XxXxX

Chapter Eight

XxXxX


Scully glanced down at herself as she fidgeted with the hem 
of her silver shirt, tugging first in one direction and then 
the other to see if there was any hint of the wire running 
underneath the slinky silk.  "Can you see anything?" she 
asked.

Bertelli slid off the long conference table and circled 
Scully, shaking her head as she took in her shimmering top 
and flowing black pants. "Only that you look sensational," 
she sighed with a touch of envy. "I wish I had the coloring 
to pull off an outfit like that."

Scully's own coloring deepened a bit, and she ran her hands 
over her hips self-consciously.  "So then you can't tell I'm 
wired?"

Bertelli scrutinized her again with squinted eyes before 
shaking her head.  "Nope.  Can't see the gun, either.  
You'll pass with no problem."

"Great." Scully wished she felt as confident as Bertelli 
sounded.  To her, the wire between her breasts and the 
weapons holstered against her calf seemed as damning and as 
obvious as the scarlet "A" worn by Hawthrone's famous 
sinner.  "I just hope all this is worth it," she said after a 
minute.  "For all we know, King might not even talk to me."

Bertelli gave a low, knowing laugh.  "Oh, he'll talk, all 
right.  At this rate, we'll probably have to peel him off of 
you."  The words sent a sharp chill racing through Scully as 
she remembered again that she was playing dress up for a man 
who might very well have sliced seven women to death.  
Images of the victims flashed through her mind in a macabre 
slide show, and she rubbed her forearms for warmth.
 
"Have you seen Mulder recently?" she asked, striving to make 
the inquiry sound casual.  She had not seen Mulder since the 
morning task force meeting, and before that since he had 
awkwardly gathered his clothes from the floor of her hotel 
room at six a.m., leaving her alone amid the rumpled sheets.

Bertelli paused from fiddling with the radio equipment.  "I 
believe he and Rob are already on point with the others," 
she answered, her eyes curious.

"Oh.  Right."  Scully turned away to face the far window, 
where cold drafts wafted in through the thin glass.  A 
prickling sense of hurt pinched at her insides, but she 
stomped it back down.

It's a good thing that he left, she told herself sternly.  
He's the last thing you need to be thinking about now. 

Him or anything else.  

But her thoughts refused to cooperate; they went racing and 
tumbling over one another, silent from the outside but 
screaming internally in her own private quiet riot.

knifewifepatternMulderdeadcoldliarliarstopitIcan'tstopitI'ms
orryI'msorryseemenowgetyourgundressedtokillknifewheresthepat
ternstopmebloodsomuchbloodcryinglyingsuicidedeadinthesnowwho
sthekillerwhosthekiller

"Dana?" Bertelli touched her shoulder, and she jumped.  
Bertelli startled backwards, as well, regarding her with a 
worried gaze. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Scully breathed on a shaky exhale.  She managed a 
weak smile before returning her gaze to the window.  "Just 
thinking about tonight, going over what I want to say."

"Mmmm."   Bertelli stepped a little closer, joining Scully 
in watching the blue-black shadows as they lengthened across 
the snow-covered ground.  "You don't have to do this, you 
know," she said finally.  "We can find another way."

Another way.  Yes.  Scully's pulse picked up with the 
thought of escape, her knees going weak as the door suddenly 
loomed larger in her peripheral vision.  Leave now, 
commanded the voice in her head.  What the hell are you 
trying to prove, anyway?  Call this ridiculous farce off and 
go back to the morgue where you belong.

whosthekiller?whosthekiller?

"No," Scully said clearly, as much to the voice as the woman 
standing next to her.  "No, I can do this."  She turned to 
meet Bertelli's eyes.  "I need to do this."

Wouldyouhaveknown?wouldyouwouldyou?

Bertelli held Scully's gaze silently for a long moment, then 
she nodded slowly.   "Okay," she said, reaching for Scully's 
hand.  She squeezed it hard.  "Then let's go get him."

Scully started to nod her agreement when she caught sight of 
an angry red scratch on Bertelli's wrist, peeking out from 
her gray wool suit coat.  She tightened her grip and rotated 
the woman's hand for a better look, holding firm when 
Bertelli would have pulled away.  "What happened?" she asked 
her softly, her eyes still trained on the cut.

cutalittlenooneseesalittlemoreallgonedripdripdrip

Scully's breath caught and she looked up sharply.  "What 
happened?" she asked again, more urgent this time.

Bertelli tugged her hand free.  "Oh, that.  I caught it on a 
nail in my apartment a few days ago," she replied, rubbing 
the wound protectively as she pulled her sleeve back into 
place.  She frowned a little at Scully. "Hurt like a 
sonofabitch, but the tetanus shot was even worse.  I just 
hate needles, don't you?"

Scully drew back a bit.  "I'm a doctor.  I'm used to them."

"Yes, I suppose you would be."  Bertelli also stepped back, 
appraising her anew.  There was a moment of uncomfortable 
silence as the two women eyed one another.  Finally, 
Bertelli cleared her throat and turned back to the equipment 
lying on the table.  "It's getting late.  We should probably 
go over the--"  Just then, she was interrupted by a quick 
knock at the door, and Mulder stuck his head in the room.  
He glanced once at Bertelli and then fixed his gaze on 
Scully, his eyes traveling slowly over her provocative 
outfit before they settled firmly on her own.  

"Hey," he said softly, "can I talk to you a minute?"  

Scully hesitated.  It seemed like lately he was always 
standing in the doorway, waiting for her to say it was all 
right to come inside. She was suddenly unsure whether she 
had the stamina to tiptoe around the shards of their 
relationship right then.         

But Bertelli made the decision for her, looking from one 
agent to the other with a resigned sigh.  "I'll go radio 
Jacobsen with the itinerary changes.  Back in ten, okay?"  
Her heels clicked smartly on the floor as she walked past 
Mulder and out the door.

He took the long way into the room, circling the long table 
on the far side before taking a seat at the end closest to 
her.  He looked as tired and jittery as she felt, with his 
loosened tie and rolled up sleeves, and his spiky hair 
resembled a worrisome EKG read-out.

"Everything's set at Dempsey's," he said finally.  
"Jacobsen's got two plain clothes officers to pose as 
customers on the inside, so you won't be going in alone.  He 
and I will be in the van out front listening in.  You've got 
all the words?"

Scully nodded, toying with the edge on her shirt again.  "I 
say 'No problem' to make everyone stay put and 'It's hot in 
here' to call in the cavalry.  Bertelli gave me the details 
earlier."

"Good, that's good."  He ducked his head to meet her eyes.  
"So how are you holding up?"

She straightened immediately and cleared her throat.  "I'm 
fine."

"Uh-huh."  He looked away, quiet for a long minute.  Then he 
turned his gaze back to her.  "I've got a bad feeling about 
tonight, Scully."

