Title: Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 09/13 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 09/13 Skinner emerged from the shower, still shivering, and despite rough scrubbing with a washcloth, not feeling any cleaner. He wanted to shut down his mind but wasn't able to, and again he wondered if this was what it was like for Mulder all the time. And if it was, how did the man remain sane? He wasn't ready to put on a suit again, so he slipped into sweats, feet still bare, and moved silently to the door of the adjoining room. He couldn't believe he was considering going in, waking them, intruding on the little bit of private time they had, but he was desperate not to be alone now. And he couldn't stop shivering. He needed someone to tell him the dream wasn't his fault. He needed Mulder to tell him he understood. He needed Scully to tell him she forgave him. He hadn't figured that one out just yet, but something inside him felt like he owed the woman an apology. He didn't particularly like the idea of discussing his erotic imagery -- the woman, not the boy -- with his friends, but he was still shaking from the experience, and not just from the cold shower. He needed to talk about it. He stood just inside his door. They were both cracked slightly, a precaution he and Scully had agreed on in case Mulder had a nightmare. Though in fact, it used to be Scully's nightmares the men worried about. But somehow, in the months since their last case, her nightmares had eased. And now, it was Mulder who was dreaming at night. Mulder who fought demons unknown. Mulder who needed the open door. Hand on the door, he paused, reconsidering his right to disturb his two friends, when he heard the quiet murmuring of voices. At least they weren't asleep. And he was so cold. Why was he still so cold? He could ask Scully. It was getting harder and harder to think. He shivered again, then knocked. "Mulder? Scully? May I come in?" Even he could hear the tremor in his voice, and he hated it. "Of course," came a soft voice as the inside door was pulled open and Scully stood there, looking up at him with concern. "What happened?" she asked, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Huh?" he asked in confusion. "Your face. You're bruised." She pulled him to the bed, pushed him down gently and shone a light on his face. "Did you fall?" "Nightmare," he said shortly, suddenly reconsidering the wisdom of his decision to share the dream with his friends. His voice trembled, and he felt dizzy. "Did you hit your head?" Scully asked, soft hands tracing the bruise and then feeling across the broad expanse of his scalp. "And why are you so cold?" He shivered again, and Mulder pulled the blanket off the unmade bed, wrapping it around the big man. "Wanna tell us about it?" he asked softly, gently pulling Scully away and sitting with her on the other bed. She began to fuss, and he quieted her with a soft, "Shhh, Scully. He doesn't need a doctor right now, he needs friends." Skinner grabbed the blanket, pulling it tighter around himself, and stared at the ground. He did need friends. That was why he was here. But damn, this was hard. "I had a -- dream," he began. He turned his head, staring away from the two people seated across from him. "An erotic dream." He could feel the sudden rush of heat in his cheeks as he flushed. He stopped, suddenly unable to continue. "It's all right, Walter," Mulder said quietly. "You can tell us." Skinner lifted his head, turning back to meet the other man's eyes. "You need to tell us, don't you?" Skinner nodded. "I thought I was with a woman." His eyes sought out Scully, and he beseeched her to understand. "A woman. A willing partner." "But you weren't?" That was Mulder, prodding gently, waiting patiently. "No." Skinner ran his hand across his face, staring at the floor again. "It was a boy." He let go of the blanket, letting it fall on the bed behind him, took off his glasses, dropping them to the floor as he buried his face in his hands. "I was with a little boy." "No, you weren't," Mulder said in a matter-of-fact tone. "You just had a dream." He rose and sat next to Skinner, touching the man's arm and frowning at its icy feel. He reached out and pulled the blanket back up, tucking it around the AD, then rubbing his arm to restore heat. "He's really cold, Scully." She gave Mulder an 'I tried to tell you, but you said he didn't need a doctor' look, and then picked up Skinner's glasses from the floor and sat on his other side. "You had a dream," Mulder repeated. "Nothing you can control." "I had an erection," Skinner forced out through chattering teeth. "What did you do when you realized it was a boy?" "I jumped out of the bed." "Is that when you hit your head?" Scully stood again, running her hands over Skinner's scalp, finishing the examination Mulder had halted earlier. Skinner shrugged, a movement that evolved into a full body shiver. "What did you do then?" she asked. "After you jumped out of the bed?" "Got sick." He was mumbling now and didn't seem to be thinking clearly. It had seemed like a good idea to come over here earlier, but now all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep. "Did you take a shower?" Mulder asked. Skinner nodded. "A cold shower?" "It wasn't your fault, Walter," Mulder said, pulling the big man to his feet. "You didn't do anything wrong." "Is it like this all the time for you, Mulder? So real, it hurts? Does it make you feel like you did it, even when you know you didn't?" Mulder shook his head. "It doesn't matter. You need to get warmed up. You stayed in the cold too long." Skinner gripped the younger man's arm. "You're in the cold all the time, aren't you, Mulder?" "Not anymore." Mulder smiled as he looked at the AD and then at his partner. "But now, we need to get your body temp back up." Scully scooted by him, and he wanted to say something but the words wouldn't come. He could hear the sound of a shower running, and he resigned himself to more time under the frigid flow. It was what he deserved. Scully was back now, standing in front of him, watching his face as Mulder was undressing him. He should be embarrassed. He should be protesting. He should be doing something other than standing here like an idiot, unmoving except for the periodic shivers that convulsed his body. His glasses were gone, and everything was fuzzy, but he was sure it was Scully looking at him so carefully. He reached out, fumbling for her hand, and was eternally grateful when she took his, clasping his large one in her smaller one, not rejecting him. " 'm sorry, Dana," he whispered. "It's all right, Walter," she murmured. He realized then that he'd lost his clothes and he was only wrapped in the blanket. Mulder was leading him toward the bathroom. "Hot shower," Scully pronounced, and it sounded like music to his ears. Hot, not cold. He'd been forgiven. "Stay with him, Mulder, until he warms up enough to think straight. Make sure he doesn't fall again." She shut the door and then he was in the water, warm, warm, warm, water washing over him and he was crying again, somehow thinking he'd confessed and been forgiven and all was okay again. **************************************** "Scully, let it go. He's not going to want to talk about it right now." They'd finally gotten a response to Swinton's email to Everett, and were due in a chat room shortly. Mulder as the computer tech finished the connections to set up the chat for Swinton and Everett and then left. "I'm worried about him." She dropped her eyes and stared at the floor. "He's hurting and I want to help." "He'll be okay. But, Scully, please," Mulder lifted her chin, forcing her eyes up to meet his, "he's not a talker. He'll come to us, when and if he's ready." "He could have seriously injured himself. That water was really icy." "But he didn't. And he came to us for help." Mulder leaned down and brushed her lips with his own. "That had to be hard for him." "Doesn't he know he can come to us anytime?" Her frustration was showing. "Of course he does. That's why he came." "Then why can't we talk about it?" "Maybe because you stripped him naked and shoved him in the shower and he's embarrassed?" She snorted. "I'm a doctor," she said shortly. "You're also his subordinate, and his friend. Maybe he feels a little awkward." Scully looked at the door, knowing Skinner had found busy work to keep himself on the other side of it, and sighed. "All right. But he better get over it quick, or I'm liable to strip him down again and explain why people don't need to be embarrassed in front of their doctor -- or their friend." "You go, girl," Mulder said softly, kissing her again. "Just give him a little time. He'll come around." She turned an appraising eye on Mulder. "How about you, Mulder? Are you all right with this?" "Feeling the need to play doctor, Scully?" Mulder teased. She shook her head. "I just realized, we sorta got sidetracked with Skinner's dream, and I never really had a chance to talk to you about what you're going to do here today." He shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it." "Why, Mulder?" "'cause it's like Skinner's dream -- it makes me feel icky." "It's not you, you know that." She wrapped her arms around him. "I know," he nodded. "I'm going to sit in there with Swinton, laugh and joke about getting off with little boys, and then I'm going to hold a cyberchat with the king pervert, and convince him this is my kink." He shuddered as he drew a deep breath. "And if I do it well enough, then I'll have an address for a meet when I'm done." "When you're done, you're going to come back to the hotel, and I'm going to rub your back, and your feet, and you're going to watch the game, and eat junk