall, and gently lowered 
him the rest of the way to the floor. He cradled the agent in his 
arms, seeing that Mulder's eyes were closed, his face deathly pale 
and beaded with sweat.  "Mulder?" he said again.

Mulder's eyes opened slowly and he pulled back from Skinner's 
embrace.  "It's not Scully," he said, and his voice was hoarse.  
His shoulders started to shake and he ducked his head down to hide 
the tears that were running down his cheeks.

Skinner patted Mulder's shoulder and lifted his head to see Agent 
Stryder, the SWAT team leader standing a few feet away, watching 
with somber eyes.  "It's not Agent Scully," he said.  "Get her 
down.  We'll need to check her for identification."  He saw the 
agent nod and then turn away to direct his team.  Skinner turned 
back to Mulder, who was wiping at his cheeks as he sat with his 
legs sprawled in front of him.  "How..." Skinner started to say 
when the ringing of a cell phone interrupted him.

Mulder struggled to get to his feet, hand digging at his pocket, 
slightly hampered by the vest he wore.  He yanked the phone free, 
pressed send and snarled, "Mulder."

***

Unknown Location
Leesburg, VA
Wednesday
12:30 pm


Scully lay curled on her side atop yet another cot.  Her abductor, 
for she had no other name by which to call him, was a few feet away 
sitting at a desk.  He seemed to be staring at a video screen.  He 
was mumbling to himself, and every so often she would hear Mulder's 
name.  She did not know where they were, she only knew they were no 
longer at the place they had been before.   The room was brighter, 
for one thing, with two smallish windows, and the walls were smooth 
and painted.  Other than the cot and the desk and chair, however, 
it was empty.

She had awoken not too long ago, after he had unceremoniously dumped 
her on the cot, unmindful of her restrained limbs.  Her neck ached 
and burned, and the duct tape over her mouth was irritating the 
tender skin of her lips.  As she shifted awkwardly, trying 
unsuccessfully to ease the muscles in her legs, the motion stirred 
anew the pain in her neck.  She blinked back the tears that sprang 
to her eyes, which were sore and swollen from her earlier crying.  
It made her think of what had happened and she shut her eyes tightly 
to try and stop her thoughts.

It didn't matter.  The events that had taken place earlier would be 
forever engraved in her memory -- hours of pain and anguish and 
confusion.

The look in that nameless woman's eyes...Stop, she told herself.  
Don't think about her.  But she could not stop, and her mind 
replayed it anyway.   Sometime earlier she had been torn out of her 
slumber, feeling smothered and choked, gasping for air, to the 
realization that there was a rope around her neck, tightly tied.  
The rope had been cutting deeply into her skin, and cutting off her 
rapidly dwindling air supply.  The bright flash in her eyes had 
seemed surreal, and it wasn't until much later did she understand 
that the man had taken a picture of her with a Polaroid camera.

Her eyes had been bulging, her heart pounding alarmingly, her vision 
beginning to go spotty, before he had finally removed the rope from 
her neck.  She could remember with perfect clarity the terror she 
had experienced thinking that she was going to die, and the 
unbearable sadness that she would never see Mulder again, and then 
the almost giddy feeling that overcame her as she was finally able 
to suck in sweet lungfuls of air, to feed the cells that were 
screaming for oxygen.

She could also remember him watching her with a strange, transfixed 
stare, his head cocked to the side.

He had blinked rapidly then and stepped back, putting what she now 
knew was the camera aside.  His eyes had gone to something on the 
floor, and hers, still blurry from tears of pain and relief, had 
followed.  She had struggled weakly to rise, coughing furiously, 
to stare at the woman lying at his feet.

As she had run her gaze over the prone woman, taking in the red hair 
spilling on the floor and the clothes the woman was wearing, she had 
felt that she could be staring at her double.  He had been watching 
her looking at the woman, and when her eyes had widened, he had 
knelt and grabbed a handful of the woman's hair, lifting her head 
from the floor.  

She could still hear his words, and relived the horror that had 
overcome her as she realized his intent. "Not an exact match," he 
had chortled.  "But certainly some similarities.  And with your 
clothes on, Mulder will be hard pressed not to think it's you!"  
He had dropped the woman's head, uncaring as it hit the floor with 
a loud thud.  He had risen to his feet, one hand reaching inside 
the coverall he wore to pull out a syringe.  One quick step had him 
at her side, and then he had injected her.  She had watched with a 
strange lassitude as he had dragged the woman out of the room with 
his hands in her armpits, the sound of the woman's feet scraping 
across the floor slowly fading.  

Scully did not know how much time had passed as she sat slumped on 
the cot, staring at the empty, open doorway with heavy eyes before 
he had come back.  He had lifted her easily and dragged her out of 
the room as well, down a long hallway and through double doors to 
prop her against the wall.  She had wondered why he did not seem 
concerned that she would try and escape, but her body had not obeyed 
even the simplest of commands.  She had not been able to straighten 
her own legs.

Scully's eyes popped open as she heard the man chortle, to see him 
still staring at the monitor.  She could not see very much at this 
angle, and could only tell that it was in black and white.  She 
tried to lift her head to get a better look, but the throbbing in 
her neck had her quickly laying back again.  Her eyes closed and 
her memory flashed back again.

The woman had lain on the floor, several feet away from her, and 
Scully had been able to make out the fact that her hands were tied 
behind her back.  She had also been able to make out the rope that 
was around the woman's neck and that her eyes were open.  They had 
stared at each other for long moments...

