Title: Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 00/13 Author: Daydreamer Author E-mail: Daydream59@aol.com Rating: NC-17 for language, graphic violence, and disturbing imagery Category: SAR, Profiler!Mulder Spoilers: none Keywords: M/Sc/Sk friendship, MSR - established Archive: Yes, please. Feedback: Yes! Please! Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner are owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc. They are wonderfully brought to life by David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and Mitch Pileggi. I will make no profit from this, and neither will Fox if they sue me, for I am poor and have nothing material they can profit from. Comments: Check out my web page, Daydreamer's Den http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/2113 Summary: To find and rescue Skinner's nephew, Mulder faces the hardest challenge of his career -- entering the mind of a pedophile. Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 00/13 OK, folks -- this is the WARNING. Don't skip over this and rush right into the story -- you may be sorry. I've done it again. This is a dreadfully dark and intense story, much more so than even my other tales. This case involves pedophilia -- sexual exploitation of children. Thhis story has the potential to be very disturbing. The heading clearly says "graphic violence and disturbing imagery." I do realize, however, that sometimes that is not enough. It's very easy to fall into a habit of skimming the disclaimer and jumping right into the story. People do just that, and then they find themselves somewhere they don't want to be. Upset, distressed, sick, disgusted. Choose your own reaction. To protect those of you who don't want to be exposed to this topic, I've added this additional warning. I have taken every step I can to make it clear to you that this story has the potential to be extremely distressing to some folks. I've done all I can to be up front and open about the content, despite the fact that I dislike revealing the course of the story before you even read it. So, if you choose to read The Everett Case: YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. In other words, if you don't like it, or it upsets you, or you find it disturbing and have nightmares, PLEASE, do not feel you need to share this with me. I have no desire to receive such feedback, and your reactions, if negative, after the warnings and disclaimers I have posted, are your own responsibility. Sincerely, Daydreamer Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 01/13 The door opened and someone entered. He didn't look up. He knew it would be Kim. She was the only one who would enter without knocking. He finished the note he was writing on a yellow post-it, stuck it on the cold file he'd been reviewing, and tossed the whole thing into the out basket. Then he looked up and rose, moving toward the door where she stood. "What is it?" he asked, working to keep his voice pleasant. Kim didn't interrupt without good reason, so there was no point in being annoyed with her. "I have a woman on the phone, Sir," she began. "She insists on talking with you." "Did she say why?" Skinner wrinkled his brow as he studied his secretary. She was agitated and it was out of character for her to bring something like this to him. She handled all his calls and she was damn good at it. He could count on one hand the number of times someone had gotten past her to his direct line without him knowing about it. "She says it's -- she's -- your sister-in-law." Skinner's eyes widened behind his lenses. "Lynne?" One hand came up to rub his chin speculatively. "God, I haven't seen or heard from Lynne and Tom since ..." his hand moved up from his chin to scrub at his face, "...since Sharon's funeral." He looked at Kim. "We didn't part well. Sharon's family -- well, they blamed me." Skinner's shoulders slumped. "Rightfully so," he added quietly. "Oh, no, Sir -- it wasn't ..." She paused, not sure if she should go on. "Anyway, she's really upset, Sir." Kim was even more agitated, wringing her hands nervously. "Insisted only you could help her." It was Kim's turn to drop her eyes. "She wouldn't tell me what it was about." Skinner reached out absently, patting his secretary on the shoulder. "It's all right, Kim. Just put her through." He watched his efficient secretary exit and by the time he returned to his desk and sat, his line was beeping. He swallowed hard and picked up the phone, forcing a welcome note into his voice. "Lynne, hello! What a surprise!" "Walter!" The woman's voice was breaking, ragged from tension and tears. "Tommy's missing." "Tommy? The baby?" Skinner found himself trying to figure out how old his nephew would be now. He was, what? two? when Sharon died? Six years ago? "He's eight, Walter. Only eight." A sob came through the line. One sob turned to many, and he was at a loss. Why was she calling him? He didn't do missing children. But he was FBI, and this was family. Albeit a stretch, this was still his family. And they must be desperate to be willing to reach out to him. "Lynne?" he asked gently. "Lynne? What can I do?" He could hear murmuring in the background, the phone was put down and sounds of feet shuffling and soft sobs echoed over the line. He waited patiently, hoping someone would pick up the phone and tell him what was going on. "Hello?" His voice was loud in his own ears. Hopefully someone on the other end of the phone could hear him. His patience was rewarded when a male voice spoke. "Walter? This is Tom. Look, I know we haven't kept in touch, and, uh, well, the family was pretty shitty to you at the funeral ..." "Tom," Skinner interrupted, "it doesn't matter. What happened to the baby?" He revised his mental image of the nephew who was still in diapers the last time he saw him. "To Tommy?" "Oh, God, Walter ..." the man groaned. In some ways, the man's grief was worse than the woman's. Women were supposed to cry, men just soldiered on. But the pain in his brother-in-law's voice was palpable. "The local police are here. The Postal Inspectors. And then they called in the FBI -- and I thought of you." "Tom, listen to me. Tom?" "Yeah, uh, Walter ..." A strangled sob came over the line. "Our neighbor. Two doors down. Walter ..." There was a deep breath, another groan. "He had pictures, Walter. Pictures of Tommy." Skinner's heart was in his throat. "Jesus, Tom." Skinner rubbed his face, pacing. "All right. Let me think a minute." "Walter," the man's voice was urgent, insistent, pleading. "You have to help us. You *have* to find him." "Of course." Skinner didn't hesitate. "I'm coming." He looked at his watch. "I'll be there as fast as I can." He looked up to see Kim standing in the doorway. Behind her, he could see Mulder and Scully. He smiled at the woman, lifted three fingers knowing she would make three plane reservations, and beckoned his agents in. "Tom?" he spoke again to the man on the phone. "Tell Lynne I'm coming." He looked at Mulder, waiting patiently to be called into the AD's office, and waved the man forward. "Tell her I'm bringing the best man in the country. If anyone can find Tommy, he will." ******************************************* There was another groan. Scully left her place at the conference table and raced to her partner, holding him as he leaned over the wastebasket and retched yet again. Skinner looked at the clock. It was after midnight. The fax in his office and the one in Kim's were still spitting out paper. Arrest documents, surveillance notes, interview transcripts, witness statements, and -- pictures. It was the seemingly unending stream of pictures that was affecting his agent the most. Scrupulous as ever in reviewing all available data on a case, Mulder had read through all the information as it arrived, and was now carefully matching the pictures to the cases. Some of the pictures were normal. School photos, baseball and soccer portraits. Some of the pictures were uncomfortable. Young boys, with scared, frozen looks on their faces, posed in just a T-shirt, or a pair of underpants, or a swimsuit. And some were -- unbearable. It was this last category that had Mulder bent over the trashcan, reeling from the sight. Mulder finished heaving and Scully took the can, removing the clear plastic liner, tying it off, and handing it to Skinner. She put another liner in the can, then accepted the soda Skinner passed her, and took both back to her partner. She looked at the AD as he carefully double- bagged the liner and set it to one side to take down to the custodian's area. It was a trip he'd already made four times, and their pattern of dealing with Mulder's reaction had become routine. Now she would pass Mulder the soda and he would refuse. She would insist he get up and go to the bathroom, at least rinse his mouth, and he would refuse. Skinner would growl, a wordless sound that nonetheless had the ability to make Mulder finally rise and stumble off to the bathroom, slamming the door angrily. If they were lucky, they'd hear only the water running and the toilet flushing. If luck was against them, there would be the sound of more dry heaves and Mulder would eventually emerge, pale and shaking. This time they were lucky. Water ran, the toilet flushed, the water ran again as he washed his hands. Then Mulder came back out, head down, the back of one hand swiping across his mouth. Scully went to him, her arm going around