food, and we're not going to think about this case. You're going to be in the here and now with me -- not thinking about what's happened, not planning what's to come. Just you and me, okay, partner?" Mulder nodded slowly, bending to rest his head against hers. "Oh, Scully ... you know what I like." ************************************* They'd be mad. He didn't know who he should be more afraid of -- his boss or his lover. Okay, dumb question. Scully was way scarier than Skinner when it came to things like this. But the thing was, he needed to do this, and he didn't really want to take them with him. Well, amend that, there was no way in hell he was taking Scully, and after Skinner's reaction to the dream, he wasn't about to put the older man through this as well. He stared at the door to the seedy Triple X Shop, then pushed it open and entered. He needed some things before the meet, and this was the closest place to get them. If he was gonna play the part, he had to have the accoutrements. Skinner and Scully were back at the station, reading through the transcripts of his chat with Everett. He must have done a good job of selling himself as a perv, since he now had instructions on where to go to arrange the meet. Swinton's arrest had been kept quiet, so Everett didn't know the man was in jail, and his referral, plus Mulder's ability to talk the talk had secured the connection. $20,000.00 for one night with a small blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy -- and he could do anything he wanted to him, as long as he didn't kill him. Mulder shuddered and clamped down hard on his stomach. Now he needed the tools to back up the fantasies he'd spun. He walked around the store looking for a long time as he tried to figure out what he'd need. He was surprised to find that they had those little baskets, the kind you find in the grocery store, so that you could conveniently carry your cock whips and latex dildos, and still have your hands free. It was vaguely surreal. Mulder continued adding items to his basket until there was no more room. He grabbed a box of condoms as his last choice, then dropped it all on the counter. Once again, he was surprised by the surreal nature of the experience as a very ordinary looking young woman, not a tattoo or body piercing in sight, began to ring him up. She made a couple of comments about a butt plug being a big seller and suggested a water- based lube instead of the Vaseline he'd selected, and he found himself handing over his charge card with a bemused look on his face. His heart fluttered as he looked at the total -- this shit was expensive -- but he signed the slip and accepted his bags as graciously as possible and headed back out to the cab he had waiting. If he was lucky, he might get back before they realized he was missing. He was almost to the door when the fist hit him. His head rocked back and he dropped the bags, one hand instinctively going for his gun. "Fucking pervert!" Mulder stopped the draw on his gun, blinked to clear the blood from his eyes and stared angrily into the face of Inspector Ron Matthews. "What the fuck do you want, Matthews?" he snarled. "And why aren't you still in the hospital?" "Checked myself out today," the other man said shortly. "And since I'm the only one who knows what a total fucking pervert you are, I'm the one who's going to prevent you from getting anywhere near those kids." "Look, you fuck," Mulder began, "you've got this all wrong." "I don't have shit wrong! You're as fucked up as that bastard who took that kid." Matthews was breathing hard and Mulder couldn't help but feel bad for the man -- even if he was an asshole. "I never hurt Robby," Mulder said quietly, one hand reaching up to feel where the wound had opened again over his brow. He swiped at his forehead, his hand coming away slick with blood. "I saw the way you touched him," Matthews panted. It was clear the man had overexerted himself. "I'm bringing you up on charges of misconduct." He bent over double, clutching his chest. "Here," Mulder said, reaching out, "let me help you." "You stay the fuck away from me!" the man spit out. Mulder shrugged. "Suit yourself." He picked up the bags and stepped to the door. "But I know who it was in the elevator. And now you've assaulted me here. Touch me again, and I'm pressing charges of my own." Mulder stalked out, climbed into the taxi and was gone. He didn't see Matthews flash his badge at the confused clerk as he got a copy of Mulder's charge receipt -- and a listing of all the items he had bought. End part 09/13 Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 10/13 "Where the hell is he?" Skinner asked in exasperation. Scully shook her head. "I'm not sure." "Didn't you tell him to stay in the break room?" She stared at Skinner, head cocked and her lips pursed. She didn't even need to say the words. As if telling Mulder to do anything was ever effective. One of the local cops came in, approached quietly and said, "The desk sergeant said he left about an hour ago in a cab." "Jesus H. Christ!" Skinner exclaimed angrily. "Just once -- just one fucking time I would like that son of a bitch to do as he's told!" He looked at Scully. "Is that too much to ask for? I ask you -- is it too much to ask for?" Scully looked at the young woman and asked, "Did the sergeant notice what kind of cab? Can we get a trace on it?" "No need," said a deep voice. "I can tell you exactly where that sick fuck was, and what he was doing." "What the hell are you doing here, Matthews?" Skinner rounded angrily on the man, then eased back as he realized the Inspector was very pale, and in obvious pain. "What are you talking about?" he asked in a softer tone. Matthews held up a photocopied receipt. Skinner reached out and took it, even as Scully grabbed the other man's arm and moved him toward a seat. Matthews fought weakly, but she prevailed, which let both of them know the man was worse off than he was letting on. "Does he need a doctor, Scully?" "He needs to go back to the hospital." She pulled Matthews' coat open, noted the blood soaking through his shirt and nodded at the female officer still hovering nearby. "Call an ambulance," she said softly. "You can send me to the hospital, but you can't stop me from bringing charges." Matthews' breath was ragged, and he began to cough. "I followed him. I followed him when he left here, and I saw exactly where he went and what he was doing." Matthews nodded at Skinner. "Just look at the list. Look at the shit he bought. You tell me he's not a pervert." "If Agent Mulder bought these items, I can assure you he had a good reason to do so." Skinner frowned as he read the list, then looked up to meet Scully's eyes. She reached out a hand and he gave her the receipt. "Oh," she said, coloring slightly as she exchanged a worried look with the AD. "See," said Matthews, "even his partner knows this is too kinky not to be real." He panted briefly, then gripped the arm of the chair. "I've done this for 10 years, Skinner," he said, staring up at the big man. "I *know* what those things can do to a little kid. I'm not going to stand by and watch while an agent of the FBI violates everything we stand for. We're supposed to protect those kids -- not be instruments of their torture." "Matthews," Skinner began softly. He could hear the siren on the ambulance in the distance. "I don't know how else to explain this to you. Mulder knows what he's doing. And he isn't going to hurt those boys. For whatever reason, he thinks he needs these things. Maybe as part of his cover, maybe for research, maybe both. I don't know. But I assure you, when I talk to him, he'll tell me what it is." "I'm still pressing charges," Matthews said petulantly. "Then you'll press them from your hospital bed." He looked up as the paramedics came through. "Your ride is here." *************************************** He was naked. He had taken off his clothes and hung them up neatly. His shoes were lined up beneath the suit, and the socks and underwear had been placed in the dirty clothes bag. Scully would be proud of him. He snorted softly. No, she wouldn't. She was going to be furious at him. He looked around the pristine white of the bathroom and shifted uncomfortably on the tiles. Maybe he should sit on the tub. He looked over at it. He didn't want to make a mess. He shook his head angrily. It wasn't going that far. He wasn't going to draw blood. He just -- needed ... What? He needed to know what it felt like to inflict the pain. He couldn't very well ask anyone else -- there was no way he was going to ask someone to let him whip them -- so he was going to have to see if he could focus on inflicting the pain -- not on receiving it. He thought about the Hispanic boy, the one they still hadn't identified. You could take control in any number of ways, and it was all about control. If he wasn't going to control someone else's pain, he could still see what it was like to control his own. He looked at the tub again. He really didn't want to make a mess. If he stayed here on the tile, would the incentive to keep the tile clean be strong enough to keep him from drawing blood? Or should he move to the tub, just in case? If he wanted the whole experience, he needed to be able to go with it. He looked down at the little whip he held in his hand. It had a black leather handle and six thin strands of dark brown leather protruded from the top. It was small -- the handle no more than four inches and the strands about six inches long. He slapped it across his palm, recoiling at the sting. It was effective. He rose and got into the tub. One long leg slid up and over the edge, giving him a good target on his inner thigh. That was where he'd seen the scars