A loud noise brought her back to the present, and she opened her 
eyes again, blinking rapidly to clear the image of the woman jerking 
on the end of the rope hanging from the ceiling out of her mind.  
She shuddered, hearing again the echo of the scream that had been 
torn from her lips.   The man had pushed his chair back from the 
desk and came over to stand beside the cot, and she began to breathe 
a little faster, trying to lift herself up, feeling very vulnerable 
lying down.

He was smiling and reached down to grab her by the forearms, pulling 
her up to her feet.  "The show's about to begin, my dear," he said.  
"Won't you join me?"  He giggled then and pulled her with him 
towards the desk.  She was forced to hop again, her cramped muscles 
protesting. He pushed her to a stop beside his chair and plunked 
himself down onto it.  She wobbled precariously and her upper thigh 
banged into the desk, and she cried out with pain, the sound muffled 
behind the duct tape.  The man looked at her in surprise and then 
made a tsking noise.  "Guess you don't need that anymore, do you?" 
he said, and reached out with one hand to rip the tape off.  

She gasped as fire burned along her upper lip and then began to 
cough.  He shot her an angry glare, saying, "Quiet and watch."

Scully panted softly through her mouth, and was able to control her 
coughing.  She looked at the monitor and gasped again at what she 
saw.  It was the woman she had earlier watched hang.

***

12:30 pm

Elliot could not control his excitement as he sat in the lightly 
padded chair, staring at the video screen in front of him, waiting 
for the action to begin.  The Webcam he had positioned in the 
warehouse pointed directly at the redheaded woman hanging from the 
ceiling.  He looked down at his watch, wiggling slightly in his 
seat, wondering what was taking so long.  The call he had forced 
Dana to make to Mulder, supposedly tipping him off to their 
location, had been made almost two hours ago.  He chuckled to 
himself, as he tried to imagine Mulder's reaction to that phone 
call.  Dana had performed brilliantly; it was amazing what the 
threat of the rope around her neck again had done, especially after 
seeing the woman hang.  Her voice had been the perfect mix as well, 
confused and pain-filled, breathless and rushed.  She was quite the 
little actress, he thought.  He looked over his shoulder at her.  

She lay on her side, her eyes closed, but he could tell she was 
awake, her body was tense, her face tight.  The duct tape seemed to 
be pulling at her skin; he supposed he should remove it.  He 
shrugged and turned back to the screen, to the woman hanging in 
the warehouse, waiting for Mulder.

He shivered as he remembered watching her jerk in her death throes, 
the little gasping, choking sounds she had made as the rope 
constricted tighter and tighter against her throat, slowly cutting 
off her air supply.  He had thought her neck would snap from the 
force, and had felt a vague sense of disappointment when it had 
not.  That disappointment had rapidly been replaced by fascination 
as he watched her eyes slowing go blank.  

He could still hear the scream that had been torn from Dana Scully.  
That had been divine.  It had echoed in the huge, empty warehouse, 
filled with rage and shock and terror.  It had so thrilled him, 
he had been torn between watching the woman's body swaying from the 
rope and his prisoner's horrified expression, the tears streaming 
unchecked down her cheeks.  For many moments he had stood there, 
until Dana had closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, 
the tears stilled at last, although the occasional shudder racked 
her small frame.  

Finally he had moved, they needed to be going.  He had pinned the 
Polaroid of Dana with the rope around her neck to the woman's chest, 
taken the ladder and carried it away, deep into the bowels of the 
warehouse.  The thin rubber gloves on his hand had masked any 
possible fingerprints.  The duct tape on Dana's mouth had been a 
precaution while dragging her out to the van, parked as close to the 
side door he used as possible.  He had tossed her in, hearing her 
muffled exclamation when her body hit the unyielding metal floor, 
and thrown the tarp over her.  A last check of the warehouse for any 
personal items, and it was done.  He had driven away, watching the 
warehouse get smaller in the rear view mirror, until he had to turn 
and it was out of sight.  He had not been able to keep the grin off 
his face, wishing he could be there when Mulder arrived.  

The camera though, was the next best thing.  He chortled, this would 
be a video worth keeping, he was sure.

Elliot looked at his watch again.  What the hell was taking them so 
long?  He thought Mulder would have rushed there immediately, 
bursting in to find his 'Scully' in all her glory.  It was a small 
letdown from the high he had riding on.  Then there was a sound from 
the speakers, picked up from the tiny microphone attached to the 
Webcam.  Footsteps on the floor?   

The chair scraped noisily as he pushed it back, and he turned to see 
Dana's eyes were open and she was watching him.  He smiled and moved 
to stand over the cot. He bent and grasped her by the forearms, 
yanking her up easily.  He told her the show was about to begin and 
dragged her over to the desk.  She stumbled and banged into it, 
making a garbled noise through the duct tape.  In his seat again, he 
looked up and realized her mouth was still taped.  He reached up and 
casually tore it off, hearing her gasp of pain.  She coughed then, 
noisily, and he glared at her, telling her, "Quiet and watch." 

Elliot turned back to the screen and reached out to turn up the 
volume on the speakers.  More sounds now, faint voices, although he 
could not make out the words, and sounds of running footsteps.  A 
figure appeared, and he stiffened, leaning forward, nose almost 
pressed against the monitor.  His eyes made out the riot gear and 
the SWAT emblem on the figure's back, and he knew it was not 
Mulder.  His shoulders slumped.  Where was he?  More footsteps, 
more voices, louder, but still not clear.  He flicked a glance at 
Dana, saw she was watching the monitor as well, her face pale as 
snow, swaying where she stood.  Her mouth was open slightly, and 
she was breathing rapidly.  He grinned again. This was so exciting.