his waist as she steered him away from the piles of paper and over toward the sofa. He pulled away from her when he realized where they were going, but Skinner was suddenly there, an immovable object in the path of Mulder's less than steady self. "Take a few minutes, Mulder," he said quietly, urging the younger man to go with his partner and sit. Mulder stared up at the AD and Skinner could see the indecision in his face as he weighed the choices of sitting as he'd been ordered, or trying to force his way back to the table, and back to the horrors he was trying to comprehend. Sitting won. Exhausted, he took a step back, stumbled slightly, then leaned heavily on Scully as she wrapped an arm around him, leading him to the couch. He sat wearily, flopping down with legs spread, elbows on knees, head cradled in his hands as he stared at the floor. Scully perched next to him, murmuring softly and rubbing his back in little circles. Skinner studied the man critically. Less than 8 hours into the case, and he was already exhausted. Profiling did that to him -- it sapped the life out of him. It was a large part of why he wasn't in VCS anymore -- he simply couldn't bear the strain of the work. Mulder took everything so personally. He'd never been able to distance himself the way others could. Every victim was someone Mulder knew, someone he cared for, someone he loved. He took them all into his heart, cared for them, sweated over them, and then died a thousand deaths for every moment of pain or torment they went through. Mulder wore guilt the way most people woke up in the morning -- it was a painful necessity that had to be lived with daily. He looked up at Skinner. "I think we need to look at deaths of boys fitting this profile. Young. Eight to eleven. Physically immature. No body hair or other signs of puberty. And," he paused a moment, mentally reviewing the pictures, "they're all fair skinned, aren't they?" Skinner scanned the pictures, then looked at Mulder and nodded. "From what we have so far, yes." "So the question is, do we have any young John Does like that out there?" Skinner nodded at Scully and she moved to the phone to make the call. The California people had been very cooperative in meeting their requests all night. Skinner was feeling more than a little guilt himself right now. As he watched Mulder lift himself from the couch, rising to move back to the table, he spoke. "You don't have to do this, Mulder. I don't have any official status here -- I have no right to just draft you into this." Mulder paused and turned tired eyes his way. He reached out and touched Skinner's arm briefly. "He's your nephew. Family. Of course you have the right." He straightened himself up, squaring his shoulders and lifting his head. "I'm all right, Sir. It's just -- well, it's late and I'm a little tired." The younger man shrugged. "I'll be okay." Skinner looked at the clock again. Almost 1:00. Their flight was in less than 6 hours. "Why don't you go home and get some sleep? We can work on this --" he gestured at the expanse of papers littering the large conference table, "on the plane." Mulder shook his head stubbornly. "We can't wait." The fax beeped three times, and began to spew forth more photos. Mulder waved at it as he grabbed up a picture of a young boy, nude and obviously in distress, beneath a heavy man. He winced, lowering his eyes to stare at the floor as he passed it to Skinner. "That's Jack Potter. Age 11. Missing for 2 months. Parents are divorced. One sister -- she lives with the mom." Skinner paled as he looked at the picture, then laid it on the pile with the other material related to Jack Potter. The photos they'd been sent of his nephew had been relatively innocuous compared to that. Nothing completely nude, nothing with anyone else. Just one scared little 8-year-old boy, wearing only his underpants, and staring with large eyes into the lens of a camera. And still Skinner's stomach turned when he thought of someone ... doing ... touching ... He shook his head and growled, an angry, wounded sound that seemed torn from his throat. "He's your nephew, Sir," Mulder said as he met Skinner's eyes. "You have every right." He went to the fax and pulled off several more photos, then stepped to the table. "And we need to do this now, Sir." Mulder waved the new photos in the air. "We can't very well be looking at these on the plane." ******************************************* Mulder was asleep. Scrunched up in the window seat, his head resting against a pillow on the bulkhead, he had finally given in and drifted off to sleep. Scully sat in the middle seat, and Skinner, by virtue of legs even longer than Mulder's had been granted the aisle. "Why is he so tired already, Scully? I know it was a long day, but still. He looks like he's been at it for 12 days instead of 12 hours." Skinner squirmed in the too small seat, and stretched his legs out into the aisle for a moment. "It's the nature of the case, Sir." She looked over at her partner with concern. "You know, probably better than anyone, why he left VCS. He has an even harder time with the sex cases than the murders. And he hates anything involving kids. This is all of them: sex, murder, kids. It's just -- too hard for him to crawl around in the sewers of these perverts' minds, and still hold onto who he is." She met Skinner's gaze. "And he's definitely worth holding onto." Skinner nodded in agreement, then frowned. "I shouldn't have asked him ... Scully, what if this is too much? What if this is the one that pushes him too far?" She touched his arm, blue eyes locked with brown. "It won't be. We won't let it be. You and I, we can keep him together." She sighed. "I'm not saying it will be easy." She looked at Mulder again, then back at Skinner. "He won't make it easy. You watch -- he won't eat, won't sleep, he won't want to talk to us, won't want to let us help. But we have to. Between the two of us, we have to make him let us help." Skinner nodded grimly. "I understand. But you know, you're better at that than I am. I don't mean to, but I know I always come across like I'm angry with him." One hand came up to scrub at his head. "I can't deny it, this one is important to me. It was important enough that I went to the Director to get in on it. The Postal Inspectors had the ball, but I'm running the play now." "You called in some serious favors, Sir, to get this taken from another agency." "It's family, Scully. God knows I don't have enough of it. I need to take care of what I do have, however tenuous the connection." "It's gonna cause some resentment." "They'll get over it, or they'll get out." Skinner shrugged. "Either way, I'm running this show. Which means ..." "Which means," interjected a weary voice from the left, "that for a change, maybe people will listen to me and not waste valuable time questioning everything I have to say." "Mulder," Scully scolded gently, "you're supposed to be sleeping." Mulder shifted his head to the left, then right, one hand rising to knead at a tense muscle as he rolled his shoulders. "Not real conducive for sleeping, Scully," he replied. "And, Sir, I appreciate the vote of confidence." "You know you've got that, Mulder, and anything else you need. It may be my show, but you're in the spotlight. I'm just the mouthpiece. I assure you, the words will be yours. Whatever you need to find Tommy ..." Mulder nodded, waving the words away. "I'll do my best, Sir, but we all know time is critical. We're already pushing the first 48 hours ..." The attendant approached and apologized for interrupting. "We'll be serving a meal shortly. We have chicken, beef, or a vegetarian lasagna." "Beef." Skinner picked up the air phone as he spoke. "I'm going to check in with the team," he said, running his credit card through the slot to get a signal. "Chicken," said Scully. Mulder just shook his head. "You have to eat, Mulder." Scully took his arm, soothing him even as she insisted. "I can't, Scully." The words were spoken so softly, Scully thought Skinner had missed them, but the AD turned immediately and growled, "Try." He stared at the younger man until Mulder choked out "Chicken," and then returned to his call. Mulder turned away, staring out the window and shrugging off Scully's touch. She sighed and settled back in her seat, waiting for Skinner to get off the phone. "Two bodies, Mulder," the AD said as he replaced the air phone. "They've got two unidentified boys in the morgue now who meet your description. Both John Does, both unclaimed." "How did they die?" Skinner looked around, then lowered his voice. "It wasn't pretty. Both were beaten to death." "Sexual assault?" "Yeah." "Beaten? With fists?" Mulder's eyes were closed as he leaned against the window, and his long, elegant fingers fisted and unfisted monotonously in his lap. Skinner cleared his throat as he looked at Mulder's hands. "Fists, yes, but ... Fuck!" He looked around again, worried about his involuntary explosion, but no one was looking their way. "Not just fists, Mulder." Mulder opened his eyes, looking first at Scully, then settling his gaze on Skinner. "Whips?" Skinner nodded. "And other -- implements?" Again, the AD nodded. Mulder winced. "There was old bruising as well, old marks?" "Yeah. How'd you know there would be deaths?" Mulder shrugged. "Too many kids missing for this to be one pervert who falls in love with one unlucky kid. Jack Potter, the Collins boy, Dennis