on the boy in the warehouse. He drew a deep breath -- he hated this. It was going to hurt and Scully would be mad and Skinner would be mad, too, and he really didn't want to do this, but ... He lifted the whip and brought it down hard, gasping at the pain. He studied the red lines on his thigh, traced the welts with his finger, then struck again. It was worse this time -- the pain was blinding. Is this what it felt like to the boys? Was it this over- whelming sensation that eclipsed all other sensory input? He shook his head. He needed to look at it, not from the boy's point of view, but from Swinton, or Everett's. He brought the whip down again, before he could change his mind, a quick, brutal strike that bit deep and caused him to cry out. The whip was smooth in his hand -- an instrument of power. He could make someone cry, make them moan, make them writhe beneath it. He stroked the leather handle, then struck again, hearing the cry, but no longer connecting it to himself. He was the aggressor here -- he was in control. He brought the whip down softly this time, dragging the rough strands across the tender flesh and heard the whimpers that escaped his mouth, but again he couldn't make the connection. He could make it cry -- he struck hard, and was rewarded with a loud sob. Or he could make it whimper -- and he dragged the strands across the wounds again, listening to the voice begging for it to stop. He could even make it moan -- he took the handle and pressed down hard, hearing the moans that echoed in the cramped space. He had the whip raised, poised to strike again, when the door opened and someone burst in. "Mulder!" There was a gasp and then she had his arm, fighting him for the whip. He wasn't going to let go -- it was his whip -- he was in control. "Help me, Walter!" There was another hand there now, starched white cotton covering a surprisingly strong arm, and he was being forced to give up the whip, forced to lie back in the tub. He was so cold -- shivering really, and now he'd lost his control. "What have you done, Mulder?" The voice was soft and the hands on his leg were soft too, but any touch hurt and he moaned in protest. He stared at the leg, totally detached now, surprised to see that the skin had split and there was blood running down it. He looked at the whip the man had thrown down -- it was bloody too. How had that happened? He shook himself, trying to chase away the cold. There were hands on his face, on his arms, stroking him gently and a soft voice called his name, begging him to come back. Come back from where? He was right here, wasn't he? He looked up at the huge expanse of white cotton, so big and broad and so far *up,* and knew he should recognize it, but everything seemed out of whack right now and he closed his eyes as the pain washed over him. "Mulder? Come on, love, answer me ..." That was Scully. He smiled now because he had a name to go with the voice, and then it all came crashing back on him. The whip, the leg, the blood. Oh, shit! He was in big trouble now. He opened one eye, peeking beneath the lashes at his partner. He was trying to figure out how he could forestall the scene he knew was coming, but he couldn't bear the pain and fear in her face, so he opened both eyes wide and tried to smile. "Hey, Scully," he croaked. "Oh, Mulder ..." The words were choked out behind a sob and he could see the relief on her face. He hadn't meant to worry her like that -- really he hadn't. But now, he was so cold. " 'm sorry, Scully, really I am, but I'm cold now. Please? I'm cold." She looked over her shoulder at Skinner. "Hot bath," she said quietly. She eased his leg into the tub, then turned the water on, not closing the drain until the blood had been washed away and the water ran clear. "What are you going to need?" Skinner asked quietly. "Large gauze pads, adhesive tape, antiseptic." "It'll be ready when you are. Call me if you need anything." The door closed and Scully sat back on her heels, staring at Mulder. His eyes were closed again; he seemed to be asleep. "All right, Mulder," she whispered, "sleep now, but we're going to talk when you wake up." ****************************************** He'd slept for over an hour. She'd sat on the floor by the tub, warming the water as it cooled, just watching over him. The bloody whip still lay on the back of the toilet. When he'd awakened, she'd helped him out, dried him as carefully as she could. Every touch made him wince, and the towel was streaked with red when she was done. She'd wrapped the towel around his waist and led him out to the bed. When he saw Skinner standing by the table, he'd tried to protest. "He's seen it all, Mulder," she'd said firmly as she pushed him back on the bed. "Can't I put my shorts on at least," he begged, surprised at how embarrassed he was. It didn't take long for him to realize that most of the embarrassment came from being caught, not from being seen naked. "After your leg is bandaged." He gave up protesting and laid back, taking the time to study Skinner as Scully worked on the wounds on his leg. The big man stood in profile, staring out the window, but Mulder could see the tension in his back, the clenched jaw, and the nerve that twitched in the corded neck. The next conversation was not going to be pleasant. Scully finished his bandage, passed him shorts, and let him stand up to put them on. When he sat again, Skinner asked, "Is he okay?" and she said, "It'll heal." Mulder started counting. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. That was it. Skinner turned, his face red, the vein in his temple bulging so tight it was clearly visible from the bed where he sat, and said through gritted teeth, "What the hell were you doing, Mulder?" "I was trying to make a connection with Everett," Mulder said quietly. "I was trying to see what it was like." Scully took his hand, her thumb stroking his palm in a rhythmically soothing motion. "It looked to me like you'd gone round the bend," Skinner said. "Mulder, I told you at the beginning, I wasn't going to let this case destroy you, and I meant that." He drew a deep breath, struggling for control. "As of this instant, you are off the case." "What?!" Mulder pulled away from Scully, flying to his feet. "You can't do that, Sir! It's all set up! I'm the only one Everett will meet with. The alias is in my name." "The alias is for George Fox. That is not you." "My picture's on the ID. I'm the only one who can do it." Skinner shook his head. "Not true. I've read the transcripts. You've concocted a believable persona to meet Everett, but someone else will be that person. Pictures can be redone." "They can't! There isn't anyone else." Mulder dropped his head. "They'll screw it up, Sir. They won't be able to talk to him, not the way he wants to be talked to." "There are other competent agents, detectives, inspectors, who can make this meet." Skinner folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not putting you at risk." "I'm not at risk!" Mulder stalked across the room, into the bathroom and back, holding the whip before him like the holy grail of pedophilia. "I did this. I'm not crazy -- I'm not losing it. I knew what I was doing." "Then explain it to me, please," Skinner said, "because I am clueless as to why the brightest man I know just spent -- how long? in the bathroom, flagellating himself? Drawing blood?" "Mulder, please," Scully added, "come sit down and explain it to us." He nodded shortly and then sat, still holding the whip before him. "I told you it was about control." Skinner and Scully nodded. "I needed to see what that was like. I needed to be the one giving the pain -- instead of receiving it." The room was silent. Skinner froze, staring in disbelief at the man sitting on the bed, his head hanging low as he stared at the whip that dangled from his hand. Scully reached out to touch him, then drew back, unsure of what to do or say. "It was a long time ago," Mulder said. "After Samantha disappeared." He shrugged. "I don't want to talk about it now." He dropped the whip, rose and stepped away, huddling by the far wall with his arms wrapped around his chest. "I just needed to see what it was like from the other side." Scully moved to stand by him, and Skinner followed. "You're doing it again, Mulder," she said quietly. "I thought we talked about this?" "Doing what?" he asked in confusion. "Running from the people who love you." She reached out and drew him to her, pulling his head down to rest on her shoulder as she held him tightly. Skinner reached out and touched his shoulder, then began to rub his back in little circles. He didn't cry, but it was close. He stood there, surrounded by concern until he had to sit. It was with great reluctance that he pulled back, and sat on the bed. "I didn't mean to scare you," he said softly. "Mulder." Skinner's voice was firm, and he waited until the man looked up and met his eyes. "If you ever feel you need to do something like this again -- something that will hurt you, physically, mentally, or emotionally, you *will* discuss it with me or Scully first." Mulder nodded. "I mean it, Mulder. You talk to one of us. We'll decide if it's safe." "I really needed to do this, Sir," Mulder mumbled. "And in the future, if you really need to do something again, you will discuss it, and we'll decide together if it's an acceptable risk, or if there is an alternative that can meet your need." "Does this mean I can still make the meet?" He watched as Skinner and Scully exchanged looks, noted Scully's slight nod, but knew the answer was still up to the AD." "I don't like it, Mulder," Skinner said honestly. "If I thought someone else could do it, and have as good a chance of success as you do, I'd say no way." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "But I don't think anyone else can do this -- not like you can. So, against my better judgment, yes, you can still make the meet." He fixed Mulder with a steely glare. "Don't make me regret my decision." End part 10/13 Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 11/13 "There's a tracking device inside the briefcase with the money." Skinner patted the black attache as he spoke. "There are additional devices within several of the bills, as well as in all the bundle wrappers." He reached out and touched the larger, brown case. "This one is also wired." He opened it and pointed to the various devices and sexual accoutrements. "There are tracking devices inside a number of the, uh, items, in here as well." "I need reading material," Mulder said. "Excuse me?" Skinner looked around, confused. "The magazines, books, from Swinton's place. That'll do." Skinner nodded at one of the Inspectors and the man set off to requisition the required reading material. "Transmitters in your shoes, belt, and glasses," Skinner said, and Mulder nodded in agreement. They were all so sure they would be able to follow him, but Mulder knew better. People who did what these men did, who trafficked in little boys, they didn't take risks. Mulder fully expected to be stripped and searched, and be given other clothing to wear when it came down to it. But as it was, he really didn't expect the FBI to be able to follow him past the first pick up. He thought through what he expected to happen. First, there was the plan Simms and Skinner had put together. A fairly standard kidnap drop with full tails and transmitters. He would go to the assigned meet point; there would probably be a note. He would then be run through several more meets, until he finally arrived at the designated place. He'd drop the money, go to a phone, and receive a final location. The boy would be at that location, if he was lucky. That, however, was how kidnappings played out. Not purchases of sexual service from underage boys. Realistically, he expected to be met at the first point by a driver, whisked away with careful attention to losing anyone following him, and then taken to a point where everything he had brought with him, right down to his clothes would be removed and replaced. He bought the variety of sex toys hoping to convince the major players that he wanted to use his own. And he had a bloody one now, to show he knew how to use them. Thinking of the bloody whip brought to mind his discussion with Scully and Skinner from a few hours ago. Skinner had come very close to canceling his involvement in this investigation. His continued participation depended on his promise to discuss any actions he intended to take in full detail with both his partner and his boss, prior to taking said actions. And here he was, mere hours later, already knowing things weren't going to go down the way Skinner thought, and still letting the man go on making plans as if they mattered. jHe lifted his hand and covered his eyes for a moment, thinking hard. He could do this. He knew he could. He could make them believe he was a pedophile, and he could get Tommy out. But if he did it his way, without telling Skinner and Scully what to expect, what would it do to his relationships with these two people. What would it be like when he got back? If he got back? He paced a few steps away, aware of their eyes on him. Everyone in the crowded briefing room was watching, but Skinner and Scully followed his every move closely. He rolled his shoulders, throwing his elbows back as he stretched, then tilted his head from side to side but he was still tense, still strung tight. God, it was a dilemma! What if he told Skinner what he thought would happen and the AD wouldn't let him proceed? What if he went ahead anyway? What would Skinner do to him later? What would Scully do? Skinner had insisted that he discuss things with them first, and he had agreed. But could he really risk losing the boy because Skinner might not like the plan? He looked back at Skinner and saw the big man and Scully exchange a glance. They were watching him, and they knew something was wrong. He swallowed hard, said a prayer to any number of benevolent deities, and stepped back over to his friends. "Excuse me, Sir? Agent Scully?" His eyes darted around as other people turned to look. "May I have a word with you?" "Certainly, Agent Mulder." Skinner was all professionalism. He stepped to the doorway and beckoned his agents to follow him to a small interrogation room. Once inside, he closed the door, dropped the formality and asked, "What's going on, Mulder?" "It's not going to go down like you think." Mulder shrugged. "What do you mean?" Scully moved to stand beside Mulder. He reached out, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. Skinner crossed his arms, fixing his agent with a look. "And how is it going to go down?" Mulder sighed, pulled away from Scully and sat. Staring at the table, he detailed his view of how the meet would happen, including his thought that having any kind of tracker was not only useless, but could put him in jeopardy. "I'm not sending you in there bare, Mulder." "I don't think we have a choice, Sir." Mulder took a deep breath and looked up. "You asked me to talk to you, so I'm talking. I assumed that you'd listen." "I'm listening." "I can do this, Sir. As long as they think all I want is a night with this kid, I can get in and get him." "And how do you plan to get out?" Mulder rose and began to pace. "I'm not going to kid you -- it's not going to be easy. But I've got a plan." It was Skinner's turn to move. Since Mulder was taking what little space there was with his pacing, the older man contented himself with pulling out a chair, turning it backwards, and straddling it. "Let's hear it." "Okay." Mulder halted, and they could see his mind working as he put his thoughts in order. "I can't give you anything in concrete, because a lot of this is going to be seat of the pants. I'm going to have to see what the situation is, react accordingly, and then get the hell out." He looked up, gauging Skinner's reaction and smiled slightly when the AD nodded. "I have no doubts -- no doubts whatsoever -- that I can get in. You've gotta believe me on that." "All right. You can get in. That's a given." Skinner tapped the table impatiently. "Now convince me you can get out. Alive." "Honestly?" Mulder resumed his pacing. "It's not as sure a bet. But I'd say I'm 75 - 80% sure I can do it." "How?" It was Scully's first foray into the conversation and both men looked at her. "Mulder, I want Tommy found. I want all those boys brought home and their torment ended." She moved to stand before him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. "But I can't bear to lose you. You can't just throw yourself away for something that *might* work." She shuddered delicately, stroking his face, and he reached up and took her hand. "I'm not throwing myself away, Scully. There's a good chance -- a very good chance -- that this will work." He stepped away, then faced Skinner, gesturing back toward the briefing room. "Didn't you see what I bought? Didn't you notice?" "I don't understand." Skinner was confused again. "I saw the contents of your 'toy' chest, yes. What was I supposed to notice?" "I've got heavy emphasis on pain giving toys as well as some pretty uncomfortable restraints and gags. I've got several sets of handcuffs, an electrical stimulator that packs one hell of a wallop ..." He held up his hand, shaking his head. "No, I didn't try it on myself." Scully and Skinner both breathed a sigh of relief. "I just read the instruction manual. It's -- powerful. I also have a variety of knives -- everything from fine blades for delicate cutting to heavy duty ones that could skin a deer." He grinned and Scully shrank from his expression. "There's never a guarantee in a situation like this, Sir, but I'm going in as well- armed as I've ever been, and it's all with items they won't look at twice." He turned and moved to face the wall. "Unless you've rigged everything they look at so that they suspect me from the start." Turning back, he stared at Skinner, pleading, "Don't you see? I've got to go in clean -- no tags, no tracers, no transmitters. Nothing that will tip them off, no matter how thorough they search." "How sure of all this are you, Mulder?" "Pretty damn sure. But just in case, why don't you ask Matthews? He's worked these types of cases for years. See what he has to say." Skinner nodded. "You and Scully stay here. Take a few minutes together. I'll be back shortly." Scully sat as the AD left, holding her silence for a minute as she thought of her lover going into this nest of vermin armed only with knives and determination. She didn't like it either, but she didn't have to check with Matthews to know that if Mulder said it would go down that way, it would go down that way. Skinner knew it, too, but he was the one who would have to sign the reports, and it wouldn't hurt to have an outside opinion on the plan. "Mulder," she said softly, looking up to see him hunched over himself in the corner. "Come sit with me." She patted the chair next to her. "I talked about it like you told me to, Scully," he said plaintively as he moved to join her. "I did what Skinner said." "I know, Mulder. I know it was hard for you, but it was the right decision." "And if he won't let me go now? What will that mean to Tommy? To the other boys?" "It will mean that the AD made a difficult decision, one that is personally painful for him, but that he made just the same. Because it was the right decision." She looked at her lover, noted the weariness around his mouth, the sadness