And then it happened.  The moment he had been waiting for since he 
had placed the call to Mulder about their location.  A figure in a 
vest came into sight, fast, arms flailing madly.  The figure 
screamed, "NOOOO!!!" and Elliot knew it was Mulder.  

He heard Dana whisper, "Mulder," and shot her the barest of 
glances, not wanting to miss a single thing, to see her leaning 
forward watching.  He focused on the video again, watching as 
Mulder moved forward, his movements jerky and awkward.  Elliot 
smiled gleefully as Mulder fell to his knees, a mere few feet 
away from 'Scully'.  Mulder's words had him gasping in exaltation.

..."I love you, oh God, I'm so sorry I never told you, Scully, 
oh God, please, I'm so sorry"...

Beside him Dana gasped as well and he looked at her again, to see 
her shoulders hunched, her bound hands in front of her mouth.  She 
began to shake, tears spilling down her cheeks.  She was saying his 
name over and over again, in between hitching breaths.  "Mulder, 
Mulder, Mulder..."

"Well, isn't this a fascinating tableau, Dana?" Elliot said, cooing 
the words, seeing her flinch in reaction.  She tried to turn away, 
but he shot his hand out to grab her arm, the fingers digging into 
her flesh, holding her in place.  "Oh, no, Dana, I want you to watch 
with me."

 Elliot frowned a little as one figure, the tall, balding man he had 
seen outside Dana's apartment building, was allowed to come close, 
to try and comfort Mulder.  But the next minutes were far more 
pleasurable, as they watched Mulder react with crazed purpose, 
keeping others away from the body.   Elliot listened as the bald man 
asked for a chair or something, and an agent brought him a crate.  
He tensed and leaned forward again as Mulder stepped up on the 
crate.  He wondered if Mulder would look at the Polaroid first, or 
want to look at Scully's face. He watched avidly as Mulder stroked 
her hair, heard with a thrill as he whispered, "I'm so sorry, 
Scully."  Then Mulder tensed, and lifted her head, and the small 
shake of his head was almost unnoticeable.  Elliot stared in awe.  
Mulder had known it was not Dana.

He slumped back in his chair.  It was almost anti-climatic as Mulder 
said..."It's not her"...and unpinned the Polaroid, handing it to 
the bald man.  He got down from the crate, saying it again, and 
started to walk away.  Elliot smiled though when Mulder sagged down 
to the ground, the bald man coming to support him.

Dana was still crying softly and he turned to her with a grin of 
relish, rubbing his hands together with glee.  "It's time to call 
Mulder, Dana!" he said cheerily, and reached for the cell phone on 
the desk.

He dialed the number quickly, shifting his gaze from Dana who was 
still hunched in on herself, and the monitor, where Mulder was 
scrambling to his feet to paw at his back.   Elliot loved the sound 
in Mulder's voice as he barked into the phone.  Raw emotions.  Anger 
and hatred and misery.  

Exactly what he had lived with for the last few years.

His voice was oily smooth, thick with pleasure and satisfaction 
as he spoke.  "Ah, Mulder, your reaction was more than I could ever 
have dreamed of."

***

Zeus Storage and Warehousing
Washington, D.C.
Wednesday
12:50 pm


Mulder was speechless for a moment, his mouth gaping open in 
shock.   His legs still felt weak, like they could collapse again 
at any time.  "You sick fuck! Where is she?" he yelled, his chest 
rising and falling rapidly with the surge of adrenaline the call 
had wrought.

Then the man's words sunk in.  His reaction was more than he could 
ever dream of?  Was he watching them from somewhere? He whirled 
around, facing the spot where the body had hung, and then turned 
around again.  His eyes swept the room, scanning all the nooks and 
crannies, the phone pressed tightly to his ear, hearing only slight 
static.  While parts of the large room were in direct sunlight from 
the windows up high, the rest was in shadows.  It took him several 
seconds to spot the tiny, glowing red light that had to be from a 
video camera of sorts.  

He spit out a curse and stumbled towards it, his mouth gaping open 
in shock. 

"Ah, I see you've spotted me, Mulder.  Wave to the camera now," said 
the voice in his ear.  When Mulder did not, the man continued.  
"Mulder, you're not playing along.  I don't like that."  There was 
a burst of static and then Mulder heard a gasp of pain.  Scully? 
"Now wave at the camera, or Dana gets punished."  Horrible laughter 
followed that pronouncement, along with another choked sound.

Mulder gritted his teeth, his heart pounding rapidly, and raised 
his hand towards the camera.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could 
see Skinner standing stiffly a few feet away, staring at him.   
"I waved," he said, his voice tight.  "I want to talk to Scully." 

He heard a chuckle this time.  "I don't think so, Mulder.  We have 
to go now.  And I'm sorry to say, someone will have to be punished 
for your language.  I guess that would be Dana.  Oh, wait a minute, 
I'm not sorry at all!"  The chuckle again.   "Did you like the 
Polaroid, Mulder?"

The call was disconnected.

Mulder turned to face Skinner.  "Do you have gloves?" he asked.  
The AD shook his head, puzzlement on his features.  Mulder looked 
around and spying one of the SWAT team members, beckoned him over.  
When the agent joined him, he pointed at the red light.  "Gloves?" 
The agent nodded.  "Take that down," he ordered.  "Send it to the 
lab, I want to know everything there is to know about it.  Check it 
for fingerprints too."