Jenkins, TJ Anderson, as well as your nephew. And those are the ones we know about. This is going to be bigger -- a whole group. A -- dare I say it -- conspiracy." He gave a sardonic almost-smile. The attendant came up the aisle just then, pushing a cart and serving others. As he reached them, Scully and Skinner lowered their trays. At another growl from Skinner, Mulder lowered his as well. "You need to eat, Mulder," Scully said again. "I know airline food isn't the greatest, but you will wear yourself out if you don't sleep and eat." Mulder picked at his food, pushing the peas around in a circle and poking the chicken with his fork. "I know," he whispered. "It's just, I can see it all, Scully. It's there, right behind my eyelids if I shut my eyes, or just in front of me if they're open. It makes me sick. The last thing I want to do is eat." Skinner grunted this time, a wordless sound of understanding. There was the sound of plastic crackling and then the AD passed over two crackers. "Here. You should be able to keep this down." Skinner lifted Scully's crackers as well and passed them to his agent. He leaned over Scully and took Mulder's plate, then raised the tray, giving his agent back what little legroom there was. "But when we land, Mulder, I want to see you eat a real meal. Your choice, whatever you think you can keep down, but a real meal. Understood?" Mulder nodded. "Soup. I might be able to eat some soup." He nibbled at a cracker, then pushed the whole thing in his mouth, chewed twice, and swallowed. "And some more crackers. I can do crackers." "Whatever you want, Mulder," Skinner reaffirmed. "But you've got Scully and I watching you -- caring for you -- and you are going to eat, and you are going to sleep. I'm not going to see you fall apart on this." "It doesn't matter," Mulder murmured, looking out the window again. "We just need to find these boys." Skinner reached past Scully, touching Mulder for the barest of moments, drawing Mulder's eyes to his own. "It *does* matter. You're important, too, Mulder, and you've got two people who aren't going to forget that." Mulder held Skinner's gaze, then nodded. Scully's hand had crept into his, and he felt her squeeze -- her own agreement with the AD's words. Her promise that she was watching out for him. He sighed. It was always hard, doing what he did. He didn't understand it himself, but he knew that somehow, there was something in him that let him put together the facts, synthesize the information, and come up with answers. It probably had something to do with his eidetic memory and being able to retain more information than most people could, so that when he was trying to add it all up, he had more of the facts available than most people. He shook his head. That was part of it, of course. He knew that. But there was something else, something indefinable. An innate ability to see what the predators saw, to feel what the killers felt. He could understand them almost as if he *were* them. There was something dark and ugly in himself, something he fought against every day of his life, that he could use to know these deviants. He often wondered what brought him to this side of the table. What twist of fate enabled him to hunt the monsters, instead of being one of the monsters? It didn't matter. How he did it, why he did it, none of that mattered. All that mattered was that he could do it. And if he did it well, the boys would be found. Of course, if he did it too well, he could be lost forever. End part 01/13 Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 02/13 "Take a shower, Mulder," Scully ordered calmly as she began to unpack his bag. "I'll bring clean underwear in for you." She dropped the card for the third room on the dresser. They wouldn't need it, but they had to have three rooms for appearance's sake. She'd be in with Mulder, and Skinner had taken what would have been her room -- the one next door with the connecting doorway. Skinner's room across the hall would remain empty. She looked up as her partner -- her lover -- began to undress. He sat on the bed, toed off his shoes, then tugged the dark socks off as well. His feet were long and slender, and she suppressed a delicious shiver as she thought of those callused feet caressing her just shaven legs. Mulder had told her there was nothing softer in the world than her legs when she'd just shaved them, and what had been a formerly odious task had become a labor of love that she embraced willingly each day. He stood and draped his suit coat and pants over a chair, then shed his tie and shirt. Despite the stressful conditions, or maybe because of them, she took a few moments to just enjoy the view. It was always a pleasure just to look at him. He was long and lean, smooth skin stretched over hard muscles, all lines and planes and angles, and she laughed. Visual aids such as Mulder would have made geometry a lot more interesting. He looked up, caught her watching him and flushed. "What?" He looked down, confusion on his face. "Am I hanging out, or something?" She rose, walking slowly across the room to wrap her arms around him. "You wish." She ran her hands up his back, feeling the tension there, and holding him close until he relaxed under her ministrations. "Don't you know by now that I just love looking at you?" she murmured into his chest. He relaxed further, lowering his head to rest on her shoulder, and she held him for a long minute, caressing the wayward strands of brown that brushed her face, peppering his neck with tiny kisses. " 'm scared, Scully," he whispered. "This one scares me." "I'm here, Mulder. You're not alone anymore." "It's hitting me way too hard, way too fast." The words were ragged, choked out through a tight throat. "It's hitting all of us hard." She tugged him gently, pushing him to sit on the bed, so that she could hold him more comfortably. He leaned into her belly, wrapping his arms around her waist as she stepped between his legs. "You and Walter aren't throwing up every hour." His words were muffled and she could tell he was embarrassed. The tips of his ears were red. "Everyone's different, Mulder. You know that. The AD may be able to keep his meals down, but he's feeling it, too." She stroked his hair, then held him tightly. "You've done this enough -- you know you tend to react, uh, that is, your reactions are more -- outward." He laughed -- a dull and hollow sound. "That your way of telling me everyone can see me as I fall apart?" She stepped back, a soft touch on his chin forcing his eyes up to meet hers. "No. That is not what I was saying. I know I wasn't clear, so let me try again." She held his face in her hands, willing him to listen and take to heart what she was going to say. "What I want you to understand is that we know this is hard on you. Walter and I, we've seen that. I don't know how you can do what you do, and I suspect you don't fully understand it yourself. But you *can* do it. And it takes its toll on you." She took a deep breath, settling herself to go on. "I know that. Walter knows that. You don't have to be embarrassed or ashamed of your reactions." She shook her head, then went on. "It's not a competition, Mulder. You don't have to have the strongest stomach or be able to stay awake the longest. If there's any competition going on, it's who can find the boys first. And when it comes to that, you, my love ..." She paused, staring at him and then leaned down to gently kiss his lips. "You will win." "I understand, Scully, really, I do." He dropped his head, eyes closing, and she pulled him to her again. Her hands resumed their soothing touch, rubbing small circles on his back and stroking the silky strands of his too short hair. "It's just -- I have to be in control, Scully. I'm going to have to go in there and be in control." He lifted his eyes again, entreating her to understand. "You and Walter may understand, but all the rest of them -- they won't. And if I'm not strong, and sharp, and focused, well ..." He shrugged helplessly. "They just won't listen to me." He pulled away and rose, his frustration forcing him to move. "And that'll just waste time. We don't have time for me to explain every little thing to everyone." He turned, planting his feet on the floor as he faced her. "Hell, you know I usually *can't* explain half the things I do." One eyebrow arched as she looked at him. "Only half, Mulder?" she asked, and was rewarded with a laugh that sounded real. He looked better. She had to keep him talking. She had to keep him fed. She had to make him sleep. And somewhere in there, she had to fit in time to go and look at the bodies of the two boys, as well as play an active part in this investigation. She might be Mulder's lover, but she was still his partner, and a damn good agent in her own right. She brought her own not inconsiderable talents to the table on every case. She stopped that train mid-thought. She wasn't insecure in her abilities, and it did not reflect poorly on her skills to show some concern for her partner. He was still looking at her, a half-smile on his face, and she smiled back at him. "Go. Shower." She walked over and touched the stubble on his cheek. "Shave." A soft push and he was moving toward the bathroom. "I'm going to find something for you to eat, and then we'll head over to the command center." He stopped at the bathroom door, turned and came back, sweeping her into his arms. "I love you, Scully," he