and despair in his eyes. "Mulder, you didn't create this situation. But because of you, we're closer to saving those boys than we would have been if you hadn't been here. You don't have to save the world. You *can't* save the world." She reached out and stroked his face, then cradled his hand in both of hers. "You have to trust Walter. He'll make the right call." Skinner cleared his throat as he entered the room fully. "Thank you for that, Dana." He looked at Mulder. "You were right. Matthews watched us go through all the motions and never said a word. He was sure you'd be exposed at the first check." He shook his head. "The man just can't do anything right, despite the fact that he's got a wealth of experience. Anyway, wear what you want. They're putting everything into untagged bags and pulling the transmitters out of the money. Even the 'toys' are being debugged. You're going to be clean." "I'm going in?" "Yeah, you're going in. You're still going to have a shitload of people following you, but you're going in naked." Mulder grinned. "And don't look so pleased. It's a deadly serious situation, and I want you out alive, got that?" Mulder stood and drew himself erect, giving a mock salute. "Yes, Sir!" ********************************* There was a note at the first meet point. Mulder followed directions, racing across town in a cab, only to be let off at the top of a steep set of stairs. He took off down them, effectively losing anyone in vehicles following him, and climbed into the limo that was waiting at the bottom. He was blindfolded, relieved of his bags, and then offered a drink. He declined. It was a long, silent drive that lasted over three hours and his head pounded by the time the car stopped. He had no idea where he was. The car stopped and a voice from the front asked if he was comfortable. "Yes, I'm fine, thanks." He fidgeted a little. "When do I get my boy?" "There are a few matters to attend to first. You may remove the blindfold." The voice spoke politely, but firmly. The window between the driver and the back opened, and a bag appeared. "There are clean clothes in the bag. Please change." He nodded and proceeded to strip and redress in the navy blue sweat suit he had been provided. He wasn't given shoes. "Thank you, Mr. Fox," the voice said as he held up his hands to indicate he was done. "I want to see the boy." He gestured at the empty seat beside him. "You got your money." "Indeed we did. There was another $10,000.00 in the false bottom of your toy chest. What was that intended for?" Mulder shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. "I don't like going into a situation without cash." "Admirable," said the voice. "It will be returned to you -- upon your departure." The window opened again, and a book appeared. "Please make your selection," the voice said. Mulder reached up and turned on the small overhead light and opened the book. It was a photo album. He clamped down on his stomach, but forced his body to relax as he leaned back in the seat and tried to look like he was enjoying the viewing. He turned the pages slowly, skipping the dark-skinned, dark- haired boys, but seeming to linger over the blue-eyed blondes. He found Tommy midway through, but kept going, then went back and went through the book again. The third time through, he narrowed it to three boys, flipping back and forth between the pictures until he finally landed on Tommy's. With the book open, he knocked on the window, and passed it back. "This one." "An excellent choice," the voice said, as if he had just ordered a particularly choice vintage Cabernet. "We'll reach our destination in about an hour, and your selection will be waiting." The car began to move again, but it was dark outside now, and there were no streetlights. Wherever he was, it was deserted. They drove for the hour indicated, and then pulled into a covered drive. He could just make out the letters 'tel' on a sign, before he was ordered to replace the blindfold. In only his stocking feet, he was led into the building, up a flight of stairs and down a corridor. He was stopped at a door. The blindfold was removed. His escort held out a key card, but Mulder stopped him. "I want my toys." "They're in the room, Sir," the man said as he swiped the card. He opened the door and ushered Mulder in. Tommy sat in a chair by the wall, huddling into himself and trying not to cry. He wore a pair of too small underpants and a white T-shirt. There were bruises on his arms and legs. His escort was speaking again, and Mulder turned back to listen. "The door will remain locked until 9:00 am tomorrow morning. At that time, someone will come for the boy, and to escort you back to, uh, to escort you, Sir." Back to where? Mulder wondered. "Should you need anything, the phone will connect you directly to the concierge." The man pointed to a white phone on the wall by the sink. "It is not an outside line." He indicated the small refrigerator. "You are welcome to anything from the mini-bar -- at no additional expense, of course." Mulder snorted. "And should you require anything else," the man pointed to Mulder's case, which was as promised, in the room on one of the beds, "you have only to call down and ask. We have a variety of implements, tools, and toys available to please the most discerning individual." His stomach rolled. If he had to listen to this man one second longer, he was going to hurl. Instead, he smiled, and nodded at the door. "Enough. You can go. I'll call if I want anything." "9:00 am, Mr. Fox." Mulder nodded. End part 11/13 Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 12/13 The door closed and the boy jumped, but he didn't move from the seat. Mulder took a moment to look around, noted the camera in the far corner, hidden in the ceiling. He pulled the spread and blanket off one of the beds and carried them to the bathroom, then carried the 'toy' chest in there as well. No camera in the bath meant that would be his base of operations. But first, he had to convince the people watching that everything was 'normal.' Mulder snorted at the thought and the boy jumped again. Mulder closed his eyes and shuddered, and hoped that the camera would interpret it as his being too excited, and trying to get a grip on himself -- so he could make it last. He walked over to the chair where the boy sat and reached out, ruffling the child's hair. He made his hand linger there in the blonde strands, as if he enjoyed caressing them, then pulled back abruptly. "Come with me, boy," he ordered, reaching out to take the child's hand. "You need a bath." The boy began to cry, and Mulder forced himself to reach and take the small wrist, then pull. The boy rose to his feet reluctantly and Mulder led him to the bathroom. Once inside, he shut the door, locked it, and released the boy who ran to the far side of the surprisingly large room, and huddled on the floor against the wall. Mulder got down on his hands and knees, trying to make himself seem less huge to the child and crawled forward. Stopping far enough away that he couldn't reach the boy, he hoped the boy would recognize that he was respecting his space. He reached over and started the water running in the tub, hoping it would mask the sound of conversation if there were audio pickups in the room. The boy stared in horror at the tub and began to cry even harder. "Tommy?" he whispered, and the boy looked up in surprise. "Hi, Tommy. Are you cold?" Mulder pushed the blanket to the boy, still keeping his distance. The boy grabbed the blanket without speaking and wrapped himself in it, covering himself so thoroughly that only his eyes peeked out when he was done. "Are you hungry, Tommy?" Mulder asked. The boy didn't move, didn't answer. "I'm not going to hurt you." "That's what the other man said." Tommy sniffed, and tried to push back further against the wall. "I'm not like that man. I'm really not going to hurt you." The boy didn't answer. "Can you talk to me, Tommy?" Mulder tried again. Blue eyes looked up at him for just a moment, then skittered away. "Do I hafta take a bath?" "No," Mulder said immediately. The boy nodded. "I don't like the baths here." "No more baths," Mulder promised. "Are you hungry?" This time, the boy nodded slightly. Mulder spoke quietly. "I'm going to go out to the fridge and get you something to eat. I'm going to stand up, and then I'm going to walk out the door. You can stay where you are, Tommy, okay? You don't have to come with me." The boy nodded again. "I'm going to shut the door, though, because there are cameras out there, and I don't want them peeking in at you. Understand?" Another nod. "But, Tommy ..." Mulder hated this. He didn't want to be giving this child any orders, any commands. This boy needed to be given control back over his body, his life, but there was no way to avoid it. "Tommy, please don't lock the door when I leave." Mulder saw the flash in the child's eyes and knew that was just what he'd been thinking. "If you lock the door, Tommy, and I can't get back in, the other man will come. We don't want that to happen, do we, Tommy?" He hated it. He knew it sounded threatening, but the child simply couldn't lock the door. Tommy didn't respond. "We don't want the other man to be here, do we?" he repeated. Tommy's head was down, his voice muffled in the blanket. "Don't want you to be here," he muttered, and Mulder smiled. "I know you don't," he said with as much compassion as he could. "But I'm not going to hurt you. You have to believe me." He rose slowly and backed away, unlocking the door, then opening it, he slipped out, then closed it with a prayer. 