He watched as the agent retrieved the crate he had stood on earlier 
to check the body and brought it over.  Not until the red light was 
extinguished and the camera set-up removed, did he turn to Skinner.  
"Where's the Polaroid?" he asked.

Skinner looked surprised for a second, as if he had forgotten about 
it, and then pulled it out of his pocket.  He passed it to Mulder, 
who grabbed it and moved to stand in a patch of sunlight so he could 
see it.  He had barely glanced at it when he had removed it from the 
body, and he sucked his breath in noisily when he finally did.  

"Jesus!" he croaked out.  The rope around Scully's neck did not look 
like it was there only for effect.  It was cutting deeply into her 
flesh.  Her mouth was open, and it seemed she was gasping for air.  
He had no doubt that she was.  "Jesus," he repeated.  

The sick bastard.  Why was he doing this to Scully?  Why was he 
doing this to Scully to get to him?  Days had passed, and they were 
still no closer to identifying him, or the reasons behind her 
abduction.  He still had no idea who the man was.

The AD came to stand beside him, his low voice full of tension.  
"What's in the picture, Mulder?" he asked.  Obviously he had not 
looked at it in great detail either.

Mulder handed it to him wordlessly and turned away, one hand on 
his hip, the other coming up to scrub through his hair.  He heard 
Skinner swear, and echoed the word.  He kicked the crate, hearing 
the satisfying sound of wood splinting.  He kicked it harder, and 
broken pieces of crate scattered across the floor.  He turned back 
to face Skinner, who was watching him with concern, the Polaroid 
still held in his hand. "He's taunting me.   And getting off on 
it."  He spun away again, wishing he had something else to kick.  
"I don't know who the hell he is, and I don't know how to find that 
out."

Skinner moved to stand next to him.  "Mulder, let's get out of 
here.  The forensics team has been called in and they'll be here 
soon.  The SWAT team has already searched the whole premises.  
There's nothing else for us to do."

"Nothing for us to do," Mulder repeated, his voice low.  "Except 
to wait."  He headed for the door, determination in his strides.  
"The only thing I can do is go back to my files, try and find 
anything that may lead me to him."

***

Unknown Location
Leesburg, VA
Wednesday
1 pm


Scully managed not to fall heavily when he dragged her from the 
desk and thrust her at the cot, his laughter grating in her ears.  
She twisted slightly and landed on her rear end.  Her upper arm 
hurt from the vicious pinch he had given her while on the phone 
with Mulder, which had provoked a gasp at the suddenness of the 
attack and the sharp pain that had followed.   He had done it 
again as he laughed after making the statement about punishing her, 
but she had been better prepared, and had kept her lips tightly 
together, so that only a small sound had escaped.

Her mind was still reeling from the pronouncement Mulder had made 
as he had knelt before the body he had believed to be hers.  
<>  Had the 
words merely been torn from him as a result of his grief?  While 
his pain had struck her with unbelievable sadness, at the same time 
she had wondered if it was true, why had he never told her before? 

<> 

But he had, once before.  Medicated and still suffering from his 
ordeal in the Bermuda Triangle, she had brushed the words off as 
part of his delusion.  Could he have meant them then, and only able 
to tell her when feeling vulnerable?  From the little she knew of 
his family life, she had garnered the knowledge that his parents 
had not been overly demonstrative after Samantha's death, and had 
surmised that Mulder had been very lonely and afraid to love.  

<>

Her own reticence, that invisible wall she had erected, that kept 
her from revealing her emotions and feelings, may have prevented him 
from wanting to relate his, perhaps afraid of rejection.  She closed 
her eyes tightly, feeling fresh tears spring to her eyes.  Oh, 
Mulder, I'm the one who's sorry.  I never told you either.  

<>

For it was true she knew.  She loved Mulder.  Had for so very long, 
she could not even remember when those feelings for him had begun.  
And kept the secret locked inside her heart, fearing his rejection. 
How stupid they both had been.  She felt a new sense of 
determination.  To get free from this man and tell Mulder everything 
that was within her.  Her love, her fears, her desires.  

Everything.

Scully was pulled from her thoughts by the man's voice, next to her 
ear. "Dana."  She popped her eyes open in surprise.  She had been 
so lost in her mind, she had not heard or sensed him approach.  He 
was crouched before the cot, leaning in so that his face was close 
to hers.

She could see the glee in his eyes, could feel the waves of pleased 
smugness rolling off of him.  He had obviously gotten off on 
Mulder's reactions in the warehouse, and she could not help the 
shudder that ran through her body.  She was afraid of what else he 
had planned.  She shifted on the cot, pulling back slightly, very 
uncomfortable with his closeness.

"What are you thinking about, Dana?" he asked, rocking back and 
forth on his heels.  "Mulder's declaration of love?  It was 
beautiful, wasn't it, and confirmed what I had suspected.  This 
is working out so much better than I had thought."  His hand came 
out and his index finger traced a line down her cheek, over the 
tracks of her tears.  He finished the gesture by rubbing it over 
her lips, and she reacted by pursing them together tightly and 
turning her head to the side.  "I think it would drive him mad 
to see you, to see us, like this now."  He moved suddenly, hands 
grabbing her shoulders firmly, and his face dove down to hers, 
his lips claiming hers, hot and hard.