"Mulder, you--"  She clamped her mouth shut on the automatic 
protest.  The whispery voices in her head had given her a 
new respect for such intuitions, and she licked her lips 
before trying again.  "We've been very careful with the set-
up, Mulder.  What exactly do think might go wrong?"

"I don't know."  His leg began to bounce, and he picked at 
the plastic edging around the table.  "I just think maybe 
you should reconsider."

"Okay," she said slowly, moving to sit beside him.  "I'm 
considering, and do you know what I think?"  He shook his 
head, giving her a sideways glance.  "I think everything 
will be fine."

"Scully--"

"Mulder, the night before last you said that you didn't even 
think King was guilty of these murders, and now you think we 
should call the whole thing off?  Have you changed your mind 
about him?"

"No."  He thought for a moment, then shook his head again.  
"No, I still don't think King is the guy.  He's more your 
garden-variety thug--too myopic in his anger to pull off 
these kinds of murders."  She started to speak, but he 
continued in a rush, "That doesn't mean he isn't dangerous, 
Scully.  King sliced up his former girlfriend pretty good 
when she didn't serve him the first piece of cake at her 
father's birthday party, and before that he pulled a 
switchblade on his younger brother."

Scully drew a deep breath as he voiced what she had been 
thinking all day.  King seemed neither bright enough nor 
cool enough to have carved seven women alive without leaving 
behind more evidence, but even on paper he showed a mean 
streak at least a mile wide.  "I tend to agree that King's 
not our killer," she told Mulder, "but after tonight we'll 
know for sure.  That alone should make it worth the while."

Mulder's hands fisted in frustration, and he stared hard at 
the scratched floor.  "I just don't want to take the chance 
that we're wrong."

"Mulder."  She spoke his name softly, waiting until he 
raised his head to look at her, and when he did the emotions 
she read in his eyes caused her heart to swell and contract 
painfully.  Fear, anger, and worry swirled in equal measure, 
darkening his usual hazel to a bottomless black.  It was the 
same look that she had seen two months ago when she opened 
her eyes in the recovery room of the NYU Medical Center.  
Suddenly his ambivalence began to make sense.

She took his left hand, covering it with both of her own and 
resting their joined fingers in her lap.  "This is 
different, Mulder," she said quietly.  "We're going in 
totally prepared.  I'll be fine.  Nothing will go wrong."

"You can't know that," he insisted, his chin sticking out a 
bit.  "Maybe it's too soon, maybe you should wait.  The 
doctors said--"

"The doctors said I'm well enough to work."  She paused and 
squeezed his hand gently.  "They also said the first case 
back might be a little tough."

He let out a humorless laugh.  "They had no fucking idea."

Well, he had a point there.  "Look at it this way," she said 
after a pause.  "As risks go, this one isn't even that bad.  
It's a public place with lots of people around, and there 
will be officers right in the room with me.  And besides..."  
He looked up at her hesitation, waiting.  She gave him a 
near smile.  "I know you've got my back."

His hand tightened painfully on hers, and his lips twitched 
with restrained emotion.  "Always, Scully." 

She nodded and grazed the back of his hand with her thumb 
before setting him free.  "We should get going," she said, 
her tone businesslike again as she slid from the table.  He 
stood, as well. 

"Yeah, I need to get back to Jacobsen so we can double-check 
the transmission on site."  He touched her cheek lightly.  
"I'll see you later, okay?"

Her nerves started vibrating again as the tension stretched 
once more. "Okay..."

nottoodeepjustalittlemoreohitssharpsharpsharp

He was almost out the door.  Now or never.  She took a 
breath.

"Mulder!"

"Yeah?"  He turned expectantly. 

She swallowed twice in quick succession.  "I think...I think 
the killer cuts himself, too."

"Suicide?" he asked curiously, crossing the room again to 
stand in front of her.  

She shook her head.  "No, not like that.  Not to die, just 
to feel the pain, to see the blood."  She exhaled slowly.  
"It sounds crazy, I know, but I think that he cuts to *stop* 
the pain." 

Mulder scratched the back of his head.  "Maybe not so 
crazy," he replied, looking thoughtful.  "Let me check into 
it and see what I can turn up."  As he left, the door closed 
behind him with a sharp "click", and Scully stood alone in 
the empty, echoing room, her heart pounding in her ears.  He 
was gone, and she had not told him the other thing, the new 
fear that made her stomach quiver in dread.

The killer was close, she could feel it.

And maybe...

Maybe he could feel her, too.

XxXxX

"Here we go," Scully murmured to herself and the men 
listening in on the other end of the wire.  Her breath 
misted in front of her as she stood on the dark sidewalk in 
front of Dempsey's Bar.  She glanced over her shoulder at 
the battered white van parked across the street, then tugged 
hard on the heavy, wooden door, pulling it free from its 
swollen confines.  

Inside, she was immediately assaulted by a rush of noise and 
hot air filled with the thick scent of perfume and cigarette 
smoke.  Crowds of people shouted at each other over a 
repetitive bassline so loud it vibrated the floor beneath 
her feet.

You would think that the threat of being carved alive would 
be enough to keep people away, Scully thought grimly as she 
threaded her way through clusters of gyrating young bodies.  
A college student in a leather vest and silver earring 
tracked her movements with hooded eyes, one corner of his 
mouth lifting in a suggestive twist when she brushed past.

Never again, she thought with relief.  She turned away and 
pushed through the last layer of dancers to the bar, where 
she found one vacant stool on the far end. 

She did not miss the days when she put on clothes she 
thought *other* people would like and stood in a circle with 
her similarly dressed friends, drinking one too many vodka 
tonics and eyeing the proximal males, all the while 
wondering, "are you the one I'm supposed to be with?"  

Little had she known that finding the answer just created a 
new series of complicated questions. 

<I, Mulder, take thee, Elizabeth...>  No wait, she corrected 
herself.  She probably would have called him Fox, like the 
rest of the planet.  Fox and Liz.  Liz and Fox.  God.  <To 
have and to hold...>  What day had it been?  June?  
September?  Did he think to himself every year, "It would 
have been seven years with Liz today...don't tell Scully."  
<In sickness and in health...>  How much effort had it taken 
to hide this from her?  All the stories they had told, the 
sharing they had done in bed at night...what else had he 
censored?

<Till death do us part...>

A large man materialized in front of her; his dark blue eyes 
flashed with definite interest.  "What can I get for you?" 
he asked, leaning over the bar.

So this was Joe King, the man who would be murderer.  With 
his gray tee-shirt and dimpled chin, he was nearly handsome.  
She summoned a smile and leaned a little closer.  "Tonic and 
lime, please."

He grinned, his expression turning vaguely predatory.  
"Coming right up." She sat back in her seat, hoping that the 
wire couldn't pick up the pounding of her heart. 

The game had begun.