'Please don't let him lock it.' He sauntered over to the fridge, pulled out just about everything that was in there, and moved back to the door. He wondered what his watchers thought of that. Maybe a food kink? Mulder shook his head and touched the knob, relieved beyond words when it turned and the door opened. He slipped in again, closed the door, locked it and then dropped everything on the counter. The boy was watching with interest as he laid out packages of crackers, cookies, bread, chocolate bars, box drinks and other goodies across the vanity. Mulder sat back down on the floor, still far enough away that he couldn't touch the boy, but close enough that the boy would have to risk it if he wanted something to eat. "Go ahead, Tommy," he said quietly, "help yourself." The boy stared hungrily at the food, but seemed wary of coming so close to Mulder. Mulder pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. "I'm *not* going to hurt you, Tommy." The boy rose slowly, blanket hugged about himself, and took one slow step after the other as he moved to the vanity. He stopped for a long moment just outside Mulder's range, then took another step and froze. He closed his eyes and tensed his body, and Mulder knew he was just waiting for the blow, the attack that was not going to come this time. Mulder didn't move. The boy waited, then cracked one eye and peeked at Mulder. Mulder smiled and nodded at the food. Tommy took another couple of steps, studied the array of edibles gravely, then took the crackers. He turned back to Mulder, eyes pleading, and Mulder nodded again. " 's all right, Tommy," he said softly, "you can have it." The boy turned and scuttled back to the wall, sliding down to sit and ripping open the package with his teeth. He inhaled the crackers. Mulder reached up, grabbed the cookies, and slid them to the boy, watching as those were torn open and devoured as well. He passed over a drink box next, and the little hands shook as they fumbled with the straw. Mulder wanted to reach over and do it, but he forced himself to wait. The boy finished the box, then gathered up the wrappings and threw them in the trashcan that was next to him. He sat for a long time, not speaking, just staring at the floor, and Mulder waited with him. At last, the child looked up and asked, "You're not going to hurt me?" "I promise, Tommy. I'm not going to hurt you." "What happened to your face?" Mulder laughed. Leave it to a kid to go straight to the obvious. Everyone else he'd met had been too decorous to ask. But then, $20,000.00 bought a lot of decorum. "I got beat up." The boy nodded as if that was to be expected. "Who are you?" "My name's Fox." It was why he'd chosen the alias he had. If anyone overheard the boy calling him Fox, it would pass. "Really?" The boy seemed delighted by the name, and Mulder wondered at the indomitability of a child's spirit. "Really." The boy smiled for a minute and whispered, "Fox," then his face grew serious again. "Why'd you come here, if you don't want to hurt kids?" "I came for you." The boy's face paled and Mulder hastened to add, "To take you home." Tommy stared at him for a long time, his face utterly devoid of any emotion. "Nobody wants me." "Who told you that?" "The man. My mom and dad died in a car crash. I don't have any other family 'cept an uncle I don't 'member. He's way away in -- somewhere -- I don't 'member, an' he's too busy to keep me." The words were tumbling out in a rush and there were tears falling with them. This time, Mulder couldn't resist. He slipped forward, reached out slowly and pulled the boy onto his lap, wrapping his arms around him. He kept them loose, so that the child could pull free if he wanted to, but he didn't. He buried his head against Mulder's chest and cried. "Your mom and dad are not dead, Tommy. They've been looking for you ever since that bad man took you. They've searched and searched and searched for you. And your uncle is here, too -- all the way from Washington DC. He's not too busy for you. He cares about you too. You have lots of people who care about you. None of us want you to be hurt or to ever have to cry again." "My mom and dad? Aren't dead?" Mulder shook his head. "They're waiting for you to come home. They love you very much." Little arms wrapped around his chest and the boy burrowed in further. Mulder shifted once to a more comfortable position, but he never let go of the frightened child in his arms. "I'm taking you home," he whispered into the soft hair that nestled against him. "I promise." Now, if he could only keep that promise. *************************************** At 3:00 am, Mulder roused the boy. "Tommy," he said softly, "I need you to get up." The boy nodded sleepily, but arose without complaint. "I want you to sit back over there." Mulder pointed at the far wall, where the child had first sat by himself. "Why?" The word slipped out in the middle of a yawn. "Because it's time for us to go, and I have to do a few things first." The boy nodded and slid down the wall, his blanket still wrapped around him. "I want you to stay in here, Tommy, okay?" Another nod. "I'm going to close the door again. You stay in here, no matter what you hear, understand?" "Is there going to be a fight?" "Probably," Mulder answered honestly. "And I don't want you to get hurt." The boy shrugged. "Tommy, this is important. You have to stay in the bathroom -- with the door shut. Okay?" "All right." The words seemed pulled from the child as if he didn't want to say them. Mulder picked up a chocolate bar and passed it down to the child, who snatched at it greedily. " 's okay, buddy," he said gently, "you can have more." "Can I have eggs when we go home?" "You like eggs, eh?" The boy nodded happily, munching on the candy bar. "Scrambled eggs," he mumbled through a mouth full of chocolate. "Eggs it is then," Mulder said. He had opened his 'toy' chest, and was busy pulling out the cuffs and knives and stashing them about his person. Major problem -- no belt meant nothing to hang the cuffs on, nothing to stuff the knives into. He settled on tucking the cuffs in the back waistband of his sweat pants, and carried one knife in each hand. He moved to the door, looked back at the child who was once again huddled in fear against the wall, swallowed hard, and said, "You. Stay. Here." He stepped into the other room, and lifted the phone. "Come quickly," he said in an urgent voice. "The boy won't stop bleeding." He hung up and moved to wait by the door and very soon, there were footsteps in the hall. He heard the door click as the key card was swiped, and then it pushed open. Mulder drove the knife into the first man's belly, pulling him forward onto the point and then dropping him to the carpet. The second man swung hard, catching Mulder's left cheek, and his head rocked back, striking the wall. He reached out, grappling with the man, and finally pulled him in, managing to kick the door shut behind him. Hands were on his back, and he turned on his heel, ducking to miss the punch the other man swung, but connecting hard with a blow to the man's chest. The man 'whuffed' as he was hit, and began to gasp for air. Mulder managed to get the cuffs on him, and get him gagged -- there were many useful gadgets in the 'toy' chest -- before he had totally recovered. Mulder was staring down at him when he felt a sharp pain in his calf. The first man had pulled the knife from his belly and implanted it deep in the muscle of Mulder's leg. He moaned and almost went down, fighting the man for control of the knife, then screamed silently when the man wiggled it deeper. He could feel the blade scrape bone. The pain was excruciating. They grappled for control of the blade a few seconds longer, and Mulder prevailed. A swift kick to the temple and the man was out. He lay bleeding on the floor and Mulder cuffed him mercilessly, pausing only long enough to remove the knife and add another gag. He searched them both and came up with a cell phone car keys, and a gun. He took them all. He was bleeding -- the gashes on his forehead had pulled again and there was an open wound on the back of his head. His leg hurt like a son of a bitch, and it was bleeding way too heavily for him to feel okay about. He was tired -- the adrenaline high was crashing fast and there was still a long way to go. He had to get the boy out. He was probably facing several more obstructions to that goal. He would need to find transportation and then figure out where they were and get the hell out of Dodge. They had to make it home, and he was already exhausted. He moved to the bed and ripped a sheet, wrapping it round and round the wound on his leg. Then he limped to the bathroom door and called, "Tommy? It's me, Fox. I'm coming in now." He stepped in and found the boy still huddled on the floor, crying. "It's time to go, Tommy," Mulder said. " 'm scared," the boy whispered so softly Mulder almost missed the words. "I know, buddy," he replied, "but you gotta be brave a little longer." He reached down and took the boy's hand, pulling him to his feet. When the boy bent to retrieve his blanket, Mulder had to say no. "Leave it, Tommy. We've got to move fast and it will drag and slow us down." "I don't have any clothes," the boy protested. " 's all right," Mulder said. "It's just me." He looked the boy in the eyes. "And I'm not going to hurt you, remember?" The boy nodded and let go of the corner of the blanket, taking Mulder's hand. Mulder moved to the door of the room, saying, "Follow me, and stay close. If we see someone else ..." He turned to look at the boy as he placed his hand on the knob, "you get out of the way. If I go down, you run. Run and hide, Tommy. Understand?" The boy nodded gravely and Mulder opened the door, peeking both ways into the corridor. It was empty. They made it to the stairwell and down the stairs