She shook her head from side to side, trying to evade his kiss, 
but he only pushed harder, and squeezed her shoulders tighter.  
Their positioning combined to make it difficult for her to move 
her legs to try and kick at him, and her bound arms were trapped 
between their bodies, with no leverage to push.  Her mind was 
screaming NO, NO, NO, but the only sound that escaped was a 
low, fear-filled moaning.  He finally pulled his lips from hers, 
sliding them down to her neck, where he nuzzled for a moment 
before sighing, "Elizabeth."

Scully tensed, trying not to think of the horrible feel of his 
lips on her skin and gasped out, "I'm not Elizabeth!"

He stopped his kissing beneath her ear, and she felt his breath, 
hot and heavy against her neck, before his grip loosened on her 
shoulders and he pulled slowly away.  He rocked back onto his 
heels and stared at her for so long that she squirmed beneath the 
intensity of the gaze.  "No, you're not Elizabeth," he said, and 
his voice and eyes were sad. 

She actually almost felt sorry for him, and then was angry with 
herself for pitying him.  He was holding her against her will in 
a terrible plot of revenge against Mulder, how could she feel 
sorry for him?  

She had a thought, if she could pretend to sympathize, maybe he 
would reveal more to her.  She knew from what had happened with 
the unknown woman at the warehouse, that he was capable of murder, 
but what she did not know was how quickly he could escalate in 
his actions towards her.  She had to learn something soon, and 
get the information to Mulder.  Somehow.

She cleared her throat and said softly, "What happened to 
Elizabeth?"  She was preparing herself for his anger, and from 
the little bits of information he had revealed, to hear that 
she had died by hanging.

He did not react in anger, merely blinked as he continued to rock 
back and forth.  His face was blank, but his eyes were moving.  
Darting from her face, to her injured neck, and back to her face.  
His reply when it came was equally soft.  "She died.  Locked away 
like an animal."  He said no more, and his eyes were now traveling 
around the small room.

Not enough.  She needed more, so much more.  "Did she hang 
herself?" she prodded, careful to keep her voice gentle.

He rose to his feet and moved to look out one of the small windows, 
his back to her.  She mentally calculated the distance between them, 
and the time it would take her to struggle up from the cot with her 
bound hands and feet, as well as the strength she would need to try 
and knock him out.  In her weakened condition, her strength was 
almost non-existent, and she did not think she could move fast 
enough or quietly enough to surprise him. She pushed that thought 
away for now. Perhaps a better chance would come.  Or at least she 
prayed that one would.  She stared at his back, wondering if he had 
heard her question.  She wasn't sure if she should repeat it.

Finally he spoke again.  "She tried.  But they found her in time."  
She heard his breath huff out in a sigh, saw his shoulders move 
with the action.  "I wasn't allowed to see her for a long time 
after that.  I missed her so much." He paused and then whispered, 
almost too low for her to hear.  "I miss her so much."

"Who were they?" she continued.  He was answering her, she didn't 
know for how long, and whether the opportunity would come again.

"The doctors and nurses at the...hospital," he answered quietly.  
His shoulders hunched up and he shook his head slightly, as if 
pushing away a bad memory.  He turned then and said in a much 
stronger voice, "That's enough talking now."  He started towards 
the door and then stopped with his hand on the doorknob.  "I'll 
bring you something to eat and drink later, Dana."

"Wait!" she called out.  He halted without turning around, and 
looked over his shoulder at her, eyebrow up at her interruption. 
"Thank-you...?" she deliberately let her voice trail off 
questioningly, and was rewarded when he filled in the blank.

"Elliot," he said.

"Thank-you, Elliot," she said, calmly, her face reflecting only 
gratitude, she hoped.  In her mind she rejoiced.  She had his 
name.  At least part of it, anyway.  But how many cases could 
Mulder have worked on involving an Elliot and an Elizabeth?  
Now she just had to get the names to him.

The door shut behind Elliot, and Scully faintly heard the lock 
click.  Her mind was busy now with what she had learned.  From 
the pause in his reply when he said hospital, she surmised it 
was a mental institution.  Would that information help Mulder?  

***
  

Conference Room
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Thursday 
6 pm


Mulder pushed his chair away from the conference table with a tired 
yawn, and stood to stretch his cramped, aching muscles.  Sleep the 
night before had been elusive, his mind unable to shut down.  
As well, every time he had shut his eyes, the picture that had 
formed behind his closed lids was of the woman hanging in the 
warehouse.  Only in this picture, it really was Scully, her 
beautiful blue eyes open and vacant.  Empty.  Dead.

He blinked rapidly to clear it when the picture formed again, and 
then stared down at the large table.  It was completely covered in 
case files from the Behavioral Sciences Unit, now known as the 
Violent Crimes Unit.  Mulder had had an epiphany of sorts as he lay 
on his couch staring at the fluorescent lights of his fish tank in 
tthe very early hours of the morning.  Scully's abductor had not 
given him much in the way of information, and he had been unable to 
locate the 'clue' the man had said he left, but from what the man 
had said, Mulder had determined he had not been an X file.  

Therefore he had to have been someone Mulder had investigated during 
his stint as a profiler.

Hence the case files from the BCU archives, and the conference room 
Skinner had insisted he use when they had returned to the Bureau 
after the grim discovery at Zeus Storage and Warehousing.  The AD 
had also supplied him with two agents for any grunt work that might 
arise and to assist with going through the files, as well as someone 
from the secretarial pool.  Mulder had sent everyone home an hour 
ago, preferring to work alone.