XxXxX

Scully hung up the phone, having ascertained that the time 
was twelve forty a.m., exactly forty minutes since the last 
time she had checked.  She returned to her seat wearing what 
she hoped was a sufficiently annoyed expression, and Joe 
King sidled up to her almost immediately.

"It wouldn't be good if he showed up now," he offered 
casually, wiping a glass.

Scully raised her eyebrows.  "Excuse me?"

"The guy you been calling all night long," King clarified.  
"If he showed up now, I'd just have to kick the crap out of 
him for leaving a pretty lady like you alone on Friday 
night."

She shrugged and popped a pretzel in her mouth.  "Kevin's 
all yours," she said.  

"Yeah?"  He grinned at her again, showing a row of even, 
white teeth.  She smiled back.

"Well, *I* certainly don't want anything more to do with 
him."

"Good for you," he congratulated, knocking a freshly opened 
Sam Adams against her third tonic and lime.  "Here's to 
leaving the losers behind."  She took a long swallow and set 
the glass back on its damp red napkin.

"So does my champion have a name?" she asked, keeping her 
expression neutral.  He extended his hand.

"Joe King.  I'm co-owner of this joint."

"Really!"  She leaned back, hoping she sounded impressed.  
It must have worked, because he started preening.

"Yeah, me and my buddy Dave bought it six years ago.  We 
fixed her up real good on practically no money, since Dave 
has friends in the construction business.  It was a total 
dive, let me tell you, but now look at her!  We're packed 
every weekend!"  Dutifully, Scully craned her head around to 
take in the still-crowded bar.

"It's very nice."

He rolled his eyes.  "Chicks," he grumbled.  "They just 
don't get it.  See this railing here?"

"Yes."

"Hand carved oak.  This baby will last you through the next 
millennium."

She gave him a rueful smile.  "I'm afraid I don't know much 
about that sort of thing."

"Hey, don't worry about it."  He waved a dismissive hand, 
apparently feeling superior and therefore magnanimous.  
"What is it you do, Miss..."

"Dana," she supplied.  The fewer lies the better.  "I'm a 
secretary downtown."

It was his turn to raise his eyebrows.  "Really, that's 
interesting," he said, taking her hand.  "No chipped nails 
or anything.  You must do careful work."

Scully's heart picked up again.  "Uh, yeah," she agreed, 
pulling her hand away.  The less said about her, the better.  
She tried to steer the conversation back to him and the 
murder case.  "So do you think I'll have a problem getting a 
cab at this hour?" she asked.  "Since Kevin isn't here, I'm 
a little worried about getting home by myself, what with the 
murders and all."

A shadow passed over King's face, but he recovered quickly.  
"Don't you worry, darlin'.  I'll see that you get home 
safe."

"Oh, I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble."

"No trouble.  I can see you right up to your door if you 
like.  Majorie over there can lock up this place no 
problem."  He nodded in the direction of a young, buxom 
cocktail waitress.

"Thanks.  I'll, uh...I'll think about it."

He leaned over the bar again and gave her a slow smile.  
"You do that."

"I will."  She fidgeted on her seat.  "You just can't be  
too safe these days, you know?  Sometimes I wish the cops 

would hurry up and catch this guy already."

King went completely still, his eyes locked on hers.  "Only 
sometimes?"

"Well, you know."  She gave a tiny shrug and looked down, 
pretending to be embarrassed.  "Sometimes I kind of like the 
thrill of it, like having a movie going on right in our own 
town.  He's so smart, this guy.  It's been months and no one 
can seem to catch him."  She widened her eyes at him, going 
for naive innocence.  "Do you think they might make a movie 
out of this?"

He stared at her hard for a moment, then shook his head as 
if to clear it.  "No, darlin', I don't."

"But why?"  Her voice was breathless.

He smirked.  "'Cause audiences like to see them catch the 
bad guy at the end, and this one ain't never getting 
caught."

Was that a confession?  Scully's palms went cold, and she 
struggled to think over the blood rushing in her ears.  
"What do you mean?" she asked softly.

"Why, darlin', what do you think I mean?"  His tone was 
gently mocking.  "If you're so interested in these killings, 
you must know that I've been questioned.  It's been in all 
the papers."

"I...I'm not one for newspapers," Scully managed carefully.  
"I just hear what people are saying around the office."

"Oh?  They talking about me?"

She shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving his face.  
"The cops really think you did it?" she whispered.

"Yes, Ma'am," he answered solemnly.

"Why?"

His mouth twitched.  "Some of the women had been in here."

"Well, so have a lot of people," Scully ventured, looking 
around her at the thinning crowd.

"Yeah," he agreed softly.  "Like you, for instance."

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she found 
herself searching the nearby faces for anyone who looked 
like they might be undercover cops.  There were two who were 
supposed to be backing her up, one woman and one man.  
Things had been so rushed she had not met them ahead of 
time, but Bertelli had assured her they would be there.  

Easy, she coached herself when she failed to find them.  
Calm down and keep him talking.

"Surely the cops must have more reason than that if they 
brought you in for questioning," she said.  "This is 
America.  You have rights."

"Damn straight I do," he agreed flatly, and took a long sip 
of his beer.  "They can't touch me again without an arrest 
warrant.  But that woman, Bertelli...she's got a bug up her 
ass on account of it was my bar the women were in and 
because I happen to like knives."

"You do?"  She decided to press her luck.  "What kind?"

"All kinds. I'm a collector, you know."  He reached out and 
stroked her hand with one finger.  When he spoke, his voice 
was dangerously soft.  "Say, why don't you come with me and 
I'll show you my collection, huh?  Would you like that?"    

Shit, he was offering the *murder weapon*?  He had spoken so 
quietly that she was not sure the wire had picked him up.

"Uh, I don't know..." she hedged, glancing around him once 
more.  This time she spotted them--a thirty-something couple 
in a booth across the room who were clearly more interested 
in her than each other.  What the hell was she supposed to 
do now?  They would not be able to follow her to wherever it 
was King kept his "collection", and Mulder would never let 
her leave on her own.

"Suit yourself," King said with a shrug, his eyes flickering 
over her as he walked off to help a different customer.  
Young.  Blonde.  Sad-looking.  He said something to her and 
she smiled.

Scully shuddered.

whosthekillerwhosthekiller?

The evidence said Joe King, and now he was offering her a 
possible look at the murder weapon.  He glanced in her 
direction, meeting her eyes with a cool blue gaze, then 
turned pointedly back to the blonde.  Scully snapped to her 
decision.

cutalittleherejustalittlemoresomuchbloodohyesohyes

It was time to put a face to the terrible words.
Reaching into her purse, she withdrew a black pen and 
scribbled a note on the edge of her cocktail napkin.  

"I want to see.  Meet me out back in five minutes."

She went into the ladies' room long enough to splash some 
water on her face and take a few deep breaths.  Then with a 
last peek at her unsuspecting back-up, she slipped out the 
rear door into the cold winter night.