whispered into her ear. "I'd be lost without you." She snuggled for a moment, relishing his touch, his comfort. "Love you, too," she murmured back. When she reluctantly pulled away, she looked up and said with mock sternness, "And there will be no getting lost on my watch. Got that, Mister?" ************************************************ Skinner sat in the car, staring at the house. There were law enforcement officials inside. He could see the cars parked at the curb, the local police officer standing on the step to keep the curious at bay. It had been a long time since he'd been here. He and Sharon had come west several times to visit her sister, and during his assignment in LA, they'd seen quite a bit of Tom and Lynne. That was before the baby had been born, of course. He really couldn't remember how many times he'd actually seen his nephew. He could remember a visit a few months after the baby's arrival. As he'd watched Tom and Lynne so obviously enamored of their new son, he'd felt a twinge of jealousy, and sadness that fate had not granted him the privilege of being someone's father. But then, the red-faced bundle had been thrust upon him, protesting loudly, and he'd thought perhaps fate had made the right decision after all. He didn't seem to have a knack with children. He sighed and got out of the car. He could only delay this for so long. And truth be told, relative or not, as the head of this investigation, he needed to interview these people. Or get his agents out here to do it. Or both. He walked up to the door, flashed his badge at the young man on guard duty, and entered the house. They were in the kitchen. Lynne had always been more domestic than Sharon, and her kitchen was always the hub of the house. A large wooden table occupied over half of the space, and was usually filled with friends laughing and enjoying the wonderful meals his sister- in-law turned out daily. Now there was only silence. Tom and Lynne sat together, but no one spoke. A female uniform stood by the bay window, obviously uncomfortable and unsure of what to do. She looked up when he paused in the hall, then nodded as he lifted his badge. A glance into the living room revealed that a trace had been set up on the phone. Two men were seated on the couch, a laptop open on the coffee table before them as they spoke in hushed tones. They, too, noted his presence, and his badge, then went back to their conversation. He squared his shoulders and moved forward into the kitchen. The sound of his shoes on the tile floor caused Tom to lift his head. "Walter!" He nudged his wife, then rose and moved around the table to take Skinner's hand. "You're here. We've been waiting." Skinner returned the handshake, then much to his surprise, found himself pulling the man into a hug. "God, Tom, I'm so sorry! I -- I just don't know what to say ..." His brother-in-law returned the embrace, choking back a sob at Skinner's compassion. "Can you help us, Walter? Please tell us you can do something." Skinner nodded as he moved to sit beside his sister- in-law. "Lynne," he said softly, reaching out to wrap an arm around her. "Oh, Walter," she sobbed as she fell against him, "I don't know what to do ..." "Shh," he soothed. "I know. We're going do everything we can to find him." He straightened, sighing again as Lynne pulled back and then leaned into her husband. "I should feel horrible for the way we've treated you, and still you've come." Skinner could see the words were hard for Lynne, and he appreciated her effort. "That doesn't matter, Lynne. And now is not the time. You've got more important things to worry about." Skinner noted the two coffee mugs on the table, both still almost full, and both stone cold. "I'm going to need to talk to you, you understand that, right?" When they nodded, he went on. "I have some questions ..." He held up his hand to stop Tom's interjection. "I know, you've answered a hundred questions. You've been over it and over it, but I need to go over it again." He shook his head regretfully. "If there were some way I could spare you this, please believe me, I would. But you've got to walk me through everything that happened that night." Lynne began to cry again, burying her face in Tom's shirt. "I don't think she can take anymore, Walter," he said as he stroked his wife's hair. "We've been over it and over it." He looked away, staring out the bay window over the large backyard. "Can't you just read the reports?" "I've read the reports," Skinner said quietly. "And no, it's not enough." He picked up the mugs and moved to the sink, quickly rinsing the cups while Tom and Lynne murmured to one another. He checked the pot -- still warm -- pulled another cup from the mug tree, and filled all three cups. "Listen," he said as he walked back to the table, "I'm not going to ask you all the questions you've already answered." He smiled slightly as the couple looked at him. Pushing a mug at each of them, he added, "Go on. Not the best for you, but at least take a few swallows. I mean, I did pour it in the cups and you should remember I'm not the most domestic person in the world." It was an old joke between him and Sharon, and only slightly true, but it brought a ghost of a smile to Lynne's face. She lifted her cup and drank obediently. "You are going to have to go through it again. I'm sorry, I can't help that." He patted Lynne's shoulder as he spoke. "But it can wait until my agents get here." "The man you told Tom about?" There was hope in Lynne's voice for the first time. "The one you said was the best?" Skinner nodded. "The absolute best. A little unorthodox at times, but he gets results." Skinner sipped from his own mug. "And he'll insist on hearing it all from you. He's already read the reports. He'll have to hear what happened from you both." He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to push back the headache that was threatening. He winced slightly, then forced himself to smile again, gesturing at one of several pictures that hung on the fridge by magnets. "For now, why don't you catch me up on my nephew?" ****************************************** Skinner walked into the command center and looked around. It was obviously a multi-agency task force. He could see FBI shields, Postal Inspectors, and representatives of several local police departments. Lynne and Tom lived in Tustin, the Potter boy was from Culver City, and the others were from LA, and their respective home departments were represented. The Postal Inspection Service deserved the credit for the fast break on identifying Tommy's kidnapper. They had been investigating the neighbor for several months under the various sections of the US Code as it related to Child Exploitation. Long recognized as the leading federal law enforcement agency in the effort to combat the production and distribution of child pornography and other crimes exploiting children through the mail or over the Internet, the Inspectors had been quick to make the connection between their suspect and the young boy who'd been listed in the nation's latest Amber Alert. The FBI had, of course, been brought in to handle the kidnapping aspects of the case, as soon as the connection was made. The LA SAC, Theresa Delgado, had been more than a little nervous when he informed her he was coming to personally oversee this case. But she had heard of Mulder, and seemed to respect his abilities, so he was counting on having her on his side. Jurisdiction -- control -- of the case could really have gone either way. Inspection Service or FBI. It was only Skinner's early morning negotiations with the Director that had assured him a free rein in how to pursue the case. Now he just needed to see how badly the Inspection Service had been alienated. They'd been on the neighbor, Swinton, for months now, even before he moved into the house two doors down from Skinner's sister-in-law. He looked around, quickly identified Delgado, and waved her over when he caught her eye. Shaking her hand, he said, "My involvement is not a reflection on you or your staff, Agent Delgado. I want you to understand that from the beginning." He explained his relationship to the latest missing child, noting her surprised look at the fact that he was involved at all. It was strictly against policy to allow a family member to participate in a situation like this. "My wife and I were about to be divorced when she died," he explained. "I haven't had any contact with her family in the last six years. And I didn't have that much contact before then." He paused, and rubbed his hand over his head. "They called me." Eyes locking with the LA SAC, he added, "I couldn't say no." Delgado nodded with understanding. "Of course you couldn't. Where do you want to start? My team is ready to brief you whenever you say." Skinner shook his head. "Not yet. I, uh, need to go ahead and beard the lion in his den. Where's the Inspector in Charge? And how badly have I smashed his toes in yanking this away from him?" She laughed and pointed to a tall, slender black man, about his age, with graying hair and a mustache. "Mike Simms. And you'll be happy to hear, he's extremely reasonable and I think he's pleased to have the help." She lowered her voice as two locals walked past them. "He's dealt with quite a few sexual exploitation of children cases, but the kidnapping aspects of this one seemed to throw him." "Anyone I should worry about?" She shook her