There were very large piles of discarded files that he and the 
other agents had eliminated for various reasons, which included the 
now confirmed continued incarceration or death of the individual.  
However there were also a growing number of files that would require 
further follow-up.  Mulder remembered what he hoped was the clue 
from Scully, about brothers and sisters, and was very careful to 
look for any files that matched that criteria.

With a frustrated curse, Mulder threw the pen he had been holding 
down onto the table and walked over to the couch that sat along the 
wall opposite the table.  He sank into it with a weary sigh, head 
falling back to rest on the cushions.

Just as he allowed his eyes to close, there was a knock at the 
door.  He opened them to see Skinner coming into the room, a file 
folder in his hands.  Mulder started to rise, but the AD waved him 
back onto the couch.  He crossed the carpet and sat down beside 
Mulder, handing the file over.

"Report from the forensics team, " Skinner explained.  He quirked an 
eyebrow as Mulder frowningly held up the thin folder.  "There wasn't 
much, Mulder," he continued ruefully.  "Whomever this guy is, he's 
very careful.  Partial print here and there, but nothing useful."  
He paused and looked away for a moment.

Mulder tensed at the look on the AD's face.  "What is it?" he asked.

Skinner grimaced and turned back to look Mulder in the eye.  "They 
found the place where Scully was probably kept.  Small cement block 
room with a cot.  There were...some bloodstains on the bedding of 
the cot and on the floor.  They took the bedding and scraped some 
samples off the floor, sent them to the lab for testing.  Results
aren't back yet."  He patted Mulder awkwardly on the arm after 
Mulder hissed out a harsh breath.  "We don't know whose blood it 
is, Mulder.  Don't torture yourself."

Mulder lunged to his feet, away from the contact and the comfort 
the AD tried to provide, and began to pace rapidly around the room.  
Was it Scully's blood?  His hands went up to scrub through his hair 
and he could not help the curse that escaped his mouth.  She was 
out there somewhere, maybe hurt, and he was sitting here doing 
nothing.

He whirled around to stare at the AD, who had risen from the couch 
and was watching Mulder with concerned eyes.  "What about the 
camera from the warehouse?"

Skinner shook his head.  "It was a Webcam.  Any Tom, Dick or Harry 
can get one at Radio Shack.  They're tracing the serial numbers, 
but if he paid cash, it's a dead end. There were no fingerprints.  
The techs said he attached a microphone to it, probably had some 
sort of video monitor set-up wherever he's moved to so he could 
watch and hear everything that went on."

"That call from Scully was fixed."  Mulder spoke slowly as he 
worked things out in his head.  "He had the woman in place already, 
probably had his next location picked out.  He was long gone by 
the time he had her make the call."

Skinner interrupted his musings.  "Anything in the files? Does it 
match any MO's?"

Mulder shook his head.  "Nothing yet.  There's still a large number 
to go through."  He pinched the bridge of his nose and moved over 
to the chair he had vacated earlier.  He was stopped by Skinner's 
hand gripping his arm.

"Mulder, when's the last time you've eaten?  I checked the logs 
this morning, you were here at 5 am, and I know you haven't left 
this room for longer than it takes to use the men's room," Skinner 
said, his voice low and gruff.  "You can't keep up this pace, 
you're going to collapse."  He stopped, his jaw muscle working and 
when he continued, his voice was even lower. "Mulder, if you don't 
look after yourself, I will remove you from this case and have 
you suspended.  Don't make me do it, Mulder." His next words were 
softer.  "Let's get something to eat."

Mulder opened his mouth to retort angrily, but held back.  He knew 
the AD was serious. He would remove him, even though it was Scully.  
He could not let that happen.  He nodded, his shoulders sagging.  
He was so goddamn tired.  "You're right, sir.  I'd be no good to 
Scully if I collapse."  He reached for his jacket on the back of the 
chair and slipped it on.  The cell phone on the table was tucked 
carefully in his inner pocket and the two of them made their way 
to the door.  Mulder looked back just before the door closed, at 
the files that he hoped held a clue to the man who held his partner, 
who held his Scully, and left with a heavy heart.

***

9:30 pm

Mulder drove aimlessly through the Georgetown streets, too wired 
to go home and attempt another disturbing, restless sleep.  He had 
finally managed to ditch Skinner, who had seemed determined to take 
him home and tuck him in.  Mulder had explained he was a night owl 
anyway, and that he really did not think he would be able to sleep 
yet.  Skinner had looked at him with his inscrutable eyes and 
finally said, "I'll be checking the log entry tomorrow.  I don't 
want you near the Hoover building before 6 am."  Mulder had wanted 
to argue, but knew the alternative could be worse - Skinner as his 
babysitter.

Mulder sighed heavily and looked around.  He realized he had 
unconsciously, or perhaps subconsciously, driven to Scully's 
building.  There was a vacant spot almost directly in front and he 
pulled the car into it, turning the engine off.  He sat there 
listening to the ticking of the engine as it settled, loud in the 
silence of the car, and turned his head to look at Scully's 
apartment.  There was a faint light in one window; he had left a 
table lamp on so that the place would not look empty.

But it was empty.  Just like his heart.  For he now knew Scully 
was who filled it, every minute of every day.  He had just never 
realized it until he had thought she was dead.  Had never analyzed 
the reasons why she was in his thoughts all the time, that when he 
was not with her he was not complete, that the majority of his life
revolved around her.

His heart began to thud painfully as he remembered how the whole 
world had seemed to slow when he ran into the warehouse and saw 
Scully hanging there.  Sound, smell, sight, everything had stopped 
for the shortest and yet the longest moment of his life.  Then 
everything had come crashing forward.   Utter despair had nearly 
overwhelmed him, and then he had touched her hair, and it wasn't.  
Wasn't Scully.