before they met anyone. There was one man, apparently standing guard at the bottom of the stairs, and Mulder jammed the gun in his back before he could move. The man froze; Mulder dragged him back into the stairwell, turned the gun in his hand, and slammed it against the guy's skull. He was out. Tommy never made a sound. There was another man in the lobby. He saw them and pulled a gun, firing. Mulder felt the bullet hit his left arm, but he threw the boy to the ground, and returned fire. He was extremely grateful that he was a better shot than his opponent for a little round hole appeared in the other man's forehead and he dropped like a stone. The limo was out front, and the driver was coming now, attracted by the shots. Mulder fired again, missing, but forcing the man to take cover. Mulder emptied his chamber, then grabbed the boy and raced to the front guard's body, scooping up his gun and firing again. Still pulling the boy, he made it to the limo, threw the child inside and climbed in. There were keys in the ignition, and he turned them thankfully, rewarded with the sound of the engine humming to life. He threw the car into gear, punched the accelerator and took off. Gunshots ricocheted off the rear, but the car kept purring. Mulder took off back down the road he'd come up, with no idea of where he was or where he was going. The boy was crying again, and Mulder reached over, gently touching his hand. " 's okay, Tommy," he said, his own voice ragged, his breathing uneven, "put your seat belt on." The boy seemed to find comfort in this mundane task, and spent a couple of minutes finding the strap and tugging it out, then working to fit it into the other end until he finally heard a 'click.' He looked up at Mulder and smiled. "Good job, buddy," Mulder said. He lifted a hand and wiped blood and sweat from his face. "You're hurt," the boy said in concern. "I'll be okay," Mulder replied, but he wondered how true that was. His leg was still bleeding. His arm was bleeding too, now, from the gunshot. He had a new gash on the back of his head and he was dizzy and nauseous, both signs of concussion. He was tired, his limbs trembled. He didn't know where he was, or where he was going, and he didn't know if he was being followed. He looked over at Tommy. The boy had the cell phone in his hand. It must have fallen from his pocket when he climbed in the car. "Can we call my mom?" the child asked plaintively. Mulder smiled. "You bet, buddy. You bet." End part 12/13 Profiles in Caring: The Everett Case 13/13 Scully was pacing frantically. "How the hell did we lose him?" She turned on Skinner again. "You said we weren't going to lose him!" The accusation rang loud in the small room. "I said we would do our best not to lose him," Skinner answered calmly, though the hand running over his head belied his own anxiety. "I had fifteen vehicles out there. I just didn't expect him to jump out of the cab and run down those steps." Skinner stepped to the window and stared out. "Stupid, stupid, stupid ..." The pain in the AD's voice caught Scully and she turned to him, moving to stand by his side and lay her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I know you're worried, too. And it wasn't stupid, Walter," she said softly. "You did the best you could." "Wasn't enough," the big man grunted. "It still wasn't your fault. We made the mistake of thinking we'd tamed the 'Fox' when he came to us and talked about how things would go down." She laughed softly. "We should both know by now, there is nothing tameable about that man." She moved away, sitting at the little table and looking up at the AD. "Any action in one direction -- his discussion with us -- is bound to result in a reaction in a completely different direction -- his taking off on his own again." She shrugged. "Guess we just have to have faith." "And do what?" Skinner still stared forlornly out the window. "We wait." ******************************************** The briefing room was quiet. There were still people in the station house, but most of them had tried to find a quiet corner to sleep, while they waited. Scully still sat at the table in the interrogation room. Skinner kept her supplied with coffee, and had even found a blanket to wrap around her when he noticed a shiver. She had smiled a thank you at him. The waiting was the hardest. With no idea where Mulder was, no way to contact him, there was nothing to do but wait. And Skinner wasn't very good at waiting. He'd been barking orders all night -- chasing people out on specious tasks, demanding reports he couldn't focus on, reviewing evidence he'd reviewed a dozen times. The only thing he hadn't done was call Lynne and Tom and tell them what was going on. He was waiting for good news before he made that call. He was standing at the white board, reviewing the teams again, when Scully slipped in silently. It was 4:30 in the morning. She'd apparently washed her face several times through the night, and devoid of makeup, she looked years younger. He was reminded of the bright new agent he'd first met when he was first assigned the X-Files. She stood beside him for a long moment, then reached out and laid her hand on his arm. "Come and sit with me, Walter," she said softly. "I'm tired of waiting alone." The last thing he wanted to do was sit, but how could he say no? He nodded and was following her to the small interrogation room, when his cell phone rang. He paused, holding up one finger to halt her, and said, "Skinner." The voice on the other end was shaky, and hoarse with exhaustion. Skinner could hear the sound of tires on asphalt through an open window. "Sir?" Mulder said. "I can't believe I finally got a signal." "Where are you, Mulder?" Skinner demanded, smiling hugely at Scully as she turned to look at him, her own face lighting up. "Are you all right? Do you have the boy?" "One little boy, safe and sound, sleeping in the seat next to me," Mulder said. "Don't know where I am." Skinner heard the weariness in the man's voice. "It's all right, Mulder. We can find you. What's the cell phone number?" He heard fumbling and then the sound of the car going off the road before the smooth sound of rubber on pavement resumed and Mulder's voice was back. He rattled off a number. Skinner repeated it to Scully who took off to get the tech-wizards at work on locating the signal. "Really tired, Walter," Mulder mumbled into the phone, and Skinner heard the car go off the road again. It took longer before the smoother sounds returned this time. "Opened the window to keep myself awake." "Mulder, talk to me," Skinner ordered. "Tell me what's going on." No answer but the steady thump, thump, thump of the wheels. "How long have you been driving?" "Hmmmm? Oh, about an hour." "What can you see?" "Not much." Mulder's voice was slightly clearer now, and Skinner wanted to keep him talking. "Describe it. Tell me what you see." " 's dark. Flat land, no lights. No houses. Scrubby brush." "Have you seen any houses? Road signs?" There was a long silence. "I didn't think about road signs." Another pause. "Sir? I'm not thinking real clear." From Mulder, this was an admission that he was either very badly hurt or thoroughly exhausted. Or both. "It's all right, Mulder," Skinner said calmly, though he felt anything but calm. "Scully's tracking you. She'll find you and we'll come and get you." "I killed two people. Maybe three." "It's all right, Mulder," Skinner repeated. "We'll sort it out when we get you back." "You mad at me?" Mulder's voice was stronger again, curious, but not concerned about the answer. "Damn straight I am," Skinner snapped back, and was rewarded with a solid-sounding Mulderlaugh. Scully rushed back in. "Mexico," she said breathlessly. "He's in fucking Mexico." Skinner shook his head in disbelief. "Mulder, you still with me?" "Still here, Sir." He was fading again. "We're coming." He thrust the phone at Scully. "Talk to him. I've got calls to make." "Hey, partner," Scully said softly into the phone. "Scully!" Mulder perked up. "That really you?" "No one else." She smiled as she spoke, knowing he would hear it in her voice. "You doing okay?" "Head hurts," he said quietly. "Got a couple other bangs, too." "You're doing great, Mulder," she said to encourage him. "Skinner said you got Tommy." "Only one there. Couldn't find the other boys." "That's okay, Mulder," she said, "we'll find them. We'll get them all." "Sweet kid, Tommy," Mulder mumbled. "Bruises all over him, though." "Did they ...?" she couldn't bring herself to ask the question. "I didn't ask. But he didn't want to be touched." Mulder took a deep breath. "I didn't want to know." "It's all right, Mulder. You got him out. He's alive. He's got his mom and dad and he'll be a survivor." "They told him his folks were dead." "Poor kid." "Yeah. He even knew about Walter. Said they told him his uncle was too busy to keep him." Scully chuckled. "Guess he'll be surprised to actually meet old Uncle Walter ..." Skinner stalked up hurriedly. "Let's move," he said, taking Scully's arm as he led her toward the front of the station house and out the door. "Where are we going?" "Airport," the AD said shortly. "I've got choppers on stand-by, including a medical unit. Tom and Lynne are meeting us there." "You hear that, Mulder?" Scully asked into the phone. "We're coming to get you." "Sounds like a plan to me, Scully. I'll just keep driving til you get here, okay?" ************************************************* There were lights in the distance, and as he watched they grew bigger and brighter. The cell phone had died and he missed the sound of Scully's voice. To be honest, he missed the sound of Walter's voice, too. They had taken turns talking to him, helping him stay