XxXxX 

Continued in Chapter Nine

XxXxX

Chapter Nine

XxXxX

"She's lost him."  Jacobsen's tone was disgusted as he 
twisted on the metal bench inside the van.

"Shh."  Mulder pressed a hand to one side of his headset so 
he could listen more closely.  The loud background noise had 
disappeared, but he thought he could make out the echoing 
sounds of her heels in the bathroom.  Talk to me Scully, he 
willed across the wire.  Tell me what's going on.

Jacobsen muttered an oath as his knees cracked loudly.  "I'm 
telling you, it's no use," he growled.  "King blew her off 
when she wouldn't go back to his apartment with him.  He'll 
never talk now.  We should just radio Bertelli and--" 

"It's too quiet," Mulder interjected tersely.  "Something's 
not right."  

Jacobsen sat up a little straighter, leaning closer to the 
amplifier and squinting in the semi-darkness.  "Yeah, what 
happened to the music?" he murmured.  Mulder stretched over 
to adjust the volume on the incoming transmission, which 
only caused the static to crackle more intensely.  Scully's 
footfalls had completely disappeared.

C'mon, c'mon, he thought wildly.  Say something.  The silent 
seconds plucked at his taut nerves.  
Saysomethingsaysomething...

Finally, he could not stand it any longer.  "There's 
something wrong.  I'm going in there," he announced 
abruptly, pulling off his headset and beginning to rise from 
the bench.  Jacobsen yanked him back down.

"Wait!  She's back."

Mulder scrambled for the headset again, catching Scully in 
mid-sentence.  <...too far away.  It's pretty cold out 
here.>

What the hell?  They were *outside*?  Every muscle in his 
body tensed at once. "It wasn't supposed to happen like 
this," he hissed to Jacobsen.  "We've got to--"  

"Shhh!" Jacobsen waved a hand at him.  "It's King again, and 
he's still talking.  Let's just see where this goes."

<I'll keep you warm, darlin', don't worry.  I'm glad you 
changed your mind about coming with me.>

<You're sure it's okay to leave the bar?> Scully's voice 
sounded thin and far away.

<It's my bar, I can do whatever the hell I want.>  There was 
an edge to King's statement that made Mulder inch closer to 
the back doors of the van.

"I don't like this," he said, feeling the sweat break out 
around his collar.  "Where the hell are they?  Out front?"  
Jacobsen did not seem to hear him, instead listening 
intently to the fuzzy conversation coming over the wire.  
Scully said something that was cut off by a wave of high-
pitched feedback.  A second later there was the sound of a 
car door slamming and the roar of an engine.

"Fuck," growled Jacobsen.  "They're on the move."

Mulder was already scrambling out the door.  "Call 
Bertelli," he yelled over his shoulder.  "Get her to tail 
them."  

He dashed across the heavy traffic on Massachusetts avenue, 
dodging screeching cars until he reached the door to 
Dempsey's bar.  Lebrea and O'Hearn jumped up at his 
entrance, but he barely glanced at them as he pushed through 
the people on dance floor toward the rear exit.  The 
pounding music and laughter faded into the background as he 
hurled himself out the back door.

Nothing.  The street was completely silent.  

He jogged past the chain-link fence and into the street, but 
could see no cars anywhere in the vicinity.  "Scully!" he 
hollered, his scream evaporating quickly in the night air.  
There was no answer.

Jesus, what had she been thinking, going off like that?  His 
heart pounded painfully against the wall of his chest as he 
considered his next move.  

"Agent Mulder!"  He turned as the two undercover officers 
burst from the rear door, guns at the ready.  Lebrea was in 
the lead.  "What the hell is going on?" she breathed as she 
caught up with him.  

"Scully's with King," he replied, pushing past her and her 
partner. "I don't know where they went." 

"Holy fuck," said O'Hearn, keeping pace with him as they all 
headed back into the bar.  "Now what?"

"Talk to the waitress."  Mulder did not slow down in his 
charge toward the front door.  "Find out if she knows where 
King was going.  If she does, radio the van and let me 
know."

He kicked open the heavy door, throwing all his anger and 
adrenaline against it so that it slapped into the outer wall 
with a satisfying crack.  Goddamn it, Scully.  So much for 
going in prepared.  He jogged back through traffic to the 
van, where Jacobsen was still listening through the headset.

"Bertelli's on her way to King's apartment in case they show 
up there," he reported as Mulder climbed over him to the 
other side of the bench.  

"The wire is still on?" Mulder asked, still breathing hard 
from his exertion.  

Jacobsen nodded.  "It's fading in and out, though.  They may 
be headed out of range." 

Mulder reached for his discarded headset, almost afraid to 
learn what was on the other end.  "Did you get a read on 
their location?" 

"King says he's taking her to the knives," Jacobsen 
whispered, "but I don't know where they're going yet."  He 
raked Mulder once with his eyes.  "She's a real piece of 
work, your partner.  This is the most insane breach of 
protocol I've ever seen.  Englehart's not going to know 
whether to murder her or give her a medal of honor."

Mulder turned away as he strained to hear the voices coming 
through the wire.  You don't get it, he thought, his pulse 
racing.  She's not thinking about getting a medal or making 
a big collar.  She's not thinking about anything but the 
victims.  

Not even me.  

Not even herself.

"Dammit," he muttered again.  The fury made his face flush 
hot, but he welcomed the burning sensation; it was easier to 
be angry than afraid. 

<...been collecting for years now.>  King's voice crackled 
to life.  <Must've got at least two dozen of 'em now, a 
couple left over from when my grandfather was a kid.>

Scully's voice was a little bit clearer.  <Oh, yeah?  What 
do you use them for?>  There was a pause, then King laughed 
darkly.  

<Why, darlin,> he mocked, <I use 'em for cutting, of 
course.>    

Oh, God.  Mulder squeezed his eyes shut.

"I don't get it," breathed Jacobsen, hunching next to him.  
"King's apartment was clean when we searched it!  He didn't 
have anything more dangerous than a steak knife."

Never did find the real crime scene, did you? echoed a voice 
in Mulder's head, and the bottom of his stomach dropped out.  
He swallowed against the bitter nausea.  "They're not going 
to his apartment," he whispered, and King turned away, his 
mouth set in a grim line.

Moments later, the wire went dead.

XxXxX

"It's not too much further, is it?" Scully asked, squinting 
out the passenger side window at the passing houses.  Her 
heart rate doubled with every mile they put behind them.

King squeezed her thigh.  "Not much further now, darlin'."

She nodded, hoping that her rising fear did not show on her 
face.  Back at Dempsey's, it had seemed like a good idea to 
push him as far as she could, but now she was starting to 
question the firmness of her position.  They had only been 
driving for ten minutes, and already she was completely 
lost.  