head. "The locals have been great. They've taken on a lot of the scut work, but no complaints that I've heard. Everyone's thinking it could be their kid, so getting volunteers to canvas door to door hasn't been a problem." She paused a moment, and he could see her debating something. "Come on," he prodded. "Spit it out. So far, everything's been too good to be true. There's got to be a problem personality in here, right?" Delgado nodded reluctantly. "Well, uh, yeah. Simms has a second in command. Guy's a real butt kisser, apple polisher, what have you. I could tell he thought this was the case that was going to break him out of number two and put him in contention for an Inspector in Charge slot of his own." She frowned as she spoke. "He's not a happy camper." "Point him out." She nodded to their left and he looked up to see a fairly young man, about Mulder's size, glaring daggers at him. "Let me guess. Mr. Angry Eyes over there?" The SAC nodded. "Ron Matthews." "Well, at least I know what I'm up against. Guess it's time to go and meet Inspector Simms. End part 02/13 Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 03/13 Skinner looked into the room where men and women in a variety of uniforms and plainclothes were gathering. The room hummed with an undercurrent of questions and hurt feelings. He could hear the comments that ranged from insulted to questioning to angry and more than a few unhappy looks were shot his way. He needed to turn that around -- and fast. As Mulder and Scully entered the room and took seats near the front, he observed several hostile looks they were given. No one acknowledged their presence, other than SAC Delgado and Inspector Simms. He took a deep breath, straightened his tie and pushed his glasses up on his nose, then stepped into the room. It went quiet almost immediately. "Good afternoon. I'm Walter Skinner, Assistant Director with the FBI. I'd like to open this briefing by thanking Inspector Mike Simms for his warm reception. The work done by the Inspection Service has been exemplary, and I'm proud to be working alongside such dedicated men and women." Skinner glanced over at the Inspector in Charge who gave a pleased little smile even as he shifted as if uncomfortable to be in the limelight. Ron Matthews, on the other had, stood in the back of the room, despite the fact that there were still chairs available, his legs spread and arms crossed. He watched the whole proceeding unfold with the same angry glare that had greeted Skinner earlier. "I'd also like to recognize the men and women of the Los Angeles Police Department, the Tustin Police Department, the Culver City Police Department, and the Orange County Sheriff's Department. I've been told that the majority of the canvassing has fallen to that group, and your efforts and dedication have not gone unnoticed." Skinner looked around, pleased to see that his words seemed to be appreciated. Now to make formal what everyone had already heard -- that the FBI was taking over. Specifically, that he was taking over the case. The timing was good -- his diplomatic approach seemed to have settled almost all the hostility and everyone, except Matthews, seemed receptive to what he was going to say next. "As I'm sure you've all heard, the FBI will be assuming administrative control of this investigation. And while I will be the ranking official on-site, I want to assure everyone that this is going to be very much a team effort." He smiled as he spoke and was rewarded with several people nodding their heads in agreement. "While I have some experience with violent crimes, kidnapping per se, is not my area of expertise. For that, we will rely on SAC Delgado and her people. They've had the unfortunate job of handling over 35 child stranger abductions in just the past 6 months. And for the elements of sexual exploitation of children, we will rely on the considerable talents of the Postal Inspection Service. With the years of experience they bring in this area, we are well-served to have them on the team." He nodded at Simms as he spoke, then turned back to the room. "And the local knowledge and familiarity brought in by the LAPD and surrounding area departments is something that no outsiders could hope to bring to an investigation." He paused a moment, looking around the room and making eye contact with specific individuals as he did so. He was met with small smiles and nodding heads, and the body language overall was opening up as people unfolded their arms and leaned forward to hear what he had to say. "I cannot stress enough -- this is a team effort. Everyone, and I mean everyone," he met Matthews' eyes as he spoke and was surprised to see the other man drop his gaze, though whether from anger or embarrassment, he couldn't tell, "has a critical role to play. Our first and foremost priority is to find the missing boys. Second, we look for the abductor, whom we believe to be Robert Swinton. And third, we look for a larger group -- an organized pedophilia ring -- about whom we have very limited information at this time." Skinner stepped to a white board and lifted a marker. "I'd like to get the group broken into teams ..." He was interrupted by an angry voice from the back -- Matthews. "Who the hell came up with the idea that we're dealing with a ring? And what the hell gave him that idea?" Skinner glared at Matthews, then wrote "Profiler" on the board. Under it, he wrote "Fox Mulder." He turned, pointed at Mulder, then said to the room, "Special Agent Mulder worked in VCS for over five years and is an experienced profiler. He will be working to develop a profile of our abductor and any other principals in this case." "And he thinks we're dealing with a ring?" The sneer in Matthews' voice was clear. "I've got 10 years in with sex crimes and child pornography, and I don't see anything that says ring." "Well, Inspector Matthews, you certainly bring a great deal of valuable experience to our investigation." Skinner kept his voice cool and detached. "And while I respect your judgment, I don't feel our investigation will be hindered in pursuing other avenues." He turned back to the board. "Now, if I may continue ..." Matthews interrupted again. "Isn't it true Mulder doesn't work for VCS anymore? I heard he burned out, he's useless." Matthews smiled as the room began to murmur and uncertain glances were cast at Mulder. The color drained from Mulder's face and he pulled himself erect in the chair. Even from the front of the room, Skinner could see the tension in Mulder's jaw, the veins corded on his neck, and the slightest tremor in the man's hands where they were clasped in his lap. As he watched, Scully gently touched Mulder's arm. It was smoothly done, invisible to anyone else in the room, but by the way Mulder's hands stilled, it was just what he needed. He was still far too pale, however. "You are correct, Inspector Matthews," Skinner said, smiling tightly at the man. "Agent Mulder no longer works in VCS and is not an active profiler. He has been *promoted* to the head of a different department, a not unusual career move, as I'm sure we can all agree." The room murmured again, and the looks that were cast at Mulder now were more of admiration than concern. A few people even turned and glared disapprovingly at Matthews. "However, Agent Mulder's record as a profiler is untouched. During his tenure in VCS, he closed more cases than anyone in the history of the department. We are, indeed, very fortunate to have him on our team." Matthews snorted loudly, then turned and left the room. Skinner looked around the room one more time. "And now, if there are no further interruptions, I would like very much to divide into teams and get this investigation moving again." ************************************ "No! I don't need a fucking babysitter!" Mulder lifted his hands and scrubbed at his face in frustration. He looked at Skinner. "You need to stay here. I know you haven't gotten everything set up the way you want. You still have people you need to talk to, and you need to finish gathering the rest of the reports, the ones we haven't seen yet." "And you," he turned to look at Scully, "you need to get over to the morgue and look at those two boys. I want to know what was used on them. Whips, chains, barbed wire, what? And what was done to them. Sodomy's a foregone conclusion, but was there object rape as well?" He rubbed his face again, then crossed his arms in front of his chest and pulled, trying fruitlessly to stretch out muscles that were so kinked he could barely move. "I, on the other hand, am pretty useless until we get some new information." He held up one hand to forestall the objections he knew were coming. "I'm going back to the hotel and I'm going to hit the gym. Maybe I can work out some of this tension there." "I'd rather you sleep, Mulder," Scully said softly, her hand resting on his arm as she looked up to meet his eyes. "So would I," Skinner added. Mulder turned and stared at Skinner. "But if you won't," the older man continued, "then at least let me come with you." "And we're right back where we started," Mulder mumbled. "Look," he said in a louder voice, "I don't need a fucking babysitter!" He took several steps away, distancing himself from his lover and his friend. "I know you are both concerned. I know you worry about me. I appreciate that. But I *am* a grown man, and I *am* entitled to a little privacy. And what I want right