awake, reminding him that they were coming and he wasn't alone. His head throbbed and he was so dizzy. It was getting harder and harder to stay on the road. He couldn't see straight, his vision was blurry, and the road just seemed to stretch on forever into an empty nothingness. He glanced over to his side. The boy was still sleeping. His legs were curled up under him and he leaned against the door. He looked cold in just his underwear and T-shirt, but Mulder didn't have anything to wrap him in and he needed to keep the window down or he knew he would fall asleep again. There was a loud roaring sound filling his ears now, and he looked again at the lights. They were much bigger, and closer, and it looked like they were landing on the road in front of him. He jerked the wheel to the left, driving across the blacktop and onto the flat, sandy ground beyond. He hit the brakes which squealed and slid within mile. This triggered the air bag. Before he was aware of what was happening, he'd been smacked in the face with the air bag, and shoved back hard in the seat, cracking his head against the headrest. He sat there, stunned. He could hear Tommy crying, and he wanted to say something, but his mouth didn't seem to want to work anymore. He tasted blood. He heard Tommy cry, "Mom!" and smiled to himself. He'd gotten the boy home. He could rest now. He heard voices calling him, a deep baritone fraught with concern, and Scully's so sweet alto, but he was so tired all he wanted to do was sleep. He closed his eyes, let his head slide back again, and drifted away. **************************************** "Has he woken up again?" Skinner stepped in the room and sat in the hard chair scavenged from who knew where. Scully had claim on the padded chair, as she had not left the room for two days. They both watched the man in the bed sleep. "Just a few times, but he's groggy and I don't think he remembers it." "He did great," Skinner said. "You have to tell him. He doesn't hear it enough." "I try to. I realized back on the Emerson case that he didn't hear it enough. I've tried to make sure he knows that all his gifts are appreciated, not just his talent for profiling." Skinner sighed as he spoke. "He's a good agent," Scully added. "The best," Skinner agreed. "They find the motel?" Skinner nodded. "The Mexican officials have been very cooperative. Found a ranch about an hour away from the motel, where the rest of the boys were being held." "How many?" she asked. "Fourteen there." He shook his head sadly. "There were twenty-two pictures in the book, though, so we don't know if the others are dead, or if there's another place. We're pursuing it jointly with the Mexican authorities." They sat in companionable silence, then he said, "Everett got away." "Mulder won't like that." "He wasn't there when the task force got there. No adults. Just the kids." Skinner sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I got the report back on the tie -- purchased by one Charles Everett. We even got a local address, but he was gone." "Maybe we can use it later -- to track him." Skinner nodded and stretched his legs out. It was comfortable -- not the chair, or the fact that Mulder was so out of it in the hospital bed -- but being here with Scully. They were both tired, but there was still a comfortable companionship to their back and forth conversation. It was something he wouldn't have had a few years ago, and he valued it. "Got the partials back off Mulder's gun, too," he offered. "The assault? Who was it?" "Matthews." Scully snorted. "Why am I not surprised?" She looked over at the bed, sighing. "How does he manage to piss so many people off, just by breathing?" Skinner gave a little laugh. "My guess would be practice. Years and years of practice." Scully laughed too, then sobered. "What did you do? I mean, the guy was an asshole, but in the end he did confirm what Mulder expected, helped us get a feel for what to expect." "Only because he had to." Skinner shifted in the chair, crossing one ankle over the other. "Still, from what I have been able to determine, he's a good man, a good cop -- when he's not pissed off by our boy there." He nodded at the bed. "I held the report. I'm going to let Mulder decide what to do." "He won't push it." Skinner shrugged. "Still, it's his call." They sat in silence a bit longer. This time, it was Scully who spoke. "How's Tommy?" "He's good. Glad to be home with his folks. I think he was glad to meet me. He said Mulder told him I'd come from Washington to find him." Skinner smiled. "The little guy seemed impressed with that." "It's impressive," Scully said quietly. "Glad he's mature enough to realize it." She paused, then asked delicately, "Was he ...?" Skinner scowled, answer enough. "Oh," she said. "They've got a counselor -- someone good who came highly recommended." "He's a strong kid. He's got people who love him. He'll survive." "How about Mulder?" Skinner asked, deflecting the topic. "He'll survive, too." "Physically, yes. Psychologically?" Scully nodded. "He's also got people who love him. And we already know he's a survivor." "Did he ever talk any more about his dad? About what happened when he was a kid?" Scully shook her head. "I never pushed. This case was hard enough on him without dredging all that up. I've suspected for some time he had issues along those lines, but I've never pushed it." "I don't like doing this to him. He got out of VCS for more reasons than just to work the X-Files. I didn't realize that for a long time." "He can do it when he has the support." The man on the bed moaned softly and shifted under the sheet and they both turned to watch him. "He's got that -- my support," Skinner said at last. "He knows it, Sir," Scully replied. "We both do." "I wish I could do more." "You do all you can at work." She looked at the older man, noted the lines on his face and pinched look of exhaustion around his mouth. "And you're our friend." She reached out, taking his hand. "We value that." Skinner squeezed her hand gently. "So do I." He held her hand a moment longer, then released it, clearing his throat. "You know I would give anything to never see either one of you in a hospital bed again." Scully nodded. "We know." She rose and went to stand by the bed, lifting Mulder's hand in her own. Skinner rose as well. "I've got to go back to the station. Reports." " 's okay, Walter. I understand." He stepped over and touched her, waiting until she turned to look up at him, then he pulled her into a hug. "You all right here, Dana?" he asked softly. She lay her head against the stiff cotton of his shirt, resting against his strength and support. Then she pulled away and looked back at the man in the bed. "I'm all right wherever he is." **************************************** There was beeping. Why was there always beeping when he woke up? He took a deep breath. Hospital. That was why there was beeping. He'd done it again. He opened one eye and peeked out to a mane of red hair and beautiful blue eyes looking down at him. "Hey, you," Scully said softly. "Hey, yourself," he replied. She reached out and stroked his cheek and he leaned hungrily into her touch. "You got shot." He couldn't decide if she was mad or worried or both, so he said, "I'm sorry," and she laughed. "Oh, Mulder ... what am I going to do with you?" "Take me home?" He reached out and took her hand, bringing it to his lips and placing a chaste kiss in her palm. "You just woke up and already you want to go home." "I just don't want to be away from you." Her eyes filled with tears and she pulled away from him. "You ditched us, Mulder," she accused. "I talked to you first." "You didn't tell us we wouldn't be able to follow you." "I wasn't sure." He reached out, calling, "Scully, please, don't be mad." She couldn't resist the entreaty in his voice and she returned to his side, taking his hand in both of hers. She lowered the bed rail, and he scooted over accommodatingly as she hopped up to sit beside him. She held his hand in her lap, and reached out to gently touch his wounds. "One," she whispered as she touched the knife wound on his leg. "Two," as she slid her hand carefully over the gauze covering the whip marks. "Three," accompanied the soft stroke of his arm. "Four," was a tender brush of her lips against his chest, badly bruised from the air bag. "Five," and a hand stroked his brow, nimble fingers dancing over the stitches there. "Six," as the hand ran through his hair, carefully avoiding the oh-so-tender spot beneath the bandage on the back of his head. "Seven," she said softly, bringing his hand up to touch her own heart. His eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Scully, I'm so sorry." "I didn't know if I'd ever see you again," she said. "I wondered if you knew, if you really, really knew." He held his hand against her heart, feeling the beats as she spoke. Her eyes were still full, the tears threatening to spill over at any moment. "Knew what?" "How much I love you." She stared into his face, her mouth pursed, her eyes worried behind the shimmer of tears. "Do you know how much I love you? Do I tell you enough? Do I show you? Mulder, if I were gone today, have I loved you enough?" "Oh, God, Scully," he groaned, pulling her down to lie against his chest. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" "All we have is now, Mulder," she whispered, her words muffled against his chest. "Because of who we are and what we do, all we have is now." He could feel the tears start as the hospital gown grew suddenly damp beneath her. "I'll take now," he murmured into her hair. "As long as it's with you." *************** The End of Part 1 of The Everett Case Look for the exciting conclusion in the months to come!