Time to even the odds, she thought, catching the nearest 
street sign.  If the wire was still working, she could at 
least give some hints about their new location.  "Hey, my 
friend Lily lives around here," she commented as casually as 
she could, but King seemed focused elsewhere.

"Yeah?" he answered, sounding bored.  His hand crept up her 
thigh.

"Yeah, back there on Lincoln Street.  Nice neighborhood."  

Are you getting this, Mulder?  Lincoln Street.  She wished 
she could be sure the wire was still in range.  King glanced 
at her with faint amusement, his eyes glinting in the 
darkness.

"People around here got money.  That doesn't automatically 
make them nice."

And you would know, wouldn't you? she thought, his prior 
assault convictions never far from her mind.  She swallowed 
with difficulty and shifted a little so his hand was not 
quite so high on her leg.  "No, of course not.  They've got 
troubles just like everyone else, I'm sure."

"Yeah?"  He slid his hand back into place, squeezing her 
almost enough to hurt.  "What kind of troubles have you got, 
darlin'?"

"Oh, the usual," she hedged.  "Too little money, boring job, 
that sort of thing.  Nothing serious."

"Nothing serious."  He gave her a sideways glance.  "That's 
good, darlin'.  We should all be so lucky."

Scully twisted her fingers in her lap, glad for the 
reassuring weight of the gun against her leg.  More clues, 
she thought.  Give more clues.  "I wish I had a Bread and 
Circus near me," she said as they passed the corner market.  
"I just love their fresh vegetables."  Please, God, let the 
wire be on.  Pleasepleasplease.

"What are you, a health-freak?" King scoffed.  "I can't 
stand those yuppie-shit places."  He turned off abruptly 
onto a quiet, suburban street and parked under a flickering 
streetlight.  The leather creaked as he turned to face her, 
a smile twitching at his lips.  His hand moved from her 
thigh to the side of her face, where he stroked her with a 
roughened thumb.  Her breath caught.

"Is... is this it?" she managed tightly.

He nodded, his dark eyes boring into hers.  "Just come 
inside with me, darlin'.  I'll show you everything you ever 
wanted to see."

XxXxX

"Faster, dammit!" Mulder hollered from the passenger seat, 
one hand clutching the headphones and the other steadying 
the computer on his lap.  "We're running out of time."

"Where the fuck am I going?" demanded Jacobsen in return.  
"This is Lincoln street and I don't see a goddamn thing!"

<Wow, is this house yours?>  Scully's voice was coming in 
more clearly now.  She had to be close.

<Not exactly,> King returned, and Mulder heard the sound of 
a door opening.  Don't go inside...don't go inside... 

<It's dark in here,> Scully remarked a minute later.  Shit. 
She was inside. 

"King have relatives in the area?" Mulder asked quickly, 
tapping furiously on his keyboard.  Jacobsen shook his head.  

"His father is dead, and his mother lives in New York.  No 
sibs."

"What about the friend he talked mentioned...Dave?  You know 
anything about him?"

Jacobsen swerved sharply on the narrow back road, nearly 
hitting an oncoming car.  "Dave Luden's his name.  He's been 
out of the country for the past three months, I think living 
with his girlfriend in Brazil."  His eyes widened.  "Shit, 
you don't think--"

<It's right this way.>  King's deep voice sounded gruffer 
than usual, and Mulder heard the sound of Scully's heels on 
a hardwood floor.

<Where did you-->  She broke off with a gasp.

<Bitch!>  There was a loud crack, followed by the sound of 
King's heavy breathing.  Scully was coughing and choking.

"Ohgodohgod..."  Mulder muttered to himself as he typed even 
faster, searching for Dave Luden's address.

<Please...>  Scully's voice was thick and hoarse.

<Oh yeah, that's right.  Beg me.  You cop bitch, think 
you're so clever, coming into my bar like that.  I can smell 
your kind a mile away.>  There was a terrible sound of 
material ripping.  <Well, well…what have we here?>  King 
snarled.  <Seems we're not alone in this conversation, 
darlin'.>

"He's made her!" Mulder shouted.  "Get us the hell out of 
here, now!"

"I'm trying, I'm trying!" said Jacobsen, trapped behind 
three cars at a red light.  He jerked to the right, and 
tires squealed beneath them as he drove up onto the curb. 

Finally, Dave Luden's address appeared on the screen.  
"Eighteen sixty three Carmine Avenue," Mulder breathed.  "Is 
that close?"

"Not close enough."  Jacobsen put the accelerator to the 
floor. 

fasterfasterfasterfaster...  Mulder leaned forward in his 
seat, as if he could somehow propel them with his body. His 
heart clenched as Scully made another choking sound.  King 
just laughed.

<Who's listening in, darlin?  Are they friends of yours?>  
He chuckled again.  <Well, let's see how much they like 
hearing you scream...>

XxXxX

Can't breathe.  Mulder, hurry.  Please hurry.

Tears of pain formed in her eyes as she struggled against 
the wall.  King had pinned her with one arm at her throat, 
crushing her windpipe.  In his other hand, he held a 
switchblade.

"You wanted to see?" he breathed on her face.  "Well, here 
it is, darlin', live and in the flesh."  

She gasped and jerked at the touch of the knife on her 
belly.

"Are you listening, Bertelli?" he asked into the wire.  "I 
sure hope so.  It's too bad you couldn't have been here for 
this little party.  I would have liked that.  Wouldn't you, 
darlin'?"  The knife point nicked her sharply, and she 
squirmed backward.

Thinkthinkthink.  Keep him talking.

"Where should I cut you first?" he continued, his breath hot 
against her ear.  "Here on your soft, white belly?"  He drew 
the knife slowly down her front.  "Or maybe here, on your 
pretty, lying face?"  Its blade ran smoothly over her cheek.

He loosened his arm fractionally with the motion, and she 
gulped in painful breaths of air.  "No," she managed 
hoarsely.  "You...you promised to show me...show me your 
collection."

One corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk.  "Keep him 
talkin' till the back-up arrives, right darlin?  Yeah, I 
know all the tricks."  

So he claimed, but she noticed he still liked to brag.  He 
had let up the pressure on her neck just a bit more.  "I 
want to see the knives," she told him steadily.  "I want to 
see the one you killed those women with."  

Out of the corner of her eye, she gauged it was thirty feet 
down the hall to the front door.  And she still had her gun.

"Oh, you cops are such dumb fucks," he laughed, shaking his 
head.  "I didn't kill those women."  He leaned in closer, 
speaking directly to the wire that poked up beneath her bra.  
"You got that, Bertelli?  I said I didn't do it!"

"Show me," Scully challenged.

He paused, considering.  Then he drew the knife down the 
front of her face, stopping just at her throat.  "One quick 
peek."  He lowered his arm completely, and she coughed.  "No 
funny moves," he warned, jerking her from the wall by her 
elbow.  "Or I will cut you into tiny pieces right here."