now, is the opportunity to be by myself and work some of this out in my own way. Is that too damn much to ask?" "You have a tendency to attract trouble, Mulder," Skinner said softly. "Scully and I, we're not trying to demean you or imply that you are anything less than a capable person, but you're right, we do worry. Why can't you wait a few minutes, and let me go with you?" "Because if I don't get out of here, *right now,* I am going to explode!" Scully and Skinner exchanged glances. "Compromise, Mulder?" Scully asked quietly. "I'll go and start on the autopsies. You head back to the hotel. Take a shower, watch a little TV, and then when Skinner gets back, you can both go down to the gym. You get your privacy, and we don't have to worry." She smiled up at her partner/lover, one hand rising to cup his cheek, her finger running along his sensitive jawbone. He closed his eyes at her touch, leaning into it as he nodded slowly. "Don't make me wait too long, okay, Sir?" Skinner patted the younger man on the shoulder. "Within the hour, I promise." ************************************* The cab ride was short and Mulder found himself lost in thought. He was startled when the cabbie called him, but quickly jumped out, paid, and headed into the hotel. He didn't even realize there was someone else in the elevator until he was thrown into the wall. His head hit sharply and he knew skin was broken because he had to close his eyes to avoid the blood running down his face. He was reaching for his gun when his hand was grabbed and he was thrown down onto the floor. His right arm was yanked up behind his back, and he felt the shoulder pull painfully. Two quick moves later, his hands were cuffed behind his back. A hand fisted in his hair and he was slammed, face down, into the floor of the elevator several times in quick succession. It stunned him, and he realized he was close to passing out. It also occurred to him that he didn't have a clue who was doing this. He didn't think he'd been in town long enough to piss anyone off this badly, and he hadn't gotten close enough to a suspect to be in danger from that front. Robbery? Was he just being mugged? For some reason, this seemed too personal for a mugging, but what did he know? He was just the idiot who had managed to get himself attacked inside an elevator in the hotel. Why the hell didn't he listen to Scully and Skinner? A toe kicked him in the side, right side, just below the rib cage, and he began to cough. His attacker reached under him, pulled his gun, and then there was a sharp crack against his skull and he didn't feel anything at all. ******************************** Where the hell was he? Skinner stood with both hands on his hips, surveying the gym. No sign of Mulder. And the man hadn't signed in the logbook, either. Not that that necessarily meant Mulder wasn't here. Skinner paced over to the men's locker room and entered. "Mulder?" No response. He walked through the locker room and entered the pool area. Still no sign of Mulder. He waited a few moments to see if the man might arise from the depths, but no one came up, no one came out, and he was still missing one trouble-prone agent. He sighed and shook his head. He'd already checked the rooms, and the restaurant on the odd chance that the man had rediscovered his appetite, but he'd come up empty both places. Where the hell had he gone? Skinner really didn't relish the thought of having to launch an investigation into his own agent's whereabouts, but if the man didn't turn up soon, that was exactly what he was going to do. He headed back up to the room, noting that one of the elevators was still off line. He was in the room Mulder and Scully were sharing, staring at Mulder's running shoes, and thereby deciding the man hadn't gone running, when an excited conversation in the hall drew him out. " ... just lying there in the elevator." He reached out and grabbed the woman's arm, stopping her with an apology. "Excuse me," he said, holding up his ID as he let her go, "What did you say about the elevator?" "It's been stuck for almost an hour now, and they just got it going. There's a man in there, beat up and handcuffed. The police ..." Skinner didn't hear the rest because he was already halfway down the stairs, certain that the man in the elevator would be Mulder. It would be just like his agent to find trouble when he'd been in town less than a day, and knew no one. He shoved through the crowd that had gathered, using his ID to get past and rushed to kneel by Mulder's side. The man was starting to stir, and Skinner quickly dug out Mulder's keys and released him from his cuffs. They'd been put on too tight and left on too long, and Mulder's hands were purple, his wrists abraded. His weapon lay on the floor of the elevator and Skinner wanted to secure it, but he wasn't wearing gloves. He eyed the goose-egg on Mulder's head, and the blood on the handgrip of the gun, and it didn't take long to put two and two together. Mulder opened his eyes, and Skinner placed a firm but gentle hand on his back and said, "Just lie still, Mulder. Paramedics are on the way." "No hospital!" Mulder gasped the words out. "Shhhh," Skinner soothed. "Let's let the professionals decide that, shall we?" "No." Mulder twisted under Skinner's hand, fighting to sit up. "Will you please be still?" Skinner tried to slow Mulder's rise, but he didn't want to start fighting with the man and inadvertently injure him more. "Not. Going. To the. Hospital." The words were choked out and it was clear Mulder's chest was sore. He managed to get himself into a sitting position, and Skinner got his first good look at the man's face. Covered in dried blood, he could see at least two gashes across the forehead and one eye was swollen and well on its way to black. His nose had bled copiously and his lip was split in two places. But it was his hands that bothered Skinner most. Mulder held them awkwardly in his lap, almost as if he didn't want them to touch anything. Sensation had to be returning and from the look on Mulder's face, it wasn't pleasant. He seated himself in front of his agent, gently took one of the damaged hands in his own and began to slowly rub. He used his thumb to stroke the palm and his fingers to push the blood back into the fingers. He reached up and rubbed Mulder's forearm, stimulating hesitant veins to open and blood to flow downward into the starved digits. He was careful of the wrists, skipping over them, as he moved his hands from forearm back down to his agent's palms. He watched Mulder for signs of pain, but the gentle massage seemed to be helping because his agent had leaned back against the wall and relaxed somewhat. "So," Skinner began, "you want to tell me what happened?" Mulder gave a half-shrug, wincing slightly. Skinner finished the right hand, noting that the purple, blood-starved look had faded to an angry red, and lifted Mulder's left hand. "You don't know, or you don't want to tell me?" "Both," Mulder mumbled. "But no, I don't know what happened. The guy was in the elevator when I got on, I think." "You think?" Skinner forced himself to keep his touch on Mulder gentle. "You didn't notice?" Mulder shook his head, slightly embarrassed. "I was thinking. I was thinking about what that guy in the back said, about not having any real reason to think this is anything more than Swinton's kink for little ..." He broke off, eyeing the crowd suspiciously. "Do you really want me to talk about this here?" Skinner looked over his shoulder and shook his head. He spoke to the manager. "Would you please clear this area? This is a crime scene and we don't need all these people around." He looked back at Mulder. His eyes were closed again. Then he spoke once more to the hotel manager. "And send the paramedics over immediately when they arrive." "What about the police?" the man asked. Skinner nodded. "Them, too. But I don't think my agent is going to feel much like making a statement." The manager nodded and immediately the press of people began to fade. Skinner looked down at the hand he held, pleased to see that blood flow seemed to have been restored. "How's that?" he asked Mulder. Mulder flexed his fingers on both hands. "Much better. That coming back awake sensation is a pain -- literally." "I'm going to call Scully." Skinner pulled out his phone and dialed. "Do you want to talk to her?" Mulder shook his head slowly. "Not now. But ... can she come back?" "Of course." If Mulder hadn't looked so distraught at having asked, Skinner would have laughed. "I was planning to ask her to return anyway." The paramedics arrived and Skinner borrowed a glove to grab Mulder's gun, stowing it in his own pocket. He finished his call to Scully quickly, arranging for her to return as soon as possible, then rose to meet the police. End part 03/13 Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 04/13 Mulder was lying on the far bed when Scully rushed in. The remote was in one hand and he was clicking through the channels, even though his eyes were closed and the volume was muted. She paused inside the door, stepping close to Skinner who stood by the other bed. "How is he?" she asked in a quiet undertone. "Sort of out of it," Skinner replied. "He's awake, but he's not talking much." She moved toward the door and motioned the AD to join her in the hall, wanting to speak out of Mulder's hearing. "Did he tell you what happened?" Skinner shook his