Mulder's fists tightened on the steering wheel, the knuckles white 
with the strain.  If he had the man who had done this, who had 
taken her, in front of him right now, the man would have no chance.  
He would kill him with his bare hands.  

He forced himself to relax, sinking back into the seat, eyes 
still focused on the window of Scully's apartment.  Should he go 
in there?  Surround himself with her things, with her scent, take 
what little comfort it would offer?  He had always found peace at 
Scully's apartment, although she was usually there with him. Maybe 
he would even be able to sleep.  His hand went up and pulled the 
keys from the ignition, before opening the door and stepping out 
onto the quiet, darkened street.  He closed the door quietly, 
leaning on the car as he shut it, feeling a sudden weariness.  
He heaved out a deep breath and slowly walked towards the front 
entrance of Scully's building.

Faintly from down the street there came the sound of a vehicle 
just as he stepped onto the stoop, and something made him turn 
around to look.  A white panel van drove by slowly, and Mulder 
could almost make out the words written in red on the side.  
D.C...Cleaning...He blinked, hearing the van's engine rev as it 
sped up and then it was racing down the street. 

Time slowed again.

White van.  Red lettering.

Jesus, it was him.  Mulder tore down the sidewalk to his car, 
shaking hand stabbing the key at the lock.  Precious seconds
wasted before he finally ripped the door open.  He flung himself 
in the seat, jammed the key in the ignition, pulling away from 
the curb with squealing tires as soon as the engine turned over.
  
He sped down the street in the direction the van had driven, but 
he did not see any receding taillights ahead of him.  He came to 
the first intersection, slamming the brakes on to bring the car 
to a sudden, screeching halt as a car crossed his path.  He was 
pushed forward with the action, banging his head on the steering 
wheel with surprising force.

Blinking back the tears that sprang to his eyes, he swiveled his 
head back and forth, grunting with the pain the motion caused, 
trying to spot the van.  It was nowhere in sight.  "Fuck!" he 
screamed, and the sound of his voice sent more waves of pain 
through his skull. 

He gritted his teeth and started forward again, driving cautiously, 
heading towards the Lone Gunmen's place.  He hoped they would be 
able to do something with the little facts he was going to present 
to them.  He knew though that they would do all that they could to 
help find Scully.

Twenty minutes later he was there.  He parked the car and made his 
way slowly and painfully to their door, head throbbing with each 
step he took.  He knocked, and heard Langly's voice over the little 
intercom by the door.  "Open up, Langly, its Mulder," he said with 
a wince.  

Surprisingly Langly did not comment, and seconds later the locks 
were disengaged and he was inside.  Frohike looked up from his seat 
at a computer terminal, saying, "Mulder!  Long time no talk, buddy.  
Where you been?"  His smile died away from his face and he scrambled 
off his seat, bustling over to stand before Mulder.  "What the hell 
happened to you?"  He grabbed Mulder by the arm and led him to the 
ratty couch along one wall.  "Sit," he said to Mulder, giving him a 
little push.  He turned his head and yelled, "Byers, get the first 
aid kit!"

Mulder winced again, and brought his hands up to clutch at the 
daggers in his head.  "Not so loud, Frohike," he whispered.  He 
swallowed back the nausea that threatened and said, "I need you 
guys to do something for me.  It's important."  He paused, 
squeezing his eyes shut as the overhead light came on and Byers 
walked into the room.  "Scully is missing.  Some sicko's got her.  
I need you guys to run every white panel van in the city, hell 
maybe the state.  With red lettering for a cleaning service of 
some sort."

He sensed Byers kneeling before him and heard as he opened the kit.  
Something dabbed at the knot on his forehead.  Mulder's eyes popped 
open when it stung and hissed in a breath.  Behind him, Langly and 
Frohike exchanged worried glances.  Mulder saw and looked up at 
them, squinting one eye shut.  "What?" he asked.

Frohike cleared his throat and replied, "We'll do whatever it takes, 
Mulder, don't worry.  But it's gonna take some time."

"I don't know how much time we have, guys," Mulder whispered.  At 
Frohike's stricken look, Mulder told them what had happened since 
last Friday, ending with what had happened just a half hour ago.  
He pulled the cell phone out of his inner pocket.  "Frohike, is 
there any way you can charge this?  I checked it a while ago, 
the lo cell light is on."

Frohike took it and examined it.  "I'll see what I can do," he 
said.  His short legs took him quickly away and Mulder closed his 
eyes as Byers finished up by putting a Band-Aid on the small cut.  

"Mulder," Byers said in his soft, cultured voice.  "I don't know how 
badly you hit, but it looks like a pretty bad knock.  I think you 
should stay here so we can keep an eye on you."

Mulder nodded cautiously.  It felt odd to have someone other than 
Scully doctoring him.  "I'm staying wherever that cell phone is, 
so I guess that means I'm crashing here."  He lay back slowly, 
swinging his legs up onto the couch.  The pain had receded to a 
dull ache, but his stomach was a still little queasy.  "I'll just 
rest my eyes for a bit," he whispered.

"Sure, Mulder, no problem," Byers replied.  

Mulder heard the sounds of Byers gathering up the first aid kit, 
the faint clacking of keyboards and the mutterings of Frohike 
and Langly.  The sounds were somewhat soothing, and for the first 
time since learning Scully had been taken, he didn't feel quite 
as alone.