Scully nodded, moving gingerly toward the back of the house.  
He followed close behind.  "Which way?" she asked when they 
reached the two doors at the end.

"Right."

They walked in step for a few feet, then King's toe caught 
on the edge of an oriental rug.  He stumbled off-balance, 
and Scully jerked away.  Gungungetyourgun...

Her heart was pounding as she tried to scramble further away 
and reach down under her pant leg at the same time.  Her 
fingers had just touched the smooth steel when King's knife 
caught her square across the arm.  She recoiled in pain.

"Oh, no you don't, bitch," he snarled, yanking her by the 
injured arm, and she could not stifle a cry. The cut was 
long and deep, and the blood was seeping through her silver 
shirt.  King's fingers dug painfully into her arm.  "That 
was stupid," he growled.  "*Very* stupid.  You're going to 
regret that little maneuver, darlin'."  

"Please," Scully panted.  They were both breathing hard.  
"Just let me go.  Right now you can still walk away."

"Oh, right!" he spat.  "I can't walk away from this!  What 
about all the women?  I know that cop bitch Bertelli is just 
dying to send me away for those murders."

Murderknifecuttoodeepsomuchblood 


Oh, God.  She felt the knife at her throat again and 
squeezed her eyes shut, quivering, preparing for the pain.  
He shifted behind her, so close his breath stirred her hair.

Closecloseclose.

But not close enough.

He moved a fraction to the right, teasing the side of her 
neck with the knife point, but it was enough to change their 
center of balance.  

Scully grimaced.  Gotcha.

With one smooth movement, she elbowed his gut to bend him 
over, then grabbed his arm and ducked low to flip him over 
her head.  He yelled his surprise and hit the ground with a 
loud "thud".  With shaking fingers, she retrieved her gun.

"Don't even think about it," she ordered coldly when King 
moaned and began rolling around on the floor.  "Face down 
and lock your fingers behind your head."

"Shit," he muttered, turning over and closing his eyes.  
Scully kicked his knife out of reach.

"Where are the knives?" she demanded, training the gun at 
his head.  Her arm was now completely covered in blood, but 
she could feel no pain.  King smiled up at her.

"Fuck you," he said softly.

Doesn't matter, she told herself.  If the knives were in the 
house, they would find them.  Mulder, where are you?  She 
struggled to keep her arms upright as she stood over King.  
It seemed like forever before she heard the van screech to a 
halt outside.  Thank God.  Her vision was starting to cloud. 

Finally, the front door crashed open, and she heard Mulder 
yelling her name.  "In here," she called in a voice 
roughened by King's abuse.  Mulder appeared in the doorway 
with Jacobsen close behind. 

"God, Scully, are you all right?"   He was at her side in 
three large steps, his hand just grazing her back. 

"I'm all right," she managed, feeling suddenly weak. But she 
did not lower her weapon until Jacobsen had cuffed King and 
hoisted him to his feet. 

"You're under arrest, you sonofabitch."  King gave Scully a 
lingering look as he was escorted out the door.  Mulder 
caught it, and moved protectively between them.

"Scully, you're cut," he said softly, taking her gun from 
her.  "We need to get you to a hospital."

For the first time, she looked down at the gaping wound on 
her right arm and was amazed that she had been able to 
subdue King.  There was blood everywhere. "God, Mulder..." 
The terror finally penetrated through her adrenaline, and 
she started trembling.  

"Shh, it's okay now.  It's going to be okay."  He guided her 
gently to the nearest arm chair and removed one of the cloth 
flaps, wrapping it around her injury and pressing inward to 
stop the bleeding.  Scully dutifully held her arm in the 
air.

"The knives are in the house somewhere," she whispered, 
terribly fatigued.

"I know.  We heard over the wire."  There was no real 
reproach in his comment, but she felt a flush of guilt all 
the same.  His face was white and pinched, and she knew he 
must have been afraid for her.  And angry.

"I just couldn't let him get away like that," she tried to 
explain.  "Not if I had a chance to stop him."

"Just rest now, Scully.  We'll deal with everything else 
later, okay?"

She nodded, leaning back in the chair.  Bertelli entered the 
room with two uniformed officers.  "You got him," she said 
quickly.  "Thank God it's over."

Yes, thank God.  Scully tried to smile but failed.  The 
world was starting to seem fuzzy and far away.  She felt 
Mulder's hands tighten on her arm and closed her eyes.  "Get 
an ambulance," she heard him say.  

I'm fine, she insisted, but could not make the words come 
out loud.  Just find the knives.

Mulder's warm hand was stroking her forehead.  "Hang in 
there, Scully," he murmured.  "Help is coming."

She watched through slitted eyes as uniformed officers 
tromped back and forth through the house, gathering 
evidence.  Suddenly, one called from a nearby room.  "Hey, I 
found 'em!"

He appeared a few minutes later with a large wooden display 
case, folded in two.  "Let's see," Bertelli orders, and 
Scully fought to sit up so she could look, too.  The officer 
parted the edges of the slim box to reveal about two dozen 
knives, each gleaming and clamped in its own spot.  "Great," 
Bertelli said grimly.  "Get those logged in right away."

Scully leaned back in her seat, the room spinning dizzily 
before her eyes.  "Not right," she murmured.  Mulder didn't 
seem to hear her.

"You did good, Scully," he said softly, resuming his gentle 
stroking.  "You stopped him."

She shook her head, fighting the looming blackness.  "Too 
big," she whispered, tugging his suit coat so he would 
listen.  "The knife shouldbe small...'snothim..."  And then 
the world slipped away.

XxXxX

Continued in Chapter Ten.

XxXxX

Chapter Ten

XxXxX

The faux leather chairs in the hospital waiting room were 
colored green, probably because someone had told the 
administrators that green was supposed to be psychologically 
soothing.  Instead, Mulder felt like throwing up.  His world 
had skidded to a halt only nanometers from the cliff into 
oblivion, and he felt it still teetering on the edge. 

"Your partner is doing fine," the nurse had told a few 
minutes before, and he had not bothered to contradict her.  
She had not seen Scully's face when the knives were taken 
away or tasted her tears in the middle of the night.  She 
had not seen her partner disappearing under a river of her 
own blood.

No, Scully was not fine.  Not this time.  

He leaned back in the chair and stared unblinking at the 
muted TV, where a pretty-boy CNN anchor was silently 
relaying the middle of the night headlines.  The clock in 
the corner read three-nineteen, and he wished for just a few 
more minutes to get himself together.

God, there had been so much blood.   On the floor, on the 
chair...all over his fingers from where he'd tried to stop 
the life from leaking out of her.   It marked him still, the 
cuff of his shirt tinged bright red as the slowly spreading 
stain marched upwards, thread by thread.  He scrubbed his 
face with shaking hands.