head. "I don't think he knows. He was attacked from behind, in the elevator, and he doesn't know who it was. Didn't even see the guy when he got on -- said he was lost in thought." Scully frowned, but nodded. "Why won't he listen when we tell him he shouldn't be alone?" She bowed her head, and lifted one hand to press against her eye. "He *is* a grown man, Scully. And a more-than-capable agent." Skinner sighed as he stared at the floor. "He's vulnerable when he's working a case like this. You know that." Skinner grunted in agreement. "I'm reluctant to do anything that is going to interfere with his self- confidence. I don't want him thinking we don't have faith in him." "This is not a matter of having faith in him, Sir." Scully waited until Skinner met her eyes. "At this point, I want your assurance that one of us will be with him at all times -- at least until we figure out who did this to him and why." "The locals dusted his weapon. They picked up a partial on the barrel. They're trying to get a match now." "I can't even think of anyone from out here who would be after him, can you?" Skinner shook his head. "I've got people back in DC researching his old cases, trying to see if someone holding a grudge just happened to see him and decided the moment was too good to pass up." "He wouldn't have gone down so quick if he wasn't so distracted by this case. You know he's usually much more aware of his surroundings." "I know," Skinner agreed, running his hand over his head. "Anyway, it's like I told you on the phone. Mostly superficial. They closed the cuts on his head with butterflies. He's going to look a little scary for a week or so, until the black eye go away. "And his side is bruised?" Scully asked in concern. "They're sure it's just bruising?" Skinner shrugged. "Pretty sure. I guess without an X-ray, we can't be certain, but he's moving okay, a little stiff and sore, but not in the kind of pain he'd be in if he had a broken rib." He looked at Scully hopefully. "I don't suppose you can get him to go to the hospital and be X-rayed?" She snorted. "Oh, yeah. No problem. And for my next trick, I suppose you'd like it to snow in hell?" "All right, all right, I get it," Skinner grumbled. "I thought maybe he'd listen to you." "Oh, he's going to listen to me all right." Scully's face tightened as she thought about her wayward partner. "And I'll be able to make him agree to staying with one or the other of us. But anything else ..." She shrugged. "You said it yourself. He's a grown man. I can only bully him so far." She looked back at the closed door. "I should get in there and talk to him." Skinner nodded. "When should I come back?" Scully looked at her watch. "I can tell you now, he's going to insist on going to the Swinton crime scene sometime today, and I don't want it to be too late. I also need to go back and get through at least one of those bodies." She looked up at the AD. "Let me have about 45 minutes with him. I'm going to get him out of those clothes ..." Skinner laughed and held up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. "Too much information, Dana," he chuckled, and was rewarded with an answering laugh. "As I was saying, *Walter* ..." She giggled over his name and Skinner smiled. A giggle from Dana Scully was to be treasured -- they didn't occur often enough. "... I'm going to get him out of those clothes and cleaned up. He'll feel better if he showers again, and changes. And if you'll scout out some soup for him, maybe we can get him to eat before you go to the crime scene." Skinner nodded, then reached out and touched her arm. "What about you? Can you eat, too?" She shook her head, saying, "I'm not really ..." "He won't eat if you don't. You know that's the key. He'll try and get something down if he thinks it's helping you." Scully looked up at the big man, noting the concern on his face and the cautious tone of his voice. "And you, Sir, play us both against each other." She smiled as she spoke, and then giggled again as Skinner flushed slightly. "I'll eat. A salad or something, okay?" Skinner nodded, content that she hadn't made him work harder to persuade her. "You're going with him to the scene, right?" Skinner nodded. "As you said, one of us stays with him from here on out." "He's planning on interviewing your wife's sister and husband today as well." "I know," Skinner sighed. "I've already told them I'd be back and that Mulder would be with me. They know they're going to have to run through it again." He looked at his watch, then met Scully's eyes. "Forty- five minutes? Are you sure that's enough time?" "It's never enough," she said softly, "but it will have to do." **************************************** "Mulder?" She spoke softly as she approached the still figure on the bed. "How ya feeling, partner?" He stirred slowly, turning first his head in her direction, then opening his eyes to gaze upon her, and finally, reaching out one hand. She took his hand, noting the slight swelling and still red appearance, then sat beside him on the bed. "Walter said you wouldn't go to the hospital?" He shook his head slowly. "Didn't need to. Really. I'm a little banged up, but nothing serious." "Do you mind if I check that out for myself?" When he shook his head and closed his eyes again, she bent slowly and gently kissed the hand she held. "Does that hurt?" she whispered. A slow smile spread across his lips and he shook his head. "No ..." Another touch on his abraded wrist, her lips dancing over the damaged skin. "How about that?" "No ..." The smile was bigger now, and he was watching her through his lashes. "Oh, good," she said as she pulled her legs onto the bed and tucked them under. She opened his belt, then unbuttoned his pants and rested her hand on the zipper. "Is that loose enough for me to check?" she asked coyly. "The, uh, damage, uh, is a little higher up, Scully," Mulder said, his voice husky and low. "But then, you already knew that, right?" "Just wanted to make sure you weren't -- constricted," she whispered as she began to slowly tug his shirt upwards. "Buttons, Scully. The shirt has buttons." "So it does." Her hand brushed his groin as she started at the bottom of the shirt and began unbuttoning. "And if you keep that up," Mulder groaned, "I'm going to be a lot more than constricted ..." She laughed, then went silent as the vivid bruise on his side was revealed. "Oh, Mulder," she said softly, bending over to gently kiss the multi-hued skin. "How do you get yourself into these things?" "Uh, Scully?" "Hmmm?" she murmured as she placed another gentle kiss on his injured side. "That's not helping my, uh, constriction ..." "God, Mulder, how can you think like that when you're this badly hurt?" "Hey," he protested, "I didn't start it." He pulled himself up, ignoring the pain in his muscles, and leaned against the back of the bed. "And I'm not that 'badly hurt' -- just a little banged up." Scully slipped forward and placed two pillows behind him. "Is this the worst of it?" she asked, tracing the bruise with one finger. Mulder pulled back slightly. "Tickles. And yes, that's it." She took his chin in her hand and studied his face, then leaned forward and kissed his forehead. He closed his eyes and she placed soft kisses on each one. And then, with a feather-light touch, she brushed her lips across his. "You'll feel better if you shower again. And you need to change before you go to the crime scene." "I, uh, didn't think you'd want me to go now." She pulled him forward and slid the shirt off of him. "I don't particularly *want* you to go." Scully rose and went to the foot of the bed, untying Mulder's shoes so he could toe them off. "I don't particularly *want* you to be here at all," she said as she removed his socks and then rose to help him up. "And I certainly don't *want* you working these kinds of cases." She helped him slip out of his pants and boxers, then gently deflected his hand as he reached toward her breast. "But sometimes, we don't get what we want." She smiled as she pushed him toward the bathroom. "Go ahead and shower. Skinner will be here in about half an hour." "Gonna be a cold shower," he mumbled as he pulled the door shut. ************************************** "You okay, Mulder?" Skinner reached out and took the other man's arm as he stumbled slightly on the uneven flooring. "Yeah," Mulder mumbled, "I'm fine." He shook off Skinner's hand and stepped forward into the bedroom. He stopped just inside the door, staring in horror around the room. "I tried to warn you, Mulder," Skinner said quietly as he carefully watched the other man's reactions. Mulder moved to the middle of the room and turned in a slow circle, carefully taking in all the walls. "There aren't words to warn about something like this," he said under his breath. The walls were covered in pictures. Pictures of young boys in all stages of dress and undress and depicted in depraved activities too numerous to count. All designed to excite and titillate the pedophile. Mulder stared a few more minutes, sometimes stepping forward to look at something more closely, then stepping back to the center of the room to stand close to Skinner. "We've, uh, identified a couple of the boys," Skinner offered. Mulder nodded. "I know." He stepped forward and pointed at one particularly brutal photo. "Jack Potter." He moved to another wall, reaching out again, but stopping his hand before he actually touched the