***

Skinner's Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Friday 
7am


Skinner made his way through the outer area to his office door, 
shooting a glance at Kimberley's desk as he passed it.  His eyes 
swept over her workstation, which was tidy, much like the woman 
herself, except for two file folders that sat on one corner.  
They looked like they had been tossed there hastily, and he paused 
in the action of opening his door.  The files had not been there 
last night when he left, which had been well after 6 pm.

He dropped his briefcase on the floor and walked back to her desk, 
picking up the folders.  He opened the top one and let out a 
muttered curse.   It was a report on the woman from the warehouse.  
The one he had phoned repeatedly on throughout the previous day.  
He should have been notified immediately. 

His eyes scanned the first page.  Her fingerprints had been run 
through AFIS, and had not been found on the database.  He flipped 
the page over, and saw a missing persons report filed with the 
Washington P.D.  The next page was the formal identification of 
the body, by the victim's sister.  Skinner went back to the missing 
persons report and read the details on the woman, which included 
a small picture. Kathy O'Neill, age 32, 5'4, 120 lbs, red hair, 
blue eyes.  He grimaced as he realized it was very similar to the 
description posted about Agent Scully.   He looked at the picture, 
seeing the resemblance to the missing agent. 

He shook his head angrily.  What a tragic way to die, because of 
some psychotic man's twisted plot of revenge.  For her resemblance 
to someone she had probably never met in her life.   The muscle in 
his jaw was twitching wildly, and he forced himself to breathe 
deeply and evenly, feeling his heart, which had sped up with his 
anger, begin to slow again.

An autopsy had been performed.  He had a brief thought, wondering 
if the pathologist had carried it out with Scully's intense 
thoroughness.  He scanned the report, seeing that the tox screen 
had found traces of both chloral hydrate and Thorazine in her 
system.  He was vaguely aware of the two drugs, but would normally 
look to Scully for an explanation as to their uses and effects.

He put that folder down and looked at the second one.  The partial 
fingerprint from Scully's apartment had been run through AFIS as 
well, but there had been no matches.  Skinner frowned.  That did 
not make sense.  They had assumed the man who had taken Scully was 
a criminal, more than likely from Mulder's time in BSU, and if so, 
his fingerprints would be on file.  He would have to have them run 
the print through again.

Skinner looked at his watch, wondering if Mulder was in yet.  He 
shook his head, whom was he kidding?  Mulder had more than likely
come right back here after they had parted company last night.  He 
was probably asleep in one of the chairs, his head pillowed by 
case files.  He put the folders back down on Kimberley's desk, 
unlocked his office door and pushed his briefcase inside.  He headed 
back out of the office area, grabbing the files as he went, and 
walked down the hall to the conference room he had designated for 
their use.

He entered the room, and stood in the doorway with his hands on his 
hips, staring with surprise.  It was empty.  He turned to leave and 
saw Mulder shuffling wearily down the hallway. When the agent came 
to a stop in front of him, his eyes widened as they took in Mulder's 
condition.  There was a lurid bruise on his forehead, with a 
Band-Aid in the center of the mark.  His eyes were puffy with deep 
shadows beneath them, his skin pasty white.  "Mulder, what the hell
happened to you?"

Mulder's eyes flashed anger.  "I went to Scully's apartment last 
night.  Heard a car, turned around to look and saw a white panel 
van with red lettering.  I tried to chase it, had a small accident." 
His hand went up absently and lightly touched the wound.

Skinner had felt his heart speed up again at Mulder's words about 
the van.  Like the van Joshua Hamilton had described for them.  
"Did you get a plate?" he asked.

Mulder shook his head.  "Went by too fast.  But I did read some of 
the lettering.  D.C. and Cleaning.  I went by some friends, they're 
looking into it."

Skinner frowned, knowing which friends Mulder was referring to, 
and decided not to comment.  The three men were odd, but they had 
helped Mulder and Scully both in the past.  If they could help 
locate Scully, or at least track the vehicle that had probably been 
used in her abduction, then he could look the other way.  

Mulder had spotted the folders in his hand, and nodded towards 
them.  "What are those?" he asked.

Skinner gestured him into the conference room and shut the door 
behind them.  Mulder remained standing, his body tense, as Skinner 
took a seat, placing the files on the table in front of him.  
"Mulder, sit down."  He stared implacably at the agent until Mulder 
took the seat beside his superior.  He held up one of the folders.  
"Report on the print from Scully's apartment.  They came up empty, 
but I'm going to request they run it again."  He tossed the file 
down on the table and lifted the other one.  "They've identified 
the woman from the warehouse." He paused, giving the man a moment 
to gather himself, for Mulder's flinch had been very noticeable. 
"I'm going to call the detective in charge of the case, explain 
our involvement.  I want some agents in on the interviews of 
family, friends, anyone who may have seen her."  He put the folder 
down on the table and slid it over in front of Mulder.

Mulder's sigh was loud as he opened the file and Skinner knew 
that he was looking at the picture of Kathy O'Neill, an almost 
look-alike for Scully.  The agent pushed the file away almost 
violently and got up from the chair. "It's been a week, and we 
still have nothing," he gritted out.  He waved his hand in the 
direction of the table, covered in case files.  "It's like...
it's like looking for a needle in a haystack."  He sank back 
down onto his chair, elbows landing on the table, and cradled 
his head in his hands.

Skinner stared at him with worry.  He didn't know what to say, 
what to do.  Finally he cleared his throat and said softly, 
"We'll find her, Mulder."

Mulder did not reply.

***

end Part 4 of 29