This was always the worst part, when the immediate threat 
was gone and his adrenaline had evaporated, when his legs 
were all rubbery and his stomach was playing pinball inside 
his chest.  Hospitals made him feel nervous, itchy, 
helpless.  Usually he stayed only long enough to make sure 
she was all right, then fled the premises before she could 
tell him otherwise.

Are you okay, Scully?  I'll ask, but please don't answer.

"You can go in and see her now if you want."  The petite 
nurse with the long braid was back, smiling at him kindly.  
"Room six.  She's all stitched up, but we're going to need 
to check her electrolyte levels one more time before she's 
released."
 
He got up and walked slowly down the hall until he came to 
the appropriate room, hesitating only a second before 
wrapping gently on the outside.  "Scully?" 

"Come in," she answered, her voice thin with fatigue.  He 
poked his head around the door and found her propped up in 
an adjustable bed, half-heartedly sipping a glass of orange 
juice.   Her blood-soaked silver shirt had been replaced by 
an over-sized white tee-shirt emblazoned with the hospital 
logo, making her seem impossibly pale and tiny.

His heart lurched to his throat, and he swallowed several 
times as he entered the cramped room.  "Hey," he greeted her 
gruffly, approaching the side of the bed.

She glanced up at him somewhat warily.  "Hi.  I didn't 
realize you were still here.  Sorry this is taking so long."    

"It's okay."  He forced his eyes down to where her right 
forearm lay limp at her side, swathed in a gauze bandage.   
It was like stepping into a time machine--he was back eight 
years ago, heart pounding, stomach churning--trying not to 
hyperventilate in the claustrophobic little room with the 
antiseptic smell, trying not to scream as he made small talk 
over stark white bandages.   His lover.  His love.   A woman 
who should have been dead, but wasn't.

*How could you do this to me?*

"Mulder?"  Her voice caused him to jerk back again, and he 
realized he had been trembling under the force of the 
memories.  Her eyes searched his face worriedly.  "Mulder, 
are you okay?"

"Yeah."  He took a deep breath and nodded.  "Yeah, I'm all 
right," he repeated, sounding more sure this time.  He 
managed a wobbly smile.  Brushing her fingertips with his 
own, he found them reassuringly warm.  "What about you?  How 
are you doing?"    

"Under the circumstances, I'd have to say I'm feeling pretty 
lucky."  She shifted her injured arm a little, as if 
assessing the damage.  "He did a number on the radial 
artery, but he missed the major nerves, so there's no need 
for surgery.  I should be back to normal in a few weeks."  

Jesus, *surgery*?  He hadn't even known that was a 
possibility.  He moved to sit by her hip and began toying 
with the edge of the blanket draped across her lap.   After 
a moment, his fingers crept up to stroke the wrist of her 
uninjured arm.  Her eyes met his and held.  "You're sure 
you're okay?" he asked softly.  

"I'm okay," she answered, releasing a deep breath.  Her gaze 
shifted back to her lap.  "It's just..."

"It's just what?"  

She fidgeted restlessly and pulled her hand from his 
stroking fingers.  "This is so wrong, Mulder. Everyone here 
keeps acting like I'm some sort of hero, coming in to 
congratulate me on catching the killer--I don't know how to 
tell them it's not true."

Ah, so that explained the big bunch of flowers perched on 
the countertop.  He had wondered.  "King had his cork in way 
too tight, Scully.  He may not have graduated to murder yet, 
but it's obvious now that it would have been only a matter 
of time before he used the knife on someone else--someone 
without FBI training."

Scully looked away.  "I guess."

"No guess.  You saved someone's life tonight, Scully.  We'll 
just never know whose."

She did not answer, but her hand inched back until their 
fingers tangled once more.  "I talked to Bertelli about an 
hour ago," he told her after a moment of silence.  "She said 
King is still refusing to answer any questions, but after 
his little performance tonight they have enough to hold him, 
no problem.  Most likely he'll be indicted tomorrow 
afternoon."

Her eyebrows knit together in a frown.  "For the murders?"

"Seven counts, plus the attack on you."

She shook her head.  "Joe King didn't kill those women, 
Mulder.  Those knives we found at the house were not small 
enough to make the kind of incisions on the bodies.  We're 
looking for something more like a scalpel."

"A scalpel?  You think it might be someone in the medical 
profession?"  

"Could be," she answered, leaning her head back against the 
pillows.  "But medical instruments of that sort are easy 
enough for a layperson to obtain."

He shifted on the bed, perking up a little.  "Still, it 
would fit with the profile.  We've said before that this guy 
is someone who cares about the victims.  It shows in the way 
he cleans them up afterward, the way he puts their clothes 
back on before dropping them off to be found."

Scully closed her eyes for a moment, then shook her head 
faintly.  "I don't think the killer is a doctor, Mulder--it 
seems too antithetical to his viewpoint.  The primary 
emphasis of the medical profession is to save lives, not 
take them."

"No, no...I think you're right, Scully.  I don't think he's 
going to be your neighborhood pediatrician or even an 
emergency room intern.  More likely he works in a nursing 
home or funeral parlor, someplace that would satisfy his 
obsession with death."  Scully drew a sharp breath, her 
fingers tightening on his, and immediately he followed her 
thoughts back to four years ago.  Funeral parlor, death 
obsession....

Shit.  No wonder she had been jittery lately.  He lashed 
himself mentally for not seeing the parallels earlier.  
"Scully, I..."

"No," she said, sitting up and cutting him off.  "It's not 
like that, Mulder.  This is different."

It was hard to believe her, looking at her pale face, 
bandaged arm, and scratched neck.  The helplessness 
certainly felt the same to him.  "Evil is evil, Scully--it 
just wears many types of hats."

She shook her head slowly, sadly.  "Mulder, haven't you been 
listening?  We're looking for someone who spends their days 
surrounded by death, someone who knows exactly how to work a 
crime scene, someone who honestly believes he is doing right 
by the victims.  We're not looking for evil, Mulder--we're 
looking for someone just like us." 

XxXxX

Lately I've been contemplating my own death.

I  think it's closer than I imagined, but I'm not afraid.  I 
have watched the women very carefully for signs of what is 
to come.  Yet I find myself wondering if I will see Helen on 
the other side, and if she will still be eight years old.  I 
wonder whether she will still like knock-knock jokes and 
blue cotton candy.

I wonder if she will remember the day she died.

I remember the funeral best of all, when the thunder outside 
made it hard to hear Reverend Richmond as he talked about 
what a beautiful and sweet little girl Helen had been.  
Momma cried a lot but Father just sat straight like a board 
the whole time.  I held Momma's hand tight and watched Helen 
lying in the white casket, wishing that I could go climb 
inside with her forever.

Father thinks I killed her.  I know because three years ago 
at Christmas he got drunk on home-made beer and came to the 
kitchen where I was doing dishes.  He caged me from behind 
and whispered in my ear, "Why didn't you save your sister?  
The water wasn't that deep, and you were the stronger 
swimmer...you could have reached her easily.  Tell me, huh?  
Tell me why you let our Helen die."