picture in question, and said, "TJ Anderson." His voice had lost all inflection. He moved to a third picture, this one taken from behind, and the boy's face was not visible. "Dennis Jenkins." "How? Uh..." Skinner cleared his throat. "They've only identified the Potter and Anderson boys from in here. What makes you think that's Dennis Jenkins?" "Birthmark," Mulder said shortly. He turned away as Skinner looked at the picture more closely and made a mental note to add this information to the file. Mulder was back in the center of the room again, turning in his slow circle. There was a desk against one wall, a TV/VCR combination on a stand next to it, and a futon on the opposite wall. That was all the furniture. The futon was stained and grungy and Mulder's stomach lurched as he thought of what had contributed most of the stains and grunge. Mulder studied the walls for close to twenty minutes, and Skinner resisted the urge to speak or move, or just plain get the hell out of this sick place. Finally Mulder closed his eyes and asked, "What did they take out of here?" Skinner looked over at their escort and indicated he wanted the file the young man was holding. He opened it and scanned through it until he got to an inventory list. "Uh, you want the list of what they removed from the house, or just this room?" "Start with this room." Mulder folded his arms around his chest, hugging himself. "Computer from the desk. Videos from the TV cabinet." He looked up at Mulder. "Do you want the titles?" Mulder shook his head and Skinner breathed a sigh of relief. He really didn't want to read this out loud. "Magazines from beside the futon." "How many?" Skinner scanned the list, counting. "Looks like twenty-two." He waited to see if Mulder had another question, then went on. "Books." He counted before Mulder asked and added, "Twelve." "Let's do the titles this time." Mulder's voice was weary and he shuddered slightly. Skinner cleared his throat and began to read. "Daddy's Boy. Adopted. Visit with Uncle. My New Friend." "Fairly straightforward," Mulder said, nodding. "Sex with a boy." He opened his eyes and looked at Skinner. "Anything weird on the list?" "It's all weird," Skinner grumbled, but he read ahead, trying to see the titles as Mulder did. "Weekend at the Farm?" "Bestiality." Mulder nodded. His eyes were closed again and he shivered. "Mulder? You okay?" Skinner closed the folder, one finger marking his place, and reached out to touch his friend's shoulder. When Mulder shivered again, he ran his hand up to the man's cheek, checking for temperature with the back of his hand. Sure enough, Mulder was cold. "You need a break?" Mulder shook his head. "Gotta get this done." "You're cold. Let me get a blanket." Skinner started for the door, but Mulder reached out and stopped him. "Don't." Mulder's hand dropped as soon as Skinner paused. "Don't what?" "Don't leave me." The words were whispered, barely audible, and Skinner's stomach tightened as he realized how hard it had been for his agent to ask. He stepped back quickly, standing very close to the other man, and said, "Not going anywhere." Mulder was silent for a moment, then nodded. He drew in a deep breath, as if bracing himself, and said, "Go on." Skinner opened the folder. "Hanging with the Guys." "Oh, God." Mulder's hand came up to cover his mouth and he gasped out, "Gonna be sick." Skinner raced to the door, grabbed the trashcan he'd placed there beforehand, and raced back, holding the can where it was needed. When Mulder was done, he pulled a small bottle of water from his pocket and passed it over. Mulder rinsed his mouth and passed the bottle back. "Why that one, Mulder? Why did that one make you sick and not the farm one?" "Hanging, Sir." Mulder lifted haunted eyes and stared at the AD. "All the titles sound innocuous, don't they? I mean, what's wrong with being Daddy's boy, or a visit with your uncle. Those books could almost belong to any eight to twelve year old boy, right? A weekend at the farm. Hanging with the guys. The titles themselves are part of the excitement." He brought up his hand and scrubbed at this face, rubbing harshly and repeatedly until Skinner reached out and made him stop. "Hanging. It means just what it says." ************************************ Mulder had spent several more hours at the house, walking slowly through the rooms, reconstructing it in his mind as Skinner read off the list of items that had been taken. There had been quite a tally between the reading and viewing material, the various toys and other implements, and the material that had been on the computer the Inspection Service had seized. They were in the garage now, and Mulder was pointing out things that had seemed as innocuous as the book titles. Hooks in the ceiling from which flowers hung. Pegboard. Vise grips. Jumper cables. Mulder hadn't even had to explain. Once he pointed them out, Skinner's own mind betrayed him and he could think of several ways these simple tools could be misused. Mulder had picked up the vise grips, turning them over and over and shivering. He'd finally walked to the wall and half-collapsed onto the floor. "I need to sit," he'd muttered, but by then he was down and Skinner hadn't been able to ease the descent. He knelt before the younger man, studying his pale face and asked, "What can I do?" "Take that blanket now, Walter," Mulder whispered, shivering again. Skinner placed his hand on Mulder's arm, waiting until the other man looked up and met his gaze. "You'll stay here?" Mulder nodded. "I won't be gone long. I'm just going to run down to Lynne's. I'll bring back a couple." Mulder nodded again. "Not going anywhere." Skinner spoke harshly to their escort, ordering the young man not to take his eyes off Mulder, and to make sure his agent didn't get up from the floor, then he took off at a jog for his sister-in-law's house two doors down. When he got back, Mulder was gone. Oh, he was physically there, but he'd vanished into that black hole of his profiling mode and Skinner gasped when he realized Mulder had taken the vise grips and attached them to his already sore hand. Attached to the fleshy part of the palm, the skin between the thumb and first finger, even as the AD watched, Mulder was turning the little gear and the grips were tightening. He stopped his first reaction, to reach out and yank the thing off, and instead reached out gently, taking hold of Mulder's right hand and placing it back in his lap. "There's an element of excitement in the pain," Mulder said hoarsely. "It's not just that they're young, which is forbidden, or that they're boys, which is also forbidden, it's the pain. And the power he feels from being the one to cause the pain." "It's all right, Mulder," Skinner said softly as he began to release the grips. "This is going to hurt coming off." "Doesn't do anything for you though, does it?" Mulder's eyes were focused now and he was watching the AD carefully. "Excuse me?" "The pain. It hurts. I mean, you're hurting me as you take the thing off, but it doesn't excite you." Skinner kept his eyes on his task -- getting the damn grip off Mulder's hand. "Doesn't do a fucking thing for me," he grunted. "Jesus Christ, Mulder, how can you ask that?" Mulder shrugged, then winced as the grip came off and blood began to flow back into the starved area. Skinner threw the vise across the room, then took Mulder's hand again and began to rub gently, as he had earlier. "It's part of it for them. The power. They give pain, they give pleasure. They are in control." "And they're sick bastards. Don't forget that, Mulder." Skinner still held Mulder's hand, looking at it carefully to make sure the skin was not broken. "I'm okay, Sir," Mulder said. "Jeez, Mulder, you've got to stop doing this." Skinner rose and pulled Mulder up, then wrapped him in the quilt he'd brought. And then he wrapped him in a hug, holding him close for just a moment. "Scares the shit out of me." Mulder laughed as Skinner released him. "Sorry, Sir." He turned and looked at the heavy workbench secured to the back wall of the garage. "There's more of this shit back there. He's got a cache they didn't find." "How the hell do you know that?" "They always have a secret stash. You know, just in case they have to ditch the stuff in the house in an emergency. You never want to have to start from scratch again." "Speaking from experience, Mulder?" The younger man shook his head. "Nah, I got rid of my stuff. Even before, I wasn't hiding it too much." He flushed, averting his eyes. "Maybe I should have been embarrassed, but my stuff was pretty vanilla. Boy meets girl. Boy fucks girl. Boy meets new girl. And so on and so on and so on." He paused a moment, then added, "Maybe I should rephrase -- man meets woman. Just wanna be real clear on that point." "So?" Skinner raised an eyebrow as he looked pointedly at the back wall. "I was just thinking -- this is about power. Not pain. Not pleasure. But control and power." Skinner nodded. "So what's the ultimate in control? Beating the system. And you beat the system when you don't let them see all you've got, no matter what happens. He'll have a stash, just because he'll think he can sit back and laugh at us while we think we have it all." Mulder took a deep breath and swayed. Skinner reached out and steadied him. "There'll be faces on the stuff in the stash. Maybe names in the videos. We'll finally have a place to start." End part 04/13