He wouldn't understand if I tried to tell him.  I didn't let 
it happen on purpose.  I didn't mean to make Helen go away 
forever.  It was just so beautiful the way she gasped and 
bobbed in the water, each breath a little more desperate.  
And then finally the silence.  That wonderful, perfect 
silence when she disappeared beneath the rippling lake.  

Father could never understand the magnificence of such a 
moment.  

Only me.

And now one other.

There is something in her eyes that tells me she knows, too.  
She understands the primacy of pain, relishes it like I do, 
pulls it all inside where no one else can see.  I think she 
must have tasted death herself at one time--she has the 
look.  I can barely wait to learn the things we can teach 
each other...

Tonight she bled for me.   She wanted to find me so badly 
that she went under the knife in an effort to bring us 
closer.  If I needed proof before, I certainly have it now. 

They arrested the wrong person, of course--I find that 
almost amusing.  Poor Joe King.  It's not like I ever tried 
to find someone else to take my place; I know there can be 
no other.  I guess King was just so obvious that no one ever 
stopped to wonder who *else* might find Dempsey's Bar 
convenient.  Well, it's only a matter of time, now.

This is why I have to act quickly.  If she and I are to be 
together as I've planned, I must start the process 
immediately or the wrong person will die.  I think I will 
start by sharpening my knives. 

One for me.  One for her.

XxXxX

The elevator ride was making her dizzy.   Her injured arm in 
a sling, she reached a steadying hand toward Mulder, and he 
closed strong fingers around her elbow.  "Easy, Scully.  
We're almost there."

She nodded, barely hearing him over the buzzing in her ears.  
It seemed like she had been up for three straight days, her 
skin pulled tight, her eyes so dry they could crack, her 
knees so loose they threatened to collapse at any moment.  
And everywhere she could still feel the imprint of King's 
hard fingers on her body. 

Mulder followed her into her hotel room, carrying a bag 
filled with her prescriptions and fresh medical supplies.  
Once inside, he set it down and cleared his throat, standing 
near the door and swinging his arms around awkwardly.  
"So...I can just leave you alone, if you want, or..."

"No, stay."  She turned from the bed to face him.  "Please."   
More than a nursemaid, she needed a reminder of why she was 
putting herself through all this--and proof that she was not 
going through it alone.

He gave a short nod, his face shadowed by the small light 
from the bedside lamp, but the awkwardness lingered.  "You 
want something to eat or drink?  Maybe some more juice?"

She sat gingerly down on the bed and gave him a weary look.  
"No, Mulder, please no more juice.  Any more and I'm going 
to take on an orange tint."  

"Okay.  It's probably best that we try to get some sleep 
while it's still dark out, anyway."

She was already pulling the sling over her head.  "I want to 
take a shower first."

He frowned his disapproval.  "Scully--"

"I can still feel his hands on me," she said, and he clamped 
his mouth shut, staring at her uncertainly with his shirt 
half undone.  Eventually, he turned away, shrugging out of 
his shirt with his back to her.  She thought the 
conversation was done.

"You're going to have to tell me soon."  The quiet intensity 
of his words startled her, and she paused from gathering up 
her nightclothes.  His eyes shone like black marble in 
the yellow light.

"Tell you what?"

"Whatever it is you haven't been telling me."  His hands 
clenched around the shirt.  "I can't keep playing guessing 
games with you, Scully.  Whatever the hell is going on with 
you, no matter what it is, I need you to tell me--even if 
you think it's something I don't want to hear."

She waited a long moment before formulating her response.  
"Make sure you mean that, Mulder," she said softly.  "Make 
sure you really understand and believe it...because it goes 
both ways."  And then she disappeared into the bathroom, 
closing the door behind her with a firm click.

It took a few minutes to maneuver out of her clothing, but 
the enormity of the hospital tee-shirt actually made the task 
much easier.  She splashed a bit of cool water on her face 
before attempting to remove the bandage on her arm.  Twenty-
three neat little stitches stared back at her as she 
surveyed her latest injury.  With a finger, she stroked the 
wound tentatively, moving as if in a dream as she traced the 
length of the line. 

One deep cut along the radial artery--just like half of the 
matching set that she had seen on Elizabeth.  How blessedly 
ironic.

Do you really want to know, Mulder? she wondered as she 
stepped under the steaming hot spray. It stung like a 
vinegar kiss, and she felt the handprints burn away.


When she returned to the bedroom, Mulder was sitting at the 
table with his glasses on,  pecking at her laptop with his 
right hand, holding a soda can in his left.  His eyes raked 
her once from head to toe, taking in her gaping pajama top. 
"Need some help?"  

She nodded, gesturing weakly at the purple satin.  "The 
buttons are a bit much."

"I've got it."  He moved to stand in front of her, his 
nimble fingers fastening the buttons from the bottom on up.  
The whole experience reminded her of when she was little and 
her mother when she had buttoned her pink coat all the way 
to her chin every morning before school.  His touch was 
infinitely gentle, and she felt tears of relief prick her 
eyes that they could still find this thread of tenderness.   
When he was done, she squeezed his hand.  "Thank you," she 
whispered.

A slow smile spread across his face.  "No problem, Scully.  
Just think of me as your right hand man."

She brought her hand up to frame the side of his face, her 
thumb rubbing gently over his prickly cheek  "I do," she 
answered, her own smile sad but certain.  He leaned into her 
touch briefly before cupping the side of her head in his 
hands and pressing his lips to her hairline.

"Time for bed," he murmured softly, and she nodded, opening 
her eyes.  

The sheets were cold but his body was warm, and she found 
herself shifting closer to him as they settled in for the 
last few hours of darkness.  "Here, like this," he 
whispered, pulling an extra pillow from behind his head and 
placing it under her injured arm.  Then he sidled up behind 
her, wrapping his arm around her waist so he could stroke 
her stomach.  "Okay?" 

Oh yes.  Very okay.  Her eyes slid shut as she gave herself 
up to the rhythmic touch of his hand.  She was nearly asleep 
when his breath tickled her ear again.  "And in the 
morning," he murmured,  "if there's anything else you want 
to know about Elizabeth--anything at all--I promise I'll 
tell you, all right?"  She nodded, dreading what was coming 
next, but he only clutched her tighter.  Her travel alarm 
ticked the seconds loudly as she decided whether to take the 
out he had provided her.

No.  It wasn't fair.  "Okay, Mulder," she murmured, groping 
for his hand.  "We can talk in the morning."

"Mmmm..."  His voice came out as a sleepy hum.  "M'kay.  
Night, Scully."

"Night," she managed softly, but she knew she was kidding 
herself with the word.  Morning had already come.

XxXxX

Continued in Chapter Eleven